Poems, by Edward Rowland Sill.Scholarly Publishing Office, University of Michigan Library, 1889 - Всего страниц: 124 |
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Æons Ancient Error Aphrodite azure beautiful bird Blindfold blue Book of Hours bosom breast breath calm CARPE DIEM child Christmas Day Christmas in California cloud Dare dark darkling dawn deep Desire of Sleep divine dome dream dull Eve's Daughter eyes face Faith fear feet Field Notes Five Lives flashes flower Fool's Prayer frog gleam glimmering gloom grass grow hand hath heart heaven hollow Hush laughing light Links of Chance lips lonely Medicean's Metui Moritura mind monad morning never night o'er peace pity poems Praxiteles Redwoods round shadow shine silence sing smile soft song soul sound stars strange sway sweet thee thine things thou art thro Thrush tongues tranquil tree Truth at Last turn unto Venus of Milo voice wait weep whispering Wiegenlied wild things wind wing wise Wonderful Thought wondrous Words
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Стр. 62 - The royal feast was done; the King Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!" The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before; , They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch's silken stool; His pleading voice arose: "O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool! 'No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool: The...
Стр. 27 - FORENOON and afternoon and night, — Forenoon, And afternoon, and night,— Forenoon, and — what! The empty song repeats itself. No more ? Yea, that is Life : make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.
Стр. 33 - Has Time grown sleepy at his post, And let the exiled Summer back, Or is it her regretful ghost, Or witchcraft of the almanac ? While wandering breaths of mignonette In at the open window come, I send my thoughts afar, and let Them paint your Christmas Day at home.
Стр. 16 - World, wise old world, What may man do for thee ? Thou that art greater than all of us, What wilt thou do to me ? This glossy curve of the tall grass-spear — Can I make its lustrous green more clear ? This tapering shaft of oat, that knows To grow erect as the great pine grows, And to sway in the wind as well as he — Can I teach it to nod more graciously ? The lark on the mossy rail so nigh...
Стр. 20 - Life is a game the soul can play With fewer pieces than men say. Only to grow as the grass grows, Prating not of joys or woes; To burn as the steady hearth-fire burns ; To shine as the star can shine, Or only as the mote of dust that turns Darkling and twinkling in the beam of light divine...
Стр. 52 - Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily He seized upon an atom of bug, and fed. One was a tattered monad, called a poet; And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: 'Oh, the little female monad's lips! Oh, the little female monad's eyes: Ah. the little, little, female, female monad!
Стр. 61 - T is not in endless striving, Thy quest is found : Be still and listen ; Be still and drink the quiet Of all around. Not for thy crying, Not for thy loud beseeching, Will peace draw near : Rest with palms folded ; Rest with thine eyelids fallen — Lo ! peace is here.
Стр. 44 - A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this Blunt thing — !" he snapt and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field.
Стр. 64 - These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. "The ill-timed truth we might have kept — Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung? "Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders — oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. "Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will; but Thou,...
Стр. 45 - And peace with perfect rest its bosom fills. There the pure mist, the pity of the sea, Comes as a white, soft hand, and reaches o'er And touches its still face most tenderly. Unstirred and calm, amid our shifting years, Lo ! where it lies, far from the clash and roar, With quiet distance blurred, as if thro
Библиографические данные
| Название | Poems, by Edward Rowland Sill. Making of America |
| Автор | Edward Rowland Sill |
| Издатель | Scholarly Publishing Office, University of Michigan Library, 1889 |
| Владелец оригинала: | Мичиганский университет |
| Оцифровано | 17 фев 2006 |
| ISBN | 1425508294, 9781425508296 |
| Количество страниц | Всего страниц: 124 |
| Экспорт цитаты | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |