#AmericanWriters
I greet you on the re-commencement of our literary year. Our anniversary is one of hope, and, perhaps, not enough of labor. We do not meet for games of strength or skill, for the recita...
Butler, fetch the ruby wine, Which with sudden greatness fills… Pour for me who in my spirit Fail in courage and performance; Bring the philosophic stone,
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…
Man was made of social earth, Child and brother from his birth; Tethered by a liquid cord Of blood through veins of kindred… Next his heart the fireside band
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic… Muffled and dumb like barefoot der… And marching single in an endless… Bring diadems and fagots in their… To each they offer gifts after his…
Virtue runs before the muse And defies her skill, She is rapt, and doth refuse To wait a painter’s will. Star—adoring, occupied,
In May, when sea-winds pierced ou… I found the fresh Rhodora in the… Spreading its leafless blooms in a… To please the desert and the slugg… The purple petals, fallen in the p…
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…
Mortal mixed of middle clay, Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman
The debt is paid, The verdict said, The Furies laid, The plague is stayed, All fortunes made;
Grace, Beauty, and Caprice Build this golden portal; Graceful women, chosen men, Dazzle every mortal. Their sweet and lofty countenance
Deep in the man sits fast his fate To mould his fortunes, mean or gre… Unknown to Cromwell as to me Was Cromwell’s measure or degree; Unknown to him as to his horse,
How much, preventing God! how muc… To the defenses thou hast round me… Example, custom, fear, occasional… These scorned bondmen were my para… I dare not peep over this parapet
THOUGH love repine, and reason… There came a voice without reply,— “'T is man’s perdition to be safe, When for the truth he ought to die…
The word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts with flame… God said, I am tired of kings,
