Poetry, Volume 14Harriet Monroe Modern Poetry Association, 1919 - American poetry |
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Page 5
... pattern shaped into big ungodly flowers . She came through the short willows ; she came beside me Smiling as if a crowd were watching her from the weeds . " What is not picked , now , in the [ 5 ] H. L. Davis The Gypsy Girl.
... pattern shaped into big ungodly flowers . She came through the short willows ; she came beside me Smiling as if a crowd were watching her from the weeds . " What is not picked , now , in the [ 5 ] H. L. Davis The Gypsy Girl.
Page 12
... flower - garden : flags the color of far waters , White locust flowers in the rain , young flowers in the grass . Play up a tune , sing loud and handsome , O soul ! The garden abides , it is not like love , nor the song Where some lost ...
... flower - garden : flags the color of far waters , White locust flowers in the rain , young flowers in the grass . Play up a tune , sing loud and handsome , O soul ! The garden abides , it is not like love , nor the song Where some lost ...
Page 15
... flower blossoms and no child is born . But not as Mary Magdalen came to the tomb , The women in the gardens of Adonis , Crying , " The winter sun is yet upon us , " Planted in baskets seeds of various bloom , Which sprouted like frail ...
... flower blossoms and no child is born . But not as Mary Magdalen came to the tomb , The women in the gardens of Adonis , Crying , " The winter sun is yet upon us , " Planted in baskets seeds of various bloom , Which sprouted like frail ...
Page 16
Harriet Monroe. The flesh fade flower - like while the soul kept breath Beyond the body's death , Even as nature which revives ; In consummation of the faith That Tammuz , the Soul , survives , And is not sacrificed In the darkness where ...
Harriet Monroe. The flesh fade flower - like while the soul kept breath Beyond the body's death , Even as nature which revives ; In consummation of the faith That Tammuz , the Soul , survives , And is not sacrificed In the darkness where ...
Page 28
... flower I planted has bloomed at thy head ! " " Oh , let it bloom , let it bloom , let it bloom in full flower ! Whosoever once dies - lo , she rests in the grave . " THE BATTLEFIELD Black , oh , black was once the plowing — hai , hai ...
... flower I planted has bloomed at thy head ! " " Oh , let it bloom , let it bloom , let it bloom in full flower ! Whosoever once dies - lo , she rests in the grave . " THE BATTLEFIELD Black , oh , black was once the plowing — hai , hai ...
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American Amy Lowell anthology artistic beauty blow book of verse Conrad Aiken dancing dark daughter dead dear death dreams E. P. Dutton Edgar Lee Masters Egmont Arens Eleanor Murray emotion English eyes face fall flowers free verse girl Gorham Press grave hair hands hear heart hill Indian John John Gould Fletcher John Russell McCarthy Lamartine laugh leaves light lips live Lola Ridge look Louis Untermeyer lover Lowell Mary Menken mind Miss modern mood moon mother never night pansies passed perhaps Phelps plays poems poet poetic poetry Privately printed Propertius prose rhythms Richard Aldington Rilke Rose shadow sing smile song soul spirit spring stars street summer tell thing thou thought tion translations trees Ukrainian Untermeyer volume walking Walt Whitman wind wonder words Yellow Emperor young
Popular passages
Page 151 - ... died, Do not weep. War is kind. Swift blazing flag of the regiment, Eagle with crest of red and gold, These men were born to drill and die. Point for them the virtue of slaughter, Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a field where a thousand corpses lie. Mother whose heart hung humble as a button On the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind. 77 "What says the sea, little shell? What says the sea? Long has our brother been silent to us, Kept his message for the...
Page 294 - Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten for ever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old. If anyone asks, say it was forgotten Long and long ago, As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall In a long forgotten snow.
Page 68 - ... We were very tired, we were very merry — We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
Page 108 - Underneath all, individuals, I swear nothing is good to me now that ignores individuals, The American compact is altogether with individuals, The only government is that which makes minute of individuals, The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual — namely to You.
Page 151 - Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die. The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind.
Page 92 - Of all nations the United States with veins full of poetical stuff most need poets and will doubtless have the greatest and use them the greatest. Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their poets shall.
Page 112 - Couvrent vite mon front moulé sous son linceul , Je ne veux de vos bruits qu'un souffle dans la brise, Un nom inachevé dans un cœur qui...
Page 292 - THE LONG HILL I must have passed the crest a while ago And now I am going down — Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know, But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown. All the morning I thought how proud I should be To stand there straight as a queen, Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me — But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen. It was nearly level along the beaten track And the brambles caught in my gown — But...
Page 91 - 55, lost my dear father this year by death. Commenced putting "Leaves of Grass" to press for good, at the job printing office of my friends, the brothers Rome, in Brooklyn, after many MS. doings and undoings — (I had great trouble in leaving out the stock "poetical" touches, but succeeded at last.) I am now (1856-'7) passing through my 37th year.
Page 93 - The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.