Books (Alexander Anderson Poems)
The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they createAnd multiply in us a brigher ray, And ...
The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they createAnd multiply in us a brigher ray, And ...
A sweet love-song, whose early touch— Ere yet the master-hand grew strongTo strike the chords that felt at such The ...
A tender light, when I look back, Is all that I can seeOf that sweet time and that sweet walk— ...
Lying full-length upon the summer grass,And by the murmur of a summer stream,I heard the village bell, and turning roundTo ...
No book to-night; but let me sitAnd watch the firelight change and flit,And let me think of other laysThan those ...
The still gods, though they move apart From interchange of thoughts with men,Yearn to come down, and, in the mart, ...
The long deep grass is springing by the edges of the streams,And the trees have found a secret that bursts ...
He sleeps beneath the violets,That grow above him like regrets,That he, so sick at heart should comeHere in the splendid ...
I turn'd the pages writ by mighty men— Giants who in the past had toil'd and fought, And ...
To be at Yarrow—this is no high wish, And yet what magic wraps the name. To stand Alone in the ...
A youth uprising with a pale, sweet face, Fraught with intensest wonder, with the Muse For his most passionate mistress, ...
Wherever genius whispers, "Here shall be An immortality for men and time To worship," there the ages grow sublimeAnd break ...
Brighter the flowers still grow on him who said, "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever," From out ...
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