#AmericanWriters
Thee, dear friend, a brother sooth… Not with flatteries, but truths, Which tarnish not, but purify To light which dims the morning’s… I have come from the spring—woods,
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit, Repeats the music of the rain; But sweeter rivers pulsing flit Through thee, as thou through the… Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
Guard well your spare moments. Th…
Hast thou named all the birds with… Loved the wood-rose, and left it o… At rich men’s tables eaten bread a… Unarmed, faced danger with a heart… And loved so well a high behavior,
Your picture smiles as first it sm… The ring you gave is still the sam… Your letter tells, O changing chi… No tidings since it came. Give me an amulet
“May be true what I had heard, Earth’s a howling wilderness Truculent with fraud and force,” Said I, strolling through the pas… And along the riverside.
Announced by all the trumpets of t… Arrives the snow, and, driving o’e… Seems nowhere to alight: the white… Hides hills and woods, the river,… And veils the farm—house at the ga…
By the rude bridge that arched the… Their flag to April’s breeze unfu… Here once the embattled farmers st… And fired the shot heard round the… The foe long since in silence slep…
Though loath to grieve The evil time’s sole patriot, I cannot leave My honeyed thought For the priest’s cant,
OUR eyeless bark sails free, Though with boom and spar Andes, Alp, or Himmalee Strikes never moon or star.
Though loath to grieve The evil time’s sole patriot, I cannot leave My honied thought For the priest’s cant,
Who knows this or that? Hark in the wall to the rat: Since the world was, he has gnawed… Of his wisdom, of his fraud What dost thou know?
Deep in the man sits fast his fate To mould his fortunes, mean or gre… Unknown to Cromwell as to me Was Cromwell’s measure or degree; Unknown to him as to his horse,
Low and mournful be the strain, Haughty thought be far from me; Tones of penitence and pain, Moanings of the tropic sea; Low and tender in the cell
Thousand minstrels woke within me, “Our music’s in the hills; ”— Gayest pictures rose to win me, Leopard—colored rills. Up!—If thou knew’st who calls