#Americans
THERE is a difference between one and another hour of life in their authority and subsequent effect. Our faith comes in moments; our vice is habitual. Yet there is a depth in those brie...
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,
SHINES the last age, the next w… To—day slinks poorly off unmarked… Future or Past no richer secret f… O friendless Present! than thy bo…
Hast thou named all the birds with… Loved the wood-rose, and left it o… At rich men’s tables eaten bread a… Unarmed, faced danger with a heart… And loved so well a high behavior,
The sun set, but set not his hope: Stars rose; his faith was earlier… Fixed on the enormous galaxy, Deeper and older seemed his eye; And matched his sufferance sublime
The living Heaven thy prayers res… House at once and architect, Quarrying man’s rejected hours, Builds therewith eternal towers; Sole and self—commanded works,
Low and mournful be the strain, Haughty thought be far from me; Tones of penitence and pain, Moanings of the tropic sea; Low and tender in the cell
The invitation to address you this day, with which you have honored me, was so welcome, that I made haste to obey it. A summons to celebrate with scholars a literary festival, is so all...
The sense of the world is short,— Long and various the report,— To love and be beloved; Men and gods have not outlearned i… And, how oft soe’er they’ve turned…
In this refulgent summer, it has been a luxury to draw the breath of life. The grass grows, the buds burst, the meadow is spotted with fire and gold in the tint of flowers. The air is f...
I hung my verses in the wind, Time and tide their faults may fin… All were winnowed through and thro… Five lines lasted sound and true; Five were smelted in a pot
I SEE all human wits Are measured but a few; Unmeasured still my Shakespeare s… Lone as the blessed Jew.
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…
SOME of the hurts you have cured… And the sharpest you still have su… But what torments of grief you end… From evils which never arrived!
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,