 | Martin Grove Brumbaugh - 1899 - Страниц: 408
...sadness, Which brings me to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track And felt its very gladness. And yet it is not in his play, When every trace of...echoed in the hall, His merry laugh like music trill, But when, amid the earnest game, He stops, as if he music heard, And, heedless of his shouted name... | |
 | Edmund Clarence Stedman - 1900 - Страниц: 966
...— Which brings me to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track, And felt its very gladness. O O For, like the wrinkles on my brow, I scarcely notice such things now. But when, amid the earnest game,... | |
 | Edmund Clarence Stedman - 1900 - Страниц: 968
...hrings mo to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track, And felt its very gladness. Anil yj-t it is not in his play, When every trace of thought...thrills me most. His shout may ring upon the hill, His voiec be echoed in the hall, His merry laugh like music'trill, And I unheeding hear it all; For, like... | |
 | Edmund Clarence Stedman - 1901 - Страниц: 964
...— Which brings me to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track, And felt its very gladness. For, like the wrinkles on my brow, I scarcely notice such things now. But when, amid the earnest game,... | |
 | Phineas Garrett - 1904 - Страниц: 896
...— Which brings me to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track, And felt its very gladness. And yet, it is not in his play, When every trace of thought is lost, And not when yon would call him gay, That his bright presence thrills mo mostHis shout may ring upon the hill, His... | |
 | Phineas Garrett - 1904 - Страниц: 890
...sadjiess,— Which brings me to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track, And felt its very gladness. And yet, it is not in his play, When every trace of thought is lost, And not when vou would call him gay, That his bright presence thrills me most. His shout may ring upon the hill,... | |
 | Bridget Ellen Burke - 1909 - Страниц: 264
...sadness, Which brings me to my childhood back, As if I trod its very track And felt its very gladness. And yet it is not in his play, When every trace of thought is lost, His shout may ring upon the hill, His voice be echoed in the hall, His merry laugh like music trill,... | |
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And yet it is not in his play, When every trace of thought is lost, And not when you would call him gay, That his bright presence thrills me most. 
