 | 1822 - 764 páginas
...and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — • Are but the solemn decorations...slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous .woods Where rolls the Oregan, and... | |
 | 1822 - 298 páginas
...and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears... | |
 | 1822 - 758 páginas
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 | John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 páginas
...the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse...slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings . . Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and... | |
 | 1825 - 426 páginas
...majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and poured round Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So -l..ni thou rest — and what if thou shall fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend Take... | |
 | 1826 - 438 páginas
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 | 1829 - 642 páginas
...rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—...That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the Oregan, and... | |
 | 1829 - 436 páginas
...majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and pour'd round all, Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and... | |
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The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and poured round all, Old ocean's gray and... 
