The Writings of John Burroughs: Birds and poets, with other papers

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Houghton, Mifflin & Company, 1904

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Стр. 11 - known to all readers of poetry, while every schoolboy will recall Hogg's poem, beginning: — " Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh to abide in the desert with thee!
Стр. 13 - to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam. True to the kindred points of heaven and home." The other poem I give entire:— "Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song. Lark, is strong; 19
Стр. 197 - thirty-six years old, in perfect health, begin, Hoping to cease not till death.' " CHANTS DEMOCRATIC. " They say that thou art sick, art growing old, Thou Poet of unconquerable health, With youth far-stretching, through the golden wealth •Of autumn, to Death's
Стр. 118 - April," and serve as descriptive of parts of our season: — "Now fades the last long streak of snow. Now bourgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow. "Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drowned in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. 121
Стр. 8 - and mad Abbot of Misrule! For such thou art by day — but all night long Thou pour'st a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain, As if thou didst in this, thy moonlight song, Like to the melancholy Jaques, complain, Musing on falsehood, violence, and wrong, And sighing for thy motley
Стр. 11 - do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers! What is that little black thing I see there in the white ? Loud! loud! loud! Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves: Surely you must know who is here, is here; You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging moon ! What is
Стр. 228 - The sum of all known reverence I add up in you, whoever you are; All doctrines, all politics and civilization, exude from you; All sculpture and monuments, and anything inscribed anywhere, are tallied in you; The gist of histories and
Стр. 11 - Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves: Surely you must know who is here, is here; You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging moon ! What is
Стр. 9 - Winds blow South, or winds blow North, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time,
Стр. 11 - 0 throat! O trembling throat! Sound clearer through the atmosphere ! Pierce the woods, the earth ; Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want. 15

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