To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor Muse can praise too much....
By duty bound, and not by custome led To celebrate the praises of the dead, My mournfull mind, sore prest, in trembling verse Presents my Lamentations at his Herse, Who was my Father, Guide, Instructor too,...
And live I still to see relations gone, And yet survive to sound this wailing tone; Ah, woe is me, to write thy Funeral Song, Who might in reason yet have lived long,...
Calvert! it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name, that I to thee Owed many years of early liberty. This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem...
Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest! The flowers of Eden round thee blowing, And on thine ear the murmurs blest Of Siloa's waters softly flowing! Beneath that Tree of Life which gives...
On dirt, on stinking wet straw under the shelter of a tumble-down barn, turned in haste into a camp hospital, in a ruined Bulgarian village, for over a fortnight she lay dying of typhus. ...
I NOW DEDICATE, WITH EQUAL AFFECTION, REVERENCE, AND REGRET, A POEM INSCRIBED TO HIM WHILE YET ALIVE IN WORDS WHICH ARE NOW RETAINED BECAUSE THEY WERE LAID BEFORE HIM; AND TO WHICH, RATHER THAN CANCEL...
Within your dear mansion may wayward contention Or withering envy ne'er enter: May secrecy round be the mystical bound, And brotherly love be the centre.
Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent, Ye children of a Soil that doth advance Her haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment!...
We specked as boys o'er worked-out ground By littered fiat and muddy stream, We watched the whim horse trudging round, And rode upon the circling beam, Within the old uproarious mill...
Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one! I love thee more for that thou changest not. When Winter comes with frigid blast, Or when the blithesome Spring is past And Summer's here with sunshine hot,...
"What have you looked at, Moon, In your time, Now long past your prime?" "O, I have looked at, often looked at Sweet, sublime, Sore things, shudderful, night and noon In my time." ...
1. Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, - And ever changing, like a joyless eye...
O lovely moon, how well do I recall The time, - 'tis just a year - when up this hill I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee: And thou suspended wast o'er yonder grove,...
1. Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale, To bathe this burning brow. Moonbeam, why art thou so pale, As thou walkest o'er the dewy dale, Where humble wild-flowers grow? Is it to mimic me?...
Wanderer! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near To human life's unsettled atmosphere; Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake, So might it seem, the cares of them that wake;...
Queen of the stars! so gentle, so benign, That ancient Fable did to thee assign, When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow Warned thee these upper regions to forego, Alternate empire in the shades below...