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1916 In Poetry Aladdin beauty beneath bird blood blue boomlay breast breath bright brother Chinese dragons clouds cold cried dance dark dawn dead dear death dreams earth Edgar Lee Masters Elkin Mathews eyes Ezra Pound face fall fear feet fire flame flowers forever garden gold gone grass gray green hair hand hear heard heart heaven hill John Gorham Josephine Preston Peabody kiss knew laughed laughter leaves Liadain lifted light lips live look lover moon morning never night pale Pamplona pass play Poetry praise Rabindranath Tagore rain rendezvous with Death Richard Cory rose sang shadows shining silence silver singing sleep smile softly song sorrow soul stars stone strange sweet tell thee things thou tree wait walk watched whisper wind wings woman wonder yellow Yone Noguchi
Pagina 409 - And apple-blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
Pagina 285 - Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good morning...
Pagina 183 - Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.
Pagina 149 - I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
Pagina 75 - To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moon-beams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call.
Pagina 168 - Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room, Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, Pounded on the table, Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM, With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
Pagina 322 - But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss." Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams And our desires. Although she strews the leaves...
Pagina 323 - Supple and turbulent, a ring of men Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn Their boisterous devotion to the sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source.
Pagina 321 - She hears, upon that water without sound, A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.