Mogg Megone – Part II. (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)
'Tis morning over Norridgewock, —On tree and wigwam, wave and rock.Bathed in the autumnal sunshine, stirredAt intervals by breeze and ...
'Tis morning over Norridgewock, —On tree and wigwam, wave and rock.Bathed in the autumnal sunshine, stirredAt intervals by breeze and ...
I.-Peter MichaelovIt was Peter the Barbarian put an apron in his bagAnd rolled up the honoured bundle that Australians call ...
GIFT from the cold and silent Past!A relic to the present cast,Left on the ever-changing strandOf shifting and unstable sand,Which ...
When first in ancient time, from Jubal's tongueThe tuneful anthem filled the morning air,To sacred hymnings and elysian songHis music-breathing ...
Father! to Thy suffering poorStrength and grace and faith impart,And with Thy own love restoreComfort to the broken heart!Oh, the ...
What flecks the outer gray beyondThe sundown's golden trail?The white flash of a sea-bird's wing,Or gleam of slanting sail?Let young ...
When you wake from troubled slumbers With a dream-bewildered brain,And old leaves which no man numbers Chattering tap against the pane;And the ...
When you wake from troubled slumbersWith a dream-bewildered brain,And old leaves which no man numbersChattering tap against the pane;And the ...
In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,The bosom of his Father, and assumedA servant's form, though he had reigned a king,In ...
The silken sail, which caught the summer breeze,Drove the light vessel through the azure seas;Upon the lofty deck, Dame Sigrid ...
Fort Dearborn is a strong and goodly place,And o'er the frontier looks with valiant faceTo greet the hostile tread of ...
My miserable countrymen, whose wont is once a-year To lounge in watering-places, disagreeable and dear; Who on pigmy Cambrian mountains, ...
A Threnody for Robert Louis StevensonCOLD, the dull cold! What ails the sun,And takes the heart out of the day?What ...
The sea has left the strand- In their deep sapphire cup The waves lie gathered up, Off ...
If you should look for this place after a handful of lifetimes: Perhaps of my planted forest a few May ...
Of all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme, - On Apuleius' Golden ...
GIFT from the cold and silent Past! A relic to the present cast, Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting ...
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