#AmericanWriters
In the south of Europe, nigh a once frescoed capital, now with dank mold cankering its bloom, central in a plain, stands what, at distance, seems the black mossed stump of some immeasur...
Going to it, by the usual way, is like stealing from a heated plain into some cool, deep glen, shady among harboring hills. Sick with the din and soiled with the mud of Fleet Street—whe...
Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May, Recall ye how McClellan’s men Here stood at bay? While deep within yon forest dim
It will be seen that this mere painstaking burrower and grub-worm of a poor devil of a Sub-Sub appears to have gone through the long Vaticans and street-stalls of the earth, picking up ...
_Commemorative of the Dissolution… May, 1865 What power disbands the Northern… After their steely play? The lonely watcher feels an awe
Beauty and youth, with manners swe… friends— Gold, yet a mind not unenriched ha… Whom here low violets veil from ey… But all these gifts transcended be…
The cabin; by the stern windows; Ahab sitting alone, and gazing out. I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where’er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to w...
Where is the world we roved, Ned… Hollows thereof lay rich in shade By voyagers old inviolate thrown Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf a… To us old lads some thoughts come…
The grass shall never forget this… When homeward footing it in the su… After the weary ride by rail, The stripling soldiers passed her… Wounded perchance, or wan and pale…
With banners furled and clarions m… An army passes in the night; And beaming spears and helms salut… The dark with bright. In silence deep the legions stream…
When I first saw the table, dingy and dusty, in the furthest corner of the old hopper-shaped garret, and set out with broken, be-crusted old purple vials and flasks, and a ghostly, dism...
The cavalry-camp lies on the slope Of what was late a vernal hill, But now like a pavement bare– An outpost in the perilous wilds Which ever are lone and still;
1876 Sunning ourselves in October on a… Balmy as spring, though the year w… I lading my pipe, she stirring her… My old woman she says to me,
Arms reversed and banners creped - Muffled drums; Snowy horses sable—draped— McPherson comes. But, tell us, shall we know him mo…
While faith forecasts millennial y… Spite Europe’s embattled lines, Back to the Past one glance be ca… The Age of the Antonines! O summit of fate, O zenith of tim…