PoemsA. Hart, 1851 - 371 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 56
... weep . The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears ; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years . There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night ; And grief may bide an ...
... weep . The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears ; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years . There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night ; And grief may bide an ...
الصفحة 62
... Thy conquests , and may weep them yet again : And thou from some I love wilt take a life Dear to me as my own . Yet while the spell Is on my spirit , and I talk with thee In sight of all thy trophies , face to face 62 POEMS . Hymn to Death.
... Thy conquests , and may weep them yet again : And thou from some I love wilt take a life Dear to me as my own . Yet while the spell Is on my spirit , and I talk with thee In sight of all thy trophies , face to face 62 POEMS . Hymn to Death.
الصفحة 68
... Are left to cumber earth . Shuddering I look On what is written , yet I blot not out The desultory numbers - let them stand , The record of an idle revery . THE MASSACRE AT SCIO . WEEP not for Scio's children 68 POEMS .
... Are left to cumber earth . Shuddering I look On what is written , yet I blot not out The desultory numbers - let them stand , The record of an idle revery . THE MASSACRE AT SCIO . WEEP not for Scio's children 68 POEMS .
الصفحة 69
William Cullen Bryant. THE MASSACRE AT SCIO . WEEP not for Scio's children slain ; Their blood , by Turkish falchions shed , Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain For vengeance on the murderer's head . Though high the warm red torrent ran ...
William Cullen Bryant. THE MASSACRE AT SCIO . WEEP not for Scio's children slain ; Their blood , by Turkish falchions shed , Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain For vengeance on the murderer's head . Though high the warm red torrent ran ...
الصفحة 71
... will earthward stray , — To her who sits where thou wert laid , And weeps the hours away , Yet almost can her grief forget , To think that thou dost love her yet . " And thou , by one of those still lakes THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT . 71.
... will earthward stray , — To her who sits where thou wert laid , And weeps the hours away , Yet almost can her grief forget , To think that thou dost love her yet . " And thou , by one of those still lakes THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT . 71.
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
ages amid beam beauty beneath bird blood bloom blossoms blue boughs breath breeze bright brook brow calm city spires clouds cold dark day-dawn dead Deadly assassin death deep deer didst dwell earth fair flowers forest fresh gay woods gaze gentle glad glen glide glorious glory grave Greece green groves hand hear heart heaven hills hour hymn insect wings land leaves light look lovely stream lovers walk maid maiden maize Maquon mighty mountain murmur night o'er pass pleasant rest rill Rizpah rocks round savannas shade shine sight silent skies sleep smile soft song sound sparkles of light spirit spring stream summer sunny sweet swell tears thee thine thou art thou dost thou hast thou shalt thousand cheerful trees tribes vale voice wandering warrior watch weep wild wind-flower winds wings woods youth youthful voices
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 32 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again...
الصفحة 35 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
الصفحة 153 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
الصفحة 34 - His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
الصفحة 214 - Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
الصفحة 42 - Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.
الصفحة 132 - ... breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; — nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does.
الصفحة 138 - There, through the long, long summer hours, The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale, close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming bird.
الصفحة 134 - God ! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill With all the waters of the firmament The swift dark whirlwind that uproots...
الصفحة 85 - THE stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies , I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee ; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to rne.