#AmericanWriters
‘Thou Ship of Earth, with Death,… And fires of Desires burning hotl… I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for… At battle on the deck, and the wil… ’The dewdrop morn may fall from of…
Down mildest shores of milk-white… By cape and fair Floridian bay, Twixt billowy pines—a surf asleep… And the great Gulf at play, Past far-off palms that filmed to…
Written for the “Martha Washingto… Down cold snow-stretches of our bi… When windy shams and the rain-mock… Of Trade have cased us in such ic… That hearts are scarcely hot enoug…
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:
Life swelleth in a whitening wave, And dasheth thee and me apart. I sweep out seaward:— be thou brav… And reach the shore, Sweetheart. Beat back the backward-thrusting s…
Well: Death is a huge omnivorous… Grim squatting on a twilight road. He catcheth all that Circumstance Hath tossed to him. He curseth all who upward glance
From cold Norse caves or buccanee… Oft come repenting tempests here t… Bewailing old-time wrecks and robb… They shrive to priestly pines with… Breathe salutary balms through lan…
He’s fast asleep. See how, O Wi… Night’s finger on the lip of life Bids whist the tongue, so prattle-… Of busy Baby Charley. One arm stretched backward round h…
Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chi… Complain no more; for these, O he… Direct the random of the will As rhymes direct the rage of art. The lute’s fixt fret, that runs at…
‘If life were caught by a clarione… And a wild heart, throbbing in the… Should thrill its joy and trill it… And utter its heart in every deed, ’Then would this breathing clarion…
Across the brook of Time man leap… On stepping-stones of epochs, that… Fixed, memorable, midst broad shal… Of neutrals, kill-times, sleeps, i… So twixt each morn and night rise…
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.
Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind…
If spicy-fringed pinks that blush… With passions of perfume,—if viole… That hint of heaven with odor more… If perfect roses, each a holy Gra… Wherefrom the blood of beauty doth…
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