#AmericanWriters
Our vales are sweet with fern and… Our hills are maple-crowned; But not from them our fathers chos… The village burying-ground. The dreariest spot in all the land
They left their home of summer eas… Beneath the lowland’s sheltering t… To seek, by ways unknown to all, The promise of the waterfall. Some vague, faint rumor to the val…
What flecks the outer gray beyond The sundown’s golden trail? The white flash of a sea-bird’s wi… Or gleam of slanting sail? Let young eyes watch from Neck an…
LOOK on him! through his dungeon… Feebly and cold, the morning light Comes stealing round him, dim and… As if it loathed the sight. Reclining on his strawy bed,
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
WE give thy natal day to hope, O Country of our love and prayer! Thy way is down no fatal slope, But up to freer sun and air. Tried as by furnace-fires, and yet
THE Quaker of the olden time! How calm and firm and true, Unspotted by its wrong and crime, He walked the dark earth through. The lust of power, the love of gai…
The tree of Faith its bare, dry b… That nearer heaven the living ones… The false must fail, though from o… The old lament be heard, ‘Great P… That wail is Error’s, from his hi…
THROUGH heat and cold, and show… Still onward cheerly driving! There’s life alone in duty done, And rest alone in striving. But see! the day is closing cool,
O Dearly loved! And worthy of our love! No more Thy aged form shall rise before The bushed and waiting worshiper, In meek obedience utterance giving
LONGFELLOW. WITH a glory of winter sunshine Over his locks of gray, In the old historic mansion He sat on his last birthday;
AGAINST the wooded hills it sta… Ghost of a dead home, staring thro… Its broken lights on wasted lands Where old-time harvests grew. Unploughed, unsown, by scythe unsh…
Sad Mayflower! watched by winter… And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails! What had she in those dreary hours…
Talk not of sad November, when a… Of warm, glad sunshine fills the s… And a wind, borrowed from some mor… Stirs the brown grasses and the le… On the unfrosted pool the pillared…
I SAID I stood upon thy grave, My Mother State, when last the mo… Of blossoms clomb the skies of Ju… And, scattering ashes on my head, I wore, undreaming of relief,