#AmericanWriters
I said unto myself, if I were dea… What would befall these children?… Their fate, who now are looking up… For help and furtherance? Their l… Would be a volume wherein I have…
By his evening fire the artist Pondered o’er his secret shame; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fam… 'T was an image of the Virgin
With favoring winds, o’er sunlit s… We sailed for the Hesperides, The land where golden apples grow; But that, ah! that was long ago. How far, since then, the ocean str…
THIS is the forest primeval. The… Bearded with moss, and in garments… Stand like Druids of eld, with vo… Stand like harpers hoar, with bear… Loud from its rocky caverns, the d…
Short of stature, large of limb, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared. “Look!” they said,
This is the Arsenal. From floor t… Like a huge organ, rise the burnis… But from their silent pipes no ant… Startles the villages with strange… Ah! what a sound will rise, how wi…
Saint Augustine! well hast thou s… That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of sham… All common things, each day’s even…
I know a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be… Beware! Beware! Trust her not,
The guests were loud, the ale was… King Olaf feasted late and long; The hoary Scalds together sang; O’erhead the smoky rafters rang. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsa…
Whene’er a noble deed is wrought, Whene’er is spoken a noble thought… Our hearts, in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls
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,
I heard a voice, that cried, ‘Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!’ And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry
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,
In the Old Colony days, in Plymo… To and fro in a room of his simple… Clad in doublet and hose, and boot… Strode, with a martial air, Miles… Buried in thought he seemed, with…
Will ever the dear days come back… Those days of June, when lilacs w… And bluebirds sang their sonnets i… Of leaves that roofed them in from… I know not; but a presence will re…