An Anthology of Mother VerseHoughton Mifflin, 1917 - 194 páginas |
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Página xv
... Old Arm - Chair Anna M. Wells 143 Thomas Moore 145 Alexander Anderson 145 Jane Taylor 147 Jane Taylor 149 Eliza Cook 150 SONNETS ON MOTHERHOOD Julian Henry Fane 155 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 155 Francis , Earl of Rosslyn 156 Ad Matrem ...
... Old Arm - Chair Anna M. Wells 143 Thomas Moore 145 Alexander Anderson 145 Jane Taylor 147 Jane Taylor 149 Eliza Cook 150 SONNETS ON MOTHERHOOD Julian Henry Fane 155 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 155 Francis , Earl of Rosslyn 156 Ad Matrem ...
Página 145
... " Oh try and sleep , ye waukrife rogues , Your faither ' s comin ' in . " They never heed a word I speak ; I try 145 Old - Fashioned Mother Poems To My Mother Cuddle Doon The Baby Good-Night The Old Arm-Chair Wells Thomas Moore.
... " Oh try and sleep , ye waukrife rogues , Your faither ' s comin ' in . " They never heed a word I speak ; I try 145 Old - Fashioned Mother Poems To My Mother Cuddle Doon The Baby Good-Night The Old Arm-Chair Wells Thomas Moore.
Página 149
... ; And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle bed : So till morning shineth bright Little baby dear , good - night . Jane Taylor THE OLD ARM - CHAIR I LOVE it ! I 149 Old - Fashioned Mother Poems Jane Taylor.
... ; And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle bed : So till morning shineth bright Little baby dear , good - night . Jane Taylor THE OLD ARM - CHAIR I LOVE it ! I 149 Old - Fashioned Mother Poems Jane Taylor.
Página 150
Elizabeth McCracken. THE OLD ARM - CHAIR I LOVE it ! I love it ! and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm - chair ? I've treasured it long as a sainted prize , I've bedew'd it with tears , and embalm'd it with sighs ; ' Tis ...
Elizabeth McCracken. THE OLD ARM - CHAIR I LOVE it ! I love it ! and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm - chair ? I've treasured it long as a sainted prize , I've bedew'd it with tears , and embalm'd it with sighs ; ' Tis ...
Página 151
... While the scalding drops start down my cheek ; But I love , I love it ! and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old arm - chair . Eliza Cook SONNETS on MOTHERHOOD THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY ASTOR , Old - Fashioned Mother Poems Eliza Cook.
... While the scalding drops start down my cheek ; But I love , I love it ! and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old arm - chair . Eliza Cook SONNETS on MOTHERHOOD THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY ASTOR , Old - Fashioned Mother Poems Eliza Cook.
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Palavras e frases frequentes
ain wife angel arms Auld Daddy Darkness babe Baby-Land bairnies beautiful bird Blynken breast breath bright brow cheek Christina G cradle cuddle doon darling dream earth Eugene Field eyes face fair Father fear feet fold gaze gentle gi'e my ain grief hair hands hath head hear heart heaven holy hush Jane Taylor John Banister Tabb Josiah Gilbert Holland kiss knee lambs LENOX TILDEN light lips Little baby dear Lord lullaby mamma melodious hills morning nest never night o'er old arm-chair ony wife pray prayer pretty purple clover rest Robert Underwood Johnson Roden Noel round Rudyard Kipling shines sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow star sweet tears thee There's thine things thou art thy mother voice wadna gi'e weep wife For ony William Allingham William Wordsworth wings woman Wynken YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
Passagens conhecidas
Página 43 - With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, ' Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!
Página 68 - But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began...
Página 119 - And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And. pointing to the east, began to say: "Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. "And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud and like a shady grove.
Página 68 - But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace : She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
Página 44 - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was.
Página 46 - Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore, " Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,"* And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
Página 167 - SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight ; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament...
Página 46 - When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 75 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile), Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
Página 72 - The oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
Página 43 - Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here! Who bidst me honour with an artless song, Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly as the precept were her own: And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream, that thou art she.