From Palm to Glacier: With an Interlude: Brazil, Bermuda, and Alaska

Forsideomslag
G. P. Putnam's sons, 1892 - 145 sider
 

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Side 145 - That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over. Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!
Side 66 - So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive : Would that the little flowers were born to live Conscious of half the pleasure which they give ; That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone...
Side 127 - Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
Side 71 - THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig"; Bun replied, 'You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry, I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can...
Side 110 - As torrents in summer, Half dried in their channels, Suddenly rise, though the Sky is still cloudless, For rain has been falling Far off at their fountains ; " So hearts that are fainting Grow full to o'erflowing, And they that behold it Marvel, and know not That God at their fountains Far off has been raining...
Side 55 - ... their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest peak of Furness-fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...
Side 24 - Silva's ; and the time is great. (What times are little ? To the sentinel That hour is regal when he mounts on guard...
Side 41 - ... can get some comprehension of what vegetable antiquity signifies; — a lurid light (lurida lux), greenish, as wan at noon as the light of the moon at midnight, confuses forms and lends them a vague and fantastic aspect; a mephitic humidity exhales from all parts; an odor of death prevails; and a calm which is not silence (for the ear fancies it can hear the great movement of composition and of decomposition perpetually going on) tends to inspire you with that old mysterious horror which the...
Side 62 - A cup to the dead already — Hurrah for the next that dies! Who dreads to the dust returning? Who shrinks from the sable shore, Where the high and haughty yearning Of the soul shall sting no more! Ho! stand to your glasses, steady! The world is a world of lies; A cup to the dead already— Hurrah for the next that...

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