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SILENT and amazed, even when a little boy, I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put God in his statements, As contending against some being or influence.
A carol closing sixty-nine—a résumé—a repetition, My lines in joy and hope continuing on the same, Of ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry; Of you, my Land—your rivers, prairies, States—you, mottled Flag I love, Your aggregate retain’d entire—Of north, south,…
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. Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold, In the procession along…
TO get betimes in Boston town I rose this morning early, Here’s a good place at the corner, I must stand and see the show. Clear the way there Jonathan! Way for the President’s marshal—way for the government cannon! Way…
[Sunday,–– – ––.–Went this forenoon to church. A college professor, Rev. Dr.——, gave us a fine sermon, during which I caught the above words; but the minister included in his “rounded catalogue” letter and spirit, only the esthetic things, and…
My science-friend, my noblest woman-friend, (Now buried in an English grave—and this a memory-leaf for her dear sake,) Ended our talk—”The sum, concluding all we know of old or modern learning, intuitions deep, “Of all Geologies—Histories—of all Astronomy—of Evolution, Metaphysics…
When wit, and wine, and friends have met And laughter crowns the festive hour In vain I struggle to forget Still does my heart confess thy power And fondly turn to thee! But Octavia, do not strive to rob My…
Though I turn, I fly not — I cannot depart; I would try, but try not To release my heart. And my hopes are dying While, on dreams relying, I am spelled by art. Thus, the bright snake coiling [‘]Neath…
Who hath seduced thee to this foul revolt From the pure well of Beauty undefiled? So banish from true wisdom to prefer Such squalid wit to honourable rhyme? To write? To scribble? Nonsense and no more? I will not write…
I heed not that my earthly lot Hath-little of Earth in it— That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute:— I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that you sorrow…