American SonnetsThomas Wentworth Higginson, Ella H. Bigelow Houghton, Mifflin, 1890 - 280 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
beauty birds bloom blue Boston breath bright brow Century Magazine Charles Christopher Pearse Cranch clouds dark dead dear death deep divine dost doth dream earth Edgar Edgar Allan Poe Edith Matilda Thomas eternal eyes face fain fair fear flowers G. P. Putnam's Sons GEORGE GEORGE WASHINGTON WRIGHT gold golden grace gray Green Heron grief hand hast hath heart heaven Helen HENRY Henry Wadsworth Longfellow HIGGINSON hope Houghton James kiss land life's light lips lonely Louise Love's memory Mifflin mighty morning night o'er Osgood Pages Poems poet rhyme Robert ROBERT SCHUMANN rose Scribner's Scribner's Magazine shadows shine sigh silence skies sleep smile snow song sonnet sorrow soul spirit Spring star summer sweet swift tears thee thine Thomas Thomas Bailey Aldrich thou art thought truth voice wandering weary WILLIAM wind York Critic
Pasajes populares
Página 40 - AYE, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath, When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny south ! oh, still delay In the gay woods and in the golden air, Like to a good old age released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away.
Página 135 - The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. From the confessionals I hear arise Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the crypts below; And then a voice celestial that begins With the pathetic words, "Although your sins As scarlet be,
Página 138 - I N the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face — the face of one long dead — Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died; and soul more white Never through martyrdom of fire was led To its repose; nor can in books be read The legend of a life more benedight. There is a mountain in the distant West That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines Displays a cross of snow upon its side. Such is the cross I wear upon my...
Página 182 - SCIENCE ! true daughter of Old Time thou art ! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities...
Página 244 - Winged mimic of the woods ! thou motley fool ! Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe ? Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe. Wit — sophist...
Página 5 - Enamored architect of airy rhyme, Build as thou wilt, heed not what each man says. Good souls, but innocent of dreamers' ways, Will come, and marvel why thou wastest time; Others, beholding how thy turrets climb 'Twixt theirs and heaven, will hate thee all thy days; But most beware of those who come to praise. O Wondersmith, O worker in sublime And heaven-sent dreams, let art be all in all; Build as thou wilt, unspoiled by praise or blame, Build as thou wilt, and as thy light is given ; Then, if...
Página 140 - TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS GREAT soul, thou sittest with me in my room, Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes, On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre, lies The twilight warmth of ruddy embergloom: Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries, Wrestling with the young poet's agonies, Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain doom...
Página 111 - MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I ? Thou dalliest outside the palace gate Till on thine idle armor lie the late And heavy dews. The morn's bright scornful eye Reminds thee ; then, in subtle mockery, Thou smilest at the window where I wait, Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state My days go on, while false hours prophesy Thy quick return ; at last, in sad despair, 1 cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air ; When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet, And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at...
Página 123 - SUPERB and sole, upon a plumed spray That o'er the general leafage boldly grew, He summ'd the woods in song ; or typic drew The watch of hungry hawks, the lone dismay Of languid doves when long their lovers stray, And all birds' passion-plays that sprinkle dew At morn in brake or bosky avenue.
Página 170 - We look to thee ; thy truth is still the light Which guides the nations, groping on their way, Stumbling and falling in disastrous night, Yet hoping ever for the perfect day. Yes ! thou art still the life ; thou art the way The holiest know ; — light, life, and way of heaven ! And they who dearest hope, and deepest pray, Toil by the light, life, way, which thou hast given.