Favorite Poems: Selected from English and American AuthorsThomas Y. Crowell & Company, 1884 - 456 pages |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 14
Page 78
... watched , all anxious , every wind that blows . The Old Man by the Brook . Wordsworth . OWN to the vale this water steers ; how merrily it goes ! ' Twill murmur on a thousand years , and flow as now it flows ; And here , on this ...
... watched , all anxious , every wind that blows . The Old Man by the Brook . Wordsworth . OWN to the vale this water steers ; how merrily it goes ! ' Twill murmur on a thousand years , and flow as now it flows ; And here , on this ...
Page 89
... watched her breathing through the night , Her breathing , soft and low , As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro , So silently we seemed to speak , So slowly moved about , As we had lent her half our powers To eke her ...
... watched her breathing through the night , Her breathing , soft and low , As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro , So silently we seemed to speak , So slowly moved about , As we had lent her half our powers To eke her ...
Page 128
... , the household pet ; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale - Darling Minnie , I see her yet . - She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands And fearlessly entered the phantom bark : . OVER THE RIVER . We watched it glide from.
... , the household pet ; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale - Darling Minnie , I see her yet . - She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands And fearlessly entered the phantom bark : . OVER THE RIVER . We watched it glide from.
Page 129
... watched it glide from the silver sands , And all our sunshine grew strangely dark . We know she is safe on the farther side , Where all the ransomed and angels be ; Over the river , the mystic river , My childhood's angel is waiting for ...
... watched it glide from the silver sands , And all our sunshine grew strangely dark . We know she is safe on the farther side , Where all the ransomed and angels be ; Over the river , the mystic river , My childhood's angel is waiting for ...
Page 160
... watched and wept , he prayed and felt for all ; And , as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new - fledged offspring to the skies , He tried each art , reproved each dull delay , Allured to brighter worlds , and led the way ...
... watched and wept , he prayed and felt for all ; And , as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new - fledged offspring to the skies , He tried each art , reproved each dull delay , Allured to brighter worlds , and led the way ...
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Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
angels Anon Babie Bell Bayard Taylor beauty bells beneath bird blessed bloom bosom bowers breast breath breeze BRIDGE OF SIGHS bright brow Burns cheek cold dark dead dear death deep dream dreamt of Heaven earth eyes face faded fair fear feet fire Forever never gazed glory gone grave HALLOWEEN hand hath hear heard heart heavenly hills hope hour Inchcape Rock life's light lips live lonely look Lycidas MAUD MULLER moon morn mother nectarian Never forever Nevermore night o'er pale prayer rest rocks round Rule Britannia shine shore sigh silent SKELETON IN ARMOR sleep smile snow song sorrow soul spirit stars stood sweet T. B. Aldrich tears thee thine thou art thou hast thought tide toil tree Twas voice wandering waves weary Whyles wild wind young youth
Popular passages
Page 25 - THE DESERTED VILLAGE SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain; Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please...
Page 160 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all...
Page 27 - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale, She all night long her amorous descant sung...
Page 151 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 26 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Page 99 - But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Page 35 - 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.
Page 178 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Page 159 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was, to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year, Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place...
Page 422 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.