The Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell: With IllustrationsHoughton, Mifflin, 1891 - 507 Seiten |
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Seite 1
... dear astrology , Which she had conned and conned before , Deeming she needs must read aright What was writ so passing bright . And yet , alas ! she knew not why , Her voice would falter in its song , And tears would slide from out her ...
... dear astrology , Which she had conned and conned before , Deeming she needs must read aright What was writ so passing bright . And yet , alas ! she knew not why , Her voice would falter in its song , And tears would slide from out her ...
Seite 5
... dear violet ! Some of thy modesty , That blossoms here as well , unseen , As if before the world thou ' dst been , Oh , give , to strengthen me . THE BEGGAR . A BEGGAR through the world am I , - From place to place I wander by . Fill up ...
... dear violet ! Some of thy modesty , That blossoms here as well , unseen , As if before the world thou ' dst been , Oh , give , to strengthen me . THE BEGGAR . A BEGGAR through the world am I , - From place to place I wander by . Fill up ...
Seite 16
... dear God , Prove title to your heirship vast By record of a well - filled past ; A heritage , it seems to me , Well worth a life to hold in fee . THE ROSE : A BALLAD . I. IN his tower sat the poet Gazing on the roaring sea , " Take this ...
... dear God , Prove title to your heirship vast By record of a well - filled past ; A heritage , it seems to me , Well worth a life to hold in fee . THE ROSE : A BALLAD . I. IN his tower sat the poet Gazing on the roaring sea , " Take this ...
Seite 17
... dear violet ! Thy blue eyes are only wet The death - watch ticked behind the wall , The blackness rustled like a pall , The moaning wind did rise and fall Among the bleak pines , Rosaline ! My heart beat thickly in mine ears : The lids ...
... dear violet ! Thy blue eyes are only wet The death - watch ticked behind the wall , The blackness rustled like a pall , The moaning wind did rise and fall Among the bleak pines , Rosaline ! My heart beat thickly in mine ears : The lids ...
Seite 21
... dear power . VIII . TO M. W. , ON HER BIRTHDAY . MAIDEN , when such a soul as thine is born , The morning - stars their ancient music make , And , joyful , once again their song awake , Long silent now with melancholy scorn ; And thou ...
... dear power . VIII . TO M. W. , ON HER BIRTHDAY . MAIDEN , when such a soul as thine is born , The morning - stars their ancient music make , And , joyful , once again their song awake , Long silent now with melancholy scorn ; And thou ...
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afore agin ain't aint airth arter Auf wiedersehen beauty bein Ben Jonson Biglow bobolink brain Caleb Cushing Clotho dark dear deep divine doth dream ears earth England eyes faith fancy feel feller folks fust give God's gret hand hath hear heart heaven heerd hope idee Jaalam John ketch kind larn leaves letters light lives long ez look mind Muse nature neath never nigger night nothin o'er ollers once poet poor preterite rhyme round Sawin sech seemed silent sing Sir Launfal slavery song soul spiles spirit sunshine sure sweet tell thee there's thet thet's thine things thou thought thout thru tion tree truth turn twixt verse warn't Wilbur wind word wun't Yankee
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 69 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.
Seite 107 - 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?
Seite 107 - 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...
Seite 111 - As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, A light shone round about the place ; The leper no longer crouched at his side, But stood before him glorified, Shining and tall and fair and straight As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — Himself the Gate whereby men can Enter the temple of God in Man.
Seite 107 - The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace...
Seite 68 - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side...
Seite 109 - Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, From the snow five thousand summers old; On open wold and hilltop bleak It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek. It carried a shiver everywhere From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; The little brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; All night by the white stars...
Seite 400 - Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. I praise him not ; it were too late ; And some innative 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.
Seite 111 - The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share, ! For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.
Seite 110 - But the wind without was eager and sharp, Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, And rattles and wrings The icy strings, Singing, in dreary monotone, A Christmas carol of its own, Whose burden still, as he might guess, Was — "Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!" The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, And he sat in the gateway and saw all night The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, Through the window-slits of the castle old, Build...