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Alfred Alfred Kreymborg Amy Lowell anthologies artist autumn Babette Deutsch ballads beauty blue book of verse Chicago clouds color dance dark dead death delite dreams DuBose Heyward earth editor emotions English eyes face feel feet fingers flame flowers folk-poetry folk-song Fourteen shining stacks G. P. Putnam's Sons girl gold golden grass grey hands Harriet Monroe hear heart Helen Hoyt Henry Bellamann hill Josephine Pinckney kiss Knopf Kreymborg lady laugh leaves light lives look Louis Golding Louise Townsend Nicholl Magazine of Verse Michael Strange mind Miss modern moods moon never night passion play poems poet poetry prose published rain rhyme rhythms seems shadow silence sing sleep song sorrow soul spirit stacks of hay stars Street sweet things thought Three sheep graze translations tree walk Wilfred Owen wind words York young youth
Page 335 - And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs — Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Page 339 - The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies! Wind-beat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare! Flake-doves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare! Ah well! it is all a purchase, all is a prize. Buy then! bid then! — What? — Prayer, patience, alms, vows.
Page 282 - I have perceived much beauty In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight; Heard music in the silentness of duty; Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate. Nevertheless, except you share With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell, Whose world is but the trembling of a flare, And heaven but as the highway for a shell, ^- ^ You shall not hear their mirth: You shall not come to think them well content By any jest of mine. These men are worth Your tears : You are not worth their merriment.
Page 339 - Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there! Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves'-eyes! The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies! Wind-beat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare! Flake-doves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare! Ah well! it is all a purchase, all is a prize.
Page 337 - Do what you may do, what, do what you may, And wisdom is early to despair: Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done To keep at bay...
Page 337 - How to keep— is there any .any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, lace, latch or catch or key to keep Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, . . . from vanishing away?
Page 331 - I must study politics and war, that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain.
Page 339 - My own heart let me more have pity on; let Me live to my sad self hereafter kind, Charitable; not live this tormented mind With this tormented mind tormenting yet.
Page 98 - I like to think about that star Canopus, So far, so far away. Greatest of visioned suns, they say who list 'em; To weigh it science almost must despair. Its shell would hold our whole dinged solar system, Nor even know 'twas there. When temporary chairmen utter speeches, And frenzied henchmen howl their battle hymns, My thoughts float out across the cosmic reaches To where Canopus swims.
Page 18 - Let us walk in the white snow In a soundless space; With footsteps quiet and slow, At a tranquil pace, Under veils of white lace. I shall go shod in silk, And you in wool, White as a white cow's milk, More beautiful Than the breast of a gull. We shall walk through the still town In a windless peace; We shall step upon white down, Upon silver fleece, Upon softer than these.