An American Anthology, 1787-1900: Selections Illustrating the Editor's Critical Review of American Poetry in the Nineteenth CenturyEdmund Clarence Stedman Houghton, Mifflin, 1900 - 878 стор. Added t.p., engraved. |
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Сторінка xl
... DEAD POET Alfred Billings Street THE SETTLER . THE LOON Christopher Pearse Cranch THE BOBOLINKS STANZA FROM AN EARLY POEM . THE PINES AND THE SEA THE IDLER . Jones Very THE NEW WORLD THE OLD ROAD YOURSELF WATCHING . 169 MY BIRD 183 ...
... DEAD POET Alfred Billings Street THE SETTLER . THE LOON Christopher Pearse Cranch THE BOBOLINKS STANZA FROM AN EARLY POEM . THE PINES AND THE SEA THE IDLER . Jones Very THE NEW WORLD THE OLD ROAD YOURSELF WATCHING . 169 MY BIRD 183 ...
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... dead commit , Observe the swelling turf , and say , They do not lie , but here they sit . Here still a lofty rock remains , - On which the curious eye may trace ( Now wasted half by wearing rains ) The fancies of a ruder race . Here ...
... dead commit , Observe the swelling turf , and say , They do not lie , but here they sit . Here still a lofty rock remains , - On which the curious eye may trace ( Now wasted half by wearing rains ) The fancies of a ruder race . Here ...
Сторінка 17
... dead that we loved , or the living still dear ? Alas ! when I look , I find none of the last ! The present is barren , — let ' s drink to the past ! - Come here's to the girl with a voice sweet and low , The eye all of fire and the ...
... dead that we loved , or the living still dear ? Alas ! when I look , I find none of the last ! The present is barren , — let ' s drink to the past ! - Come here's to the girl with a voice sweet and low , The eye all of fire and the ...
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... dead reclining , That pale , dead mother lay ! A smile her lip was wreathing , A smile of hope and love , As though she still were breathing " There's light for us above ! SCENE . THE DEMON - LOVER FROM " HADAD " The terraced roof of ...
... dead reclining , That pale , dead mother lay ! A smile her lip was wreathing , A smile of hope and love , As though she still were breathing " There's light for us above ! SCENE . THE DEMON - LOVER FROM " HADAD " The terraced roof of ...
Сторінка 29
... dead . All space is holy ; for all space Is filled by thee ; but human thought Burns clearer in some chosen place , Where thy own words of love are taught . Here be they taught ; and may we know That faith thy servants knew of old ...
... dead . All space is holy ; for all space Is filled by thee ; but human thought Burns clearer in some chosen place , Where thy own words of love are taught . Here be they taught ; and may we know That faith thy servants knew of old ...
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Annabel Lee art thou Atlantic Monthly beauty bells Ben Bolt beneath bird bloom blow brave breast breath bright brow cardinal bird child cloud dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fear feet flame flowers glory glow golden gone grass grave gray green hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills Israfel Joseph Rodman Drake Kingston Bridge kiss Kree land light lips live lonely look lyre mighty moon morning neath never nevermore night o'er pass peace Poems poet rose round sail shadows shine shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smile snow soft song Sonnets sorrow soul sound spirit stars strong summer sweet tears tell tempest thee thine things thou art thought tree verse voice W. D. Howells wave weary wild wind wings wood
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Сторінка 141 - thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!
Сторінка 110 - 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 115 - T is but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee...
Сторінка 146 - Hear the sledges with the bells Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Сторінка 51 - The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, - the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods - rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
Сторінка 146 - Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows...
Сторінка 91 - If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame.
Сторінка 227 - ... the prize we sought is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Сторінка 115 - UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Сторінка 140 - To Helen Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land! Israfel And the angel...