Poetical works

ปกหน้า
Houghton, Mifflin, 1890
 

ฉบับอื่นๆ - ดูทั้งหมด

คำและวลีที่พบบ่อย

บทความที่เป็นที่นิยม

หน้า 165 - I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn,* Where a little headstone stood, How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying,
หน้า 53 - But, my dear little bardlings, don't prick up your ears, Nor suppose I would rank you and Bryant as peers ; If I call him an iceberg, I don't mean to say There is nothing in that which is grand, in its way ; He is almost the one of your poets that knows How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in Repose...
หน้า 74 - And my ear with that music impregnate may be, Like the poor exiled shell with the soul of the sea, Or as one can't bear Strauss...
หน้า 62 - d do that, I should feel very ill at ease ; The men who have given to one character life And objective existence are not very rife ; You may number them all, both prosewriters and singers, Without overrunning the bounds of your fingers, And Natty won't go to oblivion quicker Than Adams the parson or Primrose the...
หน้า 285 - Sometimes a breath floats by me, An odor from Dreamland sent, That makes the ghost seem nigh me Of a splendor that came and went, Of a life lived somewhere, I know not In what diviner sphere, Of memories that stay not and go not, Like music...
หน้า 50 - sa background of god to each hard-working feature, Every word that he speaks has been fierily furnaced In the blast of a life that has struggled in earnest : There he stands, looking more like a ploughman than priest, If not dreadfully awkward, not graceful at least, His gestures all downright and same, if you will, As of brown-fisted Hobnail in hoeing a drill, But his periods fall on you, stroke after stroke, Like the blows of a lumberer felling an oak...
หน้า 85 - Why, if B., to the day of his dying, should rhyme on, Heaping verses on verses and tomes upon tomes, He could ne'er reach the best point and vigor of Holmes. His are just the fine hands, too, to weave you a lyric Full of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satyric In a measure so kindly, you doubt if the toes That are trodden upon are your own or your foes'.
หน้า 79 - Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well, Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain That only the finest and clearest remain...
หน้า 244 - All-Saints, — the unknown good that rest In God's still memory folded deep ; The bravely dumb that did their deed, And scorned to blot it with a name, Men of the plain heroic breed, That loved Heaven's silence more than fame. Such lived not in the past alone, But thread to-day the unheeding street, And stairs to Sin and Famine known Sing with the welcome of their feet ; The den they enter grows a shrine, The grimy sash an oriel burns, Their cup of water warms like wine, Their speech is filled from...
หน้า 151 - ... last, and, ever on the watch, Twitches the packthread I had lightly wound About the bough to help his housekeeping, — Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, Divines the providence that hides and helps.

บรรณานุกรม