The Chief American Poets: Selected Poems by Bryant, Poe, Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, Lowell, Whitman and LanierCurtis Hidden Page Houghton Mifflin, 1905 - 713 стор. |
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... thee , when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air . Of all her train , the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould , 10 And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow - bank's edges cold . Thy parent sun , who bade thee ...
... thee , when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air . Of all her train , the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould , 10 And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow - bank's edges cold . Thy parent sun , who bade thee ...
Сторінка 1
... thee to shudder , and grow sick at heart ; Go forth , under the open sky , and list 1 This , the first great poem written in America , was published in the North American Review for September , 1817 , vol . v , pp . 338-340 . Bryant's ...
... thee to shudder , and grow sick at heart ; Go forth , under the open sky , and list 1 This , the first great poem written in America , was published in the North American Review for September , 1817 , vol . v , pp . 338-340 . Bryant's ...
Сторінка 2
... thee , when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air . Of all her train , the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould , 10 And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow - bank's edges cold . Thy parent sun , who bade thee ...
... thee , when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air . Of all her train , the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould , 10 And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow - bank's edges cold . Thy parent sun , who bade thee ...
Сторінка 3
... thee in the haunts of men , 10 And made thee loathe thy life . The primal curse Fell , it is true , upon the unsinning earth , But not in vengeance . God hath yoked to guilt Her pale tormentor , misery . Hence , these shades Are still ...
... thee in the haunts of men , 10 And made thee loathe thy life . The primal curse Fell , it is true , upon the unsinning earth , But not in vengeance . God hath yoked to guilt Her pale tormentor , misery . Hence , these shades Are still ...
Сторінка 4
... thee , are lonely , lovely , and still ; 30 Lonely save when , by thy rippling tides , From thicket to thicket the angler glides , Or the simpler comes , with basket and book , For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; Or haply , some ...
... thee , are lonely , lovely , and still ; 30 Lonely save when , by thy rippling tides , From thicket to thicket the angler glides , Or the simpler comes , with basket and book , For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; Or haply , some ...
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Acadian beauty bells beneath bird breath cloud dark dead dear death door dream earth edition Emerson eyes face feet flowers forest gleam golden grave hand hath hear heard heart heaven Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hiawatha hills James Russell Lowell John Greenleaf Whittier Kenabeek land laugh leaves Leaves of Grass light lips living Longfellow look Lowell maiden meadows Mondamin moon morning mountain never Nevermore night Nokomis o'er Oliver Wendell Holmes Osseo Pau-Puk-Keewis peace poem poet Ralph Waldo Emerson river rose round sail seemed shadow shining shore Sidney Lanier silent sing sleep smile snow song soul sound Specimen Days spirit stars stood strong summer sweet thee thet thine things thou thought trees verse voice Walt Whitman wandering waves Whittier wigwam wild wind woods words young
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Сторінка 104 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Сторінка 1 - To a Waterfowl 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?
Сторінка 100 - Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, — act in the living...
Сторінка 287 - BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace : From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican.
Сторінка 69 - The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter 'Little Prig; Bun replied, 'You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you...
Сторінка 311 - ANNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farm-house 'at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Сторінка 111 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Сторінка 362 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll!
Сторінка 286 - And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, 'It might have been.' Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge ! God pity them both ! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these :
Сторінка 417 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.