The World's Best Poetry ...J. D. Morris, 1904 |
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Сторінка xi
... gone to its making . Poetry of this sort , at its best , is to be found abundantly in Thomson's " Seasons . " At less than its best it concerns no one . Nature becomes significant to man when she is passed through the alembic of his ...
... gone to its making . Poetry of this sort , at its best , is to be found abundantly in Thomson's " Seasons . " At less than its best it concerns no one . Nature becomes significant to man when she is passed through the alembic of his ...
Сторінка xi
... gone to its making . Poetry of this sort , at its best , is to be found abundantly in Thomson's " Seasons . " At less than its best it concerns no one . Nature becomes significant to man when she is passed through the alembic of his ...
... gone to its making . Poetry of this sort , at its best , is to be found abundantly in Thomson's " Seasons . " At less than its best it concerns no one . Nature becomes significant to man when she is passed through the alembic of his ...
Сторінка 13
... their glad animal movements all gone by ) To me was all in all . - I cannot paint What then I was . The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock , The mountain , and the deep and gloomy wood , NATURE'S INFLUENCE . 13.
... their glad animal movements all gone by ) To me was all in all . - I cannot paint What then I was . The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock , The mountain , and the deep and gloomy wood , NATURE'S INFLUENCE . 13.
Сторінка 28
... gone ; and I plunge in the wood , and the swift soul cleaves Through the swirl and the flow of the leaves , As a swimmer stands with his white limbs bare to the sun For the space that a breath is held , and drops in the sea ; And the ...
... gone ; and I plunge in the wood , and the swift soul cleaves Through the swirl and the flow of the leaves , As a swimmer stands with his white limbs bare to the sun For the space that a breath is held , and drops in the sea ; And the ...
Сторінка 37
... gone ! " And hurried landward far away , Crying , " Awake ! it is the day ! " It said unto the forest , " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood - bird's folded wing , And LIGHT : DAY : NIGHT . 37.
... gone ! " And hurried landward far away , Crying , " Awake ! it is the day ! " It said unto the forest , " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood - bird's folded wing , And LIGHT : DAY : NIGHT . 37.
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Autumn beauty bell beneath bird bloom blossom blow blue bobolink breast breath breeze bright brook BRYAN WALLER PROCTER CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS CHARLES TIMOTHY BROOKS cheer clouds dance dark deep dost doth dream earth eyes fair feet fields flow flowers forest gleam gold golden grass gray green hath hear heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW hills horn hour INA DONNA COOLBRITH jingle lake leaves light lonely LORD LORD BYRON LORD TENNYSON merry moon morn mountain murmur never night noon o'er ocean PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY purple rain river rocks rose round sail shade shining shore sigh silent Sing a song sleep smile snow soft solitude soul sound spring stars storm stream summer sweet thee thine thou art tree voice wandering waves weary wild WILLIAM WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings Winter woods
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Сторінка 201 - Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
Сторінка 172 - 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.
Сторінка xix - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear,— both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.
Сторінка 210 - Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Сторінка 69 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.
Сторінка 154 - Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Сторінка 209 - THE sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits ; — on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone ; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Сторінка xvi - To them I may have owed another gift. Of aspect more sublime: that blessed mood In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened...
Сторінка xxxiv - Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Сторінка 155 - TO BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night?