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A Thousand and One Gems of English and American Poetry, from Chaucer to Tennyson
Edwin O. Chapman
Previsualització no disponible - 2016
A Thousand and One Gems of English and American Poetry from Chaucer to ...
Edwin O. Chapman
Previsualització no disponible - 1917
A Thousand and One Gems of English and American Poetry, from Chaucer to ...
Edwin O. Chapman
Previsualització no disponible - 2017
angel bear beauty bells breast breath bright child close cloth clouds comes dark dead dear death delight doth dream earth eyes fair fall fear feel flowers gentle give glory gone grace grave green Half hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour James John King land leaves light live look Lord Lord Byron mind Moore morn nature never night o'er once pain peace pleasure poor rest rise Robert rose round shade shine sigh sing Sir Walter Scott sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul sound spirit spring star sweet tears tell thee thine things Thomas thou thought tree true truth voice wave weary weep wild wind wings woods young youth
Pàgina 15 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Pàgina 384 - 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 sea...
Pàgina 70 - Though in the paths of death I tread, With gloomy horrors overspread. My steadfast heart shall fear no ill, For thou, O Lord, art with me still : Thy friendly crook shall give me aid, And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Pàgina 306 - Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of Death...
Pàgina 29 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Pàgina 83 - Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind: His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or Milky Way: Yet simple Nature to his hope has given.
Pàgina 306 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
Pàgina 349 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame. Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear ; — They shook the depths of the desert's gloom, With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Pàgina 42 - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But, being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may...
Pàgina 30 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!