#AmericanWriters #Epigram
Where are the Poets, unto whom be… The Olympian heights; whose singi… Straight to the mark, and not from… But with the utmost tension of the… Where are the stately argosies of…
Come, old friend! sit down and lis… From the pitcher, placed between u… How the waters laugh and glisten In the head of old Silenus! Old Silenus, bloated, drunken,
In the village churchyard she lies… Dust is in her beautiful eyes, No more she breathes, nor feels, n… At her feet and at her head Lies a slave to attend the dead,
TRAVELLER Why dost thou wildly rush and roar… Mad River, O Mad River? Wilt thou not pause and cease to p… Thy hurrying, headlong waters o’er
I like that ancient Saxon phrase,… The burial-ground God’s-Acre! It… It consecrates each grave within i… And breathes a benison o’er the sl… God’s-Acre! Yes, that blessed nam…
I heard the trailing garments of t… Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed… From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell…
(Tristia, Book III. Elegy X.) Should any one there in Rome reme… And, without me, my name still in… Tell him that under stars which ne… I am existing still, here in a bar…
I saw, as in a dream sublime, The balance in the hand of Time. O’er East and West its beam impen… And day, with all its hours of lig… Was slowly sinking out of sight,
‘E venni dal martirio a questa pac… These words the poet heard in Par… Uttered by one who, bravely dying… In the true faith was living in th… Where the celestial cross of sacri…
Garlands upon his grave And flowers upon his hearse, And to the tender heart and brave The tribute of this verse. His was the troubled life,
This song of mine Is a Song of the Vine, To be sung by the glowing embers Of wayside inns, When the rain begins
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…
Under Mount Etna he lies, It is slumber, it is not death; For he struggles at times to arise… And above him the lurid skies Are hot with his fiery breath.
Have I dreamed? or was it real, What I saw as in a vision, When to marches hymeneal In the land of the Ideal Moved my thought o’er Fields Elys…
DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR M… We sat within the farm-house old, Whose windows, looking o’er the ba… Gave to the sea-breeze damp and co… An easy entrance, night and day.