The Ranger (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)
ROBERT RAWLIN!--Frosts were fallingWhen the ranger's horn was callingThrough the woods to Canada.Gone the winter's sleet and snowing,Gone the spring-time's ...
ROBERT RAWLIN!--Frosts were fallingWhen the ranger's horn was callingThrough the woods to Canada.Gone the winter's sleet and snowing,Gone the spring-time's ...
Night rests in beauty on Mont Alto.Beneath its shade the beauteous Arno sleepsIn vallombrosa's bosom, and dark treesBend with a ...
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon;And, if the sun looks through, 'tis with a faceBeamless and pale ...
When first in ancient time, from Jubal's tongueThe tuneful anthem filled the morning air,To sacred hymnings and elysian songHis music-breathing ...
Poor old hat! poor old hat! like misen tha's grown An fowk call us old fashioned an odd;But monny's the storm ...
AH, moment not to be purchased,Not to be won by prayer,Not by toil to be conquered,But given, lest one despair,By ...
UP and down, up and down,In the air the sunshine mellows--Green or yellow, gold or brown,See those gay capricious fellows!Sparkling, ...
The love in her eyes lay sleeping,As stars that unconscious shine,Till, under the pink lids peeping,I wakened it up with ...
THIRTY-SIXTH VARIATIONTHIS shred of song you bid me bringIs snatched from fancy's embers;Ah, when the lips forget to sing,The faithful ...
The NegroWith the trumpet at his lipsHas dark moons of wearinessBeneath his eyeswhere the smoldering memoryof slave shipsBlazed to the ...
Behold that vale, whose sides are cloth'd with wood; And here and there a pleasurable spot Of intersected pasture, with its stack,Cottage ...
There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street In the City as the sun sinks low; And the music's not ...
Sweets of the wild! that breathe and bloom, On this lone tow'r, this ivy'd wall;Lend to the gale a ...
At Quincey's moat the squandering village ends, And there in the almshouse dwell the dearest friends ...
When the Laborites and Liberals are bickering, Are a-calling and a-bawling in the House,And the strangers in the gallery are ...
Here in the pungent gloomWhere the tamarac roses glowAnd the balsam burns its perfume,A vireo turns his slowCadence, as if ...
Men in the rough--on the trails all new-broken--Those are the friends we remember with tears;Few are the words that such ...
Farewell, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own; For sure our souls ...
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon; And, if the sun looks through, 'tis with a face Beamless ...
That scathing word I used in scorn (Though half a century ago) Comes back to me this April morn, Like ...
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