In the fair land o’erwatched by I… Across the charmed bay Whose blue waves keep with Capri’… Perpetual holiday, A king lies dead, his wafer duly e…

Gallery of sacred pictures manifol… A minster rich in holy effigies, And bearing on entablature and fri… The hieroglyphic oracles of old. Along its transept aureoled martyr…

MEN of the North-land! where’s t… Of the true-hearted and the unshac… Sons of old freemen, do we but inh… Their names alone? Is the old Pilgrim spirit quenche…

THE winding way the serpent takes The mystic water took, From where, to count its beaded la… The forest sped its brook. A narrow space 'twixt shore and sh…

Still linger in our noon of time And on our Saxon tongue The echoes of the home-born hymns The Aryan mothers sung. And childhood had its litanies

Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, On the Indian Sea, by the isles o… Or is it a ship in the breezeless… A ship whose keel is of palm benea… Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bar…

BOWDOIN STREET, BOSTON, 1… The end has come, as come it must To all things; in these sweet Jun… The teacher and the scholar trust Their parting feet to separate way…

On these green banks, where falls… The shade of Autumn’s afternoon, The south wind blowing soft and sw… The water gliding at nay feet, The distant northern range uplit

IN the solemn days of old, Two men met in Boston town, One a tradesman frank and bold, One a preacher of renown. Cried the last, in bitter tone:

Last night, just as the tints of a… Of sunset faded from our hills and… I sat, vague listening, lapped in… To the leaf’s rustle, and the cric… Then, like that basket, flush with…

Tauler, the preacher, walked, one… Without the walls of Strasburg, b… Pondering the solemn Miracle of L… As one who, wandering in a starles… Feels momently the jar of unseen w…

THE South-land boasts its teemin… The prairied West its heavy grain… And sunset’s radiant gates unfold On rising marts and sands of gold! Rough, bleak, and hard, our little…

I HAVE been thinking of the vict… In Naples, dying for the lack of… And sunshine, in their close, damp… Where hope is not, and innocence i… Appeals against the torture and th…

As Islam’s Prophet, when his last… Nigh to its close, besought all me… Whom he had wronged, to whom he th… A debt forgotten, or for pardon su… And, through the silence of his we…

Gone hath the Spring, with all it… And gone the Summer’s pomp and sh… And Autumn, in his leafless bower… Is waiting for the Winter’s snow. I said to Earth, so cold and gray…