The Poems of George ArnoldJ. R. Osgood, 1889 - 369 sidor |
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POEMS OF GEORGE ARNOLD George 1834-1865 Arnold,William 1836-1917 Ed Winter Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2016 |
Vanliga ord och fraser
apple-jack autumn beauty bees bloom blossoms blow bright brow crimson crimson roses cruel sea CUI BONO dark dead dreams Drift Drink wine droning bees earth eyes faded fair Fair angels fall fancy farceur farewell filmy fire-lit Fistiana floated flowers fragrance gentle George Arnold gleams glow gold golden golden-rod gone grass hair happy heart heaven hill idly jolly old pedagogue joys kiss leaves light lingers lips lonely maiden mingled moon moorland naught neath never night o'er PALINODE pass pleasure Pleiad poems poets purple rhyme ring roses rosy rustling sail sand shadow shine shone shore sigh silent silver bell sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow sorrowing song summer winds sunset sunshine sway sweet tangled tell thee thou to-day trailing arbutus trees UMMER vines voice walk waves weary the days whip-poor-wills whispers words
Populära avsnitt
Sida 55 - Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He smoked his pipe in the balmy air, Every night when the sun went down, While the soft wind played in his silvery hair, Leaving...
Sida 55 - He sat at his door, one midsummer night, After the sun had sunk in the west, And the lingering beams of golden light Made his kindly old face look warm and bright, While the odorous night- wind whispered "Rest!
Sida 53 - Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. With the stupidest boys he was kind and cool, Speaking only in gentlest tones; The rod was hardly known in his school . . . Whipping, to him, was a barbarous rule, And too hard work for his poor old bones; Besides, it was painful, he sometimes said: "We should make life pleasant, down here below, The living need charity more than the dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.
Sida 54 - He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane, With roses and woodbine over the door; His rooms were quiet, and neat, and plain, But a spirit of comfort there held reign, And made him forget he was old and poor; "I need so little," he often said; "And my friends and relatives here below Won't litigate over me when I am dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue long ago.
Sida 23 - GRAY distance hid each shining sail, By ruthless breezes borne from me And, lessening, fading, faint and pale, My ships went forth to sea. Where misty breakers rose and fell I stood and sorrowed hopelessly ; For every wave had tales to tell Of wrecks far out at sea. To-day, a song is on my lips : Earth seems a paradise to me : For God is good, and, lo, my ships \ Are coming home from sea ! THE MATRON YEAR.
Sida 346 - I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood, Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath, The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood, And Echo there, whatever is asked her, answers "Death.
Sida 54 - Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. Then the jolly old pedagogue's wrinkled face Melted all over in sunshiny smiles; He stirred his glass with an old-school grace, Chuckled, and sipped, and prattled apace, Till the house grew merry, from cellar to tiles
Sida 224 - So let me forget the maiden Clare ! Alack ! who knoweth How love goeth ? Why should I sigh for Clare alway ? Genevieve's eyes have a gentler sway ; And she smiled • — ah, sweetly ! — on me to-day ! OCTOBER. O'ER hill and field October's glories fade ; O'er hill and field the blackbirds southward fly; The brown leaves rustle down the forest glade, Where naked branches make a fitful shade, And the last blooms of autumn withered lie. The berries on the hedgerow ripen well, Holly and cedar, burning...
Sida 305 - Winds, and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, Where men shall wonder at the view, And ask in what fair groves they grew...
Sida 139 - The graceful smoke-wreaths of this free cigar ! Why Should I Weep, wail, or sigh ? What if luck has passed me by ? What if my hopes are dead, — My pleasures fled ? Have I not still My fill Of right good cheer, — Cigars and beer ? Go, whining youth, Forsooth...