#Americans
Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good—frame, Plans, credit and the Muse,—
HENCEFORTH, please God, fore… The yoke of men’s opinions. I wil… Light—hearted as a bird, and live… I find him in the bottom of my hea… I hear continually his voice there…
Good Heart, that ownest all! I ask a modest boon and small: Not of lands and towns the gift,— Too large a load for me to lift,— But for one proper creature,
The water understands Civilization well; It wets my foot, but prettily, It chills my life, but wittily, It is not disconcerted,
Virtue runs before the muse And defies her skill, She is rapt, and doth refuse To wait a painter’s will. Star—adoring, occupied,
The times, as we say—or the present aspects of our social state, theral Science, Agriculture, Art, Trade, Letters, have their root in an invisible spiritual reality. To appear in these ...
I wish to offer to your consideration some thoughts on the particular and general relations of man as a reformer. I shall assume that the aim of each young man in this association is th...
Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy… With sudden passion languishing, Maketh all things softly smile, Painteth pictures mile on mile, Holds a cup with cowslip—wreaths,
What boots it, thy virtue, What profit thy parts, While one thing thou lackest, The art of all arts! The only credentials,
The sense of the world is short,— Long and various the report,— To love and be beloved; Men and gods have not outlearned i… And, how oft soe’er they’ve turned…
Askest ‘How long thou shall stay?… Devastator of the day! Know, each substance and relation Thorough nature’s operation, Hath its unit, bound, and metre,
Hast thou named all the birds with… Loved the wood-rose, and left it o… At rich men’s tables eaten bread a… Unarmed, faced danger with a heart… And loved so well a high behavior,
I love thy music, mellow bell, I love thine iron chime, To life or death, to heaven or hel… Which calls the sons of Time. Thy voice upon the deep
I am the Muse who sung alway By Jove, at dawn of the first day… Star—crowned, sole—sitting, long… To fire the stagnant earth with th… On spawning slime my song prevails…
Though loth to grieve The evil time’s sole patriot, I cannot leave My buried thought For the priest’s cant,