#AmericanWriters #Epigram
Bell! thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell! thou soundest solemnly. When, on Sabbath morning,
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…
Let nothing disturb thee, Nothing affright thee All things are passing; God never changeth; Patient endurance
The merchant’s word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and… Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lip…
Pleasant it was, when woods were g… And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene. Where, the long drooping boughs be… Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
When winter winds are piercing chi… And through the hawthorn blows the… With solemn feet I tread the hill… That overbrows the lonely vale. O’er the bare upland, and away
God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth… That they might touch the hearts o… And bring them back to heaven agai… The first, a youth, with soul of f…
Well pleased the audience heard th… The Theologian said: 'Indeed, To praise you there is little need… One almost hears the farmers flail Thresh out your wheat, nor does th…
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…
Is it so far from thee Thou canst no longer see, In the Chamber over the Gate, That old man desolate, Weeping and wailing sore
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,…
What is this I read in history, Full of marvel, full of mystery, Difficult to understand? Is it fiction, is it truth? Children in the flower of youth,
I pace the sounding sea—beach and… How the voluminous billows roll an… Upheaving and subsiding, while the… Shines through their sheeted emera… And the ninth wave, slow gathering…
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose… Seems from some faint Aeolian har… Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes o… As Hermes with his lyre in sleep… The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus…
The battle is fought and won By King Ladislaus, the Hun, In fire of hell and death’s frost, On the day of Pentecost. And in rout before his path
