#AmericanWriters
‘A pleasant and a winsome tale,’ The Student said, ‘though somewha… And quiet in its coloring, As if it caught its tone and air From the gray suits that Quakers…
At The Consecration Of Pulaski’… When the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowléd head;
“Give me of your bark, O Birch-tr… Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree… Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me,
MONEY Whereunto is money good? Who has it not wants hardihood, Who has it has much trouble and ca… Who once has had it has despair.
The Landlord ended thus his tale, Then rising took down from its nai… The sword that hung there, dim wit… And cleaving to its sheath with ru… And said, ‘This sword was in the…
I have a vague remembrance Of a story, that is told In some ancient Spanish legend Or chronicle of old. It was when brave King Sanchez
The day is cold, and dark, and dre… It rains, and the wind is never we… The vine still clings to the mould… But at every gust the dead leaves… And the day is dark and dreary.
Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest On this Field of the Grounded Ar… Where foes no more molest, Nor sentry’s shot alarms! Ye have slept on the ground before…
Olger the Dane and Desiderio, King of the Lombards, on a lofty… Stood gazing northward o’er the ro… League after league of harvests, t… Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw…
Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet… Where amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat,
I heard a voice, that cried, ‘Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!’ And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry
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…
Torrent of light and river of the… Along whose bed the glimmering sta… Like gold and silver sands in some… Where mountain streams have left t… The Spaniard sees in thee the pat…
I like that ancient Saxon phrase,… The burial-ground God’s-Acre! It… It consecrates each grave within i… And breathes a benison o’er the sl… God’s-Acre! Yes, that blessed nam…
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
