#AmericanWriters
The grass shall never forget this… When homeward footing it in the su… After the weary ride by rail, The stripling soldiers passed her… Wounded perchance, or wan and pale…
Healed of my hurt, I laud the inh… Yea, bless the Angels Four that t… For healed I am even by the pitil… Distilled in wholesome dew named r…
Father Mapple rose, and in a mild… There was a low rumbling of heavy… He paused a little; then kneeling… This ended, in prolonged solemn to… Arched over me a dismal gloom,
From ‘The Saya-y-Manto.’ While now the Pole Star sinks fro… The Southern Cross it climbs the… But losing thee, my love, my light… O bride but for one bridal night,
He rides at their head; A crutch by his saddle just slants… One slung arm in splints, you see, Yet he guides his strong steed - h… He brings his regiment home -
(October, 1864) Shoe the steed with silver That bore him to the fray, When he heard the guns at dawning– Miles away;
One that I cherished, Yea, loved as a son - Up early, up late with, My promising one: No use in good nurture,
Arms reversed and banners creped - Muffled drums; Snowy horses sable—draped— McPherson comes. But, tell us, shall we know him mo…
_Of The Young Master of a Wrecke… Come out of the Golden Gate, Go round the Horn with streamers, Carry royals early and late; But, brother, be not over-elate—
Hanging from the beam, Slowly swaying (such the law), Gaunt the shadow on the green, Shenandoah! The cut is on the crown
About the Shark, phlegmatical one… Pale sot of the Maldive sea, The sleek little pilot-fish, azure… How alert in attendance be. From his saw-pit of mouth, from hi…
Mortally Wounded at Chancellorsvi… The Man who fiercest charged in f… Whose sword and prayer were long - Stonewall! Even him who stoutly stood for Wr…
Such as Dame Nature selfe mote fe… Or shame, that ever should so fowl… From her most cunning hand escaped… All dreadfull pourtraicts of defor… Ne wonder if these do a man appall…
I have a feeling for those ships, Each worn and ancient one, With great bluff bows, and broad i… Ay, it was unkindly done. But so they serve the Obsolete–
Look, the raft, a signal flying, Thin—a shred; None upon the lashed spars lying, Quick or dead. Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,
