#AmericanWriters
Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the dim twilight shrouds The mountain’s purple crest, And Summer’s white and folded clo… Are glowing in the west, Loud shouts come up the rocky dell…
As a pale phantom with a lamp Ascends some ruin’s haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp Mysterious chambers of the air. Now hidden in cloud, and now revea…
Is it so far from thee Thou canst no longer see, In the Chamber over the Gate, That old man desolate, Weeping and wailing sore
A garden; morning;_ PRINCE H… book_. ELSIE, _at a distance, ga… _Prince Henry (reading)._ One mor… Out of his convent of gray stone, Into the forest older, darker, gra…
As treasures that men seek, Deep buried in sea-sands, Vanish if they but speak, And elude their eager hands, So ye escape and slip,
A handful of red sand, from the ho… Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy… The minister of Thought. How many weary centuries has it be…
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village
Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and gast blew the blast, And the east—wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice
Nowhere such a devious stream, Save in fancy or in dream, Winding slow through bush and brak… Links together lake and lake. Walled with woods or sandy shelf,
The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams,
I stood upon the hills, when heave… Was glorious with the sun’s return… And woods were brightened, and sof… Went forth to kiss the sun—clad va… The clouds were far beneath me; ba…
I leave you, ye cold mountain chai… Dwelling of warriors stark and fro… You, may these eyes behold no more… Rave on the horizon of our plains. Vanish, ye frightful, gloomy views…
O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but pla… Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain,