#AmericanWriters
BEAMS of noon, like burning lanc… As she stands before her lover, wi… Dark, but comely, like the maiden… Scarcely has the toil of task-fiel… He, the strong one and the manly,…
Piero Luca, known of all the town As the gray porter by the Pitti w… Where the noon shadows of the gard… Sick and in dolor, waited to lay d… His last sad burden, and beside hi…
In the outskirts of the village On the river’s winding shores Stand the Occidental plane-trees, Stand the ancient sycamores. One long century hath been numbere…
Dream not, O Soul, that easy is t… Thus set before thee. If it prove… As well it may, beyond thy natural… Faint not, despair not. As a chil… A father, pray the Everlasting Go…
Talk not of sad November, when a… Of warm, glad sunshine fills the s… And a wind, borrowed from some mor… Stirs the brown grasses and the le… On the unfrosted pool the pillared…
Gallery of sacred pictures manifol… A minster rich in holy effigies, And bearing on entablature and fri… The hieroglyphic oracles of old. Along its transept aureoled martyr…
THE land was pale with famine And racked with fever-pain; The frozen fiords were fishless, The earth withheld her grain. Men saw the boding Fylgja
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…
OH, none in all the world before Were ever glad as we! We’re free on Carolina’s shore, We’re all at home and free. Thou Friend and Helper of the poo…
Thrice welcome from the Land of F… And golden-fruited orange bowers To this sweet, green-turfed June… To her who, in our evil time, Dragged into light the nation’s cr…
“As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits, which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine lightof the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: a...
IN the solemn days of old, Two men met in Boston town, One a tradesman frank and bold, One a preacher of renown. Cried the last, in bitter tone:
Who gives and hides the giving han… Nor counts on favor, fame, or prai… Shall find his smallest gift outwe… The burden of the sea and land. Who gives to whom hath naught been…
Not always as the whirlwind’s rush On Horeb’s mount of fear, Not always as the burning bush To Midian’s shepherd seer, Nor as the awful voice which came
The time of gifts has come again, And, on my northern window-pane, Outlined against the day’s brief l… A Christmas token hangs in sight. The wayside travellers, as they pa…