The Poet's Gift: Illustrated by One of Her PaintersJohn Keese |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 21
Page 14
... And the monarch's feast to share . What ho , what ho , the goblet ! It hath held the holy wine ; And prophets of old Have blessed the gold , And the gods have made it mine : FALL OF BABYLON . Then fill to the foaming brim.
... And the monarch's feast to share . What ho , what ho , the goblet ! It hath held the holy wine ; And prophets of old Have blessed the gold , And the gods have made it mine : FALL OF BABYLON . Then fill to the foaming brim.
Page 39
... holy , And spell of quick'ning melancholy , Thy soul from sublunary folly First raised to worlds above . What though be mine the treasures fair Of purple grape and yellow pear , D * 40 THE SYLPH OF AUTUMN . And fruits of various ...
... holy , And spell of quick'ning melancholy , Thy soul from sublunary folly First raised to worlds above . What though be mine the treasures fair Of purple grape and yellow pear , D * 40 THE SYLPH OF AUTUMN . And fruits of various ...
Page 46
... , My frequent visions , favourite ground ! shall backward glance to thee ; The holy dead , the bygone hours , the precepts early given , Shall sweetly soothe and influence my homeward way to heaven . TO A SISTER . BY EDWARD EVERETT . YES ,
... , My frequent visions , favourite ground ! shall backward glance to thee ; The holy dead , the bygone hours , the precepts early given , Shall sweetly soothe and influence my homeward way to heaven . TO A SISTER . BY EDWARD EVERETT . YES ,
Page 88
... holy spot ! ' Tis the high place of Freedom's birth ! God of our fathers ! is it not The holiest spot of all the earth ? Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side ; The robber roams o'er Sinai now ; And those old men , thy seers , abide No ...
... holy spot ! ' Tis the high place of Freedom's birth ! God of our fathers ! is it not The holiest spot of all the earth ? Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side ; The robber roams o'er Sinai now ; And those old men , thy seers , abide No ...
Page 89
... holy ground ; And we , the children of the brave , From the four winds are gathered round , To lay our offering on their grave . Free as the winds around us blow , Free as the waves below us spread , We rear a pile , that long shall ...
... holy ground ; And we , the children of the brave , From the four winds are gathered round , To lay our offering on their grave . Free as the winds around us blow , Free as the waves below us spread , We rear a pile , that long shall ...
Other editions - View all
The Poet's Gift: Illustrated by One of Her Painters (Classic Reprint) John Keese No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
ALBERT PIKE autumn beam beauty beneath bird blest bloom blossoms bowers breast breath bright brow Bunker Hill Monument CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN chimes clouds dark deep dost dreams earth eternal FELICIA HEMANS FITZ-GREENE HALLECK flash flowers FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD gaze gentle gleam glorious glory golden golden air grave green HADAD HAMPTON BEACH hath hear heart heaven hills hour hues leaf leaves life's light lone look melody mighty moon morning mother mountain mournful murmur night NORTH BURIAL GROUND o'er pale passed rest roar rock roll round shade shadows shine shore sing skies sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream summer sweet swells tears thee thine Thou art throne tone tree twilight URSA MAJOR vale voice WASHINGTON ALLSTON waves weary wild WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT winds wings woods
Popular passages
Page 37 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Page 35 - 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 190 - The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.
Page 36 - Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow: You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow. Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor.
Page 20 - A sister to the night !— Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast: Sleep not! — from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might make Of...
Page 96 - AYE, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath, When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny south ! oh, still delay In the gay woods and in the golden air, Like to a good old age released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away.
Page 160 - And hung his bow upon thy awful front, And spoke in that loud voice which seemed to him Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake The "sound of many waters," and had bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks.
Page 198 - Kishon, is sweeping along ; Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in vain. And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain.
Page 200 - And what if my feet may not tread where He stood, Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, Nor my eyes see the cross which He bowed Him to bear, Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer ! Yet, Loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near, To the meek and the lowly and peninent here, And the voice of Thy love is the same even now As at Bethany's tomb or on Olivet's brow.
Page 37 - He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.