#AmericanWriters #Epigram
‘Build me straight, O worthy Mast… Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel… That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestl… The merchant’s word
Half of my life is gone, and I ha… The years slip from me and have no… The aspiration of my youth, to bui… Some tower of song with lofty para… Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor t…
Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and gast blew the blast, And the east—wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice
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,
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…
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers… And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest!
At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, Within the sandy bar, At sunset of a summer’s day, Ready for sea, at anchor lay The good ship Valdemar.
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village
King Solomon, before his palace g… At evening, on the pavement tessel… Was walking with a stranger from t… Arrayed in rich attire as for a fe… The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learne…
The sea awoke at midnight from its… And round the pebbly beaches far a… I heard the first wave of the risi… Rush onward with uninterrupted swe… A voice out of the silence of the…
‘Yes, well your story pleads the c… Of those dumb mouths that have no… Only a cry from each to each In its own kind, with its own laws… Something that is beyond the reach
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…
Flow on, sweet river! like his ver… Who lies beneath this sculptured h… Nor wait beside the churchyard wal… For him who cannot hear thy call. Thy playmate once; I see him now
“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,
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…