#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
With rod and line I took my way That led me through the gossip tre… Where all the forest was asway With hurry of the running breeze. I took my hat off to a flower
My nurse she tells me stories, too… To make me good, she says; but I She scares me so! I want to cry: And if my father ever knew, I guess he’d make things pretty ho…
There are faeries, bright of eye, Who the wildflowers’ warders are: Ouphes, that chase the firefly; Elves, that ride the shooting-star… Fays, who in a cobweb lie,
There are some souls Whose lot it is to set their heart… That adverse Fate controls. While others win With little labor through life’s d…
A Sea of onyx are the skies, Cloud-islanded with fire; Such nacre-colored flame as dyes A sea-shell’s rosy spire; And at its edge one star sinks slo…
Take Heart Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.
Success allures us in the earth an… We seek to win her, but, too amoro… Mocking, she flees us. Haply, wer… We would not strive and she would…
The lake she haunts gleams dreamil… ‘Twixt sleepy boughs of melody, Set ’mid the hills beside the sea, In tangled bush and brier; Where the ghostly sunsets write
My soul goes out to her who says, ‘Come, follow me and cast off care… Then tosses back her sun-bright ha… And like a flower before me sways Between the green leaves and my ga…
Sweet lies! the sweetest ever hear… To her he said: Her heart remembers every word Now he is dead. I ask:' If thus his lies can make
Here is a tale for poets and for p… There was a bagpipe once, that whe… And droned vile discords, notes th… Nasal and harsh, outbraying all th… And then the thing assumed another…
It is not early spring and yet Of bloodroot blooms along the stre… And blotted banks of violet, My heart will dream. Is it because the windflower apes
They are the wise who look before, Nor fear to look behind; Who in the darkness still ignore Pale shadows of the mind. Who, having lost, though loss be m…
Rock and root and fern and flower They had led him for an hour To the inmost forest, where, In a hollow, green with moss, That the deep ferns trailed across…
Summer, gowned in catnip-gray, Goes her weedy wildwood way, Where with rosehip-buttoned coat, Cardinal flower-plume afloat, With the squirrel-folk at play,