The Writings of John Burroughs: Birds and poets, with other papersHoughton, Mifflin & Company, 1904 |
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æsthetic April BARN SWALLOW beauty behold bird blood bobolink breath brown thrasher character charm color creature cuckoo earth Emerson emotional especially fact feeling fields hear heard heart herd hermit thrush human intellectual lark larvæ Leaves of Grass light literary literature living look loon loud master mate melody mind morning mountain nature nest never night nightingale Pe-wee perhaps person plumage poems poet poetic poetry purple finch reader robin sandpiper season seems Shakespeare sing snow song song sparrow songster soul sound sparrow spirit spring stand summer swallows sweet Tennyson thee things Thoreau thou thought thrush tion Titmouse traits trees true utter vesper sparrow voice Walt Whitman whole wild Wilson Flagg wing winter wonder wood thrush woods YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
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Seite 11 - known to all readers of poetry, while every schoolboy will recall Hogg's poem, beginning: — " Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh to abide in the desert with thee!
Seite 13 - to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam. True to the kindred points of heaven and home." The other poem I give entire:— "Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song. Lark, is strong; 19
Seite 197 - thirty-six years old, in perfect health, begin, Hoping to cease not till death.' " CHANTS DEMOCRATIC. " They say that thou art sick, art growing old, Thou Poet of unconquerable health, With youth far-stretching, through the golden wealth •Of autumn, to Death's
Seite 118 - April," and serve as descriptive of parts of our season: — "Now fades the last long streak of snow. Now bourgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow. "Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drowned in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. 121
Seite 8 - and mad Abbot of Misrule! For such thou art by day — but all night long Thou pour'st a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain, As if thou didst in this, thy moonlight song, Like to the melancholy Jaques, complain, Musing on falsehood, violence, and wrong, And sighing for thy motley
Seite 11 - do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers! What is that little black thing I see there in the white ? Loud! loud! loud! Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves: Surely you must know who is here, is here; You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging moon ! What is
Seite 228 - The sum of all known reverence I add up in you, whoever you are; All doctrines, all politics and civilization, exude from you; All sculpture and monuments, and anything inscribed anywhere, are tallied in you; The gist of histories and
Seite 11 - Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves: Surely you must know who is here, is here; You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging moon ! What is
Seite 9 - Winds blow South, or winds blow North, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time,
Seite 11 - 0 throat! O trembling throat! Sound clearer through the atmosphere ! Pierce the woods, the earth ; Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want. 15