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ブックス All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.... の書籍検索結果
" All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings, yet... "
The Literary Reader for Higher Grades - 99 ページ
Kate Forrest Oswell, Charles Benajah Gilbert 著 - 1912 - 591 ページ
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - 298 ページ
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan,...

The Inquirer, 第 1 巻

1822 - 764 ページ
...melancholy waste, — • Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous .woods Where rolls the...

The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation

John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 ページ
...the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse...•„ That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings . . Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls...

The United States Literary Gazette, 第 1 巻

1825 - 426 ページ
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So -l..ni thou rest — and what if thou shall fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend Take...

Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829 - 436 ページ
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...

The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., 第 2 巻

1829 - 516 ページ
...and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the...

Sermons, 第 1 巻

Cornelius Roosevelt Duffie - 1829 - 444 ページ
...have vanished away. " This earth and ocean, all, Are the great tomb of man ; And all the planetary host of heaven Are shining on the sad abodes of death,...a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. ——Millions — since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep."...

The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., 第 2 巻

1829 - 520 ページ
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still laps? of ages— all that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom....

Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - 1830 - 516 ページ
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...

The Foreign Quarterly Review, 第 10 巻

1832 - 598 ページ
...melancholy waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man ! The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan,...




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