#AmericanWriters
When ocean-clouds over inland hill… Sweep storming in late autumn brow… And horror the sodden valley fills… And the spire falls crashing in th… I muse upon my country’s ills—
Hail! voyagers, hail! Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye r… No calmer strand, No sweeter land, Will e’er ye view, than the Land…
The gloomy hulls in armor grim, Like clouds o’er moors have met, And prove that oak, and iron, and… Are tough in fibre yet. But Splendors wane. The sea-fight…
Healed of my hurt, I laud the inh… Yea, bless the Angels Four that t… For healed I am even by the pitil… Distilled in wholesome dew named r…
At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers, and after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a...
WHO inhabiteth the Mountain That it shines in lurid light, And is rolled about with thunders, And terrors, and a blight, Like Kaf the peak of Eblis–
Wandering late by morning seas When my heart with pain was low— Hate the censor pelted me— Deject I saw my shadow go. In elf-caprice of bitter tone
The ribs and terrors in the whale, Arched over me a dismal gloom, While all God’s sun-lit waves rol… And left me deepening down to doom… I saw the opening maw of hell,
Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal...
It is noon; and Dough-Boy, the steward, thrusting his pale loaf-of-bread face from the cabin-scuttle, announces dinner to his lord and master; who, sitting in the lee quarter-boat, has ...
Happy are they and charmed in life Who through long wars arrive unsca… At peace. To such the wreath be g… If they unfalteringly have striven… In honor, as in limb, unmarred.
“Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had. You know the old man’s ivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked ...
It was nearly six o’clock, but only grey imperfect misty dawn, when we drew nigh the wharf. “There are some sailors running ahead there, if I see right,” said I to Queequeg, “it can’t b...
The color-bearers facing death White in the whirling sulphurous w… Stand boldly out before the line; Right and left their glances go, Proud of each other, glorying in t…
I have a feeling for those ships, Each worn and ancient one, With great bluff bows, and broad i… Ay, it was unkindly done. But so they serve the Obsolete–