Selections from American Literature, Part 2Rand McNally, 1927 |
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Adelaide Crapsey Alfred Kreymborg American Amy Lowell artist beautiful blue born called Carl Sandburg Chopin clouds color cool tombs Copyright dead dear dream dust E. E. Cummings Edgar Lee Masters Edwin Arlington Robinson Edwin Markham Elinor Wylie Emily Dickinson Emily Sparks eyes fighting Flammonde flowers garden hand heart Henry Imagists INTRODUCTORY Jeminy Killdee knew Kreymborg laughing light lines live Lizette Woodworth Reese looked lover lyric Macmillan Company Madison Cawein Miniver modern never night Pevensey poem poet poetic poetry prose publishers QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES Reprinted by permission rime Robert Frost shadows sing Slip Shoe Lovey song sonnet soul Spoon River spring stanza stars story street SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS sweet tell things thou thought tree verse volume walk whisper William wind words writing yellow young
Popular passages
Page 776 - 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.
Page 795 - Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down!" I could say "elves" to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there, Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
Page 805 - Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
Page 803 - To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
Page 794 - Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors.
Page 765 - 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. Who made him dead to rapture and despair, A thing that grieves not and that never hopes, Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Page 696 - Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair-lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold.
Page 776 - 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...
Page 700 - With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Page 811 - He cannot sleep upon his hillside now. He is among us: — as in times before! And we who toss and lie awake for long Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.