Readings in American PoetryJohn C. Riker, 1843 - 264 psl. |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 6–10 iš 19
124 psl.
... lone and joyless night , Whence is thy sad and solemn lay ? Attendant on the pale moon's light , Why shun the garish blaze of day ? When darkness fills the dewy air , Nor sounds the song of happier bird , Alone , amid the silence there ...
... lone and joyless night , Whence is thy sad and solemn lay ? Attendant on the pale moon's light , Why shun the garish blaze of day ? When darkness fills the dewy air , Nor sounds the song of happier bird , Alone , amid the silence there ...
125 psl.
... the tangled passages Of the lone woods - and now it comes again →→→ A multitudinous melody - like a rain . Of glossy music under echoing trees , 11 * ( 125 ) 126 TO THE MOCKING BIRD . Over a ringing lake To the Mocking Bird.
... the tangled passages Of the lone woods - and now it comes again →→→ A multitudinous melody - like a rain . Of glossy music under echoing trees , 11 * ( 125 ) 126 TO THE MOCKING BIRD . Over a ringing lake To the Mocking Bird.
130 psl.
... lone and level tide The spell of stillness reigning there . Yet round this waste of wood and wave , Unheard , unseen , a spirit lives , That , breathing o'er each rock and cave , To all a wild , strange aspect gives . The thunder ...
... lone and level tide The spell of stillness reigning there . Yet round this waste of wood and wave , Unheard , unseen , a spirit lives , That , breathing o'er each rock and cave , To all a wild , strange aspect gives . The thunder ...
132 psl.
... Lone whip - poor - will , There is much sweetness in thy fitful hymn , Heard in the drowsy watches of the night . Ofttimes , when all the village lights are out , And the wide air is still , I hear thee chant Thy hollow dirge , like ...
... Lone whip - poor - will , There is much sweetness in thy fitful hymn , Heard in the drowsy watches of the night . Ofttimes , when all the village lights are out , And the wide air is still , I hear thee chant Thy hollow dirge , like ...
156 psl.
... turn Mine eyes from thy lone loveliness ; still spring My tears to meet thee , and the spirit stern Falters , in secret , with the ancient thrill— The boyish yearning to be with thee still . ODE TO THE MOON . Would it were so ; ( 156 )
... turn Mine eyes from thy lone loveliness ; still spring My tears to meet thee , and the spirit stern Falters , in secret , with the ancient thrill— The boyish yearning to be with thee still . ODE TO THE MOON . Would it were so ; ( 156 )
Turinys
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Readings in American Poetry– For the Use of Schools Rufus Wilmot Griswold Visos knygos peržiūra - 1843 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ALBERT PIKE ALNWICK CASTLE Amid beauty beneath bird blue breast breath breeze bright brow CARLOS WILCOX cheek cloud dark dead death deep dost dream earth Excelsior fade fair FITZ-GREENE HALLECK flowers forest gale gaze gentle gloom glorious glory glow GRAY FOREST-EAGLE green groves hand hath hear heart heaven HENRY W hills hour lake land leaves life's light living lone look morning mountain N. P. WILLIS night o'er ocean pale pass pass'd pinions prayer R. H. DANA rest rock round SENECA LAKE shade shore sigh silent sleep slumbers smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweep sweet swell tears thee thine Thou art thou hast thoughts throne thundering bands tone tree twilight URSA MAJOR voice WASHINGTON ALLSTON waters waves weary whip-poor-will wild WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT winds wing wither'd woods youth
Populiarios ištraukos
147 psl. - The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook...
161 psl. - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?" Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
15 psl. - Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
15 psl. - Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
147 psl. - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
63 psl. - And with them the Being Beauteous Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
15 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, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
146 psl. - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
73 psl. - The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea. And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms Has made the top of the wave his own.
14 psl. - The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun ; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods ; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks, That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man...