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American poetry AMY LOWELL Archibald beauty Ben Jonson blue cadence Captain Craig Carl Sandburg Chicago Chicago Poems cloud colour D. H. Lawrence Doolittle dream Edgar Lee Masters EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON effect emotion England fact farm feel Flammonde give green Hilda Doolittle imagination Imagist Poets Isaac John Gould Fletcher knew laughing light Lincoln literary living London look lyric Macmillan Company means Merlin mind Miss Lowell modern movement never night North of Boston personality picture play poem poet's poetical prose published rain rhythm Richard Aldington Richard Cory Robert Frost Robinson seems Slip Shoe soul speak Spoon River stories strange symphonies tell things thought Tilbury Town tion to-day touch trees true vers libre verse violets vision volume whole wind words writing York young
Page 31 - RICHARD CORY Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked: But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
Page 113 - 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.
Page 111 - I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself. But, Warren, please remember how it is: He's come to help you ditch the meadow. He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him. He may not speak of it, and then he may. Ill sit and see if that small sailing cloud Will hit or miss the moon.
Page 114 - 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?' she questioned. 'Dead,
Page 113 - Than was the hound that came a stranger to us Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail." "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.
Page 203 - Hog Butcher for the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler ; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders...
Page 105 - I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I shan't be gone long.— You come too.
Page 93 - The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there.
Page 117 - 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,