The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Voices of the night, Ballads and other poems, Poems on slavery, Spanish student, Belfry of Bruges and other poems, The seaside and the firesideHoughton, Mifflin, 1886 |
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The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Voices of the Night ... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Недоступно для просмотра - 2015 |
The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Voices of the Night ... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Недоступно для просмотра - 2013 |
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Albrecht Dürer Alcalá autumn ballad Bart BARTOLOMÉ beautiful belfry BELFRY OF BRUGES bell Beltran Cruzado beneath breath bright Bruges Chispa clouds Count of Lara Cruz CRUZADO dance dark dead death diary Don Carlos Don Dinero Dost thou dreams earth Excelsior Exeunt eyes fair fear flowers forever gleam gold golden Graham's Magazine Guy de Dampierre Gypsy hand hast hear heard heart heaven HYPOLITO leaves light Line lips Longfellow look loud midnight Minnesinger Monk moon morning never Never forever night o'er ocean Padre Cura passed poem poet Pray prayer Prec Preciosa rain ring rise river sail Saint sang SCENE shadows ship silent silver singing Skeleton in Armor sleep soft song soul sound Spanish speak stanza star sweet tell thee thou art thought Timoneda trees Vict Victorian village voice volume wave wild wind window woods youth
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Стр. 80 - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior! His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior...
Стр. 270 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Стр. 22 - I have naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child.
Стр. 272 - ALL are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
Стр. 234 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
Стр. 223 - And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Стр. 222 - I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist; A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Стр. 195 - THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies...
Стр. 26 - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight ; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful firelight Dance upon the parlor wall ; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door ; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more.
Стр. 233 - All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, "Ah ! when shall they all meet again !" As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply, — " Forever — never ! Never — forever...