#AmericanWriters #Epigram
The day is cold, and dark, and dre… It rains, and the wind is never we… The vine still clings to the mould… But at every gust the dead leaves… And the day is dark and dreary.
FAR in the West there lies a des… Lift, through perpetual snows, the… Down from their jagged, deep ravin… Opens a passage rude to the wheels… Westward the Oregon flows and the…
Once into a quiet village, Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet’s wingéd steed. It was Autumn, and incessant
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town… Across the meadows bare and brown, The windows of the wayside inn Gleamed red with fire-light throug… Of woodbine, hanging from the eave…
The night is come, but not too soo… And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heav…
I stand again on the familiar shor… And hear the waves of the distract… Piteously calling and lamenting th… And waiting restless at thy cottag… The rocks, the sea—weed on the oce…
What phantom is this that appears Through the purple mist of the yea… Itself but a mist like these? A woman of cloud and of fire; It is she; it is Helen of Tyre,
He ended: and a kind of spell Upon the silent listeners fell. His solemn manner and his words Had touched the deep, mysterious c… That vibrate in each human breast
Where are the Poets, unto whom be… The Olympian heights; whose singi… Straight to the mark, and not from… But with the utmost tension of the… Where are the stately argosies of…
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village
In the market—place of Bruges sta… Thrice consumed and thrice rebuild… town. As the summer morn was breaking, o… And the world threw off the darkne…
O let the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be quickened, and awak… Awake to see How soon this life is past and gon… And death comes softly stealing on…
(Canto XXIII.) Even as a bird, ‘mid the beloved l… Quiet upon the nest of her sweet b… Throughout the night, that hideth… Who, that she may behold their lon…
Well pleased the audience heard th… The Theologian said: 'Indeed, To praise you there is little need… One almost hears the farmers flail Thresh out your wheat, nor does th…
‘The rivers rush into the sea, By castle and town they go; The winds behind them merrily Their noisy trumpets blow. ’The clouds are passing far and hi…