Modern American PoetryLouis Untermeyer Harcourt, Brace, 1921 - 406 стор. |
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Сторінка xxviii
... look for fresh valuations , more searching songs . Hovey began to go deeper into himself and his age ; in the mid - West , William Vaughn Moody grappled with the problems of his times only to have his work cut short by death in 1910 ...
... look for fresh valuations , more searching songs . Hovey began to go deeper into himself and his age ; in the mid - West , William Vaughn Moody grappled with the problems of his times only to have his work cut short by death in 1910 ...
Сторінка xl
... look for a wealth of folk stuff . In such a country - the United States , to be specific - what folk - poetry there is , has followed the path of the pioneer . At first these homely songs were merely adaptations and localized versions ...
... look for a wealth of folk stuff . In such a country - the United States , to be specific - what folk - poetry there is , has followed the path of the pioneer . At first these homely songs were merely adaptations and localized versions ...
Сторінка 4
... looks , And what a wave must be . I never spoke with God , Nor visited in Heaven ; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given ... look . These are the days when skies put on The old 4 Emily Dickinson Chartless Indian Summer.
... looks , And what a wave must be . I never spoke with God , Nor visited in Heaven ; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given ... look . These are the days when skies put on The old 4 Emily Dickinson Chartless Indian Summer.
Сторінка 4
... looks , And what a wave must be . I never spoke with God , Nor visited in Heaven ; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given ... look . These are the days when skies put on The old 4 Emily Dickinson Chartless Indian Summer.
... looks , And what a wave must be . I never spoke with God , Nor visited in Heaven ; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given ... look . These are the days when skies put on The old 4 Emily Dickinson Chartless Indian Summer.
Сторінка 21
... look back and see our smouldering camp- fires of the day before . " This journey made a lasting impression on the boy's impressionable mind ; it was this tortuous wander- ing that gave Miller his reverence for the spaciousness and glory ...
... look back and see our smouldering camp- fires of the day before . " This journey made a lasting impression on the boy's impressionable mind ; it was this tortuous wander- ing that gave Miller his reverence for the spaciousness and glory ...
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ain't Amy Lowell Anthology ballads beauty beneath birds blood blue boomlay born Bret Harte bright Chicago Poems College colors dance dark dawn dead dear world death dream dust earth Edgar Lee Masters eyes face feet flame flowers Frost glory gotta grass Guy Wetmore Carryl hand heart heaven hills Hovey Imagists John Gould Fletcher later laughed light Lindsay lines literary lived look Macmillan Company Miniver Miss moon never night play poems poet poetic poetry published Reprinted by permission rhyme Richard Hovey Robinson Sandburg Sara Teasdale shining silence silver sing sleep smile Smoke song soul spirit Spoon River Spoon River Anthology spring stars stone sweet things thou thought trail trees turned verse voice volume walk wall Whitman wild William Rose Benét William Vaughn Moody wind York
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 258 - 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 108 - 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 344 - 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 38 - 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 318 - 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 114 - 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 43 - 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 49 - 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 343 - 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 48 - 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?