The Lockerbie Book: Containing Poems Not in DialectBobbs-Merrill Company, 1911 - 646 páginas |
Outras edições - Ver tudo
LOCKERBIE BK CONTAINING POEMS James Whitcomb 1849-1916 Riley,Hewitt H. (Hewitt Hanson) 1863 Howland Pré-visualização indisponível - 2016 |
The Lockerbie Book; Containing Poems Not in Dialect James Whitcomb Riley Pré-visualização indisponível - 2012 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
AMPHINE beauty birds bloom blossoms blue breath breeze brow bumblebee caress cheek CRESTILLOMEEM dark dawn dead dear delight divine dream drip DWAINIE Edgar Wilson Nye eyes face fair fancy feet forever Gainsborough hat gaze glad gleam glimmering gloom glory gold grasses hair hand hath hear heard heart Hoosier JUCKLET katydid King kiss knew land laugh laughter lifted light lily lips lisp listening Lockerbie look melody moan moon morning mother never night o'er Old Aunt Mary's old sweetheart pray prayer quavering Queen Raelus rain rapture rhyme ripples Robert Louis Stevenson rose round sails shine sigh silence sing skies sleep smile song soul SPRAIVOLL stars strange summer sunshine sweet tears tender song thee thine things thou thrill throne tinkle to-day Tommy Smith touch trees trill Twas voice weary weep wild winds wings Wunks yearning
Passagens conhecidas
Página 3 - CANNOT say, and I will not say That he is dead. — He is just away ! With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land, And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. And you...
Página 132 - LITTLE brook ! Little brook ! You have such a happy look — Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and curve and crook — And your ripples, one and one, Reach each other's hands and run Like laughing little children in the sun ! Little brook, sing to me : Sing about a bumblebee That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled mumblingly, Because he wet the film Of his wings, and had to swim, While the water-bugs raced round and laughed at him...
Página 62 - As one who cons at evening o'er an album, all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till, in shadowy design, I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, As I turn it low — to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.
Página 138 - And, last of all, The Clown, making mirth for all the town, With his lips curved ever upward and his eyebrows ever down, And his chief attention paid to the little mule that played A tattoo on the dashboard with his heels, in the Parade. Oh! the Circus-Day Parade! How the bugles played and played! And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes and neighed, As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!
Página 284 - sa tang to the spirit As salt as a tear ; — And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye And an aching to live for you always — or die, If, dying, we still keep you waving on high.
Página 32 - CRAVE, dear Lord, No boundless hoard Of gold and gear, Nor jewels fine, Nor lands, nor kine, Nor treasure-heaps of anything. — Let but a little hut be mine Where at the hearthstone I may hear The cricket sing, And have the shine Of one glad woman's eyes to make, For my poor sake, Our simple home a place divine ; — Just the wee cot — the cricket's chirr — Love, and the smiling face of her.
Página 97 - PRAYER PERFECT. DEAR Lord! kind Lord! Gracious Lord! I pray Thou wilt look on all I love, Tenderly to-day! Weed their hearts of weariness; Scatter every care Down a wake of angel-wings Winnowing the air. Bring unto the sorrowing All release from pain; Let the lips of laughter Overflow again; And with all the needy O divide, I pray, This vast treasure of content That is mine to-day!
Página 53 - There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
Página 4 - Mild and gentle, as he was brave, — When the sweetest love of his life he gave To simple things : — Where the violets grew Pure as the eyes they were likened to, The touches of his hands have strayed As reverently as his lips have prayed : When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred Was dear to him as the mocking-bird ; And he pitied as much as a man in pain A writhing honey-bee wet with rain. — Think of him still as the same, I say : He is not dead — he is just away...
Página 283 - We — the crowd, every man of us, calling you that — We, Tom, Dick and Harry, each swinging his hat And hurrahing "Old Glory!