Modern American and British PoetryLouis Untermeyer Harcourt, Brace, 1923 - 403 стор. |
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Сторінка 13
... never before had read verse , turned to it and found they could not only read but relish it . They discovered that for the enjoyment of poetry it was not necessary to have at their elbows a dictionary of rare words and classical ...
... never before had read verse , turned to it and found they could not only read but relish it . They discovered that for the enjoyment of poetry it was not necessary to have at their elbows a dictionary of rare words and classical ...
Сторінка 14
... An- thology saw the American edition of Frost's North of Boston . It was evident at once that the true poet of New England had arrived . Unlike his predecessors , Frost was never a poetic provincial - never parochial in the 14 Preface.
... An- thology saw the American edition of Frost's North of Boston . It was evident at once that the true poet of New England had arrived . Unlike his predecessors , Frost was never a poetic provincial - never parochial in the 14 Preface.
Сторінка 15
Louis Untermeyer. was never a poetic provincial - never parochial in the sense that America was still a literary parish of England . He is as native as the lonely farmhouses , the dusty blue- berries , the isolated people , the dried ...
Louis Untermeyer. was never a poetic provincial - never parochial in the sense that America was still a literary parish of England . He is as native as the lonely farmhouses , the dusty blue- berries , the isolated people , the dried ...
Сторінка 18
... never blurred or indefinite . 6. Finally , most of us believe that concentration is the very essence of poetry . It does not seem possible that these six obvious and almost platitudinous principles , which the Imagists so often ...
... never blurred or indefinite . 6. Finally , most of us believe that concentration is the very essence of poetry . It does not seem possible that these six obvious and almost platitudinous principles , which the Imagists so often ...
Сторінка 26
... never saw a moor , I never saw the sea ; Yet now I know how the heather 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 . INDIAN SUMMER These are ...
... never saw a moor , I never saw the sea ; Yet now I know how the heather 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 . INDIAN SUMMER These are ...
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A. E. Housman Amy Lowell Ballads beauty bird blue BOOM boomlay born Bret Harte bright City collection color dark dead death dreams dust earth Edgar Lee Masters England eyes feet flame flowers Frost glory gold golden grass Gunga Gunga Din hand hear heart heaven hills hoo-doo Imagists John Masefield John of Austria Kipling knew laughed light lilac-time Lincoln Lindsay lines living look Louis Untermeyer Macmillan Company Masefield Miniver moon morning never night passion poems poet poetic poetry Preface prose published Reprinted by permission rhyme rhythm Richard Hovey Sandburg Sara Teasdale silence silver sing Smoke song soul spirit Spoon River Anthology stars steel stone story sweet things thought trees turned Untermeyer Vachel Lindsay verse voice volume Whitman wild William William Rose Benét wind word write
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Сторінка 36 - Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?
Сторінка 232 - Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate : I am the captain of my soul.
Сторінка 230 - We build up the world's great cities, And out of a fabulous story We fashion an empire's glory: One man with a dream, at pleasure, Shall go forth and conquer a crown; And three with a new song's measure Can trample an empire down.
Сторінка 48 - Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world.
Сторінка 33 - Which is why I remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar — Which the same I am free to maintain.
Сторінка 34 - Yet the cards they were stocked In a way that I grieve, And my feelings were shocked At the state of Nye's sleeve, Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive.
Сторінка 37 - Sail on! sail on! and on!" They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth tonight. He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one good word : What shall we do when hope is gone ?" The words leapt like a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! and on!
Сторінка 234 - REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Сторінка 158 - In a Station of the Metro": The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals, on a wet, black bough.
Сторінка 233 - A LATE lark twitters from the quiet skies ; And from the west, Where the sun, his day's work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace. The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine, and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night — Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep.