#Americans
Sometimes, having had a surfeit of human society and gossip, and worn out all my village friends, I rambled still farther westward than I habitually dwell, into yet more unfrequented pa...
Meanwhile my beans, the length of whose rows, added together, was seven miles already planted, were impatient to be hoed, for the earliest had grown considerably before the latest were ...
What a contrast between the stern and desolate poetry of Ossian, and that of Chaucer, and even of Shakespeare and Milton, much more of Dryden, and Pope, and Gray. Our summer of English ...
Written in Concord, July 19, 1842; first published in The Boston Miscellany Vol. 3, No. 3, January, 1843. Summer and winter our eyes had rested on the dim outline of the mountains in ou...
By the middle of the forenoon, though it was a rainy day, we were once more on our way down the north bank of the St. Lawrence, in a northeasterly direction, toward the Falls of St. Ann...
There is a vale which none hath se… Where foot of man has never been, Such as here lives with toil and s… An anxious and a sinful life. There every virtue has its birth,
Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air, Fountain head and source of rivers… Dew-cloth, dream drapery, And napkin spread by fays;
Thomas Carlyle is a Scotchman, born about fifty years ago, “at Ecclefechan, Annandale,” according to one authority. “His parents ‘good farmer people,’ his father an elder in the Secessi...
Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other’s conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence.
After a still winter night I awoke with the impression that some question had been put to me, which I had been endeavoring in vain to answer in my sleep, as what—how—when—where? But the...
Indeed indeed, I cannot tell, Though I ponder on it well, Which were easier to state, All my love or all my hate. Surely, surely, thou wilt trust me
After hoeing, or perhaps reading and writing, in the forenoon, I usually bathed again in the pond, swimming across one of its coves for a stint, and washed the dust of labor from my per...
On fields o’er which the reaper’s… Lit by the harvest moon and autumn… My thoughts like stubble floating… And of such fineness as October a… There after harvest could I glean…
Lately alas I knew a gentle boy, Whose features all were cast in V… As one she had designed for Beaut… But after manned him for her own s… On every side he open was as day,
Time wears her not; she doth his c… Mortality below her orb is placed. —Raleigh The full-orbed moon with unchanged… Mounts up the eastern sky,
