Home BalladsBunce and Huntington, 1865 - 96 стор. |
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Сторінка 3
HOME BALLADS . DRIVING HOME THE COWS . Our of the clover and blue - eyed grass He turned them into the river lane ; One after another he let them pass , Then fastened the meadow bars again . The pace ; Under the willows , and over the ...
HOME BALLADS . DRIVING HOME THE COWS . Our of the clover and blue - eyed grass He turned them into the river lane ; One after another he let them pass , Then fastened the meadow bars again . The pace ; Under the willows , and over the ...
Сторінка 4
... blue ; And worn and pale , from the crisping hair , Looked out a face that the father knew . For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn , And yield their dead unto life again ; And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn , In golden glory ...
... blue ; And worn and pale , from the crisping hair , Looked out a face that the father knew . For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn , And yield their dead unto life again ; And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn , In golden glory ...
Сторінка 8
... blue September sky ; While children come , with cries of glee , And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass , At the foot of the apple - tree . And when , above this apple - tree , The winter stars are ...
... blue September sky ; While children come , with cries of glee , And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass , At the foot of the apple - tree . And when , above this apple - tree , The winter stars are ...
Сторінка 9
... A PICTURE . THE farmer sat in his easy chair Smoking his pipe of clay , While his hale old wife , with busy care , Was clearing the dinner away ; A sweet little girl , with fine blue eyes , A PICTURE . 9 C. A PICTURE.
... A PICTURE . THE farmer sat in his easy chair Smoking his pipe of clay , While his hale old wife , with busy care , Was clearing the dinner away ; A sweet little girl , with fine blue eyes , A PICTURE . 9 C. A PICTURE.
Сторінка 10
A sweet little girl , with fine blue eyes , On her grandfather's knee was catching flies . The old man laid his hand on her head , With a tear on his wrinkled face , He thought how often her mother , dead , Had sat in the self - same ...
A sweet little girl , with fine blue eyes , On her grandfather's knee was catching flies . The old man laid his hand on her head , With a tear on his wrinkled face , He thought how often her mother , dead , Had sat in the self - same ...
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Allen Archer angels beat His rat-tat-too beautiful Annabel Lee BEN FISHER binding shoes blessed blue blushing bough brave breast bright buckwheat cheek cold Colonel's Shield corn dainty Babie Bell dark dead Dear mother door dram dreamed eyes faded fair father feet fell flowers forest-land green green ice grew hand Hannah happy hear heart heaven hill hour Jenny Jessie Carol Kate kissed laughed light lips little drummer beat look maiden Maize meadow morning never nigh night o'er old oaken bucket place like home Pompey ripest berries grow rivulet's ripples flow sail shade shadows sigh silent singing Sir John Franklin skies smile snow Softly the rivulet's song sorrow spring summer sunny sweet tear tell Tennessee thee Thou thought thread to-night tree Twas vines weary weaver ween whitest blossoms blow wife wild-wood home wind window winter WOODMAN young
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Сторінка 32 - That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
Сторінка 14 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Сторінка 33 - And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
Сторінка 94 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home...
Сторінка 14 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Сторінка 7 - Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; Wide let its hollow bed be made; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care, And press it o'er them tenderly, As round the sleeping infant's feet We softly fold the cradle sheet ; So plant we the apple tree.
Сторінка 15 - But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen, And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light...
Сторінка 32 - IT was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea...
Сторінка 7 - Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; Boughs where the thrush with crimson breast Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest...
Сторінка 72 - Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough; In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy ax shall harm it not.