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Sida 6
No writer in America has more steeped his soul in the spirit of German poetry , its
blended homeliness and romance , its simplicity and fantastic emphasis , than
Longfellow . And if he does not often trust himself amidst the weltering chaos of
its ...
No writer in America has more steeped his soul in the spirit of German poetry , its
blended homeliness and romance , its simplicity and fantastic emphasis , than
Longfellow . And if he does not often trust himself amidst the weltering chaos of
its ...
Sida 12
To go through life , unloving and unloved ; To feel that thirst and hunger of the
soul We cannot still ; that longing , that wild impulse , And struggle after
something we have not And cannot love ; the effort to be strong ; And like the
Spartan boy ...
To go through life , unloving and unloved ; To feel that thirst and hunger of the
soul We cannot still ; that longing , that wild impulse , And struggle after
something we have not And cannot love ; the effort to be strong ; And like the
Spartan boy ...
Sida 13
But Hope no longer Comforts my soul . I am a wretched man , Much like a poor
and shipwrecked mariner , Who , struggling to climb up into the boat , Has both
his bruised and bleeding hands cut off , And sinks again into the weltering sea ...
But Hope no longer Comforts my soul . I am a wretched man , Much like a poor
and shipwrecked mariner , Who , struggling to climb up into the boat , Has both
his bruised and bleeding hands cut off , And sinks again into the weltering sea ...
Sida 14
For the soul is dead that slumbers , And things are not what they seem . Life is
real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; • Dust thou art , to dust
returnest , ' Was not spoken of the soul . Not enjoyment , and not sorrow , Is our
destined ...
For the soul is dead that slumbers , And things are not what they seem . Life is
real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; • Dust thou art , to dust
returnest , ' Was not spoken of the soul . Not enjoyment , and not sorrow , Is our
destined ...
Sida 19
I have read , in the marvellous heart of man , That strange and mystic scroll ,
Than an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul . Encamped
beside Life ' s rushing stream , In Fancy ' s misty light , Gigantic shapes and ...
I have read , in the marvellous heart of man , That strange and mystic scroll ,
Than an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul . Encamped
beside Life ' s rushing stream , In Fancy ' s misty light , Gigantic shapes and ...
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angels beautiful beneath birds bless born Bowdoin breast breath bright bring brow child clouds cold College comes dark dead dear death deep dream earth fair Faith fall fear feel flowers gentle give glory gone grave green hand hast hath hear heart heaven Hope hour human Immortality kind lady land leaves life's light lips literary live lone look meet memory mind morning native never night o'er pass poems Poets Portland published resided rest round shade shadows shore sing sleep smile song soon soul sound spirit spring star storm strain strange stream summer sweet talent tears tell thee thine things thou thought tone tree Twas voice volume wake waters wave wild wind wing woods young youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 22 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Sida 25 - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the Pass!
Sida 14 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Sida 28 - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
Sida 2 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate...
Sida 26 - ... Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! POEMS ON SLAVERY.
Sida 18 - I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.
Sida 20 - ALL houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited ; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, As silent as the pictures on the wall.
Sida 19 - I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms, vast and wan, Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the...
Sida 24 - We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way THE BUILDERS.
Bibliografisk information
| Titel | The Gift Book of Gems The Gift Book of Gems, S. Herbert Lancey |
| Bidragare | S. Herbert Lancey |
| Utgivare | David Bugbee & Company, 1856 |
| Original från | New York Public Library |
| Digitaliserad | 6 okt 2006 |
| Längd | 312 sidor |
| Exportera citat | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |