#AmericanWriters
Have I dreamed? or was it real, What I saw as in a vision, When to marches hymeneal In the land of the Ideal Moved my thought o’er Fields Elys…
The day is cold, and dark, and dre… It rains, and the wind is never we… The vine still clings to the mould… But at every gust the dead leaves… And the day is dark and dreary.
JANUARY Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and… I count, as god of avenues and gat… The years that through my portals…
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, Of the happy days that followed, In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful! Sing the mysteries of Mondamin,
“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
The cabin windows have grown blank As eyeballs of the dead; No more the glancing sunbeams burn On the gilt letters of the stern, But on the figure-head;
It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old. Birds are darting through the air,
There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white-thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…
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…
NEAR to the bank of the river, o… Garlands of Spanish moss and of m… Such as the Druids cut down with… Stood, secluded and still, the hou… Girdled it round about with a belt…
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,
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain!
I stood on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the ho… And the moon rose o’er the city, Behind the dark church—tower. I saw her bright reflection
On the green little isle of Inchk… Who is it that walks by the shore, So gay with his Highland blue bon… So brave with his targe and claymo… His form is the form of a giant,
‘I thought before your tale began,… The Student murmured, ‘we should… Some legend written by Judah Rav In his Gemara of Babylon; Or something from the Gulistan,—