#AmericanWriters #Epigram
Warm and still is the summer night… As here by the river’s brink I wa… White overhead are the stars, and… The glimmering lamps on the hillsi… Silent are all the sounds of day;
As a pale phantom with a lamp Ascends some ruin’s haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp Mysterious chambers of the air. Now hidden in cloud, and now revea…
One hundred years ago, and somethi… In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at… Neat as a pin, and blooming as a r… Stood Mistress Stavers in her fur… Just as her cuckoo-clock was strik…
How strange it seems! These Hebre… Close by the street of this fair s… Silent beside the never—silent wav… At rest in all this moving up and… The trees are white with dust, tha…
‘Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me… Danger and shame and death betide… For Olaf the King is hunting me d… Through field and forest, through… Thus cried Jarl Hakon
'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gl… When woods and fields put off all… Thus began the King and spake: So from the halls Of ancient Hofburgh’s walls,
FOUR times the sun had risen and… Cheerily called the cock to the sl… Soon o’er the yellow fields, in si… Came from the neighboring hamlets… Driving in ponderous wains their h…
Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to low… Comes a pause in the day’s occupat… That is known as the Children’s H… I hear in the chamber above me
They made the warrior’s grave besi… The dashing of his native time: And there was mourning in the glen… The strong wail of a thousand men— O’er him thus fallen in his pride,
Mr. Finney had a turnip, And it grew, and it grew, And it grew behind the barn, And the turnip did no harm. And it grew, and it grew,
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not wher… For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air,
Lo! in the painted oriel of the W… Whose panes the sunken sun incarna… Like a fair lady at her casement,… The evening star, the star of love… And then anon she doth herself div…
The battle is fought and won By King Ladislaus, the Hun, In fire of hell and death’s frost, On the day of Pentecost. And in rout before his path
On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell… And, where the maple’s leaf was br… With soft and silent lapse came do… The glory, that the wood receives,
St. Botolph’s Town! Hither acros… And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb… There came a Saxon monk, and foun… A Priory, pillaged by marauding D… So that thereof no vestige now rem…