The Writings of John Burroughs: The breath of lifeHoughton, Mifflin and Company, 1895 - Natural history |
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Page 13
... ground , the next a soaring , untiring songster , rev- eling in the upper air , challenging the eye to follow him and the ear to separate his notes . The lark's song is not especially melodious , but lithesome , sibilant , and unceasing ...
... ground , the next a soaring , untiring songster , rev- eling in the upper air , challenging the eye to follow him and the ear to separate his notes . The lark's song is not especially melodious , but lithesome , sibilant , and unceasing ...
Page 26
... ground , And the far - off stream is dumb , And the whirring sail goes round , And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits , The white owl in the belfry sits . " When merry milkmaids click the latch , And rarely ...
... ground , And the far - off stream is dumb , And the whirring sail goes round , And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits , The white owl in the belfry sits . " When merry milkmaids click the latch , And rarely ...
Page 41
... ground , hooking his tail about sticks and bushes , and pulling back with all its might , apparently not liking the look of things down there at all . I thought it well to let him have a good taste of his own doctrines , when I put my ...
... ground , hooking his tail about sticks and bushes , and pulling back with all its might , apparently not liking the look of things down there at all . I thought it well to let him have a good taste of his own doctrines , when I put my ...
Page 42
... ground about , and of which Niagara is but the lift- ing of the finger ? Nature is thoroughly selfish , and looks only to her own ends . One thing she is bent upon , and that is keeping up the supply , multiplying endlessly and ...
... ground about , and of which Niagara is but the lift- ing of the finger ? Nature is thoroughly selfish , and looks only to her own ends . One thing she is bent upon , and that is keeping up the supply , multiplying endlessly and ...
Page 55
... ground crackles under foot ; the eye of day is brassy and merciless ; and in harmony with all these things is the rattle of the mower and hay - tedder . IX Goethe One ' Tis an evidence of how directly we are related to Nature , that we ...
... ground crackles under foot ; the eye of day is brassy and merciless ; and in harmony with all these things is the rattle of the mower and hay - tedder . IX Goethe One ' Tis an evidence of how directly we are related to Nature , that we ...
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April artist barn swallow beauty behold bird blood bobolink breath character charm color creature cuckoo earth Emerson emotional fact feeling fields genius 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 mockingbird morning mountain nature nest never night nightingale Pe-wee perhaps personality 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
Popular passages
Page 15 - 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...
Page 22 - 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.
Page 110 - I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Page 22 - 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. O blessed Bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place; That is fit home for Thee...
Page 14 - 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.
Page 37 - 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...
Page 23 - Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year...
Page 221 - 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. Arise and fly The reeling Faun, the sensual feast; Move upward, working out the beast, And let the ape and tiger die.
Page 221 - They say The solid earth whereon we tread In tracts of fluent heat began, And grew to seeming-random forms, The seeming prey of cyclic storms, Till at the last arose the man...
Page 6 - Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustomed oak; Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!