Keramos longfellow. Longfellow: The Three Kings, Keramos and Other Poems 2019-01-08

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

keramos longfellow

The star was so beautiful, large, and clear, That all the other stars of the sky Became a white mist in the atmosphere, And by this they knew that the coming was near Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy. Art is the child of Nature; yes, Her darling child, in whom we trace The features of the mother’s face, Her aspect and her attitude; All her majestic loveliness Chastened and softened and subdued Into a more attractive grace, And with a human sense imbued. His father, Stephen Longfellow, was a prominent Portland lawyer and later a member of Congress. Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them; And o'er their spirits there came a This is the forest primeval. This earthen jar A touch can make, a touch can mar; And shall it to the Potter say, What makest thou? There are loose pages but still all attached to spine. In addition, Frances Appleton, a young woman from Boston, had refused his proposal of marriage.

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Kéramos Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

keramos longfellow

Despite her husband's desperate attempts to save her, she died the next day. London: George Routledge and Sons, 1878. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The Spanish Student, 1842 Music is the universal language of mankind. On either bank huge water-wheels, Belted with jars and dripping weeds, Send forth their melancholy moans, As if, in their gray mantles hid, Dead anchorites of the Thebaid Knelt on the shore and told their beads, Beating their breasts with loud appeals And penitential tears and groans. Longfellow took a position at Harvard in 1836. Cradled and rocked in Eastern seas, The islands of the Japanese Beneath me lie; o'er lake and plain The stork, the heron, and the crane Through the clear realms of azure drift, And on the hillside I can see The villages of Imari, Whose thronged and flaming workshops lift Their twisted columns of smoke on high, Cloud cloisters that in ruins lie, With sunshine streaming through each rift, And broken arches of blue sky. Nor less the coarser household wares,-- The willow pattern, that we knew In childhood, with its bridge of blue Leading to unknown thoroughfares; The solitary man who stares At the white river flowing through Its arches, the fantastic trees And wild perspective of the view; And intermingled among these The tiles that in our nurseries Filled us with wonder and delight, Or haunted us in dreams at night.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes II

keramos longfellow

Thus sang the Potter at his task Beneath the blossoming hawthorn-tree, While o'er his features, like a mask, The quilted sunshine and leaf-shade Moved, as the boughs above him swayed, And clothed him, till he seemed to be A figure woven in tapestry, So sumptuously was he arrayed In that magnificent attire Of sable tissue flaked with fire. All things must change To something new, to something strange; Nothing that is can pause or stay; The moon will wax, the moon will wane, The mist and cloud will turn to rain, The rain to mist and cloud again, To-morrow be to-day. And thus to regions far remote, Beyond the ocean's vast expanse, This wizard in the motley coat Transported me on wings of song, And by the northern shores of France Bore me with restless speed along. This madman, as the people say, Who breaks his tables and his chairs To feed his furnace fires, nor cares Who goes unfed if they are fed, Nor who may live if they are dead? Thus sang the Potter at his task Beneath the blossoming hawthorn-tree, While o’er his features, like a mask, The quilted sunshine and leaf-shade Moved, as the boughs above him swayed, And clothed him, till he seemed to be A figure woven in tapestry, So sumptuously was he arrayed In that magnificent attire Of sable tissue flaked with fire. Red-Brown Cloth, Git; Beveled Edges; Brown Endpapers. Cradled and rocked in Eastern seas, The islands of the Japanese Beneath me lie; o'er lake and plain The stork, the heron, and the crane Through the clear realms of azure drift, And on the hillside I can see The villages of Imari, Whose thronged and flaming workshops lift Their twisted columns of smoke on high, Cloud cloisters that in ruins lie, With sunshine streaming through each rift, And broken arches of blue sky. Original green cloth with gilt sspine title and vase design on cover, and gilt scroll with green title on front.


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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes IV

keramos longfellow

Like a magician he appeared, A conjurer without book or beard; And while he plied his magic art— For it was magical to me— I stood in silence and apart, And wondered more and more to see That shapeless, lifeless mass of clay Rise up to meet the master’s hand, And now contract and now expand, And even his slightest touch obey; While ever in a thoughtful mood He sang his ditty, and at times Whistled a tune between the rhymes, As a melodious interlude. I see below The long line of the Libyan Nile, Flooding and feeding the parched land With annual ebb and overflow, A fallen palm whose branches lie Beneath the Abyssinian sky, Whose roots are in Egyptian sands, On either bank huge water-wheels, Belted with jars and dripping weeds, Send forth their melancholy moans, As if, in their gray mantles hid, Dead anchorites of the Thebaid Knelt on the shore and told their beads, Beating their breasts with loud appeals And penitential tears and groans. More strange and wonderful than these Are the Egyptian deities, Ammonn, and Emeth, and the grand Osiris, holding in his hand The lotus; Isis, crowned and veiled; The sacred Ibis, and the Sphinx; Bracelets with blue enamelled links; The Scarabee in emerald mailed, Or spreading wide his funeral wings; Lamps that perchance their night-watch kept O'er Cleopatra while she slept,-- All plundered from the tombs of kings. This clay, well mixed with marl and sand, Follows the motion of my hand; Far some must follow, and some command, Though all are made of clay! Thus mused I on that morn in May, Wrapped in my visions like the Seer, Whose eyes behold not what is near, But only what is far away, When, suddenly sounding peal on peal, The church-bell from the neighboring town Proclaimed the welcome hour of noon. Bottom of box lid has a gilt list of individual volume contents. Too soon, too soon The noon will be the afternoon, Too soon to-day be yesterday; Behind us in our path we cast The broken potsherds of the past, And all are ground to dust a last, And trodden into clay! As men who think to understand A world by their Creator planned, Who wiser is than they.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes IV

