Leatherstocking to Poe's "Raven."

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C. Scribner's Sons, 1904
 

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Seite 352 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new...
Seite 144 - Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria; the sunset and moonrise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams.
Seite 144 - I see the spectacle of morning from the hilltop over against my house, from daybreak to sunrise, with emotions which an angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid transformations; the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate and conspire with the morning wind.
Seite 99 - ON the cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air. I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet ; And I often watch him as he springs, Circling the steeple with easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has passed, And the belfry edge is gained at last.
Seite 191 - The person who screams, or uses the superlative degree, or converses with heat, puts whole drawing-rooms to flight. If you wish to be loved, love measure.
Seite 148 - Here I sit and read and write, with very little system, and, as far as regards composition, with the most fragmentary result : paragraphs incompressible, each sentence an infinitely repellent particle.
Seite 143 - To GO into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars.
Seite 26 - My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground — to die!
Seite 320 - Plum Island lies, like a whale aground, A stone's toss over the narrow sound. Inland, as far as the eye can go, The hills curve round like a bended bow; A silver arrow from out them sprung...
Seite 47 - What though thought is invisible, and even when effective, seems as transient as the wind that raised the cloud ? It is yet free and indestructible ; can as little be bound in chains as the aspiring flame; and, when once generated, takes eternity for its guardian. "We are the children and the heirs of the past, with which, as with the future, we are indissolubly linked together; and he that...

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