The Poet’s Calendar (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
January Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues ...
January Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues ...
A mason came forth and said, "Speak to us of Houses." And he answered and said: Build of your imaginings ...
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea-- The land of stoves and sunshine is good ...
Under what withering leprous light The very grass as hair is grey, Grass in the cracks of the paven courts ...
Christmass is come and every hearth Makes room to give him welcome now Een want will dry its tears in ...
In the shadow of a broken house, Down a deserted street, Propt walls, cold hearths, and phantom stairs, And the ...
The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way, Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay: No word of ...
O Mother Earth! upon thy lap Thy weary ones receiving, And o'er them, silent as a dream, Thy grassy mantle ...
To the Memory of the Household It Describes This Poem is Dedicated by the Author "As the Spirit of Darkness ...
In the outskirts of the village On the river's winding shores Stand the Occidental plane-trees, Stand the ancient sycamores. One ...
"Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land, "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they ...
Athelstan King, Lord among Earls, Bracelet-bestower and Baron of Barons, He with his brother, Edmund Atheling, Gaining a lifelong Glory ...
THE groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould, Fair Spring slides hither o'er the Southern sea, Wavers on her thin ...
Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside, In a rent stained raiment, the robe of ...
You have the grit and the guts, I know; You are ready to answer blow for blow You are virile, ...
I've tinkered at my bits of rhymes In weary, woeful, waiting times; In doleful hours of battle-din, Ere yet they ...
Said he: "I'll dive deep in the Past, And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast ...
Bix to Buxtehude to Boulez, The little white dog on the Victor label Listens long and hard as he is ...
'Tis not too late to build our young land right, Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan, Devout like early Rome, ...
O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear Of some well-filled oaten beard, Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious tear ...
Our hearths are gone out and our hearts are broken, And but the ghosts of homes to us remain, And ...
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