The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth LongfellowHoughton, Mifflin and Company, 1883 - 492 oldal |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 34 találatból.
33. oldal
... Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending . There enraptured she wanders , and looks at the figures majestic , Fears not the winged crowd , in the midst of 3 THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER . 33 Page 1 2 2 3.
... Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending . There enraptured she wanders , and looks at the figures majestic , Fears not the winged crowd , in the midst of 3 THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER . 33 Page 1 2 2 3.
35. oldal
... wandered from God , from his essence . ' T was in the beginning Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell , and it hangs its crown o'er the Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in the Heart the Atonement . Infinite is the fall ...
... wandered from God , from his essence . ' T was in the beginning Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell , and it hangs its crown o'er the Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in the Heart the Atonement . Infinite is the fall ...
71. oldal
... wandered long Among the mountains ; and for many days Have seen no human face , save the rough swineherd's . The wind and rain have been my sole companions . I shouted to them from the rocks thy name , And the loud echo sent it back to ...
... wandered long Among the mountains ; and for many days Have seen no human face , save the rough swineherd's . The wind and rain have been my sole companions . I shouted to them from the rocks thy name , And the loud echo sent it back to ...
80. oldal
... wandered , seeking for the Better Land . Emigravit is the inscription on the tomb- stone where he lies ; Dead he is not , but departed , — for the artist never dies . - Fairer seems the ancient city , and the sunshine seems more fair ...
... wandered , seeking for the Better Land . Emigravit is the inscription on the tomb- stone where he lies ; Dead he is not , but departed , — for the artist never dies . - Fairer seems the ancient city , and the sunshine seems more fair ...
88. oldal
... wandered By the Baltic , When I paused to hear The old ballad of King Christian Shouted from suburban taverns In the twilight . Thou recallest bards , Who , in solitary chambers , And with hearts by passion wasted , Wrote thy pages ...
... wandered By the Baltic , When I paused to hear The old ballad of King Christian Shouted from suburban taverns In the twilight . Thou recallest bards , Who , in solitary chambers , And with hearts by passion wasted , Wrote thy pages ...
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Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Acadian answered arrows beautiful behold beneath birds breath brooklet Chibiabos Chispa cloud cried Dacotahs dark dead death door dreams earth Edenhall Eginhard EPIMETHEUS Evangeline eyes face fair father feet fire forest gazed Gitche Gumee gleam golden Grand-Pré guests Gypsy hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven HEPHÆSTUS Hiawatha Kenabeek King Olaf Kwasind land Lara Laughing Water leaves light listen look loud maiden meadow MICHAEL ANGELO Miles Standish Minnehaha Mondamin moon morning Mudjekeewis night o'er old Nokomis Osseo passed Pau-Puk-Keewis pray Prec river rose round rushing sails sang shadow shining ships Sigrid the Haughty silent singing sleep smile snow song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake stars stood sunshine sweet tale Tharaw thee thou art thought unto Vict village voice wait walls wampum wandered waves whispered wigwam wild wind words youth
Népszerű szakaszok
36. oldal - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! ENDYMION.
2. oldal - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
79. oldal - Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace ! " Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.
212. oldal - The heights by great men reached and kept \ ¡ Were not attained by sudden flight, '. But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern — unseen before A path to higher destinies. Nor deem the irrevocable Past, As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain.
219. oldal - I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
25. oldal - SPEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me ! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms. Why dost thou haunt me ? " Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. " I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song...
40. oldal - and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh, Excelsior! "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!
78. oldal - THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies...
162. oldal - As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman : Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows, Useless each without the other!
236. oldal - Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay— A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.