The White Hills: Their Legends, Landscape, and PoetryScholarly Publishing Office, University of Michigan Library, 1864 - 424 oldal |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 78 találatból.
6. oldal
... , the slopes are so diversified , and the valleys wind at such various angles , that a month is insufficient to exhaust the treasures of ever changing beauty which they hold . This is true even for the tourist 6 THE WHITE HILLS .
... , the slopes are so diversified , and the valleys wind at such various angles , that a month is insufficient to exhaust the treasures of ever changing beauty which they hold . This is true even for the tourist 6 THE WHITE HILLS .
15. oldal
... wind Comes burdened with the everlasting moan Of forests and of far - off waterfalls , We had looked upward where the summer sky Tasselled with clouds , light - woven by the sun , Sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags , O'er THE ...
... wind Comes burdened with the everlasting moan Of forests and of far - off waterfalls , We had looked upward where the summer sky Tasselled with clouds , light - woven by the sun , Sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags , O'er THE ...
18. oldal
... wind , north wind , and west wind will come by turns , and do their best . It may blow north , it still is warm ; Or south , it still is clear ; Or east , it smells like a clover farm ; Or west , no thunder fear . Varying with each hour ...
... wind , north wind , and west wind will come by turns , and do their best . It may blow north , it still is warm ; Or south , it still is clear ; Or east , it smells like a clover farm ; Or west , no thunder fear . Varying with each hour ...
19. oldal
... wind fills the air with dusty gold , and makes each segment of a district that was prosaic enough a week before , seem a sweet fraction of Italy . Possibly , it tries its hand at mists . Then what mischief and frolic ! It brindles the ...
... wind fills the air with dusty gold , and makes each segment of a district that was prosaic enough a week before , seem a sweet fraction of Italy . Possibly , it tries its hand at mists . Then what mischief and frolic ! It brindles the ...
24. oldal
... wind's summer sighs . Of the resources of wildness and beauty within the five miles of the Franconia pass - the Eagle Cliffs , the Profile , the Basin , the Flume , the Cascades , and the ascent of Mount Lafayette , we are to treat , of ...
... wind's summer sighs . Of the resources of wildness and beauty within the five miles of the Franconia pass - the Eagle Cliffs , the Profile , the Basin , the Flume , the Cascades , and the ascent of Mount Lafayette , we are to treat , of ...
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Abel Crawford afternoon Androscoggin artist ascend beauty birch blue Campton cascades Centre Harbor charming Chocorua cliffs climbing clouds color Crawford House crest curves dark deep distance dome drive earth Ellis River excursion fall forest Franconia Glen House Gorham grace granite grass gray green Hampshire height hues hundred feet Jefferson Kiarsarge Lafayette lake landscape ledge light lines look lovely lower meadows miles mists morning moun Mount Adams Mount Crawford Mount Hayes Mount Lafayette Mount Madison Mount Surprise Mount Washington Mount Webster Mount Willey Nature night North Conway Notch o'er pass path Peabody River peaks Pemigewasset purple rain ravine region ride ridge river road rocks rocky Saco scenery seemed seen shadow shores side slopes snow splendor steep stream summer summit sunset sweep tain thou trees valley village visitors wall White Hills whole wild wilderness Willey wind Winnipiseogee woods
Népszerű szakaszok
88. oldal - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
289. oldal - Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it: thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of water: thou preparest them corn, when thou hast so provided for it.
6. oldal - Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?— 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
168. oldal - O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
89. oldal - The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best?
152. oldal - We will return no more;" And all at once they sang, " Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam." CHORIC SONG •"THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
197. oldal - He brought me forth also into a large place; He delivered me, because he delighted in me.
168. oldal - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
58. oldal - The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet.
125. oldal - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings; There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.