American Poetry

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Alban Bertram De Mille
Allyn and Bacon, 1923 - 350 oldal

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20. oldal - So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care . Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.
18. oldal - Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image.
xxi. oldal - O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; 10 But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!
20. oldal - Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
104. 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: Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
125. oldal - And this was the reason that, long ago. In this kingdom by the sea. A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me.
7. oldal - They fought, like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered— but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won; Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun.
137. oldal - Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, " Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of
lxiii. oldal - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
70. oldal - Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild-flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung...

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