#AmericanWriters #Epigram
A strain of music closed the tale, A low, monotonous, funeral wail, That with its cadence, wild and sw… Made the long Saga more complete. ‘Thank God,’ the Theologian said,
The merchant’s word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and… Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lip…
When winter winds are piercing chi… And through the hawthorn blows the… With solemn feet I tread the hill… That overbrows the lonely vale. O’er the bare upland, and away
Torrent of light and river of the… Along whose bed the glimmering sta… Like gold and silver sands in some… Where mountain streams have left t… The Spaniard sees in thee the pat…
At La Chaudeau,—'tis long since t… I was young,—my years twice ten; All things smiled on the happy boy… Dreams of love and songs of joy, Azure of heaven and wave below,
Now Time throws off his cloak aga… Of ermined frost, and cold and rai… And clothes him in the embroidery Of glittering son and clear blue s… With beast and bird the forest rin…
Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. By the bedside, on the stair,
“Honor be to Mudjekeewis!” Cried the warriors, cried the old… When he came in triumph homeward With the sacred Belt of Wampum, From the regions of the North-Win…
At the foot of the mountain height Where is perched Castel Cuille, When the apple, the plum, and the… In the plain below were growing wh… This is the song one might perceiv…
Sweet as the tender fragrance that… When martyred flowers breathe out… Sweet as a song that once consoled… But never will be sung to us again… Is thy remembrance. Now the hour…
There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white—thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…
What say the Bells of San Blas To the ships that southward pass From the harbor of Mazatlan? To them it is nothing more Than the sound of surf on the shor…
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returne… 'T is sweet to visit the still woo… The first flower of the plain. I love the season well,
IN that delightful land, which is… Guarding in sylvan shades the name… Stands on the banks of its beautif… There all the air is balm, and the… And the streets still re-echo the…
The old house by the lindens Stood silent in the shade, And on the gravelled pathway The light and shadow played. I saw the nursery windows