Modern American PoetryLouis Untermeyer Harcourt, Brace, 1921 - 406 pagini |
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Pagina xxv
... voice ; his lines boomed with the pomposity of a brass band ; floods , fires , hurricanes , extravagantly blazing sunsets , Amazonian women , the thunder of a herd of buffaloes - all were un- mercifully piled on . And yet , even in its ...
... voice ; his lines boomed with the pomposity of a brass band ; floods , fires , hurricanes , extravagantly blazing sunsets , Amazonian women , the thunder of a herd of buffaloes - all were un- mercifully piled on . And yet , even in its ...
Pagina xxviii
Louis Untermeyer. Free to rejoice In blisses and beauties ! Free as the voice Of the wind as it passes ! Free . . etc. Free , one concludes , to dwell with Music and Wine , Myrtle and Wanda , Art and Letters . Free , in short , to follow ...
Louis Untermeyer. Free to rejoice In blisses and beauties ! Free as the voice Of the wind as it passes ! Free . . etc. Free , one concludes , to dwell with Music and Wine , Myrtle and Wanda , Art and Letters . Free , in short , to follow ...
Pagina xxxv
... voice of New England . Just so , the great mid - West , that vast region of steel mills and slaughter - houses , of cornfields and prairies , of crowded cities and empty skies , speaks through Carl Sandburg . In Sandburg , industrial ...
... voice of New England . Just so , the great mid - West , that vast region of steel mills and slaughter - houses , of cornfields and prairies , of crowded cities and empty skies , speaks through Carl Sandburg . In Sandburg , industrial ...
Pagina xliii
... voice ; here , with analytic intensity , the old iconoclasm and still older worship are again united . The new poets have won their way by their differences as well as by their chance similarities . They belong to no one school ...
... voice ; here , with analytic intensity , the old iconoclasm and still older worship are again united . The new poets have won their way by their differences as well as by their chance similarities . They belong to no one school ...
Pagina 12
... . " Through the hot , black breath of the burnin ' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard , And they all had trust in his cussedness , And knowed he would keep his word . And , sure's you're born , they all got off 12 John Hay.
... . " Through the hot , black breath of the burnin ' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard , And they all had trust in his cussedness , And knowed he would keep his word . And , sure's you're born , they all got off 12 John Hay.
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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.