#AmericanWriters
‘All the old gods are dead, All the wild warlocks fled; But the White Christ lives and re… And throughout my wide domains His Gospel shall be spread!’
Often I think of the beautiful to… That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear… And my youth comes back to me.
In the convent of Drontheim, Alone in her chamber Knelt Astrid the Abbess, At midnight, adoring, Beseeching, entreating
Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit wi… And the steersman drop idly his ha… Ever, ever to westward! There mus… If it but lie distinct, luminous l… Trust to the God that leads thee,…
One summer morning, when the sun w… Weary with labor in his garden-plo… On a rude bench beneath his cottag… Ser Federigo sat among the leaves Of a huge vine, that, with its arm…
In the Old Colony days, in Plymo… To and fro in a room of his simple… Clad in doublet and hose, and boot… Strode, with a martial air, Miles… Buried in thought he seemed, with…
Ah me! ah me! when thinking of the… The vanished years, alas, I do no… Among them all one day that was my… Fallacious hope; desires of the un… Lamenting, loving, burning, and in…
In the heroic days when Ferdinand And Isabella ruled the Spanish la… And Torquemada, with his subtle b… Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor o… In a great castle near Valladolid…
King Solomon, before his palace g… At evening, on the pavement tessel… Was walking with a stranger from t… Arrayed in rich attire as for a fe… The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learne…
At The Consecration Of Pulaski’… When the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowléd head;
Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain… Full seven miles broad and seven m… But never, ah never, can meet with… A tilt with him dare ride. He saw under the hill-side
Lo! in the paintedoriel of the We… Whose panes the sunken sun incarna… Like a fair lady at her casement,… The evening star, the star of love… And then anon she doth herself div…
STARS of the summer night! Far in yon azure deeps, Hide, hide your golden light! She sleeps! My lady sleeps!
What say the Bells of San Blas To the ships that southward pass From the harbor of Mazatlan? To them it is nothing more Than the sound of surf on the shor…
Until we meet again! That is the… Of the familiar words, that men re… At parting in the street. Ah yes, till then! but when death… Rends us asunder, with what ceasel…
