#AmericanWriters
From the German of Heine. In the far North stands a Pine-tr… Upon a wintry height; It sleeps: around it snows have t… A covering of white.
To range, deep-wrapt, along a heav… O’erseeing all that man but unders… To loiter down lone alleys of deli… And hear the beating of the hearts… And think the thoughts that lilies…
“O Trade! O Trade! would thou we… The Time needs heart—’tis tired o… We’re all for love,” the violins s… “Of what avail the rigorous tale Of bill for coin and box for bale?
How tall among her sisters, and ho… How grave beyond her youth, yet de… As dawn, 'mid wrinkled Matres of… Our youngest Alma Mater modest st… In four brief cycles round the pun…
A rose of perfect red, embossed With silver sheens of crystal fros… Yet warm, nor life nor fragrance l… High passion throbbing in a sphere That Art hath wrought of diamond…
If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sp… Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leav… With soft halloos of heavenly love… Shouldst thou, O Spring! a-cower…
Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful… With intricate shades of the vines… Clamber the forks of the multiform… Emerald twilights,— Virginal shy lights,
What heartache—ne’er a hill! Inexorable, vapid, vague and chill The drear sand-levels drain my spi… With one poor word they tell me al… Whereat their stupid tongues, to t…
The Centennial Meditation of Col… [Musical Annotations, in angled b… [Full chorus: sober, measured and… From this hundred-terraced height, Sight more large with nobler light
Young palmer sun, that to these sh… Pourest thy pilgrim’s tale, discou… Thy silver passages of sacred land… With news of Sepulchre and Doloro… Canst thou be he that, yester-suns…
Joust First. Bright shone the lists, blue bent… And the knights still hurried amai… To the tournament under the ladies… Where the jousters were Heart and…
Sail fast, sail fast, Ark of my hopes, Ark of my dreams… Sweep lordly o’er the drowned Pas… Fly glittering through the sun’s s… Sail fast, sail fast.
In the heart of the Hills of Life… Two springs that with unbroken flo… Forever pour their lucent streams Into my soul’s far Lake of Dreams… Not larger than two eyes, they lie
That air same Jones, which lived… He had this pint about him: He’d swear with a hundred sighs an… That farmers MUST stop gittin’ l… And git along without 'em:
So one in heart and thought, I tr… That thou might’st press the strin… And both would meet in music sweet… Thou and I, I trow.