Sylvan Lyrics and Other VersesF.A. Stokes Company, 1893 - 155 pages |
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Common terms and phrases
Amid arctic autumn bark beat Beneath birds bloom blossoms blow blue born boughs breast breath breeze bright clouds dark Death dream earth EARTH'S CHILDREN Easter morn EVERGREENS evermore eyes fall Of night fleet flowers foam forest forlorn frog gardens and groves gentle gleam glee gloaming gloom glory grain grass groves of Spring happy band hear heart heavenly hill insect leaves light little ones smile meadow mists mood Nature's night NIGHTHAWK pass pines poet pure rain RED AND GOLD RED-BIRD rife rill roam seems shadow-land shadows shining silence silvery sing sleet slumber snow soars soft softly flitting songs Sorrow soul sound soundless SOUTHERN SWAMP strange summer sunset sunshine sweet swift SYDNEY LANIER sylvan city tears thorn thrush tiny TOCCOA trees Twas Vatican Museum vines voice wander afar watch whip-poor-will wind wind's wings winter WISTERIA wood WOODLAND woodpecker Wraiths yearning
Popular passages
Page 129 - There was a willfuluess in the way things were going wrong. The teacher wondered why Doris blushed. It must have had something to do with Mr. Dale ; but she need not feel so grand if she did get him to go to ride with her, just when everybody else was hard at work. Sarah Orne Jewell. THE HEAD OF NIOBE.
Page 59 - Why are you always fleet and bright, With blended attributes of light? Is it because in some far time Your sires of an elder clime To the young Earth were swiftly drawn From the pure potencies of dawn, And through the grace of Heaven increased From the first sunrise in the East? THE SCREECH-OWL i He loves the dark, he shuns the light, His soul rejoices in the night ! When the sun's latest glow has fled, Weird as a warning from the dead, His voice comes o'er the startled rills, And the black hollows...
Page 64 - Forget-me-nots gleam in the grass, For the morning is mirthful with love — • From robins that roam in the glen To the palpitant wings of the dove. O come to the meadow with me, To the rivulet's emerald edge, And hear the low lilt of the stream Where the dew-drops encircle the sedge ; The young leaves look up to the sky, And the red-birds come hither to roam — They love the brook's lyrical flow And its delicate fret-work of foam ! O come to the meadow with me While the music of morning is heard,...
Page 64 - ... the sedge ; The young leaves look up to the sky, And the red-birds come hither to roam — They love the brook's lyrical flow And its delicate fret-work of foam ! O come to the meadow with me While the music of morning is heard, And the rapture of fetterless song Is sent from the heart of a bird ! Come hither and wander with me For Nature is breathing of love From violets veiled in the grass To the tremulous wings of the dove...
Page 147 - IF Mother Nature patches The leaves of trees and vines, I'm sure she does her darning With the needles of the pines. They are so long and slender; And sometimes, in full view, They have their thread of cobwebs, And thimbles made of dew.
Page 3 - Oh, happy band of bluebirds! You could not long remain To flit across the fading fields And glorify the grain. . . . You leave melodious memories Whose sweetness thrills me through, — Ah! if my songs were such as yours They'd almost touch the Blue!
Page 2 - What message haunts your music "Mid Autumn's dusky reign? You tell us nature stores her seeds To give them back in grain.
Page 132 - It matters not that Time has shed His thawless snow upon your head, For he maintains, with wondrous art, Perpetual summer in your heart.
Page 47 - To-day the wind has a milder range, And seems to hint of a secret change; For the gossipy breezes bring to me The delicate odor of buds to be In the gardens and groves of Spring. Those forces of nature we cannot see — The procreant power in plant and tree, Shall bring at last to the waiting thorn The wealth of the roses yet unborn In the gardens and groves of Spring. The early grass in a sheltered nook, Unsheathes its blades near the forest brook; In the first faint green of the elm I see A gracious...
Page 112 - Hayne. Threnody of The Pines (For The Passing Of Their Poet.} The guardian pines upon the hill Were strangely motionless and chill; As if they drew- his last loved breath From the uplifted wings of Death And now their mingled voices say, "The passing of a soul away, — The tenderest of the son's of men — Our dead King Arthur of the pen!