#AmericanWriters
I cannot eat my porridge, I weary of my play; No longer can I sleep at night, No longer romp by day! Though forty pounds was once my we…
Lofty and enduring is the monument… Come, tempests, with your bitterne… And thou, corrosive blasts of time… Thy buffets and thy rage are unava… I shall not altogether die; by far…
As forth he pours the new made win… What blessing asks the lyric poet— What boon implores in this fair sh… Of one full likely to bestow it? Not for Sardinia’s plenteous stor…
I am not rich, and yet my wealth Surpasseth human measure; My store untold Is not of gold Nor any sordid treasure.
I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; I hear it by the stormy sea When winter nights are black and w… And when, affright, I call to The… It calms my fears and whispers me,
If thou wilt shut thy drowsy eyes, My mulberry one, my golden sun! The rose shall sing thee lullabies… My pretty cosset lambkin! And thou shalt swing in an almond-…
COBBLER Stork, I am justly wroth, For thou hast wronged me sore; The ash roof-tree that shelters th… Shall shelter thee no more!
Oh, hush thee, little Dear-my-Sou… The evening shades are falling,— Hush thee, my dear, dost thou not… The voice of the Master calling? Deep lies the snow upon the earth,
Sleep, little pigeon, and fold you… Little blue pigeon with velvet eye… Sleep to the singing of mother-bir… Swinging the nest where her little… Away out yonder I see a star,—
SAILOR You, who have compassed land and s… Now all unburied lie; All vain your store of human lore, For you were doomed to die.
I’m thinking of the wooing That won my maiden heart When he—he came pursuing A love unused to art. Into the drowsy river
How cool and fair this cellar wher… My throne a dusky cask is; To do no thing but just to sing And drown the time my task is. The cooper he’s
(EGYPTIAN FOLK-SONG) Grim is the face that looks into t… Over the stretch of sands; A sullen rock in a sea of white— A ghostly shadow in ghostly light,
When our babe he goeth walking in… Around his tinkling feet the sunbe… The posies they are good to him, And bow them as they should to him… As fareth he upon his kingly way;
Fair is the castle up on the hill— Hushaby, sweet my own! The night is fair, and the waves a… And the wind is singing to you and… In this lowly home beside the sea—