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Adelaide Crapsey Alan Seeger Alfred Kreymborg Amy Lowell Anthology asked Jason asked Psyche beauty blue called Clytaemnestra color Conrad Aiken critic dance dark dead death Donald Evans dreams earth Edwin Arlington Robinson emotional eternal experience eyes faith feel flowers give gold green haggis Harvest Moon heart heaven human humor imagination Imagist Jason read Kreymborg laughed leaves light lines listen live look mind Miss modern mood moon mystery nature never night Night Court parody passion poem poet poet's poetic poetry Private McPhee Psyche and Cassandra Psyche's quote remarked rendezvous with Death sense silence sing song sonnet soul spirit Spoon River Anthology stars substance sweet symbols tell There's thing thou thought tion touch trees truth turn verse vision voice volume wind woman wonder woods
Pagina 18 - said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head : And he smote upon the door again a second time ; ' Is there anybody there ?
Pagina 18 - Is there anybody there?" he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams 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 108 - 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 transcience 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 93 - Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day ; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown ; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet And left to Heaven the rest.
Pagina 102 - THE man Flammonde, from God knows where, With firm address and foreign air, With news of nations in his talk And something royal in his walk, With glint of iron in his eyes, But never doubt, nor yet surprise, Appeared, and stayed, and held his head As one by kings accredited.
Pagina 342 - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple blossoms fill the air. I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
Pagina 343 - 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 79 - THE SCHOLARS BALD heads forgetful of their sins, Old, learned, respectable bald heads Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their beds, Rhymed out in love's despair To flatter beauty's ignorant ear. All shuffle there; all cough in ink; All wear the carpet with their shoes; All think what other people think; All know the man their neighbour knows. Lord, what would they say Did their Catullus walk that way?
Pagina 95 - I am aware, As I sit quietly here in my chair, Sewing or reading or braiding my hair — Human and simple my lot and my share — I am aware of the systems that swing Through the aisles of creation on heavenly wing, I am aware of a marvelous thing.
Pagina 216 - The color soothed me like a tune, Green leaves all round the gold and red. I lay there till the warm smell grew More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew Between the round ripe leaves had blurred The rind with stain and wet ; I heard A wind that blew and breathed and blew, Too weak to alter its one word. The wet leaves next the gentle fruit Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root Felt the mould warmer : I too felt (As water feels the slow gold melt Right through it when the day burns mute) The peace of...