American Poems (1625-1892)Walter Cochrane Bronson University of Chicago Press, 1912 - 669 pages |
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Page 6
... Seemed on ' s head to grow bedew'd with showers ; His face as fresh as is Aurora fair When blushing she begins to light the air . No wooden horse , but one of mettal try'd , He seems to fly or swim , and not to ride . Then , prancing on ...
... Seemed on ' s head to grow bedew'd with showers ; His face as fresh as is Aurora fair When blushing she begins to light the air . No wooden horse , but one of mettal try'd , He seems to fly or swim , and not to ride . Then , prancing on ...
Page 169
... seemed an angel form of light , With azure wing and sunny hair , Throned on a cloud of purple fair , Circled with blue and edged with white , And sitting at the fall of even Beneath the bow of summer heaven . A moment , and its lustre ...
... seemed an angel form of light , With azure wing and sunny hair , Throned on a cloud of purple fair , Circled with blue and edged with white , And sitting at the fall of even Beneath the bow of summer heaven . A moment , and its lustre ...
Page 184
... loved them still ; they seemed Like old companions in adversity . Still there was beauty in my walks : the brook , Bordered with sparkling frost - work , was as gay As with its fringe of summer flowers ; afar , 184 AMERICAN POEMS.
... loved them still ; they seemed Like old companions in adversity . Still there was beauty in my walks : the brook , Bordered with sparkling frost - work , was as gay As with its fringe of summer flowers ; afar , 184 AMERICAN POEMS.
Page 185
... Seemed new to me . Nor was I slow to come Among them when the clouds from their still skirts Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow , And all was white . The pure keen air abroad , Albeit it breathed no scent of herb , nor heard ...
... Seemed new to me . Nor was I slow to come Among them when the clouds from their still skirts Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow , And all was white . The pure keen air abroad , Albeit it breathed no scent of herb , nor heard ...
Page 194
... men who hid themselves 90 Deep in the woody wilderness , and gave Their lives to thought and prayer , till they outlived The generation born with them , nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them 194 AMERICAN POEMS.
... men who hid themselves 90 Deep in the woody wilderness , and gave Their lives to thought and prayer , till they outlived The generation born with them , nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them 194 AMERICAN POEMS.
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Abraham Davenport Acadian ANNABEL LEE arms Arsaces Atlantic Monthly Babie Bell beauty behold bells beneath bird breath bright Brown Brown University cloud dark dead dear death deep door doth dream earth edition Evangeline eyes face fair father fear fire flowers forest friends gleam Grand-Pré grave green hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha hill Indian land laugh leaves light live look maiden maize moon morning mountain never Nevermore night Nokomis o'er Osawatomie pain poem poet river rose round shade shadow shine shore silent sing Sir Launfal sleep smile snow soft song sorrow soul sound Southern Literary Messenger spirit stars stood stream summer sweet tears tell thee thet thine thought trees Union Flag unto URIAN OAKES village voice waves wild wind wings wonder woods words ΙΟ
Popular passages
Page 507 - He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored ; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in...
Page 211 - To Helen Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land! Israfel And the angel...
Page 381 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Page 221 - I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch...
Page 558 - But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind. With tranquil restoration...
Page 220 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Page 221 - Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore.
Page 228 - With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago. In this kingdom by the sea...
Page 227 - Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan.
Page 507 - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.