The Rock-Tomb Of Bradore (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)
A DREAR and desolate shore!Where no tree unfolds its leaves,And never the spring wind weavesGreen grass for the hunter's tread;A ...
A DREAR and desolate shore!Where no tree unfolds its leaves,And never the spring wind weavesGreen grass for the hunter's tread;A ...
As a guest who may not stayLong and sad farewells to sayGlides with smiling face away,Of the sweetness and the ...
I did but dream. I never knewWhat charms our sternest season wore.Was never yet the sky so blue,Was never earth ...
The name the Gallic exile bore,St. Malo! from thy ancient mart,Became upon our Western shoreGreenleaf for Feuillevert.A name to hear ...
The river hemmed with leaning treesWound through its meadows green;A low, blue line of mountains showedThe open pines between.One sharp, ...
ALL night above their rocky bedThey saw the stars march slow;The wild Sierra overhead,The desert's death below.The Indian from his ...
Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowingUnder the sky's gray arch;Smiling, I watch the shaken elm-boughs, knowingIt ...
How sweetly come the holy psalmsFrom saints and martyrs down,The waving of triumphal palmsAbove the thorny crownThe choral praise, the ...
I SAID I stood upon thy grave,My Mother State, when last the moonOf blossoms clomb the skies of June.And, scattering ...
MY old Welsh neighbor over the wayCrept slowly out in the sun of spring,Pushed from her ears the locks of ...
My garden roses long agoHave perished from the leaf-strewn walks;Their pale, fair sisters smile no moreUpon the sweet-brier stalks.Gone with ...
Talk not of sad November, when a dayOf warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon,And a wind, borrowed from ...
Bland as the morning breath of JuneThe southwest breezes play;And, through its haze, the winter noonSeems warm as summer's day.The ...
Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,And gone the Summer's pomp and show,And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,Is waiting ...
Thine are all the gifts, O God!Thine the broken bread;Let the naked feet be shod,And the starving fed.Let Thy children, ...
How strange to greet, this frosty morn, In graceful counterfeit of flower, These children of the meadows, born Of sunshine ...
Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one Whose prayer availeth much, my wish should be Your favoring trad-wind and ...
Maud Muller on a summer's day Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of ...
The birds against the April wind Flew northward, singing as they flew; They sang, "The land we leave behind Has ...
Before my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn, Old dreams and fancies coloring it, And ...
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