#Americans
Round Autumn’s mouldering urn Loud mourns the chill and cheerles… When nightfall shades the quiet va… And stars in beauty burn. 'Tis the year’s eventide.
The panting City cried to the Sea… ‘I am faint with heat,—O breathe… And the Sea said, ‘Lo, I breathe… To some will be life, to others de… As to Prometheus, bringing ease
Yes, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, sorely!
Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet… Where amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat,
“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
Blind Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd;—he hears a bre… Say, “It is Christ of Nazareth!” And calls, in tones of agony,
Half of my life is gone, and I ha… The years slip from me and have no… The aspiration of my youth, to bui… Some tower of song with lofty para… Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor t…
On the green little isle of Inchk… Who is it that walks by the shore, So gay with his Highland blue bon… So brave with his targe and claymo… His form is the form of a giant,
O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but pla… Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain,
Once into a quiet village, Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet’s wingéd steed. It was Autumn, and incessant
Spake full well, in language quain… One who dwelleth by the castled R… When he called the flowers, so blu… Stars, that in earth’s firmament d… Stars they are, wherein we read ou…
The night is come, but not too soo… And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heav…
She dwells by Great Kenhawa’s sid… In valleys green and cool; And all her hope and all her pride Are in the village school. Her soul, like the transparent air
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose… Seems from some faint Aeolian har… Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes o… As Hermes with his lyre in sleep… The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus…
The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams,