The Poets of America: With Occasional NotesS. Andrus and son, 1847 - 405 psl. |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 71
20 psl.
... hath no last sleep ; the strife To end itself , but wakes intenser life In the self - torturing spirit . Fool , give o'er ! Hast thou once been , yet think'st to be no more ? What ! life destroy itself ? O , idlest dream Shaped in that ...
... hath no last sleep ; the strife To end itself , but wakes intenser life In the self - torturing spirit . Fool , give o'er ! Hast thou once been , yet think'st to be no more ? What ! life destroy itself ? O , idlest dream Shaped in that ...
24 psl.
... Hath it the power To cause or cure thy melancholy mood ? - [ He appears lost in thought . ] Tell me , ascrib'st thou influence to the stars ? Had . ( starting . ) The stars ! stars ? What know'st thou of the Tam . I know that they were ...
... Hath it the power To cause or cure thy melancholy mood ? - [ He appears lost in thought . ] Tell me , ascrib'st thou influence to the stars ? Had . ( starting . ) The stars ! stars ? What know'st thou of the Tam . I know that they were ...
28 psl.
... hath shaken off , Bend lightly to her tendencies again ? O no ! by all her loveliness , by all That makes life poetry and beauty , no ! Make her a slave ; steal from her rosy cheek By needless jealousies ; let the last star Leave her a ...
... hath shaken off , Bend lightly to her tendencies again ? O no ! by all her loveliness , by all That makes life poetry and beauty , no ! Make her a slave ; steal from her rosy cheek By needless jealousies ; let the last star Leave her a ...
29 psl.
... thy dream , And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt , the deep Nile , How prayed I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee ! 3 * And now the grave for its cold breast hath won CHEEVER'S POETS OF AMERICA . 29.
... thy dream , And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt , the deep Nile , How prayed I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee ! 3 * And now the grave for its cold breast hath won CHEEVER'S POETS OF AMERICA . 29.
30 psl.
With Occasional Notes George Barrell Cheever. And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee , And thy white , delicate limbs the earth will press ; And oh my last caress Must feel thee cold , for a chill hand is on thee . How can I ...
With Occasional Notes George Barrell Cheever. And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee , And thy white , delicate limbs the earth will press ; And oh my last caress Must feel thee cold , for a chill hand is on thee . How can I ...
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Absalom beams beauty beneath bird blessed bloom blue bosom breath breeze bright brow calm CARLOS WILCOX clouds cold dark dead death deep didst Doug dread dream dwell earth eternal fair Father fear feel flowers gathering band gaze gentle glorious glory glow golden golden sun gone grave green Hadad hand hast hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour leaves light linger lips living lonely look lyre morning mountain Nath night o'er ocean old oaken bucket pale peace prayer pure rest roll round Samuel F. B. Morse scene shade shalt shine shore silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stars storm stream sublime sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thought thundering bands tomb tread trees Twas twill vale voice Warkworth castle waters waves weary weep white-thorn wild winds wings woods youth
Populiarios ištraukos
35 psl. - The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the ' brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
140 psl. - To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share and treads upon : the oak Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould.
140 psl. - Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom...
153 psl. - Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof.
54 psl. - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost, All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
55 psl. - Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.
141 psl. - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon...
268 psl. - God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast...
196 psl. - How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
153 psl. - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.