The Writings of John Burroughs: Birds and poets, with other papersHoughton, Mifflin, & Company, 1904 |
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The Writings of John Burroughs: Birds and poets, with other papers. III John Burroughs Visualização completa - 1904 |
Termos e frases comuns
æsthetic April BARN SWALLOW beauty behold bird blood bobolink breath brown thrasher character charm color creature cuckoo earth Emerson emotional face fact feeling fields hear heard heart herd hermit thrush human intellectual kind 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 species spirit spring stand strong 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 wings winter wonder wood thrush woods
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Página 19 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see — we feel that it is there.
Página 19 - Leave 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...
Página 26 - White are his shoulders and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a Bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee,...
Página 29 - Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my school-boy days I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways, In bush and tree and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
Página 248 - Or, crown'd with attributes of woe Like glories, move his course, and show That life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom To shape and use.
Página 47 - And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions, I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still...
Página 19 - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Página 126 - IT is the first mild day of March : Each minute sweeter than before, The redbreast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare And grass in the green field.
Página 30 - Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year...
Página 122 - And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea ; Where now the seamew pipes, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly The happy birds, that change their sky To build and brood ; that live their lives From land to land ; and in my breast Spring wakens too ; and my regret Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest.