Opinião das pessoas - Escrever uma crítica
Não foram encontradas quaisquer críticas nos locais habituais.
Outras edições - Ver tudo
amid Apennines beauty behold beneath bird bloom blossoms blue boughs breast breath breeze bright brook brow calm Calypso chee cheek clouds dark death deep dream dwell earth EARTH'S CHILDREN eyes fair fear flowers forest gathered gaze gentle glad glen glide glittering glorious glory grass grave green GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS groves gushing hand haunts hear heart heaven hills hour insect wings land leaves light liver-leaf look maid maiden maize mighty mighty heart morning mountains murmur night o'er Oh father pass path pleasant rest rill Rizpah rock round ruffed grouse savannas shade shadow shining shore sight silent sleep smile snow soft song sorrow sound spring stream strong summer sunshine sweep sweet tears tempest thee thine thou art thou hast trees tulip-tree Ulysses vale voice walk wandering waters waves weary wild wind wind-flower wings woods youth
Página 89 - The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Página 104 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Página 15 - Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Página 264 - Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat ; Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-linU, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man ; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! Chee, chee, chee.
Página 140 - Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow ; Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea...
Página 90 - That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch...
Página 140 - ... twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the grass. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep ; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Página 209 - Shalt thou not teach me in that calmer home The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — The wisdom which is love — till I become Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ? WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Página 145 - ... Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.
Página 150 - And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, Within the hollow oak. I listen long To his domestic hum, and think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn Of Sabbath worshippers.