The Little Book of American Poets, 1787-1900Jessie Belle Rittenhouse Houghton Mifflin, 1917 - 347 páginas |
Índice
64 | |
84 | |
92 | |
103 | |
117 | |
124 | |
130 | |
139 | |
146 | |
152 | |
169 | |
180 | |
186 | |
192 | |
200 | |
207 | |
214 | |
217 | |
278 | |
284 | |
287 | |
288 | |
289 | |
292 | |
293 | |
295 | |
296 | |
297 | |
299 | |
301 | |
302 | |
303 | |
304 | |
306 | |
334 | |
Outras edições - Ver tudo
Palavras e frases frequentes
beauty bird blew blossoms blow blue Blynken brave breast breath bright brow cloud cold dark dead dear death dream earth Edmund Clarence Stedman Edward Rowland Sill Emily Dickinson eternal eyes face fair fall feet flame flowers forever gate glory grass grave gray green grow hand hath hear heart heaven Henry Henry Timrod hills House of Pain Joaquin Miller John Boyle O'Reilly kiss land laugh life's light lips little lamb live loud Maryland moon morning never night o'er pain peace pine Poems Ralph Waldo Emerson Richard Watson Gilder rose round sail shine ships shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smile snow song sorrow soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine Thomas Bailey Aldrich thou art thoughts tread unto veery voice wait waves wind wings wonder woods word youth
Passagens conhecidas
Página 55 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll!
Página 56 - And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
Página 95 - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.
Página 43 - THE BAREFOOT BOY. BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican.
Página 7 - Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! By angel hands to valor given ; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Página 17 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Página 238 - A fire-mist and a planet, — A crystal and a cell, — A jelly-fish and a saurian, And caves where the cave-men dwell ; Then a sense of law and beauty, And a face turned from the clod, — Some call it Evolution, And others call it God.
Página 5 - WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light...
Página 13 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Página 55 - I hear a voice that sings ;Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low- vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!