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Page 43 - When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.
Page 75 - ... the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere, Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Page 31 - In summo custos Tarpeiae Manlius arcis Stabat pro templo et Capitolia celsa tenebat, Romuleoque recens horrebat regia culmo. Atque hic auratis volitans argenteus anser 655 Porticibus Gallos in limine adesse canebat...
Page 18 - I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us — don't tell! They'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody ! How public, like a frog, To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
Page 119 - These are the days when birds come back, A very few, a bird or two, To take a backward look. These are the days when skies put on The old, old sophistries of June, A blue and gold mistake.
Page 231 - A haze on the far horizon, The infinite, tender sky, The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields, And the wild geese sailing high; And all over upland and lowland, The charm of the goldenrod — Some of us call it Autumn, And others call it God.
Page 103 - And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.
Page 33 - Rome ! Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi bow, And what was Goose-Creek once is Tiber now...
Page 134 - Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear. "The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, So each one tunes his pretty instrument And, warbling out the old, begins anew; And thus they pass their youth in summer season, Then follow thee into a better Region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion.