#AmericanWriters
The brooklet came from the mountai… As sang the bard of old, Running with feet of silver Over the sands of gold! Far away in the briny ocean
King Christian stood by the lofty… In mist and smoke; His sword was hammering so fast, Through Gothic helm and brain it… Then sank each hostile hulk and ma…
I stand again on the familiar shor… And hear the waves of the distract… Piteously calling and lamenting th… And waiting restless at thy cottag… The rocks, the sea—weed on the oce…
When winter winds are piercing chi… And through the hawthorn blows the… With solemn feet I tread the hill… That overbrows the lonely vale. O’er the bare upland, and away
“Give me of your bark, O Birch-tr… Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree… Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me,
They made the warrior’s grave besi… The dashing of his native time: And there was mourning in the glen… The strong wail of a thousand men— O’er him thus fallen in his pride,
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,
Where are the Poets, unto whom be… The Olympian heights; whose singi… Straight to the mark, and not from… But with the utmost tension of the… Where are the stately argosies of…
Sweet chimes! that in the loneline… Salute the passing hour, and in th… And silent chambers of the househo… The movements of the myriad orbs o… Through my closed eyelids, by the…
The night is come, but not too soo… And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heav…
We sat within the farm—house old, Whose windows, looking o’er the ba… Gave to the sea—breeze damp and co… An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port,
‘Ah, how short are the days! How… In the old country the twilight is… Suddenly comes the dark, with hard… Hardly a moment between the two li… Yet how grand is the winter! How…
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet… His chestnut steed with four white… Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, Son of the road and bandit chief, Seeking refuge and relief,
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returne… 'T is sweet to visit the still woo… The first flower of the plain. I love the season well,
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