HARRIET BEECHER STOWE’S… THE tall, sallow guardsmen their… Flaming out in their violet, yello… And behind go the lackeys in crims… And the chamberlains gorgeous in v…

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…

RIGHT in the track where Sherma… Ploughed his red furrow, Out of the narrow cabin, Up from the cellar’s burrow, Gathered the little black people,

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

. GIFT from the cold and silent Pa… A relic to the present cast, Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting and unstable sand,

On the wide lawn the snow lay deep… Ridged o’er with many a drifted he… The wind that through the pine-tre… The naked elm-boughs tossed and sw… While, through the window, frosty-…

A NOTELESS stream, the Birchb… Beneath its leaning trees; That low, soft ripple is its own, That dull roar is the sea’s. Of human signs it sees alone

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,

Between the gates of birth and dea… An old and saintly pilgrim passed, With look of one who witnesseth The long-sought goal at last. O thou whose reverent feet have fo…

Have I not voyaged, friend belove… On the great waters of the unsound… Momently listening with suspended… For the low rote of waves upon a s… Changeless as heaven, where never…

MY old Welsh neighbor over the wa… Crept slowly out in the sun of spr… Pushed from her ears the locks of… And listened to hear the robin sin… Her grandson, playing at marbles,…

BOWDOIN STREET, BOSTON, 1… The end has come, as come it must To all things; in these sweet Jun… The teacher and the scholar trust Their parting feet to separate way…

A HARVEST IDYL. PROEM. I CALL the old time back: I bri… in tender memory of the summer day When, where our native river lapse…

The flags of war like storm birds… The charging trumpets blow; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature kee…

Before my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn, Old dreams and fancies coloring it… And folly’s unlaid ghosts return. O ships of mine, whose swift keels…