#AmericanWriters
Stand still, my soul, in the silen… I would question thee, Alone in the shadow drear and star… With God and me! What, my soul, was thy errand here…
No aimless wanderers, by the fiend… Goaded from shore to shore; No schoolmen, turning, in their cl… The leaves of empire o’er. Simple of faith, and bearing in th…
Sound over all waters, reach out f… The chorus of voices, the clasping… Sing hymns that were sung by the s… Sing songs of the angels when Jes… With glad jubilations
FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX. Stranger and traveller, Drink freely and bestow A kindly thought on her Who bade this fountain flow,
On the isle of Penikese, Ringed about by sapphire seas, Fanned by breezes salt and cool, Stood the Master with his school. Over sails that not in vain
Around Sebago’s lonely lake There lingers not a breeze to brea… The mirror which its waters make. The solemn pines along its shore, The firs which hang its gray rocks…
‘Jove means to settle Astraea in her seat again, And let down his golden chain An age of better metal.’ Ben Johnson 1615
Its windows flashing to the sky, Beneath a thousand roofs of brown, Far down the vale, my friend and… Beheld the old and quiet town; The ghostly sails that out at sea
Out and in the river is winding The links of its long, red chain, Through belts of dusky pine-land And gusty leagues of plain. Only, at times, a smoke-wreath
ONCE, more, dear friends, you me… A clouded sky: Not yet the sword has found its sh… And on the sweet spring airs the b… Of war floats by.
THEY sat in silent watchfulness The sacred cypress-tree about, And, from beneath old wrinkled bro… Their failing eyes looked out. Gray Age and Sickness waiting the…
UNDER the great hill sloping bar… To cove and meadow and Common lot… In his council chamber and oaken c… Sat the worshipful Governor Endic… A grave, strong man, who knew no p…
Speak and tell us, our Ximena, lo… O’er the camp of the invaders, o’e… Who is losing? who is winning? are… Look abroad, and tell us, sister,… Down the hills of Angostura still…
NOT unto us who did but seek The word that burned within to spe… Not unto us this day belong The triumph and exultant song. Upon us fell in early youth
O Mother Earth! upon thy lap Thy weary ones receiving, And o’er them, silent as a dream, Thy grassy mantle weaving, Fold softly in thy long embrace