#Americans
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…
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…
You shall not be overbold When you deal with arctic cold, As late I found my lukewarm blood Chilled wading in the snow—choked… How should I fight? my foeman fin…
If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near;
Your picture smiles as first it sm… The ring you gave is still the sam… Your letter tells, O changing chi… No tidings since it came. Give me an amulet
“May be true what I had heard, Earth’s a howling wilderness Truculent with fraud and force,” Said I, strolling through the pas… And along the riverside.
Roving, roving, as it seems, Una lights my clouded dreams; Still for journeys she is dressed; We wander far by east and west. In the homestead, homely thought;
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…
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…
S. H. With beams December planets dart His cold eye truth and conduct sca… July was in his sunny heart, October in his liberal hand.
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;
Deep in the man sits fast his fate To mould his fortunes, mean or gre… Unknown to Cromwell as to me Was Cromwell’s measure or degree; Unknown to him as to his horse,
Two well—assorted travellers use The highway, Eros and the Muse. From the twins is nothing hidden, To the pair is naught forbidden; Hand in hand the comrades go
If I could put my woods in song And tell what’s there enjoyed, All men would to my gardens throng… And leave the cities void. In my plot no tulips blow,—
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,
