Younger American Poets, 1830-1890Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen, Goodridge Bliss Roberts Griffith, Farran, Okeden & Welsh, 1891 - 666 стор. |
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Сторінка x
... Rest Cross of Gold THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ( 1836 ) — Palabras Cariñosas PAGE 34 35 37 37 39 39 824444 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 51 53 53 586 55 Identity 56 • WILLIAM DEAN Howells ( 1837 ) — Forlorn . 56 Thanksgiving 61 Through the Meadow 61 ...
... Rest Cross of Gold THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ( 1836 ) — Palabras Cariñosas PAGE 34 35 37 37 39 39 824444 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 51 53 53 586 55 Identity 56 • WILLIAM DEAN Howells ( 1837 ) — Forlorn . 56 Thanksgiving 61 Through the Meadow 61 ...
Сторінка xxix
... rests on his poems generally , and Ryan's on his battle- pieces , such as his world - renowned " The Conquered Banner . " Seldom has a poet been so identified with a cause as this priest - Tyrtæus . In his poems one sees the whole ...
... rests on his poems generally , and Ryan's on his battle- pieces , such as his world - renowned " The Conquered Banner . " Seldom has a poet been so identified with a cause as this priest - Tyrtæus . In his poems one sees the whole ...
Сторінка xxxiii
... rest . He was a natural balladist , with the gifts and the faults of his countrymen , often eloquent , musical , pathetic to a marked degree , but often also spoiling his poems by unpruned luxuriance or the intrusion of platform ...
... rest . He was a natural balladist , with the gifts and the faults of his countrymen , often eloquent , musical , pathetic to a marked degree , but often also spoiling his poems by unpruned luxuriance or the intrusion of platform ...
Сторінка xxxv
... rest that it has taken its place in literature— " The V - a - s - e . " In a higher grade , the reader will notice a delightful jeu d'esprit from the pen of John Paul ( Charles Henry Webb ) , “ The King and the Pope , " and E. R. Sill's ...
... rest that it has taken its place in literature— " The V - a - s - e . " In a higher grade , the reader will notice a delightful jeu d'esprit from the pen of John Paul ( Charles Henry Webb ) , “ The King and the Pope , " and E. R. Sill's ...
Сторінка xxxvii
... herd that were taking their rest , Forgot that the air was close opprest , That the Texas norther comes sudden and soon , In the dead of night or the blaze of noon ; That once let the herd at its breath take fright TO THE READER . xxxvii.
... herd that were taking their rest , Forgot that the air was close opprest , That the Texas norther comes sudden and soon , In the dead of night or the blaze of noon ; That once let the herd at its breath take fright TO THE READER . xxxvii.
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Younger American Poets, 1830-1890 Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen,Goodridge Bliss Roberts Повний перегляд - 1891 |
Younger American Poets, 1830-1890 Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen,Goodridge Bliss Roberts Повний перегляд - 1891 |
Younger American Poets, 1830-1890 Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen,Goodridge Bliss Roberts Повний перегляд - 1891 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
Arcady beauty birds bloom blow blue Blynken Born Boston brave breast breath bright cold dark dead dear death deep don'd doth DOUGLAS SLADEN dream earth ELLA WHEELER WILCOX eyes face fair feet fire flame flowers Furl gay beat gleam glory gold golden grey Habersham hair hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills kind permission King kiss land laugh light lips live lonely look marsh marshes of Glynn moon morn myrrh N. P. Willis neath never Newport town night o'er passion poems given poems quoted poet rose round sail SENTINEL SONGS shadow shining shore Sidney Lanier sigh silence sing skies sleep smile soft song soul stars strong summer sweet Tarpeia tears tender thee thine things thou thought Twas voice wander watch waves Whip-poor-will whisper wild wind wings woods
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 101 - No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool: The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!
Сторінка 600 - Therefore if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian ; and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.
Сторінка 132 - So: Affable live-oak, leaning low, — Thus — with your favor — soft, with a reverent hand, (Not lightly touching your person, Lord of the land!) Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand On the firm-packed sand, Free By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea.
Сторінка 73 - tis gory, Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory, And 'twill live in song and story Though its folds are in the dust! For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shall go sounding down the ages — Furl its folds though now we must.
Сторінка 135 - But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail: I am fain for to water the plain. Downward the voices of Duty call — "Flow Gently, Sweet Afton " 1425 Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main.
Сторінка 133 - Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight, Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light. And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high ? The world lies east : how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky ! A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in the blade, Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade, Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain, To the terminal blue of the main.
Сторінка 73 - tis hard for us to fold it; Hard to think there's none to hold it; Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh.
Сторінка 77 - The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth ; Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure To hear the tale anew. And then, while round them shadows gathered faster. And as the firelight fell, He read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of
Сторінка 131 - And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the West, And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle doth seem Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream...
Сторінка 101 - These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. "The ill-timed truth we might have kept — Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung!