‘E venni dal martirio a questa pac… These words the poet heard in Par… Uttered by one who, bravely dying… In the true faith was living in th… Where the celestial cross of sacri…

It is the Harvest Moon! On gilde… And roofs of villages, on woodland… And their aerial neighborhoods of… Deserted, on the curtained window-… Of rooms where children sleep, on…

THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHAES… HEPHAESTUS (standing before t… Not fashioned out of gold, like H… Nor forged of iron like the thunde… Of Zeus omnipotent, or other work…

Allah gives light in darkness, Allah gives rest in pain, Cheeks that are white with weeping Allah paints red again. The flowers and the blossoms withe…

Out of the bosom of the Air Out of the cloud-folds of her garm… Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow

The panting City cried to the Sea… ‘I am faint with heat,—O breathe… And the Sea said, ‘Lo, I breathe… To some will be life, to others de… As to Prometheus, bringing ease

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms,

FAR in the West there lies a des… Lift, through perpetual snows, the… Down from their jagged, deep ravin… Opens a passage rude to the wheels… Westward the Oregon flows and the…

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…

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village

I said unto myself, if I were dea… What would befall these children?… Their fate, who now are looking up… For help and furtherance? Their l… Would be a volume wherein I have…

Oft I remember those I have known In other days, to whom my heart wa… As by a magnet, and who are not de… But absent, and their memories ove… With other thoughts and troubles o…

Little sweet wine of Jurançon, You are dear to my memory still! With mine host and his merry song, Under the rose-tree I drank my fi… Twenty years after, passing that w…

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

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village