#AmericanWriters #Epigram
When I compare What I have lost with what I have… What I have missed with what atta… Little room do I find for pride. I am aware
A handful of red sand, from the ho… Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy… The minister of Thought. How many weary centuries has it be…
Not without fire can any workman m… The iron to his preconceived desig… Nor can the artist without fire re… And purify from all its dross the… Nor can revive the phoenix, we are…
Laugh of the mountain!—lyre of bir… Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the… The soul of April, unto whom are… The rose and jessamine, leaps wild… Although, where’er thy devious cur…
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder… In his ship-yard by the sea, Whistling, said, ‘It would bewild… Any man but Thorberg Skafting, Any man but me!’
There was a time when I was very… When my whole frame was but an ell… Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do… And therefore I recall it with de… I sported in my tender mother’s ar…
Ah, Love! Perjured, false, treacherous Love… Enemy Of all that mankind may not rue! Most untrue
This song of mine Is a Song of the Vine, To be sung by the glowing embers Of wayside inns, When the rain begins
No sound of wheels or hoof—beat br… The silence of the summer day, As by the loveliest of all lakes I while the idle hours away. I pace the leafy colonnade,
A wind came up out of the sea, And said, ‘O mists, make room for… It hailed the ships, and cried, ‘… Ye mariners, the night is gone.’ And hurried landward far away,
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,…
Stay, stay at home, my heart, and… Home-keeping hearts are happiest, For those that wander they know no… Are full of trouble and full of ca… To stay at home is best.
“As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman; Though she bends him, she obeys hi… Though she draws him, yet she foll… Useless each without the other!”
I heard the bells on Christmas Da… Their old familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to me…
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,
