#AmericanWriters #Epigram
All houses wherein men have lived… Are haunted houses. Through the o… The harmless phantoms on their err… With feet that make no sound upon… We meet them at the doorway, on th…
‘Hast thou seen that lordly castle… That Castle by the Sea? Golden and red above it The clouds float gorgeously. ’And fain it would stoop downward
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…
The Archbishop, whom God loved in… Beheld his wounds all bleeding fre… And then his cheek more ghastly gr… And a faint shudder through his me… Upon the battle-field his knee was…
In the market—place of Bruges sta… Thrice consumed and thrice rebuild… town. As the summer morn was breaking, o… And the world threw off the darkne…
Saint Augustine! well hast thou s… That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of sham… All common things, each day’s even…
From the outskirts of the town Where of old the mile-stone stood, Now a stranger, looking down I behold the shadowy crown Of the dark and haunted wood.
In the market-place of Bruges sta… Thrice consumed and thrice rebuild… As the summer morn was breaking, o… And the world through off the dark… Thick with towns and hamlets studd…
Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms
At Drontheim, Olaf the King Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring… As he sat in his banquet-hall, Drinking the nut-brown ale, With his bearded Berserks hale
Short of stature, large of limb, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared. ‘Look!’ they said,
St. Botolph’s Town! Hither acros… And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb… There came a Saxon monk, and foun… A Priory, pillaged by marauding D… So that thereof no vestige now rem…
With favoring winds, o’er sunlit s… We sailed for the Hesperides, The land where golden apples grow; But that, ah! that was long ago. How far, since then, the ocean str…
Tuscan, that wanderest through the… With thoughtful pace, and sad, maj… Stern thoughts and awful from thy… Like Farinata from his fiery tomb… Thy sacred song is like the trump…
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…