#AmericanWriters
Out in Oldham County once Met a boy who showed me how He could milk an old red cow. Yes; he was n’t any dunce. Put me on an old-gray mare;
THE rose, that wrote its message… Bright manuscript, has turned her… Towards Fall, and waits, heart-he… Pale flower to take her place. With eyes distraught, and dark dis…
There’s a house across the street That nobody goes into; Say it’s haunted, yes, they do; Ghosts livethere, they say, or mee… Saw one in a winding-sheet
Woods of wonder, wonder ways, Where the Faery Piper plays, Bidding all to up and follow Over haunted hill and hollow, And behold again the Fays
Along the road I smelt the rose, The wild-rose in its veil of rain; And how it was, God only knows, But with its scent I saw again A girl’s face at a window-pane,
From an ode ‘In Commemoration of… Massachusetts Bay Colony.’ The morn that breaks its heart of… Above the purple hills; The eve, that spills
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?
Within the world of every man’s de… Three things have power to lift hi… Through dreams, religion, and ecst… The star-like shapes of Beauty, T… I never hoped that, this side far-…
The west builds high a sepulcher Of cloudy granite and of gold, Where twilight’s priestly hours in… The Day like some great king of o… A censer, rimmed with silver fire,
Not while I live may I forget That garden which my spirit trod! Where dreams were flowers, wild an… And beautiful as God. Not while I breathe, awake, adrea…
Here where the season turns the la… Among the fields our feet have kno… When we were children who would la… Glad little playmates of the wind… Before came toil and care and year…
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… Here from this height where, clust…
Wild son of Heav’n, with laughter… Now East, now West, now North, n… Bearing in one harsh hand dark dea… And in the other, sunshine and a r…
Awake! the dawn is on the hills! Behold, at her cool throat a rose, Blue-eyed and beautiful she goes, Leaving her steps in daffodils.- Awake! arise! and let me see
All hushed of glee, The last chill bee Clings wearily To the dying aster. The leaves dropp faster: