#Americans
What’s the railroad to me? I never go to see Where it ends. It fills a few hollows, And makes banks for the swallows,
The wind has gently murmured through the blinds, or puffed with feathery softness against the windows, and occasionally sighed like a summer zephyr lifting the leaves along, the livelon...
Pray to what earth does this sweet… Which asks no duties and no consci… The moon goes up by leaps, her che… In some far summer stratum of the… While stars with their cold shine…
This lighthouse, known to mariners as the Cape Cod or Highland Light, is one of our “primary seacoast lights,” and is usually the first seen by those approaching the entrance of Massach...
I weathered some merry snow storms, and spent some cheerful winter evenings by my fire-side, while the snow whirled wildly without, and even the hooting of the owl was hushed. For many ...
I wish to speak a word for nature, for absolute freedom and wildness, as contrasted with a freedom and culture merely civil—to regard man as an inhabitant, or a part and parcel of natur...
About twelve o’clock this day, being in the Lower Town, I looked up at the signal-gun by the flagstaff on Cape Diamond, and saw a soldier up in the heavens there making preparations to ...
If you have imagined what a divine work is spread out for the poet, and approach this author too, in the hope of finding the field at length fairly entered on, you will hardly dissent f...
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,
Having walked about eight miles since we struck the beach, and passed the boundary between Wellfleet and Truro, a stone post in the sand—for even this sand comes under the jurisdiction ...
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 ...
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,
My life has been the poem I would have writ, But I could not both live and utter it.
Sometimes a mortal feels in himsel… —not his Father but his Mother st… within him, and he becomes immorta… immortality. From time to time she… kindredship with us, and some glob…
I am a parcel of vain strivings ti… By a chance bond together, Dangling this way and that, their… Were made so loose and wide, Methinks,