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Anthology of Swedish Lyrics from 1750 to 1915, Том 9
Charles Wharton Stork
Попередній перегляд недоступний - 1917
Anna Maria Lenngren August Strindberg beauty Behold Bellman beneath billows blue Bo Bergman breast bright Carl Snoilsky cheek ching chingty clouds dance dark death deep delight dost dreams Duva dwell earth Erik Esaias Tegner eyes fair flames flowers forest FREDMAN's Froding gleaming glow gold Gothic Society grief Gunnar Gunnar Wennerberg Gustaf Gustavian Gustavus III hand hast heart heaven Heidenstam hushed Johan Ludvig Runeberg Karl king kiss land Levertin life's light lips living lonely look lyric poetry lyrists maiden mother mountain murmuring never night NUMBER o'er pale Phosphorists play poems poet rest rose Runeberg Rydberg shining sigh sing smile Snoilsky snow softly song soon Sorrento soul spirit spring stand stars Sweden Swedish literature Swedish lyric tears Tegner tell thee thou thought trolls unto Vermland Viktor Rydberg volume waves yearning yonder youth
Сторінка 287 - This book is a preservation photocopy. It was produced on Hammermill Laser Print natural white, a 60 # book weight acid-free archival paper which meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (permanence of paper) Preservation photocopying and binding by Acme Bookbinding Charlestown, Massachusetts CD 1995 The borrower must return this item on or before the last date stamped below.
Сторінка 168 - HERE is a spark dwells deep within my soul. To get it out into the daylight's glow Is my life's aim both first and last, the whole. It slips away, it burns and tortures me. That little spark is all the wealth I know; That little spark is my life's misery.
Сторінка 195 - They danced as with bodies of tow set afire, All jumping like grasshoppers higher and higher, And heel it rang sharp upon stone. The coat-tails they fluttered, the aprons they flew, And braids were a-flapping and skirts flung askew, While the music would whimper and drone. Then in birch, or in alder, or hazel thicket There was whispering light as the chirp of a cricket From the depths of the darkness near. Over stock, over stone, there was flight and pursuing, And under green boughs...
Сторінка 285 - Price $4.00 There has always been a peculiar fascination for the student of American history in that chapter of it which deals with the pre-Columbian discovery of this continent. ... To sweep away the cobwebs of error is no small task, but Professor Hovgaard's book, with its painstaking following of the scientific method, should go a long way toward its completion. . . . Professor Hovgaard has made the best complete exposition up to date of the voyages of the Norsemen to America.
Сторінка 166 - Aye, close to a cliff let our people stand Where a fool his poor neck may shatter. There are other things, men, to hold in your hand Than a brim-full Egyptian platter. It were better the plate should be split in two Than that hearts should rot when still living. That no race may be more great than you, — That's the goal, why count we the striving? It were better to feel the avenger's might Than that years unto naught should have hasted, It were better our people should perish quite And our fields...
Сторінка 230 - ... manly charm. Fridolin dances free, He is filled with the memory Of his sire and grandsire who danced there long Before to that old melody. Ye sleep now, ye sires, on the festival night, And stilled is the hand that could fiddle with might, For your life — like your day — is a murmuring song That echoes a wistful delight. But Fridolin dances free — Your son, and a brave lad he; He can talk in the peasant style with a churl, And in Latin to men of degree. His scythe goes sharp through the...
Сторінка 80 - Anthology of Swedish Lyrics " translated by CHARLES WHARTON STORK. Laughter without a home Wandering mournfully, Came to the great man's lips: " May I have lodging here? " — " This is the home of Pride" Laughter without a home Wandering mournfully, Came to a scholar's lips:
Сторінка 228 - I'd wallow, Give me but the blades that follow Melting snows in pine-dark hollow, And the earliest thrush's tune. Best the lover's time of waiting, Of betrothal ere the mating. Spring has naught so captivating As a secret sweetheart fair. Seldom with her, soon asunder, He will dream the strange wild wonder Life so soon for him may bear. Golden fruit, let others shake it, Mine be not the hand to take it, For my garden I'd forsake it When the trees are budding there.