Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growin… The solemn vista to the tomb Must know henceforth another shado… And give another cypress room. In love surpassing that of brother…

The tent-lights glimmer on the lan… The ship-lights on the sea; The night-wind smooths with drifti… Our track on lone Tybee. At last our grating keels outslide…

Gone hath the Spring, with all it… And gone the Summer’s pomp and sh… And Autumn, in his leafless bower… Is waiting for the Winter’s snow. I said to Earth, so cold and gray…

Immortal Love, forever full, Forever flowing free, Forever shared, forever whole, A never-ebbing sea! Our outward lips confess the name

O ARY SCHEFFER! when beneath… Touched with the light that cometh… Grew the sweet picture of the dear… No dream hadst thou that Christia… Therefrom the token of His equal…

UP, laggards of Freedom!—our free… To the blaze of the sun and the wi… Will ye turn from a struggle so br… From a foe that is breaking, a fie… Whoso loves not his kind, and who…

Addressed to Francis Greenleaf A… You scarcely need my tardy thanks, Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend… A green leaf on your own Green Ba… The memory of your friend.

No bird-song floated down the hill… The tangled bank below was still; No rustle from the birchen stem, No ripple from the water’s hem. The dusk of twilight round us grew…

Blossom and greenness, making all The winter birthday tropical, And the plain Quaker parlors gay, Have gone from bracket, stand, and… We saw them fade, and droop, and f…

‘BRING out your dead!’ The midn… Heard and gave back the hoarse, lo… Harsh fell the tread of hasty feet… Glanced through the dark the coars… Her coffin and her pall.

From purest wells of English unde… None deeper drank than he, the Ne… Who in the language of their farm-… The wit and wisdom of New England… Shaming a monstrous wrong. The wo…

Not always as the whirlwind’s rush On Horeb’s mount of fear, Not always as the burning bush To Midian’s shepherd seer, Nor as the awful voice which came

A TALE for Roman guides to tell To careless, sight-worn travellers… Who pause beside the narrow cell Of Gregory on the Caelian Hill. One day before the monk’s door cam…

Of all that Orient lands can vaun… Of marvels with our own competing, The strangest is the Haschish pla… And what will follow on its eating… What pictures to the taster rise,

I write my name as one, On sands by waves o’errun Or winter’s frosted pane, Traces a record vain. Oblivion’s blankness claims