The Howe Readers: A fifth readerCharles Scribner's Sons, 1909 |
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... sounds and colors and sweet smells holy as well as fair on the Sabbath morn . " Tom laughed and told George he admired the country for these very traits , and asked , " Where are we going , George ? " " Oh , not much farther ; only ...
... sounds and colors and sweet smells holy as well as fair on the Sabbath morn . " Tom laughed and told George he admired the country for these very traits , and asked , " Where are we going , George ? " " Oh , not much farther ; only ...
Сторінка 91
... sounds of the storm were the voices of freezing birds , crying to be taken in from the cold . Once I thought I heard a thud against the window , a sound heavier than the rattle of the snow . Something seemed to be beating the glass . It ...
... sounds of the storm were the voices of freezing birds , crying to be taken in from the cold . Once I thought I heard a thud against the window , a sound heavier than the rattle of the snow . Something seemed to be beating the glass . It ...
Сторінка 98
... sounds so familiar and careless and gay As we cheer it and shout in our wild , breezy way We the crowd , every man of us calling you that We - Tom , Dick and Harry - each swinging his hat And hurrahing ' Old Glory ! ' like you were our ...
... sounds so familiar and careless and gay As we cheer it and shout in our wild , breezy way We the crowd , every man of us calling you that We - Tom , Dick and Harry - each swinging his hat And hurrahing ' Old Glory ! ' like you were our ...
Сторінка 128
... sound it is in the winter stillness , so unlike the harsh scream of the hawk . But all the ways of the owl are ways of softness and duskiness . His wings are shod with silence , his plumage is edged with down . Another owl neighbor of ...
... sound it is in the winter stillness , so unlike the harsh scream of the hawk . But all the ways of the owl are ways of softness and duskiness . His wings are shod with silence , his plumage is edged with down . Another owl neighbor of ...
Сторінка 153
... sound of her voice , and recall the details of her beloved dress , that would look funny and old - fashioned to me now . She had returned from her morning shopping , and she wore a straw hat trimmed with yellow roses , and a shawl of ...
... sound of her voice , and recall the details of her beloved dress , that would look funny and old - fashioned to me now . She had returned from her morning shopping , and she wore a straw hat trimmed with yellow roses , and a shawl of ...
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The Howe Readers. a Third Reader Will D. Howe,Myron T. Pritchard,Elizabeth V. Brown Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2017 |
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Alba Longa ALFRED TENNYSON American ants arms asked battle beaver began bird brave brother caterpillars CHARLES WILLIAM ELIOT Cratchit cried dark dead dear death Don Quixote door dying English eyes face famous father fell fellow fire Flat Tail Fritz girl gray Gray Horse gypsies hair hand Hardy hath head heard heart heaven HENRY hill honor horse JOHN king King Arthur knew Lannigan leaves light live look Lord Maggie morning mountain Mud Dauber never night passed Perfect Tribute Phaethon poet poor replied Rip Van Winkle river Romulus Romulus and Remus round sail seemed side silence Silver Sir Bedivere Sir Lucan sleep song soon soul stood story sword tell thee things thou thought Tiny Tim told took trees turned village voice watch wife WILLIAM words young
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Сторінка 258 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Сторінка 83 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Сторінка 307 - They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"— He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!
Сторінка 60 - I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come, and men may go, But I go on forever.
Сторінка 199 - My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will...
Сторінка 18 - 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 laud, Though the dark night is near.
Сторінка 366 - If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — Such boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the Law — Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard — All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard — For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Сторінка 345 - Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since,— his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl.
Сторінка 39 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Сторінка 198 - O CAPTAIN ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.