PoemsT.Y. Crowell, 1901 |
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Results 1-5 of 64
Page iv
... Sunshine The Arsenal at Springfield Nuremberg . The Norman Baron Rain in Summer To a Child · • · 8 སྤྲ 57 THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE , By the Seaside . 121 58 The Building of the Ship • 122 58 The Evening Star • · 127 58 The Secret of ...
... Sunshine The Arsenal at Springfield Nuremberg . The Norman Baron Rain in Summer To a Child · • · 8 སྤྲ 57 THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE , By the Seaside . 121 58 The Building of the Ship • 122 58 The Evening Star • · 127 58 The Secret of ...
Page v
... Sunshine THE SONG OF HIAWATHA , 1855 · Something left Undone Weariness · Vocabulary . FLOWER - DE - LUCE THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND- Palingenesis ISH , 1858 The Bridge of Cloud . Hawthorne . TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN : Christmas - Bells ...
... Sunshine THE SONG OF HIAWATHA , 1855 · Something left Undone Weariness · Vocabulary . FLOWER - DE - LUCE THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND- Palingenesis ISH , 1858 The Bridge of Cloud . Hawthorne . TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN : Christmas - Bells ...
Page xxi
... Sunshine , ” and “ a delicious drive " through Malden and Lynn to Marblehead , to the “ Devereaux Farm , near the seaside , " which gave rise to " The Fire of Drift - wood . " " 6 The following year ( 1847 ) was marked by the completion ...
... Sunshine , ” and “ a delicious drive " through Malden and Lynn to Marblehead , to the “ Devereaux Farm , near the seaside , " which gave rise to " The Fire of Drift - wood . " " 6 The following year ( 1847 ) was marked by the completion ...
Page 2
... sunshine through , Spread a vapor soft and blue , In long and sloping lines . And , falling on my weary brain , darted Like a fast - falling shower , The dreams of youth came back again , Low lispings of the summer rain , Dropping on ...
... sunshine through , Spread a vapor soft and blue , In long and sloping lines . And , falling on my weary brain , darted Like a fast - falling shower , The dreams of youth came back again , Low lispings of the summer rain , Dropping on ...
Page 11
... sunshine and the pure , bright air Their tops the green trees lift . Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades . For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods , the golden sun , The flowers ...
... sunshine and the pure , bright air Their tops the green trees lift . Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades . For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods , the golden sun , The flowers ...
Common terms and phrases
Acadian Angel answered arrows Balt beautiful behold bells beneath birds Bons amis breath bright Chibiabos clouds cried Dacotahs dance dark dead death door dream earth Edenhall ELSIE eyes face fair father fear feet filled fire flowers forest forever FRIAR Gipsy gleam golden grave guests hand hast hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha holy John Alden Kenabeek King Olaf Kwasind land Lara Laughing Water light listen look loud LUCIFER maiden meadow Miles Standish Mondamin monks moon morning night o'er Osseo Padre pass Pau-Puk-Keewis Pray prayer PRINCE HENRY river rose round sail Saint sang shadow shining Sigrid the Haughty silent singing sleep smile song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake stand star stood sunshine sweet Tharaw thee thou art thought unto Vict village voice walls wampum wander whispered wigwam wild wind words youth
Popular passages
Page 127 - T is but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee...
Page 39 - The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.
Page 127 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Page 50 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Page 50 - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought!
Page 148 - The heights by great men reached and kept Were not. attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.
Page 102 - Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices. And jarrest the celestial harmonies? Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!
Page 3 - THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Page 357 - Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill. Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming, to whisper, "All is well...
Page 3 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral...