#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Squaw-Berry, bramble, Solomon’s-s… And rattlesnake-weed make wild the… You seem to feel that a Faun will… Or leap before your face. . . . Is that the reel of a Satyr’s hee…
White from her chrysalis of cloud, The moth-like moon swings upward t… And all the bee-like stars that cr… The hollow hive of heav’n wane in… Along the distance, folds of mist
How shall it be with them that day When God demands of Earth His pa… With them who make a god of clay And gold and put all truth away. Shall not they see the lightning-r…
There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…
Spurge and sea-pink, hyssop blue, Dragonhead of purple hue; Catnip, frosted green and gray, With blue butterflies a-sway, These may point you out the way.
Take Heart Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.
The frogs still cry, ‘Knee-deep!… Among its starlit pools, When dark the woodland lies asleep… And dusk its water cools: The fireflies round its bank of fe…
Once when the park Was very dark I slipped out and went walking; And heard the trees To the summer breeze,
She was a queen. 'Midst mutes and… A mameluke, he loved her.—Waves Dashed not more hopelessly the pav… Of her high marble palace-stair Than lashed his love his heart’s d…
Little leaves, that lean your ears From each branch and bough of spri… What is that your rapture hears? Song of bird or flight of wing, All so eager, little ears?
There is no Paradise like that wh… Deep in the heavens of her azure e… There is no Eden here on Earth th… Like that which smiles rich in her…
The tripod flared with a purple sp… And the mist hung emerald in the d… Now he stooped to the lilac flame Over the glare of the amber embers… Thrice to utter no earthly name;
September On Cape Ann The partridge-berry flecks with fl… That leads to ferny hollows where… Drones on the aster. Far away the… Points its deep sapphire with a gl…
An old, lost lane; where can it le… To stony pastures, where the weed Purples its plume, or sails its se… And from one knoll, the vetch make… Trailing its glimmering ribbon on,
COME, let’s climb into our attic… In our house that’s old and gray! Life, you’re old and I’m rheumati… And—it’s close of day. Lay aside your rags and tatters,