#AmericanWriters
Mine are the night and morning, The pits of air, the gulf of space… The sportive sun, the gibbous moon… The innumerable days. I hid in the solar glory,
Parks and ponds are good by day; I do not delight In black acres of the night, Nor my unseasoned step disturbs The sleeps of trees or dreams of h…
The lords of life, the lords of li… I saw them pass, In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim,—
O Fair and stately maid, whose ey… Was kindled in the upper sky At the same torch that lighted min… For so I must interpret still Thy sweet dominion o’er my will,
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…
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.
Winters know Easily to shed the snow, And the untaught Spring is wise In cowslips and anemones. Nature, hating art and pains,
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;
Who knows this or that? Hark in the wall to the rat: Since the world was, he has gnawed… Of his wisdom, of his fraud What dost thou know?
Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good—frame, Plans, credit and the Muse,—
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…
Burly dozing humblebee! Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far—off heats through seas to seek… I will follow thee alone,
Man was made of social earth, Child and brother from his birth; Tethered by a liquid cord Of blood through veins of kindred… Next his heart the fireside band
The Sphinx is drowsy, The wings are furled; Her ear is heavy, She broods on the world. “Who’ll tell me my secret,
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,