Fifty Perfect Poems

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D. Appleton, 1882 - American poetry - 203 pages
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Page 128 - Respite—respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the raven, " Nevermore!" "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,
Page 18 - He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay: At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue: To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
Page 78 - BY LORD BYRON. The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet; But all, except their sun, is set.
Page 76 - silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.
Page 138 - ALFRED TENNYSON. It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I can not rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times
Page 61 - While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better, by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
Page 12 - loved to hear our song. But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrovvn, And all their echoes, mourn:
Page 10 - your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds: Upon death's purple altar, now, See where the victor victim bleeds! All heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
Page 32 - drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped, what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see
Page 8 - WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge state presenteth naught but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height

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