MODERN AMERICAN POETRY1921 |
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Сторінка xxii
LOUIS UNTERMEYER. as a whole , not rejecting the things that , to other minds , had seemed trivial or tawdry . The cosmic and the com- monplace were synonymous to him ; he declared he was part of the most elemental , primitive things and ...
LOUIS UNTERMEYER. as a whole , not rejecting the things that , to other minds , had seemed trivial or tawdry . The cosmic and the com- monplace were synonymous to him ; he declared he was part of the most elemental , primitive things and ...
Сторінка 3
... mind , like her person , from all but a very few friends , " writes Higginson , " and it was with great difficulty that she was persuaded to print , during her lifetime , three or four poems . " Yet she wrote almost five hun- dred of ...
... mind , like her person , from all but a very few friends , " writes Higginson , " and it was with great difficulty that she was persuaded to print , during her lifetime , three or four poems . " Yet she wrote almost five hun- dred of ...
Сторінка 8
... in 1907 . MEMORY My mind lets go a thousand things , Like dates of wars and deaths of kings , And yet recalls the very hour— ' Twas noon by yonder village tower , And on the last blue noon in May— The wind 8 Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
... in 1907 . MEMORY My mind lets go a thousand things , Like dates of wars and deaths of kings , And yet recalls the very hour— ' Twas noon by yonder village tower , And on the last blue noon in May— The wind 8 Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
Сторінка 12
... mind the pilot's bell ; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire , A thousand times he swore , He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore . All boats has their day on the Mississip , And her day come at last , — The ...
... mind the pilot's bell ; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire , A thousand times he swore , He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore . All boats has their day on the Mississip , And her day come at last , — The ...
Сторінка 17
... mind , Seein ' it's you . Well , this yer Jim , - Did you know him ? Jes ' ' bout your size ; Same kind of eyes ; — Well , that is strange : Why , it's two year Since he came here , Sick , for a change . Well , here's to us ; Eh ? The h ...
... mind , Seein ' it's you . Well , this yer Jim , - Did you know him ? Jes ' ' bout your size ; Same kind of eyes ; — Well , that is strange : Why , it's two year Since he came here , Sick , for a change . Well , here's to us ; Eh ? The h ...
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a-sailin ain't American Amy Lowell banjo beauty bekase beneath birds Blessing the Dance blue boomlay born Chicago Poems Chrismus Christmas-Night color COMPANY-for dark dawn death dream E. W. Kemble earth Edgar Lee Masters eyes flowers Frost George Edward Woodberry glory gwine ha'r hand heart hills Imagists Irwin Russell Joel Chandler Harris John Gould Fletcher light Lindsay literary literature lived Lowell Macmillan Company Mahsr Masters moon negro never nigger night Noah Orleans poems poet poetry published rain Reprinted by permission rhyme ribber Robinson rose Russell died Sandburg Sara Teasdale shine silence silver sing sleep smile Smoke song soul spirit Spoon River Anthology stars sweet things thought to-night trail trees tune verse voice volume we's doin Whitman whut wuz wild William Rose Benét wind wood writing wukin York
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Сторінка 92 - There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors.
Сторінка 30 - And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin...
Сторінка 58 - Miniver mourned the ripe renown That made so many a name so fragrant; He mourned Romance, now on the town, And Art a vagrant. Miniver loved the Medici, Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly Could he have been one.
Сторінка 113 - When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs, he forgot the copperheads and the assassin ... in the dust, in the cool tombs. And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street, cash and collateral turned ashes ... in the dust, in the cool tombs. Pocahontas' body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in November or a pawpaw in May, did she wonder? does she remember? ... in the dust, in the cool tombs?
Сторінка 35 - And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come,
Сторінка 20 - Abide, abide,' The willful waterweeds held me thrall, The laving laurel turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling grass said 'Stay,' The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed 'Abide, abide, Here in the hills of Habersham, Here in the valleys of Hall.
Сторінка 259 - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
Сторінка 19 - Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side With a lover's pain to attain the plain Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall.
Сторінка 40 - What gulfs between him and the seraphim! Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
Сторінка 105 - To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. .« So was I once myself a swinger of birches.