Poetry, Volume 8Harriet Monroe Modern Poetry Association, 1916 |
Dall'interno del libro
Risultati 1-5 di 21
Pagina 3
... tell how to bear it all , Or live till Noel sets her free , When she need not fear the quick and dead , That every nightfall step the stair , Awaiting the Nativity . Now she will rise in her despair To look out through the leaden panes ...
... tell how to bear it all , Or live till Noel sets her free , When she need not fear the quick and dead , That every nightfall step the stair , Awaiting the Nativity . Now she will rise in her despair To look out through the leaden panes ...
Pagina 22
... tell it straight , though you never could greatly care . For I took a horse that wasn't mine ! the heavens brought me , · But there's one And I'll hang right happy , because I know he is waiting for me up there . From creamy muzzle to ...
... tell it straight , though you never could greatly care . For I took a horse that wasn't mine ! the heavens brought me , · But there's one And I'll hang right happy , because I know he is waiting for me up there . From creamy muzzle to ...
Pagina 68
... tell me , are you bursting so With secrets that the woodlands tell That you must hurtle from the dell , And up , so all the air shall know ? Are you a song and nothing else , Gone tumbling up the night of June ? Is that your form ...
... tell me , are you bursting so With secrets that the woodlands tell That you must hurtle from the dell , And up , so all the air shall know ? Are you a song and nothing else , Gone tumbling up the night of June ? Is that your form ...
Pagina 79
... tell her a joyful thing . The little girl runs to the nursery . The young nurse is doing her hair in front of the glass— The little girl sees how white her neck is And her uplifted arms . Tomorrow they will be gone - they will not be ...
... tell her a joyful thing . The little girl runs to the nursery . The young nurse is doing her hair in front of the glass— The little girl sees how white her neck is And her uplifted arms . Tomorrow they will be gone - they will not be ...
Pagina 80
... lying in her bed . There is a piano going somewhere downstairs . She is telling herself a story and waiting- Soon She will come in at the door . A Little Girl There will be a swift shaft of [ 80 ] POETRY : A Magazine of Verse.
... lying in her bed . There is a piano going somewhere downstairs . She is telling herself a story and waiting- Soon She will come in at the door . A Little Girl There will be a swift shaft of [ 80 ] POETRY : A Magazine of Verse.
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Alfred Kreymborg Allen Upward American Amy Lowell artist beauty book of verse Bowing most politely candle Chicago color Darío dead Douglas Goldring dreams earth Edgar Lee Masters editor English eyes F. S. Flint feel flowers green hands Harriet Monroe heart human imagists Interlocutor John Brown John Gould Fletcher King Solomon lady laugh leaves Legree light little girl little mother look lyric Macmillan Maeterlinck magazine Masefield Masters Max Michelson Miss modern moon never night Old John Brown Orrick Johns passion play poems poet poet's Poetry Society prize published Queen of Sheba Rubén Darío Rupert Brooke Sandburg Second Chinese Second Negro seems shadows Shakespeare Shelley singing smiled song sonnets soul spirit stars things Third Chinese thou thought Three Travelers Watch trees Verhaeren Watch a Sunrise waves wind words writing yellow York young youth
Brani popolari
Pagina 92 - Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities...
Pagina 314 - ... Festoon you with may. Time, you old gipsy, Why hasten away? Last week in Babylon, Last night in Rome, Morning, and in the crush Under Paul's dome; Under Paul's dial You tighten your rein — Only a moment, And off once again ; Off to some city Now blind in the womb, Off to another Ere that's in the tomb. Time, you old gipsy man, Will you not stay, Put up your caravan Just for one day?
Pagina 294 - He laughed like an irresponsible foetus. His laughter was submarine and profound Like the old man of the sea's Hidden under coral islands Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence, Dropping from fingers of surf.
Pagina 277 - ... patron of thieves, Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop, With the little bright boxes piled up neatly upon the shelves And the loose fragrant cavendish and the shag, And the bright Virginia loose under the bright glass cases, And a pair of scales not too greasy, And the whores dropping in for a word or two in passing, For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit. O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves, Lend me a little tobacco-shop, or install me in any profession...
Pagina 315 - The Example Here's an example from A Butterfly; That on a rough, hard rock Happy can lie; Friendless and all alone On this unsweetened stone. Now let my bed be hard, No care take I; I'll make my joy like this Small Butterfly; Whose happy heart has power To make a stone a flower.
Pagina 38 - And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears. But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.
Pagina 47 - Where was he going, this man against the sky! You know not, nor do I. But this we know, if we know anything: That we may laugh and fight and sing And of our transience here make offering To an orient Word that will not be erased, Or, save in incommunicable gleams Too permanent for dreams, Be found or known.
Pagina 292 - CONVERSATION GALANTE I observe: "Our sentimental friend, the moon! Or possibly (fantastic, I confess) It may be Prester John's balloon Or an old battered lantern hung aloft To light poor travellers to their distress.
Pagina 20 - ... wings, those wings! So white that my eyes were blinded, thick-feathered and wide unfurled, They beat the air into billows. We sailed, and the earth was gone. Canyon and desert and mesa withered below, with the world. And then I knew that mustang; for I — was Bellerophon! Yes, glad as the Greek, and mounted on a horse of the elder gods, With never a magic bridle or a fountain-mirror nigh! My chaps and spurs and holster must have looked it?
Pagina 114 - Played for Old John Brown. I heard the ram's horn blow, Blow for Old John Brown. I saw the Bulls of Bashan — They cheered for Old John Brown. I saw the big Behemoth — He cheered for Old John Brown. I saw the big Leviathan — He cheered for Old John Brown.