Modern American and British Poetry

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Louis Untermeyer
Harcourt, Brace, 1922 - 371 էջ
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Էջ 256 - I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made ; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
Էջ 39 - "My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly, wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn ?" "Why, you shall say at break of day, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!
Էջ 52 - Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world.
Էջ 287 - In Flanders' Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky The larks still bravely singing fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders
Էջ 240 - REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Էջ 38 - Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules ; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said : "Now must we pray, For lo ! the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say...
Էջ 42 - Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side, With a lover's pain to attain the plain Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall. All down the hills of Habersham, All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried,
Էջ 162 - In a Station of the Metro": The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals, on a wet, black bough.
Էջ 82 - Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich— yes, richer than a king— And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place. So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Էջ 237 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

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