#Americans #XIXCentury
It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old. Birds are darting through the air,
The shades of night were falling f… As through an Alpine village pass… A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and i… A banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
No sound of wheels or hoof—beat br… The silence of the summer day, As by the loveliest of all lakes I while the idle hours away. I pace the leafy colonnade,
Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and gast blew the blast, And the east—wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice
By his evening fire the artist Pondered o’er his secret shame; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fam… 'T was an image of the Virgin
Lo! in the painted oriel of the W… Whose panes the sunken sun incarna… Like a fair lady at her casement,… The evening star, the star of love… And then anon she doth herself div…
Nothing the greatest artist can co… That every marble block doth not c… Within itself; and only its design The hand that follows intellect ca… The ill I flee, the good that I b…
As a pale phantom with a lamp Ascends some ruin’s haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp Mysterious chambers of the air. Now hidden in cloud, and now revea…
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose… Seems from some faint Aeolian har… Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes o… As Hermes with his lyre in sleep… The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus…
When I compare What I have lost with what I have… What I have missed with what atta… Little room do I find for pride. I am aware
Four limpid lakes,—four Naiades Or sylvan deities are these, In flowing robes of azure dressed; Four lovely handmaids, that uphold Their shining mirrors, rimmed with…
Oft have I seen at some cathedral… A laborer, pausing in the dust and… Lay down his burden, and with reve… Enter, and cross himself, and on t… Kneel to repeat his paternoster o’…
‘Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me… Danger and shame and death betide… For Olaf the King is hunting me d… Through field and forest, through… Thus cried Jarl Hakon
How I started up in the night, in… Drawn on without rest or reprieval… The streets, with their watchmen,… As I wandered so light In the night, in the night,
Never stoops the soaring vulture On his quarry in the desert, On the sick or wounded bison, But another vulture, watching From his high aerial look-out,
