#AmericanWriters #Epigram
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…
Oh that a Song would sing itself… Out of the heart of Nature, or th… Of man, the child of Nature, not… Fresh as the morning, salt as the… With just enough of bitterness to…
Once into a quiet village, Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet’s wingéd steed. It was Autumn, and incessant
Yes, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, sorely!
I know a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be… Beware! Beware! Trust her not,
The merchant’s word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and… Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lip…
O Lord! who seest, from yon starr… Centred in one the future and the… Fashioned in thine own image, see The world obscures in me what once… Eternal Sun! the warmth which tho…
Northward over Drontheim, Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, Sang the lark and linnet From the meadows green; Weeping in her chamber,
When the summer harvest was gather… And the sheaf of the gleaner grew… And the ploughshare was in its fur… Where the stubble land had been la… An Indian hunter, with unstrung b…
(Tristia, Book III. Elegy X.) Should any one there in Rome reme… And, without me, my name still in… Tell him that under stars which ne… I am existing still, here in a bar…
Out of childhood into manhood Now had grown my Hiawatha, Skilled in all the craft of hunter… Learned in all the lore of old men… In all youthful sports and pastime…
Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
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,
Four by the clock! and yet not day… But the great world rolls and whee… With its cities on land, and its s… Into the dawn that is to be! Only the lamp in the anchored bark
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,