#AmericanWriters
Venus, when her son was lost, Cried him up and down the coast, In hamlets, palaces, and parks, And told the truant by his marks, Golden curls, and quiver, and bow;…
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…
Who shall tell what did befall, Far away in time, when once, Over the lifeless ball, Hung idle stars and suns? What god the element obeyed?
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
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.
WHEN the pine tosses its cones To the song of its waterfall tones… Who speeds to the woodland walks? To birds and trees who talks? Cæsar of his leafy Rome,
Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer,… Possessed the land which rendered… Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, appl… Each of these landlords walked ami… Saying, “’Tis mine, my children’s…
Give me truths, For I am weary of the surfaces, And die of inanition. If I knew Only the herbs and simples of the… Rue, cinquefoil, gill, vervain, an…
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit, Repeats the music of the rain; But sweeter rivers pulsing flit Through thee, as thou through the… Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
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…
Seek not the Spirit, if it hide, Inexorable to thy zeal: Baby, do not whine and chide; Art thou not also real? Why should’st thou stoop to poor e…
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,
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,
The sun goes down, and with him ta… The coarseness of my por attire; The fair moon mounts, and aye the… Of Gypsy beauty blazes higher. Pale Northern girls! you scorn ou…
Winters know Easily to shed the snow, And the untaught Spring is wise In cowslips and anemones. Nature, hating art and pains,