Selections from the American PoetsHarper, 1843 - 316 páginas |
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Página 22
... Cold from his cave usurps the morning board . London is lost in smoke and steep'd in tea ; No Yankee there can lisp the name of thee ; The uncouth word , a libel on the town , Would call a proclamation from the crown . For climes ...
... Cold from his cave usurps the morning board . London is lost in smoke and steep'd in tea ; No Yankee there can lisp the name of thee ; The uncouth word , a libel on the town , Would call a proclamation from the crown . For climes ...
Página 33
... cold , That now pressed hard and sharp against her touch . The cumbrous collar round her slender neck , Of gold thick studded with each valued stone Earth and the sea - depths yield for human pride- The bracelets and the many - twisted ...
... cold , That now pressed hard and sharp against her touch . The cumbrous collar round her slender neck , Of gold thick studded with each valued stone Earth and the sea - depths yield for human pride- The bracelets and the many - twisted ...
Página 48
... cold hand tremble ? or is't mine That feels so deathy ? Had . Dark imaginations haunt me When I recall the dreadful interview . Tam . Oh , tell them not : I would not hear them . Had . But why contemn a spirit's love ? so high , So ...
... cold hand tremble ? or is't mine That feels so deathy ? Had . Dark imaginations haunt me When I recall the dreadful interview . Tam . Oh , tell them not : I would not hear them . Had . But why contemn a spirit's love ? so high , So ...
Página 70
... cold was the maid ; and though legions advanced , All drill'd by Ovidean art , And languish'd and ogled , protested and danced , Like shadows they came , and like shadows they glanced From the hard - polish'd ice of her heart . Yet ...
... cold was the maid ; and though legions advanced , All drill'd by Ovidean art , And languish'd and ogled , protested and danced , Like shadows they came , and like shadows they glanced From the hard - polish'd ice of her heart . Yet ...
Página 72
... cold , Thine eyes too imploring , thy arms should enfold , And press me this day as thy bride . " She said when , behold , from the canvass arose The youth , and he stepp'd from the frame : With a furious transport his arms did enclose ...
... cold , Thine eyes too imploring , thy arms should enfold , And press me this day as thy bride . " She said when , behold , from the canvass arose The youth , and he stepp'd from the frame : With a furious transport his arms did enclose ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Ajalon amid beam beauty beneath bird bless'd blue bosom bowers breast breath breeze bright brow charm cheek clouds cold courser dark dead death deep dost dread dreams earth EARTH'S CHILDREN fair fear flowers forest frostwork gaze gentle Gibeon glorious glory glow grave green HADAD hand hast Hasty Pudding hath hear heard heart heaven hills hour leaves light lips living lonely look look'd maize Miriam moon morning mountain murmur muse night o'er ocean pale pass'd peace Piso red planet Mars rill rose round Rouville seem'd seraph shade shadows shine shore silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stamp'd stars stood storm stream sunbright sunny sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thought tide tomb trees Twas vex'd voice wake waters wave wild winds wings woods young youth
Pasajes populares
Página 288 - He was chubby and plump ; a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings ; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle , But I heard him exclaim,...
Página 15 - IN spite of all the learned have said, I still my old opinion keep; The posture that we give the dead Points out the soul's eternal sleep. Not so the ancients of these lands; — The Indian, when from life released, Again is seated with his friends, And shares again the joyous feast.
Página 160 - And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms Has made the top of the wave his own...
Página 288 - As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St.
Página 288 - Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
Página 134 - And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all thmgs else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine.
Página 187 - Ye say their cone-like cabins, That clustered o'er the vale, Have fled away like withered leaves Before the autumn gale, But their memory liveth on your hills, Their baptism on your shore, Your everlasting rivers speak Their dialect of yore.
Página 87 - Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; There's a human look in its swelling breast, And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; And I often stop with the fear I feel, He runs so close to the rapid wheel. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell, Chime of the hour, or funeral knell, The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, When the clock strikes clear at morning light,...
Página 254 - Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair ! Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds Unfold! — No language? Everlasting light, And everlasting silence?— Yet the eye May read and understand. 'The hand of God Has written legibly what man may know — THE GLORY OF THE MAKER.
Página 201 - Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind, Yielded to thee with tears — The venerable form, the exalted mind. My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, And struggles hard to wring Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. In vain ; thy gates deny All passage save to those who hence depart; Nor to the streaming eye Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart.