The Writings of James Russell Lowell: Poems

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Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1890
 

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Страница 55 - All honor and praise to the righthearted bard Who was true to The Voice when such service was hard, Who himself was so free he dared sing for the slave When to look but a protest in silence was brave...
Страница 67 - t is something tremendously deep, By repeating it so as to put you to sleep ; And she well may defy any mortal to see through it, When once she has mixed up her infinite me through it. There is one thing she owns in her own single right, It is native and genuine — namely, her spite ; Though, when acting as censor, she privately blows A censer of vanity 'neath her own nose.
Страница 53 - ... dear little bardlings, don't prick up your ears Nor suppose I would rank you and Bryant as peers; If I call him an iceberg, I don't mean to say There is nothing in that which is grand in its way; He is almost the one of your poets that knows How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in Repose; If he sometimes fall short, he is too wise to mar His thought's modest fulness by going too far...
Страница 51 - ll 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. " He is very nice reading in summer, but inter Nos, we don't want extra freezing in winter ; Take him up in the depth of July, my advice is, When you feel an Egyptian devotion to ices. 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,...
Страница 84 - s Holmes, who is matchless among you for wit ; A Leyden-jar always full-charged, from which flit The electrical tingles of hit after hit ; In long poems 't is painful sometimes, and invites A thought of the way the new Telegraph writes, Which pricks down its little sharp sentences spitefully As if you got more than...
Страница 175 - Life is a leaf of paper white Whereon each one of us may write His word or two, and then comes night.
Страница 242 - Behold one outcast and in dread, Against whose life the bow of power is bent, Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head ; I come to thee for shelter and for food, To Yussouf, called through all our tribes ' The Good.' "
Страница 189 - I could not sleep for cold, I had fire enough in my brain, And builded, with roofs of gold, My beautiful castles in Spain ! Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But I 'd give all my lamps of silver bright.
Страница 54 - There is Whittier, whose swelling and vehement heart Strains the strait-breasted drab of the Quaker apart, And reveals the live Man, still supreme and erect, Underneath the bemummying wrappers of sect ; There was ne'er a man born who had more of the swing Of the true lyric bard and all that kind of thing...
Страница 166 - THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

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