A fable for critics. The unhappy lot of Mr. Knott. Fragments of an unfinished poem. An original apologue. Under the willows, and other poems

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Страница 167 - I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn,* Where a little headstone stood, How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying,
Страница 174 - the thing of things In shape, material, and dimension ! Give it but strings, and, lo, it sings, A wonderful invention ! " So said, so done ; the chords he strained, And, as his fingers o'er them hovered, The shell disdained a soul had gained, The lyre had been discovered.
Страница 62 - d do that, I should feel very ill at ease ; The men who have given to one character life And objective existence are not very rife ; You may number them all, both prose-writers and singers, Without overrunning the bounds of your fingers, And Natty won't go to oblivion quicker Than Adams the parson or Primrose the vicar.
Страница 41 - s most abounding, the other 's to seek ; C.'s generals require to be seen in the mass, — E.'s specialties gain if enlarged by the glass ; C. gives Nature and God his own fits of the blues, And rims common-sense things with mystical hues, — E. sits in a mystery calm and intense, And looks coolly around him with sharp common sense; C. shows you how every-day matters unite With the dim transdiurnal recesses of night, — While E., in a plain, preternatural way, Makes mysteries matters of mere every...
Страница 287 - Like music heard once by an ear That cannot forget or reclaim it, A something so shy, it would shame it To make it a show, A something too vague, could I name it, For others to know, As if I had lived it or dreamed it, As if I had acted or schemed it, Long ago...
Страница 180 - Thoughts that great hearts once broke for, we Breathe cheaply in the common air ; The dust we trample heedlessly Throbbed once in saints and heroes rare, Who perished, opening for their race New pathways to the commonplace.
Страница 85 - You went crazy last year over Bulwer's New Timon ; — Why, if B., to the day of his dying, should rhyme on, Heaping verses on verses and tomes upon tomes, He could ne'er reach the best point and vigor of Holmes. His are just the fine hands, too, to weave you a lyric Full of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satyric In a measure so kindly, you doubt if the toes That are trodden upon are your own or your foes'.
Страница 55 - While, borne with the rush of the metre along, The poet may chance to go right or go wrong, Content with the whirl and delirium of song; Then his...
Страница 51 - But, deduct all you can, there 's enough that 's right good in him ; He has a true soul for field, river, and wood in him ; And his heart, in the midst of brick walls, or where'er it is, Glows, softens, and thrills with the tenderest charities, — To you mortals that delve in this trade-ridden planet ? No, to old Berkshire's hills, with their limestone and granite.
Страница 51 - 11 grant, if you choose, he has 'em, But he lacks the one merit of kindling enthusiasm ; If he stir you at all, it is just, on my soul, Like being stirred up with the very North Pole.

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