#AmericanWriters
THERE is no rhyme that is half s… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that ’s half so… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…
Deep in a valley, green with ancie… And wandered through of one small,… Whose bear-grassed banks bristled… Tick-trefoil and the thorny marigo… Bush-clover and the wahoo, hung wi…
‘We have the receipt of fern seed:… —HENRY IV And we have met but twice or thric… Three times enough to make me love… I praised your hair once; then you…
The day is dead; and in the west The slender crescent of the moon Diana’s crystal-kindled crest Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon. What is the murmur in the dell?
On nights like this, when bayou an… Dream in the moonlight’s mystic ra… I seem to walk like one deep in a… With old-world myths born of the m… Lascivious eyes and mouths of sens…
The Voice of a Man WHAT of the Night, O Watcher? The Voice of a Woman Yea, what of it? The Watcher
Whiten, oh whiten, O clouds of la… Lily-like clouds that whiten above… Now like a dove, and now like a sw… But never, oh never pass on! pass… Never so white as the throat of my…
How fancy romped and played here, Building this house of moss! A faery house, the shade here And sunlight gleam across; And how it danced and swayed here,
O Days that hold us; and years th… And dreams and mem’ries no time de… Where lie the islands, the morning… And where the highlands we knew wh… Oh, tell us, whether the happy hea…
To me not only does her soul sugge… Palms and the peace of tropic shor… But, oceaned far beyond the golden… The Fortunate Islands of true Wo…
Thou art the music that I hear in… The poetry that lures me on in dre… The magic, thou, that holds my tho… Of young romance in revery’s mysti… The lily’s aura, and the damask de…
In heavens of riveted blue, that s… With glaucous flame, deep in the w… Stands Midas-like; or, wading on… Touches with splendor all the twil… Each cloud that, like a stepping-s…
We tightened stirrup; buckled rein… Looked to our saddle-girths again; Shook hands all round; then mounte… The gate swung wide: we said, ‘Go… No time for talk had Bell and I.
‘ Succinctae sacra Dianae ’.-OVID There the ragged sunlight lay Tawny on thick ferns and gray
An old lane, an old gate, an old h… A wild wood, a wild brook they wil… In boyhood I knew them, and still… Down deep in my heart’s core I he… Through tear-mists behold them ben…