Poems for Youth: An American Anthology

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William Rose Benét
E. P. Dutton, 1925 - 512 стор.
A generous selection of the most striking poems of American poets old and new, compiled especially for young Americans in their teens.

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Сторінка 55 - TO HELEN Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Сторінка 9 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware.
Сторінка 60 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
Сторінка 56 - IN THE greenest of our valleys. By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace — Radiant palace — reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion — It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair. Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow; (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago...
Сторінка 70 - And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
Сторінка 54 - An unimpassioned song; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest! Merrily live, and long! The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suit — Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy lute — Well may the stars be mute!
Сторінка 66 - Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, Find it somewhere you must and will, — Above or below, or within or without, — And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, That a chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, With an "I dew vum...
Сторінка 25 - MY LOST YOUTH. OFTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear- old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still : " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Сторінка 111 - With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!
Сторінка 70 - Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.

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