The Yale Literary Magazine, المجلد 80Herrick & Noyes., 1914 |
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الصفحة 71
... ! Dost thou not feel the urging of the wind ? Content ! When earth is lyric with the spring , Or brimming with the fall ! Oh , Laura , wake From summer dreams ! Let loose the passionate storms That November , 1914 ] 71 Autumn Dawn .
... ! Dost thou not feel the urging of the wind ? Content ! When earth is lyric with the spring , Or brimming with the fall ! Oh , Laura , wake From summer dreams ! Let loose the passionate storms That November , 1914 ] 71 Autumn Dawn .
الصفحة 89
... falls into bad melodrama or loses force by repetition . Mr. Noyes has , we think , fallen into this trap , as evidenced in the way he treats the point of the widow's ring being hung on the child's Christmas tree . A powerful touch in ...
... falls into bad melodrama or loses force by repetition . Mr. Noyes has , we think , fallen into this trap , as evidenced in the way he treats the point of the widow's ring being hung on the child's Christmas tree . A powerful touch in ...
الصفحة 93
... falls and the cold moon lights me . This seems to me the difference : that the sun looks at us , but we look at the moon . Her face is turned away , and like a fire which lights up the bottom of the sea , she makes every shadow become ...
... falls and the cold moon lights me . This seems to me the difference : that the sun looks at us , but we look at the moon . Her face is turned away , and like a fire which lights up the bottom of the sea , she makes every shadow become ...
الصفحة 102
... fall blanketlike over the company , and group laughter- tinklings , here and there , hush into respect . Mum , mum , the Philosopher ! quietly announced the atmosphere . Hear , hear ! ' tis Webster speaks , the pendant nether lips ...
... fall blanketlike over the company , and group laughter- tinklings , here and there , hush into respect . Mum , mum , the Philosopher ! quietly announced the atmosphere . Hear , hear ! ' tis Webster speaks , the pendant nether lips ...
الصفحة 137
... from the lips of the drinker . He did not fall before the girl with the scourging eyes , down on the patch - work rug , but he stood in a white trembling before her , till the might of December , 1914 ] 137 Portfolio .
... from the lips of the drinker . He did not fall before the girl with the scourging eyes , down on the patch - work rug , but he stood in a white trembling before her , till the might of December , 1914 ] 137 Portfolio .
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ARCHIBALD MACLEISH artist beauty bird blue breath Chapel Chapel Street cloud color Conn course cried DAGGART dance dark dear Dick door DOWDEN dream eyes face fairy FATHER GURNEY feel feet girl hair hand HARRY HARVEY Haven head heart hill Hugh Impressionism JOHN CARLISLE JOHN CROSBY BROWN John Farrar Khesdeb KING Kittiwake Knight Woolley laugh light lips live look Mathias mind moon mother Nebka never night Nobby Tread painting passed Pause Peru Phi Beta Kappa play poems poet Post-Impressionist Professor Xanvier rose shadows silent singing smile song soul spirit stand stars Street suddenly SYLVIA Tapped Tartuffe tell Thayer thee things thou thought Tires trees turned vision voice walk wind window woman wonder words YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE Yale University York York City
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 428 - I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; And I am desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea hungry...
الصفحة 220 - Know you what it is to be a child ? It is to be something very different from the man of to-day. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters, of baptism...
الصفحة 221 - The universe is his box of toys. He dabbles his fingers in the day-fall. He is gold-dusty with tumbling amidst the stars. He makes bright mischief with the moon. The meteors muzzle their noses in his hand.
الصفحة 220 - They at least are for me, surely for me! I turned me to them very wistfully; But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair With dawning answers there, Their angel plucked them from me by the hair. "Come then, ye other children, Nature's— share With me...
الصفحة 67 - Lingers and lolls, loth to be done with day: Gifting the long, lean, lanky street And its abounding confluences of being With aspects generous and bland; Making a thousand harnesses to shine As with new ore from some enchanted mine, And every horse's coat so full of sheen He looks new-tailored, and every 'bus feels clean, And never a hansom but is worth the feeing; And every jeweller within the pale Offers a real Arabian Night for sale...
الصفحة 70 - Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate : I am the captain of my soul.
الصفحة 368 - Here, as everywhere, the Unfulfilled Intention, which makes life what it is, was as obvious as it could be among the depraved crowds of a city slum. The leaf was deformed, the curve was crippled, the taper was interrupted ; the lichen ate the vigour of the stalk, and the ivy slowly strangled to death the promising sapling.
الصفحة 221 - Come then, ye other children, Nature's — share With me' (said I) 'your delicate fellowship; Let me greet you lip to lip, Let me twine with you caresses, Wantoning With our Lady-Mother's vagrant tresses, Banqueting With her in her wind-walled palace, Underneath her azured dais, Quaffing, as your taintless way is, From a chalice Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.
الصفحة 220 - ... it is to be so little that the elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child has its fairy godmother in its own soul; it is to live in a nutshell and to count yourself the king of infinite space...
الصفحة 38 - I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying. I said; "Wait on, wait on, while I ride below! I shall start a heron soon In the marsh beneath the moon — A strange white heron rising with silver on its wings, Rising and crying Wordless, wondrous things; The secret of the stars, of the world's heart-strings The answer to their woe. Then stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so!