Along the Way with Pen and Pencil

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Grafton Press, 1909 - Počet stran: 213
 

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Strana 22 - TELL me, ye winged winds, That round my pathway roar, — Do ye not know some spot, Where mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleas'ant dell, Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest ? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sighed for pity, as it answered
Strana 23 - Tell me, thou mighty deep, Whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, Some island far away, Where weary man may find The bliss for which he sighs; Where sorrow never lives And friendship never dies? The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow Stopped for a while and sighed to answer, No.
Strana 196 - Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
Strana 23 - And thou, serenest moon, That with such lovely face Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace, Tell me, in all thy round Hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man May find a happier lot? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice sweet but sad responded,
Strana 44 - Half a log, half a log, Half a log onward, Shaken and out of breath. Rode we and wondered. Ours not to reason why Ours but to clutch and cry While onward we thundered.
Strana 128 - Vacant the doorway, Rotted the floor, Gone all the glass Where the wind blows through. Snake in a bed Of long, lank grass, Damp all day with the morning dew. Giant pines shelter it, Maple trees shade it, Little birds sing to it Many a song. Who was it fashioned it, Planned it and made it, Building so perfect, so straight and so strong? Falling nuts pelt it As though they felt it A pity to see it So sad and alone. Wanton winds fling through it, Wing through it, sing through it, Feeling their company...
Strana 129 - So brown and so true, Clouds of smoke hung in it, Lullabys sung in it, Soothed Young America, long years ago. Who was it lived in it, Loved in it, died in it? Oh, all the memories Around this old hut!
Strana 100 - As she combs her golden hair. She combs it with comb of gold, And singeth gleefully With a sweetness that can't be told An enchanting melody.

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