The Home Book of Verse for Young FolksH. Holt, 1915 - 538 Seiten |
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Seite 14
... heard them bleating ; But when she awoke , she found it a joke , For they were still a - fleeting . Then up she took her little crook , Determined for to find them ; She found them indeed , but it made her heart bleed , For they'd left ...
... heard them bleating ; But when she awoke , she found it a joke , For they were still a - fleeting . Then up she took her little crook , Determined for to find them ; She found them indeed , but it made her heart bleed , For they'd left ...
Seite 24
... " I , " said the Bull , " Because I can pull , I'll toll the bell . " All the birds of the air Fell to sighing and sobbing When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin . INFANT JOY " I have no name ; I am 24 IN THE NURSERY.
... " I , " said the Bull , " Because I can pull , I'll toll the bell . " All the birds of the air Fell to sighing and sobbing When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin . INFANT JOY " I have no name ; I am 24 IN THE NURSERY.
Seite 50
... heard of the Sugar - Plum Tree ? ' Tis a marvel of great renown ! It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea In the garden of Shut - Eye Town ; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet ( As those who have tasted it say ) That good ...
... heard of the Sugar - Plum Tree ? ' Tis a marvel of great renown ! It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea In the garden of Shut - Eye Town ; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet ( As those who have tasted it say ) That good ...
Seite 65
Burton Egbert Stevenson. THE SLUGGARD ' Tis the voice of a sluggard ; I heard him complain , " You have waked me too soon ; I must slumber again ; " As the door on its hinges , so he on his bed Turns his sides , and his shoulders , and ...
Burton Egbert Stevenson. THE SLUGGARD ' Tis the voice of a sluggard ; I heard him complain , " You have waked me too soon ; I must slumber again ; " As the door on its hinges , so he on his bed Turns his sides , and his shoulders , and ...
Seite 66
... heard a butterfly Say to a laboring bee , " Thou hast no colors of the sky On painted wings like me . " " Poor child of vanity ! those dyes , And colors bright and rare , " With mild reproof , the bee replies , " Are all beneath my care ...
... heard a butterfly Say to a laboring bee , " Thou hast no colors of the sky On painted wings like me . " " Poor child of vanity ! those dyes , And colors bright and rare , " With mild reproof , the bee replies , " Are all beneath my care ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Alfred Tennyson Annabel Lee Baby beneath birds blow blue Blynken Bob-o'-link brave breast breath bright brown chee child clouds creeping cried dance dark dear door doth dream earth England eyes fairy fear Felicia Dorothea Hemans flowers gold gray green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hill Inchcape Rock James Whitcomb Riley Jane Taylor King land laughed leaves light live looked Lord loud merry moon morning mother nest never night o'er pipe plant play quoth Raggedy rain ride Robert Louis Stevenson Robin Robin Hood round sail shining ship shore silent sing sleep smile snow song soul sound stars storm sweet tell thee There's thine things tree Twas warm waves weary wild William William Blake William Cullen Bryant William Wordsworth wind wings wonderful
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 476 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: — Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Seite 404 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Seite 489 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve ; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair...
Seite 388 - By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die,...
Seite 485 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, ' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ?
Seite 477 - Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i...
Seite 495 - Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear : 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair !
Seite 489 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness!* Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
Seite 226 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Seite 442 - One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.