#AmericanWriters #Epigram
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain!
Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own… Thine image, stamped upon this cla… Doth give thee that, but that alon… Take them, O Grave! and let them…
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village
She dwells by Great Kenhawa’s sid… In valleys green and cool; And all her hope and all her pride Are in the village school. Her soul, like the transparent air
And now along the horizon’s edge Mountains of cloud uprose, Black as with forests underneath, Above their sharp and jagged teeth Were white as drifted snows.
THIS is the forest primeval. The… Bearded with moss, and in garments… Stand like Druids of eld, with vo… Stand like harpers hoar, with bear… Loud from its rocky caverns, the d…
All houses wherein men have lived… Are haunted houses. Through the o… The harmless phantoms on their err… With feet that make no sound upon… We meet them at the doorway, on th…
Half of my life is gone, and I ha… The years slip from me and have no… The aspiration of my youth, to bui… Some tower of song with lofty para… Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor t…
Gaddi mi fece; il Ponte Vecchio s… Cinquecent’ anni giásull’ Arno pi… Il piede, come il suo Michele San… Piantó sul draco. Mentre ch’ io r… Lo vedo torcere con flebil suono
Saint Augustine! well hast thou s… That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of sham… All common things, each day’s even…
On the green little isle of Inchk… Who is it that walks by the shore, So gay with his Highland blue bon… So brave with his targe and claymo… His form is the form of a giant,
O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but pla… Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain,
When the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flo… And the dry leaves strew the path; With the falling of the snow, With the cawing of the crow,
_Prince Henry_. God’s blessing on… The bridges o’er swift rivers and… Before impassable to human feet, No less than on the builders of ca… Whose massive walls are bridges th…
Oh that a Song would sing itself… Out of the heart of Nature, or th… Of man, the child of Nature, not… Fresh as the morning, salt as the… With just enough of bitterness to…
