The Library of Poetry and Song, Volume 3William Cullen Bryant "A comprehensive exhibit of poetic literature" -- Preface. A collection of English and American poetry on topics such as nature and childhood. |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 100
Page 740
... Till waves retire , Till death , that reigns with overflowing flood , At length withdraw its sway , And life rise sparkling in the sight of God An endless day . THE MEN OF OLD . I KNOW not that the men of old Were better than men now ...
... Till waves retire , Till death , that reigns with overflowing flood , At length withdraw its sway , And life rise sparkling in the sight of God An endless day . THE MEN OF OLD . I KNOW not that the men of old Were better than men now ...
Page 748
... till wisdom is pushed out of life . Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals , till all are fled , And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene . If not so frequent , would not this ...
... till wisdom is pushed out of life . Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals , till all are fled , And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene . If not so frequent , would not this ...
Page 749
... till they were red , staghound bayed , But still the Jester shut his eyes and rolled his And why ? because the ... till he is sick must fast till he is well ; The wooer who can flatter most will bear away the belle . " Let no man halloo ...
... till they were red , staghound bayed , But still the Jester shut his eyes and rolled his And why ? because the ... till he is sick must fast till he is well ; The wooer who can flatter most will bear away the belle . " Let no man halloo ...
Page 750
... till its tossing crest Strikes them and flings them under while their tasks Are yet unfinished . See a mother smile On her young babe that smiles to her again- The torrent wrests it from her arms ; she shrieks , And weeps , and midst ...
... till its tossing crest Strikes them and flings them under while their tasks Are yet unfinished . See a mother smile On her young babe that smiles to her again- The torrent wrests it from her arms ; she shrieks , And weeps , and midst ...
Page 754
... Till interposing death destroys the prospect . Strange that this general fraud from day to day Should fill the world with wretches , undetected ! The soldier , laboring through a winter's march , Still sees to - morrow drest in robes of ...
... Till interposing death destroys the prospect . Strange that this general fraud from day to day Should fill the world with wretches , undetected ! The soldier , laboring through a winter's march , Still sees to - morrow drest in robes of ...
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
bear beauty beneath blood Book breath bright cold comes cried dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fame fancy fear feel fell give gold grave gray half hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour JOHN King lady land leaves light live look Lord lost mind morning nature never night o'er once pass play pleasure poor POPE pride rest rise rose round seemed seen SHAKESPEARE side sing sleep smile song soon soul sound spirit spring stand stars stood stream strong sure sweet tears tell thee things thou thought Till true turned voice waves wild wind wings young
Popular passages
Page 798 - It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Page 920 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 858 - Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
Page 822 - I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when, with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
Page 876 - And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Page 737 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 822 - May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer ; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these.
Page 812 - Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise...
Page 876 - Cassius' dagger through: See, what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar...
Page 853 - This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch...