The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell
Houghton, Mifflin, 1896 - 492 Seiten
The present Cambridge Edition of Mr. Lowell's poems contains, substantially in the order established by the author, the poems included by him not long before his death in the definitive Riverside Edition of his writings, and in addition the small group contained in the Last Poems, collected by his literary executor, Mr. Charles Eliot Norton. - Publisher's note.
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ain't beauty believe brain clear comes dark dear death deep doubt dream ears earth eyes face fair faith fall fancy feel feet fire folks give grow half hand happy hard hath head hear heard heart heaven hold hope human John keep kind land leaves less letter light lives look mean mind nature never night o'er once past poem poet poor present rest round seems seen sense side silent sing sometimes soul sound spirit stand sure sweet tell thee thet things thou thought took tree true truth turn verse wait whole wind write young
Seite 53 - They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak ; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think ; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three.
Seite 104 - OVER his keys the musing organist, Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his fingers wander as they list, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay : Then, as the touch of his loved instrument Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent Along the wavering vista of his dream.
Seite 65 - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right.1 And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.
Seite 342 - Nature, they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote: For him her Old- World moulds aside she threw, And choosing sweet clay from the breast Of the unexhausted West, With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true.
Seite 53 - Men! Whose boast it is that ye Come of fathers brave and free, If there breathe on earth a slave, Are ye truly free and brave? If ye do not feel the chain, When it works a brother's pain, Are ye not base slaves indeed, Slaves unworthy to be freed?
Seite 107 - The little brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; All night by the white stars' frosty gleams He groined his arches and matched his beams; Slender and clear were his crystal spars As the lashes of light that trim the stars: He sculptured every summer delight In his halls and chambers out of sight; Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt...
Seite 106 - My golden spurs now bring to me, And bring to me my richest mail, For to-morrow I go over land and sea In search of the Holy Grail; Shall never a bed for me be spread, Nor shall a pillow be under my head, Till I begin my vow to keep; Here on the rushes will I sleep, And perchance there may come a vision true Ere day create the world anew.
Seite 342 - Life may be given in many ways, And loyalty to Truth be sealed As bravely in the closet as the field, So bountiful is Fate; But then to stand beside her, When craven churls deride her. To front a lie in arms and not to yield, This shows, methinks, God's plan And measure of a stalwart man, Limbed like the old heroic breeds. Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth, Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, Fed from within with all the strength he needs.
Seite 105 - 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...
Seite 342 - And some iunative weakness there must be In him who condescends to victory Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, Safe in himself as in a fate. So always firmly he: He knew to bide his time, And can his fame abide, Still patient in his simple faith sublime, Till the wise years decide.