#AmericanWriters #Epigram
A traveling Scholastic affixing h… of the College. _Scholastic._ There, that is my g… Hung up as a challenge to all the… One hundred and twenty-five propos…
The lights are out, and gone are a… That thronging came with merriment… To celebrate the Hanging of the C… In the new house,—into the night a… But still the fire upon the hearth…
This is the forest primeval. The… Bearded with moss, and in garments… Stand like Druids of eld, with vo… Stand like harpers hoar, with bear… Loud from its rocky caverns, the d…
The sun is set; and in his latest… Yon little cloud of ashen gray and… Slowly upon the amber air unrolled… The falling mantle of the Prophet… From the dim headlands many a ligh…
Laugh of the mountain!—lyre of bir… Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the… The soul of April, unto whom are… The rose and jessamine, leaps wild… Although, where’er thy devious cur…
O, how blest are ye whose toils ar… Who, through death, have unto God… Ye have arisen From the cares which keep us still… We are still as in a dungeon livin…
The course of my long life hath re… In fragile bark o’er a tempestuous… The common harbor, where must rend… Account of all the actions of the… The impassioned phantasy, that, va…
Thus then, much care—worn, The son of Healfden Sorrowed evermore, Nor might the prudent hero His woes avert.
Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper
When the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flo… And the dry leaves strew the path; With the falling of the snow, With the cawing of the crow,
At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant… One of those little places that ha… Half up the hill, beneath a blazin… And then sat down to rest, as if t…
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
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
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…
Sweet babe! true portrait of thy f… Sleep on the bosom that thy lips h… Sleep, little one; and closely, ge… Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother’s… Upon that tender eye, my little fr…