keramos longfellow

But in November 1835, during a second trip to Europe, Longfellow's life was shaken when his wife died during a miscarriage. The carol concludes with the bells carrying renewed hope for peace among men. Still guided by the dreamy song, As in a trance I float along Above the Pyrenean chain, Above the fields and farms of Spain, Above the bright Majorcan isle, That lends its softened name to art,-- A spot, a dot upon the chart, Whose little towns, red-roofed with tile, Are ruby-lustred with the light Of blazing furnaces by night, And crowned by day with wreaths of smoke. This madman, as the people say, Who breaks his tables and his chairs To feed his furnace fires, nor cares Who goes unfed if they are fed, Nor who may live if they are dead? What is begun At daybreak must at dark be done, To-morrow will be another day; To-morrow the hot furnace flame Will search the heart and try the frame, And stamp with honor or with shame These vessels made of clay. Poetry-sharing workshops will be held throughout February at Thornton Oaks at 10:30 a. With large blue eyes and steadfast gaze, Her yellow hair in net and braid, Necklace and ear-rings all ablaze With golden lustre o’er the glaze, A woman’s portrait; on the scroll, Cana, the Beautiful! Thus still the Potter sang, and still, By some unconscious act of will, The melody and even the words Were intermingled with my thought As bits of colored thread are caught And woven into nests of birds.

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Keramos and Other Poems by Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

keramos longfellow

Richards 1850-1943 , and Edwin Arlington Robinson 1869-1935. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hyperion, 1839 Love gives itself, but is not bought. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced. All life is brief; What now is bud will soon be leaf, What now is leaf will soon decay; The wind blows east, the wind blows west; The blue eggs in the robin’s nest Will soon have wings and beak and breast, And flutter and fly away. Decorative chapter headings and letterpieces. Forth from Urbino's gate there came A youth with the angelic name Of Raphael, in form and face Himself angelic, and divine In arts of color and design.

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Longfellow's Poetical Works by Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

keramos longfellow

This alchemist with hollow cheeks And sunken, searching eyes, who seeks, By mingled earths and ores combined With potency of fire, to find Some new enamel, hard and bright, His dream, his passion, his delight? In 1854, Longfellow decided to quit teaching to devote all his time to poetry. Some rubbing to edges, and spine faded with short split to top and edge. With large blue eyes and steadfast gaze, Her yellow hair in net and braid, Necklace and ear-rings all ablaze With golden lustre o'er the glaze, A woman's portrait; on the scroll, Cana, the Beautiful! All the bright flowers that fill the land, Ripple of waves on rock or sand, The snow on Fusiyama's cone, The midnight heaven so thickly sown With constellations of bright stars, The leaves that rustle, the reeds that make A whisper by each stream and lake, The saffron dawn, the sunset red, Are painted on these lovely jars; Again the skylark sings, again The stork, the heron, and the crane Float through the azure overhead, The counterfeit and counterpart Of Nature reproduced in Art. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Endymion Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hyperion, 1839 Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. All things must change To something new, to something strange; Nothing that is can pause or stay; The moon will wax, the moon will wane, The mist and cloud will turn to rain, The rain to mist and cloud again, To-morrow be to-day.


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Keramos and Other Poems by Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

keramos longfellow

End pages and prelims loose. All things must change To something new, to something strange; Nothing that is can pause or stay; The moon will wax, the moon will wane, The mist and cloud will turn to rain, The rain to mist and cloud again, To-morrow be to-day. ’T is nature’s plan The child should grow into the man, The man grow wrinkled, old, and gray In youth the heart exults and sings, The pulses leap, the feet have wings; In age the cricket chirps, and brings The harvest-home of day. He is the greatest artist, then, Whether of pencil or of pen, Who follows Nature. The Tower of Porcelain, strange and old, Uplifting to the astonished skies Its ninefold painted balconies, With balustrades of twining leaves, And roofs of tile, beneath whose eaves Hang porcelain bells that all the time Ring with a soft, melodious chime; While the whole fabric is ablaze With varied tints, all fused in one Great mass of color, like a maze Of flowers illumined by the sun.

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Longfellow: The Three Kings, Keramos and Other Poems

keramos longfellow

And yonder by Nankin, behold! A name Forgotten save for such brief fame As this memorial can bestow,-- A gift some lover long ago Gave with his heart to this fair dame. Keramos by Turn, turn, my wheel? These choristers with lips of stone, Whose music is not heard, but seen, Still chant, as from their organ-screen, Their Maker's praise; nor these alone, But the more fragile forms of clay, Hardly less beautiful than they, These saints and angels that adorn The walls of hospitals, and tell The story of good deeds so well That poverty seems less forlorn, And life more like a holiday. Profoundly saddened, Longfellow published nothing for the next two years. Also see: - our , featuring an and and. Your browser does not have Javascript enabled.

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Longfellow's Poetical Works by Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

keramos longfellow

From 1866 to 1880, Longfellow published seven more books of poetry, and his seventy-fifth birthday in 1882 was celebrated across the country. This water-net, that tessellates The landscape? These choristers with lips of stone, Whose music is not heard, but seen, Still chant, as from their organ-screen, Their Maker's praise; nor these alone, But the more fragile forms of clay, Hardly less beautiful than they, These saints and angels that adorn The walls of hospitals, and tell The story of good deeds so well That poverty seems less forlorn, And life more like a holiday. In 1854, Longfellow decided to quit teaching to devote all his time to poetry. Both books were very popular, but Longfellow's growing duties as a professor left him little time to write more. The spine has damp damage on the upper third, and is blistered on the back edge.

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