Local and National Poets of America: With Biographical Sketches and Choice Selections from Over One Thousand Living American Poets |
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Стр. 82
Alas ! it seems so passing strange , That from the censer of those days , The
incense should so widely range ; And their perfume , thro ' distant maze , Wake in
each heart the mellow chimes , And fragrance of the by - past times . So clear and
...
Alas ! it seems so passing strange , That from the censer of those days , The
incense should so widely range ; And their perfume , thro ' distant maze , Wake in
each heart the mellow chimes , And fragrance of the by - past times . So clear and
...
Стр. 111
But I would have you think to - day Of all that made life seem most dear , Of hopes
... It seems that those who love are doomed Affliction ' s bitterest cup to drain , As
if they with their mutual strength Were better formed to bear the pain . Or it may ...
But I would have you think to - day Of all that made life seem most dear , Of hopes
... It seems that those who love are doomed Affliction ' s bitterest cup to drain , As
if they with their mutual strength Were better formed to bear the pain . Or it may ...
Стр. 114
He has also been employed on the You seem to waver on wi Chicago Current ;
has been a regular contriYou hear me sigh and say , He is not here . " butor to the
Arkansaw Traveler , and besides And sweet south - wind that comes across the ...
He has also been employed on the You seem to waver on wi Chicago Current ;
has been a regular contriYou hear me sigh and say , He is not here . " butor to the
Arkansaw Traveler , and besides And sweet south - wind that comes across the ...
Стр. 116
... well , life seems all of gall , More bitter far than anything , The saddest morsel
Time can bring . There is a grief too deep for tears , A wild , corroding sense that
eats Full deep into the heart , and sears The soul , where gladness seldom beats
.
... well , life seems all of gall , More bitter far than anything , The saddest morsel
Time can bring . There is a grief too deep for tears , A wild , corroding sense that
eats Full deep into the heart , and sears The soul , where gladness seldom beats
.
Стр. 117
Cease now thy wailing cry , Hush now thy sobbing sighElse might the sweetness
of thy fate be wasted . Nay ! nay ! the secret comes Which all the burden seems
Of the world ' s woe and tears , counted and singled . This the sad lesson taught ...
Cease now thy wailing cry , Hush now thy sobbing sighElse might the sweetness
of thy fate be wasted . Nay ! nay ! the secret comes Which all the burden seems
Of the world ' s woe and tears , counted and singled . This the sad lesson taught ...
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angels appeared beauty birds bless blue BORN breath bright bring clouds cold comes dark dead dear death deep dream earth eyes face fair fall father fear feel feet flowers friends give gold golden gone grow hand happy head hear heart heaven hills hope hour kiss lady land leading leaves life's light lips live look meet Miss morning mother never night o'er once pain pass past peace poems published pure received resides rest rose round seems shine sigh sing sleep smile song soon sorrow soul spirit spring stand stars sweet tears tell thee things thou thought trees true turn voice wait wander waves weary wild winds written young 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,