The Atlantic Monthly, Том 116

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Atlantic Monthly Company, 1915
 

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Страница 207 - I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference. —ROBERT FROST Chapter 2 Energy Strategy: The Road Not Taken?
Страница 468 - I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms.
Страница 281 - Hitherto it is questionable if all the mechanical inventions yet made have lightened the day's toil of any human being. They have enabled a greater population to live the same life of drudgery and imprisonment, and an increased number of manufacturers and others to make large fortunes.
Страница 207 - I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again.
Страница 199 - MENDING WALL Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let...
Страница 202 - The wonder is I didn't see at once. I never noticed it from here before. I must be wonted to it— that's the reason. The little graveyard where my people are! So small the window frames the whole of it. Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it? There are three stones of slate and one of marble, Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those. But I understand: it is not the stones, But the child's mound—" "Don't, don't, don't, don't,
Страница 219 - Not that, amassing flowers, Youth sighed 'Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall?' Not that, admiring stars, It yearned ' Nor Jove nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!
Страница 200 - I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud Will hit or miss the moon.' It hit the moon. Then there were three there, making a dim row, The moon, the little silver cloud, and she. Warren returned— too soon, it seemed to her, Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited. 'Warren?
Страница 200 - And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand Among the harp-like morning-glory strings, Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves, As if she played unheard some tenderness That wrought on him beside her in the night. "Warren," she said, "he has come home to die: You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time.
Страница 199 - Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage To meet him in the doorway with the news And put him on his guard. "Silas is back." She pushed him outward with her through the door And shut it after her. "Be kind,

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