#AmericanWriters #Epigram
The old house by the lindens Stood silent in the shade, And on the gravelled pathway The light and shadow played. I saw the nursery windows
The shades of night were falling f… As through an Alpine village pass… A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and i… A banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
A handful of red sand, from the ho… Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy… The minister of Thought. How many weary centuries has it be…
I am the God Thor, I am the War God, I am the Thunderer! Here in my Northland, My fastness and fortress,
Little sweet wine of Jurançon, You are dear to my memory still! With mine host and his merry song, Under the rose-tree I drank my fi… Twenty years after, passing that w…
‘I thought before your tale began,… The Student murmured, ‘we should… Some legend written by Judah Rav In his Gemara of Babylon; Or something from the Gulistan,—
How strange it seems! These Hebre… Close by the street of this fair s… Silent beside the never—silent wav… At rest in all this moving up and… The trees are white with dust, tha…
On the cross the dying Saviour Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, Feels, but scarcely feels, a tremb… In his pierced and bleeding palm. And by all the world forsaken,
On the green little isle of Inchk… Who is it that walks by the shore, So gay with his Highland blue bon… So brave with his targe and claymo… His form is the form of a giant,
Mr. Finney had a turnip, And it grew, and it grew, And it grew behind the barn, And the turnip did no harm. And it grew, and it grew,
On the gray sea-sands King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points with his hands. With eddy and whirl
Loudly the sailors cheered Svend of the Forked Beard, As with his fleet he steered Southward to Vendland; Where with their courses hauled
In the valley of the Pegnitz, whe… Rise the blue Franconian mountain… Quaint old town of toil and traffi… Memories haunt thy pointed gables,… Memories of the Middle Ages, when…
Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful… Heart so full of care and cumber, I was lapped in rest and slumber, Ye have made me wakeful, wistful! In this life of labor endless
With what a glory comes and goes t… The buds of spring, those beautifu… Of sunny skies and cloudless times… Life’s newness, and earth’s garnit… And when the silver habit of the c…