The Poems and Ballads of Robert Louis Stevenson

Portada
C. Scribner's sons, 1919 - 367 pàgines
A child's garden of verses.--Underwoods.--Poems posthumously published.--Ballads.
 

Continguts

Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot

Frases i termes més freqüents

Passatges populars

Pàgina 129 - 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.
Pàgina 26 - I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all — O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
Pàgina 24 - She wanders lowing here and there, And yet she cannot stray, All in the pleasant open air, The pleasant light of day; And blown by all the winds that pass And wet with all the showers, She walks among the meadow grass And eats the meadow flowers.
Pàgina 57 - AT evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed.
Pàgina 58 - So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books.
Pàgina 105 - ... leaping sun, with glancing rain. Here shall the wizard moon ascend The heavens, in the crimson end Of day's declining splendour; here The army of the stars appear. The neighbour hollows dry or wet, Spring shall with tender flowers beset; And oft the morning muser see Larks rising from the broomy lea, And every fairy wheel and thread Of cobweb dew-bediamonded. When daisies go, shall winter time Silver the simple grass with rime; Autumnal frosts enchant the pool And make the cart-ruts beautiful;...
Pàgina 264 - Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places, Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor, Hills of sheep, and the howes of the silent vanished races, And winds, austere and pure: Be it granted me to behold you again in dying, Hills of home!
Pàgina 152 - SAY not of me that weakly I declined The labours of my sires, and fled the sea, The towers we founded and the lamps we lit, To play at home with paper like a child. But rather say: In the afternoon of time 'A strenuous family dusted from its hands The sand of granite, and beholding far 'Along the sounding coast its pyramids 'And tall memorials catch the dying sun, Smiled well content, and to this childish task 'Around the fire addressed its evening hours.
Pàgina 262 - Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I ? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye.
Pàgina 216 - BRIGHT is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said — On wings they are carried — . After the singer is dead And the maker buried.

Informació bibliogràfica