#Americans #XIXCentury
It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old. Birds are darting through the air,
(Canto XXIII.) Even as a bird, ‘mid the beloved l… Quiet upon the nest of her sweet b… Throughout the night, that hideth… Who, that she may behold their lon…
The merchant’s word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and… Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lip…
I heard the trailing garments of t… Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed… From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell…
Simon Danz has come home again, From cruising about with his bucca… He has singed the beard of the Ki… And carried away the Dean of Jaen And sold him in Algiers.
Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms
In the market-place of Bruges sta… Thrice consumed and thrice rebuild… As the summer morn was breaking, o… And the world through off the dark… Thick with towns and hamlets studd…
How I started up in the night, in… Drawn on without rest or reprieval… The streets, with their watchmen,… As I wandered so light In the night, in the night,
Allah gives light in darkness, Allah gives rest in pain, Cheeks that are white with weeping Allah paints red again. The flowers and the blossoms withe…
Love, love, what wilt thou with th… Naught see I fixed or sure in the… I do not know thee,—nor what deeds… Love, love, what wilt thou with th… Naught see I fixed or sure in the…
Lo! in the paintedoriel of the We… Whose panes the sunken sun incarna… Like a fair lady at her casement,… The evening star, the star of love… And then anon she doth herself div…
Listen, my children, and you shall… Of the midnight ride of Paul Reve… On the eighteenth of April, in Se… Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and…
How strange it seems! These Hebre… Close by the street of this fair s… Silent beside the never—silent wav… At rest in all this moving up and… The trees are white with dust, tha…
Beautiful valley! through whose ve… Unheard the Garigliano glides alo… The Liris, nurse of rushes and of… The river taciturn of classic song… The Land of Labor and the Land o…
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, Ere yet his last he breathed, To the merry monks of Croyland His drinking—horn bequeathed,— That, whenever they sat at their r…