PoemsT.Y. Crowell, 1901 |
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Ergebnisse 1-5 von 77
Seite xv
... strong who cherished Noble longings for the strife , — By the roadside fell and perished , Weary with the march of life . In these sorrows his " higher and nobler motive of action , " which enabled him for the moment to forget what he ...
... strong who cherished Noble longings for the strife , — By the roadside fell and perished , Weary with the march of life . In these sorrows his " higher and nobler motive of action , " which enabled him for the moment to forget what he ...
Seite 4
... strong again . Within my breast there is no light , But the cold light of stars ; I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars . The star of the unconquered will , He rises in my breast , Serene , and resolute , and still ...
... strong again . Within my breast there is no light , But the cold light of stars ; I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars . The star of the unconquered will , He rises in my breast , Serene , and resolute , and still ...
Seite 10
... strong lance shivering breaks . Take thy banner ! and , beneath The battle - cloud's encircling wreath , Guard it ! till our homes are free ! Guard it ! — God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour , In the breaking forth of ...
... strong lance shivering breaks . Take thy banner ! and , beneath The battle - cloud's encircling wreath , Guard it ! till our homes are free ! Guard it ! — God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour , In the breaking forth of ...
Seite 11
... strong wind . And here , amid The silent majesty of these deep woods , Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth , As to the sunshine and the pure , bright air Their tops the green trees lift . Hence gifted bards Have ever loved ...
... strong wind . And here , amid The silent majesty of these deep woods , Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth , As to the sunshine and the pure , bright air Their tops the green trees lift . Hence gifted bards Have ever loved ...
Seite 12
... strong in hand , Came winding down beside the wave , To lay the red chief in his grave . They sang , that by his native bowers He stood , in the last moon of flowers , And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head ...
... strong in hand , Came winding down beside the wave , To lay the red chief in his grave . They sang , that by his native bowers He stood , in the last moon of flowers , And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head ...
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Acadian Angel answered arrows Balt beautiful behold bells beneath birds Bons amis breath bright Chibiabos clouds cried Dacotahs dance dark dead death door dream earth Edenhall ELSIE eyes face fair father fear feet filled fire flowers forest forever FRIAR Gipsy gleam golden grave guests hand hast hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha holy John Alden Kenabeek King Olaf Kwasind land Lara Laughing Water light listen look loud LUCIFER maiden meadow Miles Standish Mondamin monks moon morning night o'er Osseo Padre pass Pau-Puk-Keewis Pray prayer PRINCE HENRY river rose round sail Saint sang shadow shining Sigrid the Haughty silent singing sleep smile song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake stand star stood sunshine sweet Tharaw thee thou art thought unto Vict village voice walls wampum wander whispered wigwam wild wind words youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 127 - T is but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee...
Seite 39 - The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.
Seite 127 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Seite 50 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Seite 50 - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought!
Seite 148 - The heights by great men reached and kept Were not. attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.
Seite 102 - Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices. And jarrest the celestial harmonies? Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!
Seite 3 - THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Seite 357 - Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill. Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming, to whisper, "All is well...
Seite 3 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral...