#Americans
WHEN the pine tosses its cones To the song of its waterfall tones… Who speeds to the woodland walks? To birds and trees who talks? Cæsar of his leafy Rome,
Let us exchange congratulations on the enjoyments and the promises of this literary anniversary. The land we live in has no interest so dear, if it knew its want, as the fit consecratio...
I rake no coffined clay, nor publi… The resurrection of departed pride… Safe in their ancient crannies, da… Let kings and conquerors, saints a… Late in the world,—too late percha…
The rain has spoiled the farmer’s… Shall sorrow put my books away? Thereby are two days lost: Nature shall mind her own affairs, I will attend my proper cares,
Give me truths, For I am weary of the surfaces, And die of inanition. If I knew Only the herbs and simples of the… Rue, cinquefoil, gill, vervain, an…
OUR eyeless bark sails free, Though with boom and spar Andes, Alp, or Himmalee Strikes never moon or star.
THE EYE is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary picture is repeated without end. It is the highest emblem in the cipher of the ...
That you are fair or wise is vain, Or strong, or rich, or generous; You must have also the untaught st… That sheds beauty on the rose. There is a melody born of melody,
Good—bye, proud world! I’m going… Thou art not my friend, and I’m n… Long through thy weary crowds I r… A river—ark on the ocean brine, Long I’ve been tossed like the dr…
Low and mournful be the strain, Haughty thought be far from me; Tones of penitence and pain, Moanings of the tropic sea; Low and tender in the cell
The prosperous and beautiful To me seem not to wear The yoke of conscience masterful, Which galls me everywhere. I cannot shake off the god;
Knows he who tills this lonely fie… To reap its scanty corn, What mystic fruit his acres yield At midnight and at morn? In the long sunny afternoon,
O Fair and stately maid, whose ey… Was kindled in the upper sky At the same torch that lighted min… For so I must interpret still Thy sweet dominion o’er my will,
Set not thy foot on graves; Hear what wine and roses say; The mountain chase, the summer wav… The crowded town, thy feet may wel… Set not thy foot on graves;
I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me. In plains that room for shadows ma…