#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
I read within a poet’s book A word that starred the page: “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage!” Yes, that is true; and something m…
Glory of architect, glory of paint… Living forever in temple and pictu… Look how the world with the lights… Brief was the flame of their life,… Where is the Master of Music, and…
Joyful, joyful we adore Thee, God… Hearts unfold like flowers before… Melt the clouds of sin and sadness… Giver of immortal gladness, fill u… All Thy works with joy surround T…
Yours is a garden of old—fashioned… Joyous children delight to play th… Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of da… Old—time tunes and young love’s la…
The heavenly hills of Holland,— How wondrously they rise Above the smooth green pastures Into the azure skies! With blue and purple hollows,
How the Young Martimor would Become a Knight and Assay Great Adventure When Sir Lancelot was come out of the Red Launds where he did many deeds of arms, he rested him long with play and...
For that thy face is fair I love… Nor yet because the light of thy b… Hath gleams of wonder and of glad… Like woodland streams that cross a… Nor for thy beauty, born without a…
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her whit… and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and str… I stand and watch her until at len…
What hast thou done, O womanhood… Mother and daughter, sister, sweet… What hast thou done, amid this fat… To prove the pride of thine inheri… In this fair land of freedom and r…
Long had I loved this “Attic shap… Of marble maidens round this urn d… But when your golden voice began t… The empty urn was filled with Chi…
O Music hast thou only heard The laughing river, the singing bi… The murmuring wind in the poplar—t… Nothing but Nature’s melodies? Nay, thou hearest all her tones,
'T was far away and long ago, When I was but a dreaming boy, This fairy tale of love and woe Entranced my heart with tearful jo… And while with white Undine I wep…
There are songs for the morning an… For sunrise and sunset, the stars… But who will give praise to the fu… And sing us a song of the glory of… Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
I never thought again to hear The Oxford thrushes singing clear… Amid the February rain, Their sweet, indomitable strain. A wintry vapor lightly spreads
There are three vines that belong to the ancient forest. Elsewhere they will not grow, though the soil prepared for them be never so rich, the shade of the arbour built for them never s...
