Poets' Homes: Pen and Pencil Sketches of American Poets and Their HomesD. Lothrop, 1877 - 286 pàgines |
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Poets' Homes: Pen and Pencil Sketches of American Poets and Their Homes Richard Henry Stoddard Visualització completa - 1877 |
Poets' Homes: Pen and Pencil Sketches of American Poets and Their Homes Richard Henry Stoddard Visualització completa - 1877 |
Poets' Homes: Pen and Pencil Sketches of American Poets and Their Homes Richard Henry Stoddard Previsualització no disponible - 2015 |
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Pàgina 92 - Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, " Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
Pàgina 244 - My driftwood fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the...
Pàgina 264 - Freddy ; and all the snow ; And the sheep will scamper into the fold When the North begins to blow. " ' Which is the Wind that brings the heat ? The South Wind, Katy ; and corn will grow, And peaches redden for you to eat, When the South begins to blow.
Pàgina 8 - I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness ; And all the springtime of the year It only loved to be there. Among the beds of lilies, I Have sought it oft, where it should lie, Yet could not till itself would rise, Find it, although before mine eyes ; For, in the flaxen lilies' shade, It like a bank of lilies laid.
Pàgina 181 - The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the concealed comforts of a man Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air Of blessings, when I come but near the house, What a delicious breath marriage sends forth — The violet bed's not sweeter ! MlDDLETON.
Pàgina 92 - Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; And she, kissing back, could not know That my kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under deepening snow.
Pàgina 91 - THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
Pàgina 128 - THE MYSTERIES. ONCE on my mother's breast, a child, I crept, Holding my breath ; There, safe and sad, lay shuddering, and wept At the dark mystery of Death. Weary and weak, and worn with all unrest, Spent with the strife, — O mother, let me weep upon thy breast At the sad mystery of Life ! THE BATTLE IN THE CLOUDS.
Pàgina 87 - Life,' he said; And ere I answered, passing out of sight, On his celestial embassy he sped. 'Twas at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, A shadow on those features fair and thin; And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, Two angels issued, where but one went in.
Pàgina 243 - The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit — One little Sandpiper and I.