#AmericanWriters
Behind us at our evening meal The gray bird ate his fill, Swung downward by a single claw, And wiped his hooked bill. He shook his wings and crimson tai…
ALL night above their rocky bed They saw the stars march slow; The wild Sierra overhead, The desert’s death below. The Indian from his lodge of bark…
‘ A! fredome is a nobill thing! Fredome mayse man to haif liking. Fredome all solace to man giffis; He levys at ese that frely levys! A nobil hart may haif nane ese
A score of years had come and gone Since the Pilgrims landed on Plym… When Captain Underhill, bearing s… From Indian ambush and Flemish wa… Left three-hilled Boston and wand…
A MOONY breadth of virgin face, By thought unviolated; A patient mouth, to take from scor… The hook with bank-notes baited! Its self-complacent sleekness show…
THE wave is breaking on the shore… The echo fading from the chime; Again the shadow moveth o’er The dial-plate of time! O seer-seen Angel! waiting now
I need not ask thee, for my sake, To read a book which well may make Its way by native force of wit Without my manual sign to it. Its piquant writer needs from me
Leagues north, as fly the gull and… Point Judith watches with eye of… Leagues south, thy beacon flames,… Lonely and wind-shorn, wood-forsak… With never a tree for Spring to w…
WE give thy natal day to hope, O Country of our love and prayer! Thy way is down no fatal slope, But up to freer sun and air. Tried as by furnace-fires, and yet
RIGHT in the track where Sherma… Ploughed his red furrow, Out of the narrow cabin, Up from the cellar’s burrow, Gathered the little black people,
Our fathers’ God! from out whose… The centuries fall like grains of… We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done,
O lonely bay of Trinity, O dreary shores, give ear! Lean down unto the white-lipped se… The voice of God to hear! From world to world His couriers…
In trance and dream of old, God’s… The casting down of thrones. Thou… The hot Sardinian coast-line, haz… Where, fringing round Caprera’s r… With foam, the slow waves gather a…
Before my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn, Old dreams and fancies coloring it… And folly’s unlaid ghosts return. O ships of mine, whose swift keels…
Gone hath the Spring, with all it… And gone the Summer’s pomp and sh… And Autumn, in his leafless bower… Is waiting for the Winter’s snow. I said to Earth, so cold and gray…