#AmericanWriters #Epigram
I like that ancient Saxon phrase,… The burial-ground God’s-Acre! It… It consecrates each grave within i… And breathes a benison o’er the sl… God’s-Acre! Yes, that blessed nam…
Beautiful valley! through whose ve… Unheard the Garigliano glides alo… The Liris, nurse of rushes and of… The river taciturn of classic song… The Land of Labor and the Land o…
I trust that somewhere and somehow You all have heard of Hagenau, A quiet, quaint, and ancient town Among the green Alsatian hills, A place of valleys, streams, and m…
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senes… Et fugiunt freno non remorante die… Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi. 'O Cæsar, we who are about to die Salute you! ' was the gladiators’…
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…
‘Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me… Danger and shame and death betide… For Olaf the King is hunting me d… Through field and forest, through… Thus cried Jarl Hakon
All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low;
A strain of music closed the tale, A low, monotonous, funeral wail, That with its cadence, wild and sw… Made the long Saga more complete. ‘Thank God,’ the Theologian said,
Garlands upon his grave And flowers upon his hearse, And to the tender heart and brave The tribute of this verse. His was the troubled life,
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,
Night. PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone… _Prince Henry._ Still is the nigh… Has died away from the empty stree… And like an artisan, bending down
A fleet with flags arrayed Sailed from the port of Brest, And the Admiral’s ship displayed The signal: ‘Steer southwest.’ For this Admiral D’Anville
I am the God Thor, I am the War God, I am the Thunderer! Here in my Northland, My fastness and fortress,
“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,
Often I think of the beautiful to… That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear… And my youth comes back to me.