Sonnets and Lyrics

Coperta unu
Roberts Brothers, 1888 - 135 pagini

Din interiorul cărții

Alte ediții - Afișează-le pe toate

Termeni și expresii frecvente

Pasaje populare

Pagina 55 - THE goldenrod is yellow ; The corn is turning brown ; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun ; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook ; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise ; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies.
Pagina 132 - I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day, And left my work but just begun ; So clear I see that things I thought Were right or harmless were a sin ; So clear I see that I have sought, Unconscious, selfish aims to win...
Pagina 72 - Until the next stanch ship her flag doth raise. Who knows what myriad colonies there are Of fairest fields, and rich, undreamed-of gains Thick planted in the distant shining plains Which we call sky because they lie so far ? Oh, write of me, not " Died in bitter pains," But " Emigrated to another star !
Pagina 119 - OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER Word Pictures in Verse O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather ; When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant; When gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning...
Pagina 66 - Only a hand's breadth the moth-wing flies. Fooled with a candle, scorched with a breath ; Poor little miller, a tawdry death ! Life is a honey, life is a flame; Each to his passion ; what's in a name ? Swinging and circling, face to the sun, Brief little planet, how it doth run ! Bee-time and moth-time, add the amount ; White heat and honey, who keeps the count ? Gone some fine evening, a spark out-tost ! The world no darker for one star lost! Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame ; Each to his passion...
Pagina 32 - OCTOBER. j|HE month of carnival of all the year, When Nature lets the wild earth go its way, And spend whole seasons on a single day. The spring-time holds her white and purple dear ; October, lavish, flaunts them far and near ; The summer charily her reds doth lay Like jewels on her costliest array ; October, scornful, burns them on a bier. The winter...
Pagina 120 - When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining ; When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are, growing ; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting; When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos .together, And count like misers,...
Pagina 119 - Without a sound of warning; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining...
Pagina 32 - HE month of carnival of all the year, When Nature lets the wild earth go its way, And spend whole seasons on a single day. The spring-time holds her white and purple dear ; October, lavish, flaunts them far and near ; The summer charily her reds doth lay Like jewels on her costliest array ; October, scornful, burns them on a bier. The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign Of kingdom : whiter pearls than winter knew, Or Empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line, October, feasting 'neath her dome of...
Pagina 130 - Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state : The symbol, sign, and instrument Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife, Of fires in which are poured and spent Their all of love, their all of life. O feeble, mighty human hand ! 0 fragile, dauntless human heart ! The universe holds nothing planned With such sublime, transcendent art ! Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine Poor little hand, so feeble now ; Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, Its veins so pallid and so slow — {Unfinished here...

Informații bibliografice