Poetical WorksHoughton Mifflin, 1886 |
З цієї книги
Результати 1-5 із 30
Сторінка 31
... pray , The midnight phantoms feel the spell , The shadows sweep away . Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star , Our ghastly fears are dead . MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR ...
... pray , The midnight phantoms feel the spell , The shadows sweep away . Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star , Our ghastly fears are dead . MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR ...
Сторінка 32
... Pray , pray ! " And the hooded clouds , like friars , Tell their beads in drops of rain , And patter their doleful prayers ; But their prayers are all in vain , All in vain ! There he stands in the foul weather , The foolish , fond Old ...
... Pray , pray ! " And the hooded clouds , like friars , Tell their beads in drops of rain , And patter their doleful prayers ; But their prayers are all in vain , All in vain ! There he stands in the foul weather , The foolish , fond Old ...
Сторінка 33
... Pray do not mock me so ! Do not laugh at me ! " And now the sweet day is dead ; Cold in his arms it lies ; No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies , No mist or stain ! Then , too , the Old Year dieth , And the forests ...
... Pray do not mock me so ! Do not laugh at me ! " And now the sweet day is dead ; Cold in his arms it lies ; No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies , No mist or stain ! Then , too , the Old Year dieth , And the forests ...
Сторінка 61
... pray thee , put into yonder port , For I fear a hurricane . " Last night , the moon had a golden ring , And to - night no moon we see ! " The skipper , he blew a whiff from his pipe , And a scornful laugh laughed he . Colder and louder ...
... pray thee , put into yonder port , For I fear a hurricane . " Last night , the moon had a golden ring , And to - night no moon we see ! " The skipper , he blew a whiff from his pipe , And a scornful laugh laughed he . Colder and louder ...
Сторінка 65
... pray and preach , He hears his daughter's voice , Singing in the village choir , And it makes his heart rejoice . It sounds to him like her mother's voice , Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more , How in the grave ...
... pray and preach , He hears his daughter's voice , Singing in the village choir , And it makes his heart rejoice . It sounds to him like her mother's voice , Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more , How in the grave ...
Інші видання - Показати все
Загальні терміни та фрази
Alcalá ancient autumn ballad Bart beautiful belfry Belfry of Bruges beneath blue breath bright Bruges burning Chispa clouds Count of Lara Cruz CRUZADO dance dark dead death deep diary Don Carlos dreams earth Euroclydon Excelsior Exeunt eyes fair fear flowers forever Forever never Ghent gleam gold golden Graham's Magazine green Guy de Dampierre Gypsy hand hast hear heard heart heaven HYPOLITO leaves light Line lips Longfellow look loud midnight Minnesinger Monk moon morning mountain never night Nuremberg o'er ocean passed poem poet Pray prayer Prec Preciosa ring rise river round sail Saint sang SCENE shadows ship silent silver singing Skeleton in Armor sleep soft song soul sound Spanish speak stands stanza star sweet tell thee thou art thought Timoneda tower trees Vict Victorian village voice volume wave wild wind window woods youth Нур
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 22 - Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
Сторінка 66 - Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought I ENDYMION.
Сторінка 272 - ALL are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
Сторінка 234 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
Сторінка 25 - When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight...
Сторінка 221 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an Eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist...
Сторінка 20 - O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before ! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more.
Сторінка 22 - I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Сторінка 23 - They are all gone into the world of light! And I alone sit lingering here ; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear; It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the sun's remove.
Сторінка 195 - THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies...