Modern American PoetryLouis Untermeyer Harcourt, Brace, 1921 - 406 pagini |
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Pagina xxxi
... strange and divergent phe- nomena as Vachel Lindsay's General William Booth Enters into Heaven ( 1913 ) , James Oppenheim's Songs for the New Age ( 1914 ) , the first anthology of The Imagists ( 1914 ) , Challenge ( 1914 ) , Amy ...
... strange and divergent phe- nomena as Vachel Lindsay's General William Booth Enters into Heaven ( 1913 ) , James Oppenheim's Songs for the New Age ( 1914 ) , the first anthology of The Imagists ( 1914 ) , Challenge ( 1914 ) , Amy ...
Pagina xxxvi
... strange hungers ; he hunts eagerly for the question behind , the answer beyond . The actual scene , to him , is a point of vivid and abrupt departure . Reality , far from being the earth on which he dwells , is , for Sandburg , the ...
... strange hungers ; he hunts eagerly for the question behind , the answer beyond . The actual scene , to him , is a point of vivid and abrupt departure . Reality , far from being the earth on which he dwells , is , for Sandburg , the ...
Pagina 4
... strange cadence and quiet intensity . Her verses are like a box of many jewels , sparkling in their brilliancy , cameo - like in their delicate con- tours , opalescent in their buried fires . Emily Dickinson died , in the same place she ...
... strange cadence and quiet intensity . Her verses are like a box of many jewels , sparkling in their brilliancy , cameo - like in their delicate con- tours , opalescent in their buried fires . Emily Dickinson died , in the same place she ...
Pagina 17
... Same kind of eyes ; - Well , that is strange : Why , it's two year Since he came here , Sick , for a change . Well , here's to us : Eh ? The h― you say ! Dead ? That little cuss ? What makes you star ' , You over thar ? 17 Bret Harte.
... Same kind of eyes ; - Well , that is strange : Why , it's two year Since he came here , Sick , for a change . Well , here's to us : Eh ? The h― you say ! Dead ? That little cuss ? What makes you star ' , You over thar ? 17 Bret Harte.
Pagina 60
... strange - dere's not de slightes ' showin ' Ob any ha'r at all upon de ' possum's tail a - growin ' ; An ' curi's , too , dat nigger's ways : his people nebber los ' ' em- Fur whar you finds de nigger - dar's de banjo an ' de ' possum ...
... strange - dere's not de slightes ' showin ' Ob any ha'r at all upon de ' possum's tail a - growin ' ; An ' curi's , too , dat nigger's ways : his people nebber los ' ' em- Fur whar you finds de nigger - dar's de banjo an ' de ' possum ...
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Termeni și expresii frecvente
Amy Lowell Anthology ballads beauty beneath birds blood blue boomlay born Bret Harte bright Chicago Poems College colors Copyright dark dawn dead dear world death dream dust earth Edgar Lee Masters eyes face feet flame flowers Frost glory grass Guy Wetmore Carryl hand heart heaven hills Hovey Imagists John Gould Fletcher knew later laughed light Lindsay lines literary lived look Macmillan Company Miniver Miss moon never night play poems poet poetic poetry published Reprinted by permission rhyme Richard Hovey Robinson Sandburg Sara Teasdale shine silence silver sing sleep smile Smoke song soul spirit Spoon River Spoon River Anthology spring stars steel stone sweet things thou thought trail trees turned verse voice volume walk wall Whitman wild William Rose Benét William Vaughn Moody wind write York
Pasaje populare
Pagina 326 - OREAD Whirl up, sea — Whirl your pointed pines. Splash your great pines On our rocks. Hurl your green over us — Cover us with your pools of fir.
Pagina 112 - Miniver mourned the ripe renown That made so many a name so fragrant; He mourned Romance, now on the town, And Art a vagrant. Miniver loved the Medici, Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly Could he have been one.
Pagina 40 - And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin...
Pagina 118 - Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, 'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
Pagina 45 - And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come,
Pagina 340 - Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
Pagina 352 - I Have a Rendez-Vous with Death I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand, And lead me into his dark land, And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death...
Pagina 51 - Here was a man to hold against the world, A man to match the mountains and the sea. The color of the ground was in him, the red earth ; The smack and tang of elemental things; The rectitude and patience of the cliff; The good-will of the rain that loves all leaves; The friendly welcome of the wayside well...
Pagina 30 - Abide, abide, The willful waterweeds held me thrall, The laving laurel turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay, The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, Here in the hills of Habersham, Here in the valleys of Hall.
Pagina 351 - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.