Illustrious fathers of the human race, Of you, the song of your afflicted sons Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far, Unto the Great Disposer of the stars,...
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect; the savage, too, From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep Guesses at heaven; pity these have not...
I am myself at last; now I achieve My very self. I, with the wonder mellow, Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear And single me, perfected from my fellow. ...
I am running forth to meet you, O my Master, For they tell me you are surely on the way; Yes, they tell me you are coming back again (While I run, while I run)....
I am the Reaper. All things with heedful hook Silent I gather. Pale roses touched with the spring, Tall corn in summer, Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms - Reaping, still reaping -...
I arise and go down to the River, and currents that come from the sea, Still fresh with the salt of the ocean, are lovely and precious to me, The waters are silver and silent, except where the kingfisher dips,...
I opened the casement this morn at starlight, And, the moment I got out of bed, The daisies were quaking about in their white And the cowslip was nodding its head....
If I should die, how kind you all would grow! In that strange hour I would not have one foe. There are no words too beautiful to say Of one who goes forevermore away...
If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix'd in love's decrees, That beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell,...
Vhen der Herr Breitmann vas a yungling, he vas go bummin aroundt goot deal in de worldt, vestigatin human natur, roulant de vergne en vergne, ash de Fraentsch boet says: 'goin from town to town;' seein beobles in gemixed socied...
I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air - I have a rendezvous with Death...
I have not forgotten our little white retreat Where we were neighbors to the town of busy streets; Our plaster Venus and Pomona barely could Conceal their nakedness within our meagre wood....
She twirled the string of golden beads, That round her neck was hung, - - My grandsire's gift; the good old man Loved girls when he was young; And, bending lightly o'er the cord, And turning half away,...