PoemsChapman brothers, 1847 - 199 psl. |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 20
8 psl.
... none . Then I said , ' I covet Truth ; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat , - I leave it behind with the games of youth . ' As I spoke , beneath my feet . The ground - pine curled its pretty wreath , Running 8 EACH AND ALL .
... none . Then I said , ' I covet Truth ; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat , - I leave it behind with the games of youth . ' As I spoke , beneath my feet . The ground - pine curled its pretty wreath , Running 8 EACH AND ALL .
32 psl.
... feet may well delay . Set not thy foot on graves ; Nor seek to unwind the shroud Which charitable time And nature have allowed Το wrap the errors of a sage sublime . Set not thy foot on graves ; Care not to strip the dead Of his sad ...
... feet may well delay . Set not thy foot on graves ; Nor seek to unwind the shroud Which charitable time And nature have allowed Το wrap the errors of a sage sublime . Set not thy foot on graves ; Care not to strip the dead Of his sad ...
39 psl.
... ; Who steer the plough , but cannot steer their feet Clear of the grave.— They added ridge to valley , brook to pond , And sighed for all that bounded their domain , This suits me for a pasture ; that's my park HAMATREYA.
... ; Who steer the plough , but cannot steer their feet Clear of the grave.— They added ridge to valley , brook to pond , And sighed for all that bounded their domain , This suits me for a pasture ; that's my park HAMATREYA.
42 psl.
... low and high , To crowded halls , to court , and street , To frozen hearts , and hasting feet , To those who go , and those who come , Good bye , proud world , I'm going home . I'm going to my own hearth - stone Bosomed in GOODBYE.
... low and high , To crowded halls , to court , and street , To frozen hearts , and hasting feet , To those who go , and those who come , Good bye , proud world , I'm going home . I'm going to my own hearth - stone Bosomed in GOODBYE.
43 psl.
... feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God . O when I am safe in my sylvan home , I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ; And when I am stretched beneath the pines Where the evening star so holy shines , I laugh at ...
... feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God . O when I am safe in my sylvan home , I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ; And when I am stretched beneath the pines Where the evening star so holy shines , I laugh at ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
beauty better bird boughs bring CATHOLIC SERIES CHAPMAN character child Christianity cloth cloud Dæmon delight divine doth earth Edition Emerson Essays eternal eyes faith Fate feet Fichte flowers forest genius German glowing gods Goethe Hafiz hast heaven HENRY REEVE hill human JAMES MARTINEAU Jean Paul JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE JOHN JAMES TAYLER JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE land LANT CARPENTER light live lover maid mind moral morning mountain muse nature nature's never Novalis o'er paper cover philosophy pine poet Post 8vo PROSPECTIVE REVIEW published RALPH WALDO EMERSON Religion religious rhyme Roman Church rose round Saadi scorn secret Shakspeare Shakspeare's shines song soul sphere Sphynx spirit stars style sweet thee THEODORE PARKER thine things Thomas Carlyle thought thy heart Translated tree truth Ulrici vols volume WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING wind wine wise wood
Populiarios ištraukos
8 psl. - The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; The conscious stone to beauty grew.
10 psl. - The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost.
6 psl. - Uprose the merry Sphinx, And crouched no more in stone ; She melted into purple cloud, She silvered in the moon ; She spired into a yellow flame ; She flowered in blossoms red ; She flowed into a foaming wave ; She stood Monadnoc's head. Thorough a thousand voices Spoke the universal dame : " Who telleth one of my meanings, Is master of all I am.
37 psl. - Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds; And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough. Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs; Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet Clear of the grave.
43 psl. - Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere ; Swimmer through the waves of air ; Voyager of light and noon ; Epicurean of June ; Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom.
100 psl. - FORBEARANCE Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Nobility more nobly to repay? O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!
40 psl. - I've been tossed like the driven foam; But now, proud world! I'm going home. Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face; To Grandeur with his wise grimace; To upstart Wealth's averted eye; To supple Office, low and high; To crowded halls, to court and street; To frozen hearts and hasting feet; To those who go, and those who come; Good-bye, proud world ! I'm going home.
186 psl. - The hyacinthine boy, for whom Morn well might break and April bloom, The gracious boy, who did adorn The world whereinto he was born, And by his countenance repay The favor of the loving Day...
90 psl. - THOUGH loath to grieve The evil time's sole patriot, I cannot leave My honied thought For the priest's cant, Or statesman's rant. If I refuse My study for their politique, Which at the best is trick, The angry Muse Puts confusion in my brain. But who is he that prates Of the culture of mankind, Of better arts and life? Go, blindworm, go, Behold the famous States Harrying Mexico With rifle and with knife!
198 psl. - BY the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.