Modern American Poetry

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Louis Untermeyer
Harcourt, Brace, 1921 - 406 стор.

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Сторінка 254 - Beauty is momentary in the mind — The fitful tracing of a portal ; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies ; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing. So gardens die, their meek breath scenting The cowl of Winter, done repenting. So maidens die to the auroral Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Сторінка 104 - Miniver mourned the ripe renown That made so many a name so fragrant; He mourned Romance, now on the town, And Art a vagrant. Miniver loved the Medici, Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly Could he have been one.
Сторінка 340 - I HAVE A RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH I have a rendezvous with Death , At some disputed barricade When spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air. I have a rendezvous with Death When spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath. It may be I shall pass him, still I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill When spring comes 'round again this year And the first...
Сторінка 34 - And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin...
Сторінка 314 - OREAD Whirl up, sea — Whirl your pointed pines. Splash your great pines On our rocks. Hurl your green over us — Cover us with your pools of fir.
Сторінка 110 - Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, 'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
Сторінка 39 - And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come,
Сторінка 45 - Here was a man to hold against the world, A man to match the mountains and the sea. The color of the ground was in him, the red earth ; The smack and tang of elemental things; The rectitude and patience of the cliff; The good-will of the rain that loves all leaves; The friendly welcome of the wayside well...
Сторінка 339 - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
Сторінка 44 - What gulfs between him and the seraphim! Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?

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