The Poets and Poetry of America: With an Historical IntroductionCarey and Hart, 1848 - 544 страници |
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Често срещани думи и фрази
art thou Battle of Niagara beam beauty beneath blue bosom breast breath breeze bright brow charm cheek clouds cold Connecticut dark dead death deep didst dread dream earth fair fear feel flame flowers friends gaze gentle glorious glory glow gnome grace grave green hand Harvard College hast hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour land leaves life's light lips living lonely look look'd lyre morning mountain muse Nashaway never night o'er ocean pale pass'd Phi Beta Kappa poems poet prayer pride rapture rills roll'd round seem'd seraph shade shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring sprite stars stood storm stream sweet swell Sylph tears tempest thee thine thou art thought throne tomb tree voice wake wave whip-poor-will wild wind wings woods Yale College youth ZOPHIEL
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Страница 533 - SAT, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming ; Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was
Страница 335 - lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprint« on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. THE
Страница 427 - is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door ; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow That lie« floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore
Страница 154 - slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In
Страница 162 - midst falling dew. While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ! Vainly the fowler's eye Might murk thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or
Страница 162 - day thy wings have fann'd, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shah thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy
Страница 154 - has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last hitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the. stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
Страница 427 - Doubtless," said I, " what it utter» Is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master— Whom unmerciful Disaster Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, Till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope the Melancholy burden bore Of * Nevermore,'—of ' Nevermore.' " But the raven still beguiling All my
Страница 163 - Whose fragrance late he bore. And sighs to find them in the wood And by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in Her youthful beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up And faded bv my side; In the cold, moist earth we laid her, When the
Страница 427 - unto fancy, thinking What this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore," This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllabic expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now Burn'd into my bosom's core ; This and more I sat divining, With my head at