#AmericanWriters
Space is ample, east and west, But two cannot go abreast, Cannot travel in it two: Yonder masterful cuckoo Crowds every egg out of the nest,
Mortal mixed of middle clay, Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman
Himself it was who wrote His rank, and quartered his own co… There is no king nor sovereign sta… That can fix a hero’s rate; Each to all is venerable,
The word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts with flame… God said, I am tired of kings,
Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy… With sudden passion languishing, Maketh all things softly smile, Painteth pictures mile on mile, Holds a cup with cowslip—wreaths,
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;
I SEE all human wits Are measured but a few; Unmeasured still my Shakespeare s… Lone as the blessed Jew.
And I behold once more My old familiar haunts; here the b… The same blue wonder that my infan… Admired, sage doubting whence the… Whence brought his sunny bubbles e…
Thy trivial harp will never please Or fill my craving ear; Its chords should ring as blows th… Free, peremptory, clear. No jingling serenader’s art,
Butler, fetch the ruby wine, Which with sudden greatness fills… Pour for me who in my spirit Fail in courage and performance; Bring the philosophic stone,
When I was born, From all the seas of strength Fat… Saying, This be thy portion, chil… Less than a lily’s, thou shalt dai… From my great arteries; nor less,…
This is he, who, felled by foes, Sprung harmless up, refreshed by b… He to captivity was sold, But him no prison—bars would hold: Though they sealed him in a rock,
Set not thy foot on graves; Hear what wine and roses say; The mountain chase, the summer wav… The crowded town, thy feet may wel… Set not thy foot on graves;
I cannot spare water or wine, Tobacco—leaf, or poppy, or rose; From the earth—poles to the Line, All between that works or grows, Every thing is kin of mine.
I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me. In plains that room for shadows ma…