#AmericanWriters
Set not thy foot on graves; Hear what wine and roses say; The mountain chase, the summer wav… The crowded town, thy feet may wel… Set not thy foot on graves;
WHEN the pine tosses its cones To the song of its waterfall tones… Who speeds to the woodland walks? To birds and trees who talks? Cæsar of his leafy Rome,
Mortal mixed of middle clay, Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman
Wise and polite,—and if I drew Their several portraits, you would… Chaucer had no such worthy crew, Nor Boccace in Decameron. We crossed Champlain to Keesevill…
LONG I followed happy guides, I could never reach their sides; Their step is forth, and, ere the… Breaks up their leaguer, and away. Keen my sense, my heart was young,
Himself it was who wrote His rank, and quartered his own co… There is no king nor sovereign sta… That can fix a hero’s rate; Each to all is venerable,
Thy trivial harp will never please Or fill my craving ear; Its chords should ring as blows th… Free, peremptory, clear. No jingling serenader’s art,
O Fair and stately maid, whose ey… Was kindled in the upper sky At the same torch that lighted min… For so I must interpret still Thy sweet dominion o’er my will,
I love thy music, mellow bell, I love thine iron chime, To life or death, to heaven or hel… Which calls the sons of Time. Thy voice upon the deep
Who gave thee, O Beauty, The keys of this breast,— Too credulous lover Of blest and unblest? Say, when in lapsed ages
Little thinks, in the field, yon r… Of thee from the hill—top looking… The heifer that lows in the upland… Far—heard, lows not thine ear to c… The sexton, tolling his bell at no…
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
Give me truths, For I am weary of the surfaces, And die of inanition. If I knew Only the herbs and simples of the… Rue, cinquefoil, gill, vervain, an…
It is time to be old, To take in sail:— The god of bounds, Who sets to seas a shore, Came to me in his fatal rounds,
I like the church; I like a cowl; I love a prophet of the soul; And on my heart monastic aisles Fall like sweet strains, or pensiv… Yet not for all his faith can see