Ain't nobody nevah tol' you not a wo'd a-tall, 'Bout de time dat all de critters gin dey fancy ball? Some folks tell it in a sto'y, some folks sing de rhyme,...
The sea that is life everlasting And death everlasting as life Abides not a pilot's forecasting, Foretells not of peace or of strife. The might of the night that was hidden Arises and darkens the day,...
Songs light as these may sound, though deep and strong The heart spake through them, scarce should hope to please Ears tuned to strains of loftier thoughts than throng...
Health to great Glo'ster!--from a man unknown, Who holds thy health as dearly as his own, Accept this greeting--nor let modest fear Call up one maiden blush--I mean not here...
Steadfast as any soldier of the line He served his England, with the imminent death Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine The constant peril of each burdened breath. ...
The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar, Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind white sea-snakes are. There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep,...
They rode through the bannered city - The King and the Commoner, And the hopes of the world were with them, And the heart of the world was astir. For the moss-grown walls seemed falling...
Delicate cluster! flag of teeming life! Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death! (how I watch'd you through the smoke of battle pressing! How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant!)...
You can pass on de worl' w'erever you lak, Tak' de steamboat for go Angleterre, Tak' car on de State, an' den you come back, An' go all de place, I don't care, Ma frien' dat 's a fack, I know you will say,...
'Tis night: the busy, ceaseless noise of day No more is heard; the now-deserted-streets Lie dark and silent; London's weary swarms Rest in profound repose. Hark! a loud cry...
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death--the call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,...
'Let a man write never so well, there are now-a-days a sort of persons they call critics, that, egad, have no more wit in them than so many hobby-horses: but they'll laugh at you, Sir, and find fault, and censure things, that, ...