Poems ...Ticknor & Fields, 1854 |
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Alcalá angel ANGELICA art thou BALTASAR BARTOLOMÉ beautiful behold Beltran Cruzado Beware birds blessed breast breath bright brooklet cachucha Calés child CHISPA clouds Count of Lara dance dark dead Death DON CARLOS Don Dinero Dost thou doth dreams earth Enter Exeunt eyes fair fall father fear flowers FRANCISCO gentle Gipsy girl gleams gold golden grave hand hear heart heaven holy HYPOLITO Jorge Manrique land leaves Life's light lips look LOPE DE VEGA Luck of Edenhall maiden MARTINA midnight moon night Nils Juel o'er PADRE CURA PEDRO CRESPO Pentecost poem Pray prayer PRECIOSA red planet Mars ring rise Saint SCENE shadows silent silver sing sleep smile soft song soul sound speak star stood sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thou hast thou shalt Timoneda unto VICTORIAN village voice wait wave wild wind woods
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Сторінка 242 - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each, burning deed and thought.
Сторінка 14 - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
Сторінка 20 - Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things.
Сторінка 269 - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!
Сторінка 4 - I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes.
Сторінка 5 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Сторінка 186 - And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.
Сторінка 178 - And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, 'Death !' was the helmsman's hail, 'Death without quarter...
Сторінка 38 - O what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings; He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear.
Сторінка 266 - Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet ! Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem As the river of a dream.