Selections from American Poetry: With Special Reference to Poe, Longfellow, Lowell and WhittierMargaret Sprague Carhart Macmillan, 1917 - 373 pages |
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Page vii
... Sweet Home ! EDGAR ALLAN POE : V To Helen . Israfel Lenore The Coliseum The Haunted Palace To One in Paradise Eulalie A Song The Raven To Helen Annabel Lee The Bells Eldorado HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW : PAGE 75 79 123 80 81 82 84 85 87 ...
... Sweet Home ! EDGAR ALLAN POE : V To Helen . Israfel Lenore The Coliseum The Haunted Palace To One in Paradise Eulalie A Song The Raven To Helen Annabel Lee The Bells Eldorado HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW : PAGE 75 79 123 80 81 82 84 85 87 ...
Page 26
... shall end . 15 Beyond my highest joy I prize her heavenly ways , Her sweet communion , solemn vows , Her hymns of love and praise . 20 20 Jesus , thou friend divine , Our Saviour and our 26 TIMOTHY DWIGHT: Love to the Church.
... shall end . 15 Beyond my highest joy I prize her heavenly ways , Her sweet communion , solemn vows , Her hymns of love and praise . 20 20 Jesus , thou friend divine , Our Saviour and our 26 TIMOTHY DWIGHT: Love to the Church.
Page 28
... bucket arose from the well . How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it , As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! 10 15 20 Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave 28 SAMUEL WOODWORTH The Old Oaken Bucket.
... bucket arose from the well . How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it , As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! 10 15 20 Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave 28 SAMUEL WOODWORTH The Old Oaken Bucket.
Page 33
... Sweet flower , I love , in forest bare , To meet thee , when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air . Of all her train , the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould , And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow ...
... Sweet flower , I love , in forest bare , To meet thee , when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air . Of all her train , the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould , And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow ...
Page 38
... Sweet Zephyr ! why that sound of woe ? Is not thy home among the flowers ? Do not the bright June roses blow , To meet thy kiss at morning hours ? And lo ! thy glorious realm outspread- Yon stretching valleys , green and gay , And yon ...
... Sweet Zephyr ! why that sound of woe ? Is not thy home among the flowers ? Do not the bright June roses blow , To meet thy kiss at morning hours ? And lo ! thy glorious realm outspread- Yon stretching valleys , green and gay , And yon ...
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Selections from American poetry, with special reference to Poe, Longfellow ... Various Limited preview - 2022 |
Common terms and phrases
Angel ANNABEL LEE arms band of brothers beauty bells beneath bird blue Bob-o'-link bobolink brave breast breath bright chamber door cloud Concord Hymn dark dead dear deep dream earth eyes fair Fairy feel feet flowers forest Frost Spirit comes gleams golden gray green hand hath hear heard heart heaven hills holy JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER King land laugh leaves Lenore light live look loud MAUD MULLER mighty Minnesinger never Nevermore Newbury town night o'er Persian weaves Pioneers poems poet poetry prayer purple Quoth the Raven RALPH WALDO EMERSON rhyme ring river rock round sail Sandalphon shade shadow shine shore silence sing smile snow song sorrow soul sound spring star-spangled banner stars stone sweet tears thee thet thine things thou art thought Titmouse toil trees voice water-sprites wave wild wind wings woods word youth
Popular passages
Page 68 - Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute...
Page 70 - Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
Page 85 - 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.
Page 19 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 223 - For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
Page 67 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.
Page 69 - 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 69 - I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love — I and my Annabel Lee; 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...
Page 69 - thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore !
Page 84 - 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.