The Golden Treasury of Magazine VerseWilliam Stanley Braithwaite Small, Maynard, 1918 - 324 strán (strany) "The selections in this book are gathered from American magazines, during the period from 1905 to 1917, which embrace the editor's studies and summaries of contemporary poetry that have appeared in the Boston Evening Transcript"--Foreword. |
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Abraham Lincoln Agathocles Amelia Josephine Burr Anna Hempstead Branch beauty blood bloom for Walt blow blue breast breath bright cloud Commodore dark dawn dead dear death deep door Dragon dream drums dust earth Edwin Arlington Robinson eyes face fall feet fire flame flowers fluttering Gate George Edward Woodberry gleam golden green guns hand hear heart Heaven hills James Oppenheim Jock Josephine Preston Peabody knew laugh leaves light lilacs for Abraham lips listen lonely look Magazine of Verse moon mother never night Poetry rendezvous with Death Ridgely Torrence rose round sails Scribner's Magazine shadows shining ships silence silver sing sleep smile song soul Spring stars sweet thee things thou tree voice wait walk Walt Whitman Whitman And lilacs wind wings wonder Yedo yellow
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Strana 9 - I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
Strana 29 - THE ROAD NOT TAKEN Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth...
Strana 29 - 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?
Strana 293 - 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." "I should have called it Something you somehow haven't to deserve.
Strana 294 - 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?
Strana 289 - So he won't have to beg and be beholden.' 'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.
Strana 292 - And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand Among the harplike 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...
Strana 290 - He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me." "Warren!" "But did he? I just want to know.' "Of course he did. What would you have him say? Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man Some humble way to save his self-respect.
Strana 292 - he has come home to die: You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time." "Home," he mocked gently. "Yes, what else but home? It all depends on what you mean by home. Of course he's nothing to us, any more 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.
Strana 109 - How much it was of him we met We cannot ever know; nor yet Shall all he gave us quite atone For what was his, and his alone; Nor need we now, since he knew best, Nourish an ethical unrest: Rarely at once will nature give The power to be Flammonde and live.