#AmericanWriters
Let him who will, by force or frau… Of courtly grandeurs gain the slip… I, leaving not the home of my deli… Far from the world and noise will… Then, without pomps or perils of t…
It was the season, when through al… The merle and mavis build, and bui… Those lovely lyrics, written by H… Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Bli… When on the boughs the purple buds…
It was Einar Tamberskelver Stood beside the mast; From his yew-bow, tipped with silv… Flew the arrows fast; Aimed at Eric unavailing,
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope… And Valmond, Emperor of Allemain… Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and… On St. John’s eve, at vespers, pr…
“Honor be to Mudjekeewis!” Cried the warriors, cried the old… When he came in triumph homeward With the sacred Belt of Wampum, From the regions of the North-Win…
Spake full well, in language quain… One who dwelleth by the castled R… When he called the flowers, so blu… Stars, that in earth’s firmament d… Stars they are, wherein we read ou…
Gaddi mi fece; il Ponte Vecchio s… Cinquecent’ anni giásull’ Arno pi… Il piede, come il suo Michele San… Piantó sul draco. Mentre ch’ io r… Lo vedo torcere con flebil suono
Olger the Dane and Desiderio, King of the Lombards, on a lofty… Stood gazing northward o’er the ro… League after league of harvests, t… Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw…
This song of mine Is a Song of the Vine, To be sung by the glowing embers Of wayside inns, When the rain begins
Lo! in the paintedoriel of the We… Whose panes the sunken sun incarna… Like a fair lady at her casement,… The evening star, the star of love… And then anon she doth herself div…
One summer morning, when the sun w… Weary with labor in his garden-plo… On a rude bench beneath his cottag… Ser Federigo sat among the leaves Of a huge vine, that, with its arm…
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
'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gl… When woods and fields put off all… Thus began the King and spake: So from the halls Of ancient Hofburgh’s walls,
Heard a voice, that cried, “Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!” And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry
Full of wrath was Hiawatha When he came into the village, Found the people in confusion, Heard of all the misdemeanors, All the malice and the mischief,