Poetry of America: Selections from One Hundred American Poets from 1776 to 1876. With an Introductory Review of Colonial Poetry, and Some Specimens of Negro Melody
G. Bell, 1878 - 387 oldal
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bear beauty bells bird blood blow blue Born brave breath bright bring Brown cloud cold comes dark dead death deep door dream earth eyes face fair fall fear feel feet fields fire flowers give glory gold golden gone green growing hair hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour John keep kiss land leaves light lips living look marching Maryland morning never night Note o'er once past peace Pioneers poor rest roll rose round shine shore side silent sing sleep snow soft song soul sound speak spirit spring stand stars stood strong summer sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought tree voice wait wandering waves wild wind wings young
56. oldal - IF the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near ; Shadow and sunlight are the same ; /...,'..'. The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
123. oldal - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
124. oldal - What a gush of euphony voluminously wells' How it swells How it dwells On the Future; how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
125. oldal - In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people, They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman, They are neither brute nor human, They are Ghouls...
24. oldal - 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.
122. oldal - thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.
114. oldal - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil : Still as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new...
73. oldal - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
71. oldal - ... with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle...