#AmericanWriters
That you are fair or wise is vain, Or strong, or rich, or generous; You must have also the untaught st… That sheds beauty on the rose. There is a melody born of melody,
Wise and polite,—and if I drew Their several portraits, you would… Chaucer had no such worthy crew, Nor Boccace in Decameron. We crossed Champlain to Keesevill…
Two well—assorted travellers use The highway, Eros and the Muse. From the twins is nothing hidden, To the pair is naught forbidden; Hand in hand the comrades go
Think me not unkind and rude, That I walk alone in grove and gl… I go to the god of the wood To fetch his word to men. Tax not my sloth that I
OUR eyeless bark sails free, Though with boom and spar Andes, Alp, or Himmalee Strikes never moon or star.
Once I wished I might rehearse Freedom’s paean in my verse, That the slave who caught the stra… Should throb until he snapped his… But the Spirit said, 'Not so;
Virtue runs before the muse And defies her skill, She is rapt, and doth refuse To wait a painter’s will. Star—adoring, occupied,
Why should I keep holiday, When other men have none? Why but because when these are gay… I sit and mourn alone. And why when mirth unseals all ton…
ALL day the waves assailed the ro… I heard no church—bell chime; The sea—beat scorns the minster cl… And breaks the glass of Time.
Because I was content with these… Low open meads, slender and sluggi… And found a home in haunts which o… The partial wood—gods overpaid my… And granted me the freedom of thei…
IT fell in the ancient periods Which the brooding soul surveys, Or ever the wild Time coin’d itse… Into calendar months and days. This was the lapse of Uriel,
I like the church; I like a cowl; I love a prophet of the soul; And on my heart monastic aisles Fall like sweet strains, or pensiv… Yet not for all his faith can see
Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good—frame, Plans, credit and the Muse,—
Knows he who tills this lonely fie… To reap its scanty corn, What mystic fruit his acres yield At midnight and at morn? In the long sunny afternoon,
The lords of life, the lords of li… I saw them pass, In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim,