Dust on the page, from these forgetful years! I brush it off, to see the fading date Written in boyish hand; to find through tears The lad's dear name, inscribed with all the state...
In the old days (a custom laid aside With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent Their wisest men to make the public laws. And so, from a brown homestead, where the Sound...
No martyr-blood hath ever flowed in vain! - No patriot bled, that proved not freedom's gain! Those tones, which despots heard with fear and dread From living lips, ring sterner from the dead;...
The noontide sun streamed brightly down Moriah's mountain crest, The golden blaze of his vivid rays Tinged sacred Jordan's breast; While towering palms and flowerets sweet,...
'Midst the men and things which will Haunt an old man's memory still, Drollest, quaintest of them all, With a boy's laugh I recall Good old Abram Morrison.
When snow is here, and the trees look weird, And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost; When the breath congeals in the drover's beard, And the old pathway to the barn is lost;...
As aw passed Wit'orth chapel 'twor just five o'clock, Aw'd mi can full o' teah, an a bundle o' jock; An aw thowt th' bit o' bacca aw puffed on mi way Wor sweeter nor ivver aw'd known it that day....
1. The golden gates of Sleep unbar Where Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather! Night, with all thy stars look down, -...
"O I am weary!" she sighed, as her billowy Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy, Graceful and fair as a goddess of old:...
Through the vales to my love! To the happy small nest of home Green from basement to roof; Where the honey-bees come To the window-sill flowers, And dive from above,...
My darling, I have much to say Where o precious one shall I begin ? All that is in you is princely O you who makes of my words through their meaning Cocoons of silk These are my songs and this is me...
Over the western sea, hither from Niphon come, Courteous, the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys, Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive, Ride to-day through Manhattan.
You did not come, And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb. - Yet less for loss of your dear presence there Than that I thus found lacking in your make That high compassion which can overbear...
0 Lord, my God, how long Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide From the deep caverns of their endless being,...