Advanced Readings and RecitationsLee and Shepard, 1881 - 450 |
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Strona xxiii
... winds slowly o'er the lea , The ploughman homeward plods his weary way , And leaves the world to darkness and to me . Heavy and solemn , A cloudy column , Through the green plain they marching come Measureless spread , like a table ...
... winds slowly o'er the lea , The ploughman homeward plods his weary way , And leaves the world to darkness and to me . Heavy and solemn , A cloudy column , Through the green plain they marching come Measureless spread , like a table ...
Strona xxvii
... winds , and though some may perish among the stony places of the world , and some may be choked by the thorns and brambles of earthly adversity , yet others will now and then strike root even in the clefts of the rock , struggle bravely ...
... winds , and though some may perish among the stony places of the world , and some may be choked by the thorns and brambles of earthly adversity , yet others will now and then strike root even in the clefts of the rock , struggle bravely ...
Strona xxx
... wind and wave ; has brought the ends of the earth in communion ; has estab- lished an interchange of blessings , pouring into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries of the south ; diffused the light of knowledge and the ...
... wind and wave ; has brought the ends of the earth in communion ; has estab- lished an interchange of blessings , pouring into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries of the south ; diffused the light of knowledge and the ...
Strona xxxv
... again . The west - winds blow , and , singing low I hear the glad streams run , The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun . WHITTIER . It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning , ADVANCED READINGS AND RECITATIONS . XXXV.
... again . The west - winds blow , and , singing low I hear the glad streams run , The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun . WHITTIER . It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning , ADVANCED READINGS AND RECITATIONS . XXXV.
Strona xxxviii
... winds , BYRON . The bell's deep tones are swelling : ' tis the knell Of the departed year . No funeral train Is ... wind - harp's wild and touching wail , A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year , Gone from the earth forever . GEO . D ...
... winds , BYRON . The bell's deep tones are swelling : ' tis the knell Of the departed year . No funeral train Is ... wind - harp's wild and touching wail , A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year , Gone from the earth forever . GEO . D ...
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Popularne fragmenty
Strona 44 - ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord.
Strona xiii - I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
Strona 61 - And gentle sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, Go...
Strona ii - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more...
Strona xxxviii - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread fathomless alone.
Strona 243 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Strona xxiv - Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from...
Strona 380 - HEAR the sledges with the bells— Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Strona 327 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Strona xix - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed...