#AmericanWriters
IN that delightful land, which is… Guarding in sylvan shades the name… Stands on the banks of its beautif… There all the air is balm, and the… And the streets still re-echo the…
Thou ancient oak! whose myriad lea… With sounds of unintelligible spee… Sounds as of surges on a shingly b… Or multitudinous murmurs of a crow… With some mysterious gift of tongu…
O Traveller, stay thy weary feet; Drink of this fountain, pure and s… It flows for rich and poor the sam… Then go thy way, remembering still The wayside well beneath the hill,
All houses wherein men have lived… Are haunted houses. Through the o… The harmless phantoms on their err… With feet that make no sound upon… We meet them at the doorway, on th…
Turn, turn, my wheel? Turn round… Without a pause, without a sound: So spins the flying world away! This clay, well mixed with marl an… Follows the motion of my hand;
There is a Reaper, whose name is… And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a br… And the flowers that grow between. “Shall I have naught that is fair…
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…
PLEASANTLY rose next morn the… Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sw… Where the ships, with their waveri… Life had long been astir in the vi… Knocked with its hundred hands at…
Bell! thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell! thou soundest solemnly. When, on Sabbath morning,
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,
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, Still unattained the land it sough… My mind, with loosely-hanging sail… Lies waiting the auspicious gales. On either side, behind, before,
‘He is gone to the desert land I can see the shining mane Of his horse on the distant plain, As he rides with his Kossak band! ’Come back, rebellious one!
Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet… Where amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat,
On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell… And, where the maple’s leaf was br… With soft and silent lapse came do… The glory, that the wood receives,