Nội dung mọi người đang nói đến - Viết bài đánh giá
Chúng tôi không t́m thấy bài đánh giá nào ở các vị trí thông thường.
Ấn bản in khác - Xem tất cả
ages amid arms bear beauty beneath birds blood bloom blossoms blue born boughs bound breath bright brook calm clouds cold comes dark dead death deep dost dwell earth face fair fall fear flowers forest forms fresh gathered gaze gentle glad glorious glory grave green groves hand hast hear heart heaven hills hour land leaves light living look maiden meet mighty mountain murmur never night o'er pass path pure race rest rise river rocks rose round seemed shade shalt shine side sight silent skies sleep smile soft song sound spirit springs stars stream strong summer sweet tears tell thee thine thou thou art thought Till trees vale voice walk wandering watch waters waves weep wide wild wind woods young youth
Trang 266 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Trang 39 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave. And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Trang 33 - Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Trang 33 - Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Trang 257 - Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Trang 124 - Tis life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp — A moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven...
Trang 41 - Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die ; but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms.
Trang 31 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Trang 41 - Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe.
Trang 123 - And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil: We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves.