Carmina Princetonia: The Princeton Song Book

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Página 114 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted— nevermore!
Página 72 - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!
Página 114 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, Nameless here for evermore.
Página 98 - Old Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none.
Página 65 - The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior...
Página 65 - Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered with a sigh, Excelsior! "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!
Página 114 - Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not...
Página 62 - Who dreads to the dust returning? Who shrinks from the sable shore, Where the high and haughty yearning Of the soul can sting no more? No, stand to your glasses, steady! The world is a world of lies: A cup to the dead already — And hurrah for the next that dies!
Página 123 - I'd lay me doun and dee. Her brow is like the snaw-drift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on ; That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her ee ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa...
Página 114 - I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant...

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