#AmericanWriters #Epigram
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilde… And roofs of villages, on woodland… And their aerial neighborhoods of… Deserted, on the curtained window-… Of rooms where children sleep, on…
IN that delightful land, which is… Guarding in sylvan shades the name… Stands on the banks of its beautif… There all the air is balm, and the… And the streets still re-echo the…
What an image of peace and rest Is this little church among its gr… All is so quiet; the troubled brea… The wounded spirit, the heart oppr… Here may find the repose it craves…
In the valley of the Pegnitz, whe… Rise the blue Franconian mountain… Quaint old town of toil and traffi… Memories haunt thy pointed gables,… Memories of the Middle Ages, when…
When the hours of Day are numbere… And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumber… To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white-thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…
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.
I saw, as in a dream sublime, The balance in the hand of Time. O’er East and West its beam impen… And day, with all its hours of lig… Was slowly sinking out of sight,
Can it be the sun descending O’er the level plain of water? Or the Red Swan floating, flying, Wounded by the magic arrow, Staining all the waves with crimso…
Thus closed the tale of guilt and… That cast upon each listener’s fac… Its shadow, and for some brief spa… Unbroken silence filled the room. The Jew was thoughtful and distre…
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village
Have I dreamed? or was it real, What I saw as in a vision, When to marches hymeneal In the land of the Ideal Moved my thought o’er Fields Elys…
On the gray sea-sands King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points with his hands. With eddy and whirl
I pace the sounding sea—beach and… How the voluminous billows roll an… Upheaving and subsiding, while the… Shines through their sheeted emera… And the ninth wave, slow gathering…
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returne… 'T is sweet to visit the still woo… The first flower of the plain. I love the season well,