The Poets of America, 第 2 卷John Keese S. Colman, 1842 - 326 頁 |
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ALBERT PIKE APRIL SHOWER autumn beam beauty beneath beneath the sky bird bless blest bloom blossoms bower breast breath bright brow CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN chimes clouds dark deep dost dreams earth eternal FELICIA HEMANS FITZ-GREENE HALLECK flashed flowers FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD friends gale gaze gentle gleam glorious glory grave green HADAD HAMPTON BEACH hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour hues hushed leaves life's light lingers lone look melody morning mother mountain mournful murmur neath night NORTH BURIAL GROUND o'er rest rock rolled round SEBA SMITH shade shadows shine shore sing skies sleep slumbers smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars stream summer sweet swells tears tempest thee thine Thou art thoughts throng tree trembling twilight URSA MAJOR vale voice Washington Allston waves weary wild winds wings woods youthful
熱門章節
第 37 頁 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, - rejoicing, - sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin. Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
第 35 頁 - And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor.
第 97 頁 - ... heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave.
第 35 頁 - Week in. week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.
第 162 頁 - And hung his bow upon thy awful front, And spoke in that loud voice which seemed to him Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake The "sound of many waters," and had bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks.
第 283 頁 - The bell's deep tones are swelling; 'tis the knell Of the departed year. No funeral train Is sweeping past, yet, on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred As by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud...
第 35 頁 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
第 20 頁 - A sister to the night !— Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast: Sleep not! — from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might make Of...
第 285 頁 - He presses, and forever. The proud bird, The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the northern hurricane, And...
第 196 頁 - I love ye — chimes of Motherland, With all this soul of mine, And bless the Lord that I am sprung Of good old English line : And like a son I sing the lay That England's glory tells; For she is lovely to the Lord, For you, ye Christian bells...