#AmericanWriters #Epigram
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returne… 'T is sweet to visit the still woo… The first flower of the plain. I love the season well,
At La Chaudeau,—'tis long since t… I was young,—my years twice ten; All things smiled on the happy boy… Dreams of love and songs of joy, Azure of heaven and wave below,
How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the African monarch, the sp… As down to his death in the hollow Dark dungeons of Rome he descende… Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended;
How much of my young heart, O Spa… Went out to thee in days of yore! What dreams romantic filled my bra… And summoned back to life again The Paladins of Charlemagne,
In the old churchyard of his nativ… And in the ancestral tomb beside t… We laid him in the sleep that come… And left him to his rest and his r… The snow was falling, as if Heave…
“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!”
‘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!’
There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white-thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…
When the hours of Day are numbere… And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumber… To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
Once on a time, some centuries ago… In the hot sunshine two Francisca… Wended their weary way, with foots… Back to their convent, whose white… Gleamed on the hillside like a pat…
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…
Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had c… Gleaming stood in the morning’s sh… Decked with a brazen cock, the fri… Glanced like the tongues of fire,… Clear was the heaven and blue, and…
There is a Reaper, whose name is… And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a br… And the flowers that grow between. “Shall I have naught that is fair…
A cold, uninterrupted rain, That washed each southern window-p… And made a river of the road; A sea of mist that overflowed The house, the barns, the gilded v…
Short of stature, large of limb, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared. ‘Look!’ they said,
