Local and National Poets of America: With Biographical Sketches and Choice Selections from Over One Thousand Living American PoetsThomas William Herringshaw American publishers' association, 1890 - Всего страниц: 1036 |
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Стр. 33
... voice of tears , Pouring its pathos of tremulous fears , Till the troubled sea of the soul will start , And feeling and passion like billows roll From the sighing heart to the sobbing soul ; Eyes dreamy and blue as the tranquil sea ...
... voice of tears , Pouring its pathos of tremulous fears , Till the troubled sea of the soul will start , And feeling and passion like billows roll From the sighing heart to the sobbing soul ; Eyes dreamy and blue as the tranquil sea ...
Стр. 34
... Voice sad and sweet as a Magdalen's prayer To a pardoning Christ when He set her free . Thy genius , purpose and mission grand Teaches men to feel and their souls expand , That mercy may blend with her loving eyes , The joys of earth ...
... Voice sad and sweet as a Magdalen's prayer To a pardoning Christ when He set her free . Thy genius , purpose and mission grand Teaches men to feel and their souls expand , That mercy may blend with her loving eyes , The joys of earth ...
Стр. 35
... voice , and has become very popular . He has published numerous hymns , poems and sermons . A volume en- titled Subduing Kingdoms , and other Ser- mons , appeared in 1882 ; and in 1889 appeared Broken Cadences , a poem in three parts ...
... voice , and has become very popular . He has published numerous hymns , poems and sermons . A volume en- titled Subduing Kingdoms , and other Ser- mons , appeared in 1882 ; and in 1889 appeared Broken Cadences , a poem in three parts ...
Стр. 40
... voice to that sacred Guest , Must feel , if he'd stir the great world's heart , The sting of the thorn in his own breast . NOT DEAD . Not dead ! The strain can never die That trembles to the Poet's lyre , But , floating upward to the ...
... voice to that sacred Guest , Must feel , if he'd stir the great world's heart , The sting of the thorn in his own breast . NOT DEAD . Not dead ! The strain can never die That trembles to the Poet's lyre , But , floating upward to the ...
Стр. 48
... voice of Ocean Challenges his clamoring caves . Not on such the mirrored glory Of the great protecting sky ; Not a billow tells the story In reflective sympathy . Even when , in broken spirit , Waves but sigh along the shore Still their ...
... voice of Ocean Challenges his clamoring caves . Not on such the mirrored glory Of the great protecting sky ; Not a billow tells the story In reflective sympathy . Even when , in broken spirit , Waves but sigh along the shore Still their ...
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angels Babyland beauty birds bless bloom blue BORN brave breast breath breeze bright brow cheer clouds dark darling dead dear death deep doth dream earth evermore eyes face fair feet flowers forever friends glad gleam glory glow gold golden grace hand happy hath hear heart heaven hills hope hour Iowa kiss lady land life's light lips live LOCAL AND NATIONAL look married morning mother NATIONAL POETS ne'er neath never night nom de plume o'er Ohio Osci pain peace poems have appeared POETS OF AMERICA resides rest rill rose shadows shine shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smile snow soft song sorrow soul stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou thought to-day toil true Twas twill voice waves weary ween whip-poor-will wild winds wings Woman's Exponent youth
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Стр. 194 - AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.
Стр. 66 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Стр. 43 - Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican, Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye, — Outward sunshine, inward joy: Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
Стр. 130 - It was August the third; And quite soft was the skies; Which it might be inferred That Ah Sin was likewise; Yet he played it that day upon William And me in a way I despise.
Стр. 43 - Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with, me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides ! Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too ; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy...
Стр. 801 - I stay my haste, I make delays; For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray,. Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years ; My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears.
Стр. 66 - That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree • In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling.
Стр. 98 - And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives...
Стр. 98 - The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world and she to her nest,— In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Стр. 65 - THE LAST LEAF I SAw him once before, As he passed by the door; And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan ; And he shakes his feeble head. That it seems as if he said,