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ALFRED beauty birds blow blue bright brown CARL SANDBURG close clouds comes dark dawn dead dear deep door dreams earth England eyes face fall feet fields fire flame flowers garden give goes gold golden grass gray green grow hand hear heart hills hour JOHN keep land leaves light lines living London lonely look Lord moon morning never night once pass picture play poems poet poetry publishers quiet rain Read rest river road ROBERT rose round sails selections shadows shining ships silence sing sleep snow soft song soul sound Spring stand stars street sweet There's things THOMAS thought tide town trees verse voice walk wall wandering watch wild wind window wings woods yellow young
Página 54 - I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
Página 181 - Requiem Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Página 199 - said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor. And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head: And he smote upon the door again a second time;
Página 185 - Beneath whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine — Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget!
Página 182 - WHEN Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the East to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews ? for we have seen his star in the East, and are come to worship him.
Página 185 - The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart: Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget!
Página 161 - A late lark twitters from the quiet skies ; And from the west, Where the sun, his day's work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace.
Página 147 - Afterwards WHEN the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay, And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings, Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say, 'He was a man who used to notice such things'? If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid's soundless blink, The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think, 'To him this must have been a familiar sight.
Página 97 - THE OLD SHIPS I HAVE seen old ships sail like swans asleep Beyond the village which men still call Tyre, With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep For Famagusta and the hidden sun That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire ; And all those ships were certainly so old Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun, Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges, The pirate Genoese Hell-raked them till they rolled Blood, water, fruit, and corpses up the hold. But now through friendly seas they softly run, Painted...