Lyric Forms from France: Their History and Their Use

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Harcourt, Brace, 1922 - American poetry - 527 pages

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Page 41 - No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears, Of pain, darkness, and cold.
Page 370 - In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead; short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Page 493 - TELL me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman ? Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman ? Where is Echo, beheld of no man, Only heard on river and mere, — She whose beauty was more than human ? . . . But where are the snows of yester-year ? TRANSLATIONS FROM VILLON.
Page 68 - Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe. That hast this wintres weders over-shake. And driven awey the longe nightes blake...
Page 438 - THE HOUSE ON THE HILL THEY are all gone away, The House is shut and still, There is nothing more to say. Through broken walls and gray The winds blow bleak and shrill: They are all gone away. Nor is there one to-day To speak them good or ill : There is nothing more to say. Why is it then we stray Around the sunken sill?
Page 41 - Stryve noght, as doth the crokke with the wal. Daunte thy-self, that dauntest otheres dede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.
Page 125 - For us, nor let hell's thunder on us fall; We are dead, let no man harry or vex us dead, But pray to God that he forgive us all. The rain has washed and laundered us all five, And the sun dried and blackened; yea, perdie, Ravens and pies with beaks that rend and rive Have dug our eyes out, and plucked off for fee Our beards and eyebrows; never are we free, Not once, to rest; but here and there still sped, Drive at its wild will by the wind's change led, More pecked of birds than fruits on garden...
Page 66 - Your yen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene.
Page 311 - We'll to the woods and gather may Fresh from the footprints of the rain; We'll to the woods, at every vein To drink the spirit of the day. 'The winds of spring are out at play, The needs of spring in heart and brain. We'll to the woods and gather mayFresh from the footprints of the rain.
Page 481 - Thy too thick buckwheats, and thy tea too thin. Ay! here I dare thee, ready for the fray! Thou dost not " keep a first-class house," I say ! It does not with the advertisements agree.

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