Contemporary PoetryMarguerite Wilkinson Macmillan, 1923 - 372 стор. |
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A. E. Housman American Amy Lowell Ballads beauty bird blow blue born Collected Poems College contemporary poetry dancing dark dawn death delight Don John dream dust earth Edgar Lee Masters educated Edwin Arlington Robinson England eyes F. S. Flint face flower free verse Frost give glory grace grackles hand hear heard heart heaven HESTER hills images Imagists John Masefield John of Austria Johnnie leetla light little boy live looked Lord Mare MARGUERITE WILKINSON moon moonlight morning never night play poet poetic published purple reader rhythm ride road rose round Sara Teasdale School shining ships silver singing song soul stars sweet symbol tell thee things thou thought Trail trees Untermeyer Vachel Lindsay wild Wilfrid Wilson Gibson William Butler Yeats William Rose Benét wind wings wonder words written
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Сторінка 47 - And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down As when a lordly cedar, green with boughs, Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.
Сторінка 264 - Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat; But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth!
Сторінка 233 - I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter. Up vistaed hopes I sped; And shot, precipitated, Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, From those strong Feet that followed, followed after. But with unhurrying chase, And unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, They beat— and a Voice beat More instant than the Feet— "All...
Сторінка 215 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
Сторінка 240 - The angels keep their ancient places; Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
Сторінка 334 - Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high ! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon ; wine-red was his velvet coat; When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
Сторінка 278 - In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amidst the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved, and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Сторінка 295 - Others may sing of the wine and the wealth and the mirth, The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth ; — Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of the earth...
Сторінка 332 - She twisted her hands behind her ; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or bloo*d! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, ' Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it ! The trigger at least was hers!
Сторінка 201 - Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.