#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
‘I rode to death, for I fought fo… The Lady Maurine of noble name, ’The fair and faithless!-Though l… Is love the wiser?-Love made song ‘Of all my life; and the soul that…
Weeds and dead leaves, and leaves… With hues of rust and rose whence… Gnarl’d thorns, from which the kno… On paths the gray moss heaps. One golden flower, like a dreamy t…
Deep in the hollow wood he found a… Winding unto a water, dim and gray… Grayer and dimmer than the break o… By which a wildrose blossomed; flo… Leaning above its image hour on ho…
You, who are met to remember Kentucky and give her praise; Who have warmed your hearts at the… Of her love for many days! Be faithful to your mother,
An hour from dawn: The snow sweeps on As it swept with sleet last night: The Earth around Breathes never a sound,
There it lies broken, as a shard, What breathed sweet music yesterda… The source, all mute, has passed a… With its masked meanings still unm… But melody will never cease!
When I behold how some pursue Fame, that is Care’s embodiment Or fortune, whose false face looks… An humble home with sweet content Is all I ask for me and you.
Above lone woodland ways that led To dells the stealthy twilights tr… The west was hot geranium red; And still, and still, Along old lanes the locusts sow
An old lane, an old gate, an old h… A wild wood, a wild brook they wil… In boyhood I knew them, and still… Down deep in my heart’s core I he… Through tear-mists behold them ben…
From morn till noon upon the windo… The tempest tapped with rainy fing… And all the afternoon the blusteri… Beat at the door with furious feet… The rose, near which the lily bloo…
Devil’s Race-Horse seems to me Strangest thing I ever saw: Up in our old maple-tree They’re at home; stand rearingly, Lean of neck and long of claw.
There was once a little boy— So my father told me—who Never cared for any toy, But just sweet things, as boys do, Cakes and comfits, cream and ice,
There’s a story no one knows, But myself, about a rose And a fairy and a star Where the Toyland people are. Once when I had gone to bed,
There is a field, that leans upon… Foamed o’er of flowers and twinkli… That in its girdle of wild acres b… The anodyne of rest that cures all… Wherein soft wind and sun and soun…
The shadows sit and stand about it… Like uninvited guests and poor; And all the long, hot summer day The grating locust dins its rounde… In one old sycamore.