The Overland MonthlySamuel Carson, 1900 |
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American Annabel Annabel's arms asked beautiful Boers cabin California called Captain Captain Tugg Chummie Club coast Colonel color dollars door Edwin Markham eyes face feet Filipinos fire followed girl give Golf Grietje ground Guam Guatemala hand head heart hill holoku Horace Rawlins horse human hundred Indian industry interest islands Jack Jack London knew lady lanai land light live Loamshires looked ment miles mind Miss Gerard morning mother mountains nation never night once Overland Monthly Pacific passed Philippines PIERRE N play pralines race replied river road San Francisco seemed ship side smile social starfish stood story streets sure tell thing thought thousand tion told took trees Tulu turned voice Willie Anderson woman women yards young
Popular passages
Page 280 - The tolerance and equity of light That gives as freely to the shrinking flower As to the great oak flaring to the wind — To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky.
Page 346 - Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.
Page 428 - THERE was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
Page 280 - LINCOLN — THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need. She took the tried clay of the common road — Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth, Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy, Tempered the heap with thrill of human tears, Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.
Page 348 - I have finished my day's work"; but I cannot say, " I have finished my life " My day's work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley : it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight to open with the dawn.
Page 348 - I have not said the thousandth part of what is in me. When I go down to the grave I can say, like many others, 'I have finished my day's work.
Page 408 - I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay . . . When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing ' ' Kulla-lo-lo!' With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis...
Page 281 - And evermore he burned to do his deed With the fine stroke and gesture of a king: He built the rail-pile as he built the State, Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, The conscience of him testing every stroke, To make his deed the measure of a man.
Page 324 - What do we want with this vast, worthless area? This region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts, of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs? To what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, or those endless mountain ranges, impenetrable and covered to their very base with eternal snow?
Page 373 - IVE mites of monads dwelt in a round drop That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. To the naked eye they lived invisible; Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. One was a meditative monad, called a sage; And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought: " Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, When I am very old, yon shimmering...