The Writings of John Greenleaf Whittier: Poems of nature: poems subjective and reminiscent: religious poems

Framsida
Houghton, Mifflin, 1889

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Sida 93 - What wondrous life is this I lead ! Ripe apples drop about my head ; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach ; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Sida 98 - So much one man can do That does both act and know. They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome...
Sida 97 - Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient rights in vain: But those do hold or break As men are strong or weak.
Sida 326 - But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
Sida 30 - I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh ! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces.
Sida 94 - Then, languishing with ease, I toss On pallets swoln of velvet moss, While the wind, cooling through the boughs, Flatters with air my panting brows.
Sida 184 - Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee : They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.
Sida 184 - FREEDOM ! thou art not; as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves.
Sida 102 - The tone and temper of his mind may be most fitly expressed in his own paraphrase of Horace : " Climb at Court for me that will, Tottering Favor's pinnacle ; All I seek is to lie still ! Settled in some secret nest, In calm leisure let me rest ; And, far off the public stage, Pass away my silent age. Thus, when, without noise, unknown, I have lived out all my span, I shall die without a groan, An old, honest countryman.
Sida 32 - This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss: The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.

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