Selections from American Poetry: With Special Reference to Poe, Longfellow, Lowell and WhittierMargaret Sprague Carhart Macmillan, 1917 - 373 стор. |
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Сторінка 15
... breath , sir . Now up and down throughout the town , Most frantic scenes were acted ; And some ran here , and others there , Like men almost distracted . Some fire cried , which some denied , But said the earth had quaked ; And girls ...
... breath , sir . Now up and down throughout the town , Most frantic scenes were acted ; And some ran here , and others there , Like men almost distracted . Some fire cried , which some denied , But said the earth had quaked ; And girls ...
Сторінка 36
... breath of the summer air ; And sweetest the golden autumn day In silence and sunshine glides away . Yet , fair as thou art , thou shunnest to glide , Beautiful stream ! by the village side ; But windest away from haunts of men , To ...
... breath of the summer air ; And sweetest the golden autumn day In silence and sunshine glides away . Yet , fair as thou art , thou shunnest to glide , Beautiful stream ! by the village side ; But windest away from haunts of men , To ...
Сторінка 38
... is heard , The wooing ring - dove in the shade ; On thy soft breath , the new - fledged bird Takes wing , half happy , half afraid . 5 10 15 20 Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; When 38 SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN POETRY The West Wind.
... is heard , The wooing ring - dove in the shade ; On thy soft breath , the new - fledged bird Takes wing , half happy , half afraid . 5 10 15 20 Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; When 38 SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN POETRY The West Wind.
Сторінка 39
... is heard , The wooing ring - dove in the shade ; On thy soft breath , the new - fledged bird Takes wing , half happy , half afraid . 5 100 10 15 20 Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; When 38 SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN POETRY.
... is heard , The wooing ring - dove in the shade ; On thy soft breath , the new - fledged bird Takes wing , half happy , half afraid . 5 100 10 15 20 Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; When 38 SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN POETRY.
Сторінка 40
... breath that swayed at once All their green tops , stole over him , and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty . Ah , why Should we , in the world's riper years , neglect God's ancient sanctuaries ...
... breath that swayed at once All their green tops , stole over him , and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty . Ah , why Should we , in the world's riper years , neglect God's ancient sanctuaries ...
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Selections from American poetry, with special reference to Poe, Longfellow ... Various Обмежений попередній перегляд - 2022 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
Angel ANNABEL LEE arms band of brothers beauty bells beneath bird blue Bob-o'-link bobolink brave breast breath bright chamber door cloud Concord Hymn dark dead dear deep dream earth eyes fair Fairy feel feet flowers forest Frost Spirit comes gleams golden gray green hand hath hear heard heart heaven hills holy JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER King land laugh leaves Lenore light live look loud MAUD MULLER mighty Minnesinger never Nevermore Newbury town night o'er Persian weaves Pioneers poems poet poetry prayer purple Quoth the Raven RALPH WALDO EMERSON rhyme ring river rock round sail Sandalphon shade shadow shine shore silence sing smile snow song sorrow soul sound spring star-spangled banner stars stone sweet tears thee thet thine things thou art thought Titmouse toil trees voice water-sprites wave wild wind wings woods word youth
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Сторінка 68 - Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute...
Сторінка 70 - Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
Сторінка 85 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise : He needs must think of her once more How in the grave she lies, And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Сторінка 19 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Сторінка 223 - For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
Сторінка 67 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.
Сторінка 69 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Сторінка 69 - 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. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the...
Сторінка 69 - 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 84 - Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.