#AmericanWriters
Some die too late and some too soo… At early morning, heat of noon, Or the chill evening twilight. Th… Whom the rich heavens did so endow With eyes of power and Jove’s own…
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
FOR the fairest maid in Hampton They needed not to search, Who saw young Anna favor Come walking into church,— Or bringing from the meadows,
From purest wells of English unde… None deeper drank than he, the Ne… Who in the language of their farm-… The wit and wisdom of New England… Shaming a monstrous wrong. The wo…
Years since (but names to me befor… Two sisters sought at eve my door; Two song-birds wandering from thei… A gray old farm-house in the West… How fresh of life the younger one,
ONCE, more, dear friends, you me… A clouded sky: Not yet the sword has found its sh… And on the sweet spring airs the b… Of war floats by.
Ere down yon blue Carpathian hill… The sun shall sink again, Farewell to life and all its ills, Farewell to cell and chain! These prison shades are dark and c…
Outbound, your bark awaits you. W… Whose prayer availeth much, my wis… Your favoring trad-wind and consen… By sail or steed was never love ou… And, here or there, love follows h…
THE moon has set: while yet the d… Breaks cold and gray, Between the midnight and the morn Bear off your prey! On, swift and still! the conscious…
In the fair land o’erwatched by I… Across the charmed bay Whose blue waves keep with Capri’… Perpetual holiday, A king lies dead, his wafer duly e…
The firmament breaks up. In black… Light after light goes out. One e… Luridly glaring through the smoke… As in the dream of the Apocalypse… Drags others down. Let us not wea…
'T is the noon of the spring-time,… In the wind-shaken elm or the mapl… For green meadow-grasses wide leve… And blowing of drifts where the cr… Where wind-flower and violet, ambe…
To the God of all sure mercies le… From the scoffer and the cruel He… Yes, he who cooled the furnace aro… And tamed the Chaldean lions, hat… Last night I saw the sunset melt…
WILDLY round our woodland quart… Sad-voiced Autumn grieves; Thickly down these swelling waters Float his fallen leaves. Through the tall and naked timber,
‘Encore un hymne, O ma lyre Un hymn pour le Seigneur, Un hymne dans mon delire, Un hymne dans mon bonheur.’ One hymn more, O my lyre!