Spring Greeting
From the German of Herder. All faintly through my soul to-day, As from a bell that far away Is tinkled by some frolic fay, Floateth a lovely chiming. Thou magic bell, to many a
Laughter In The Senate
In the South lies a lonesome, hungry Land; He huddles his rags with a cripple’s hand; He mutters, prone on the barren sand, What time his heart is breaking. He lifts his bare head
The Symphony
“O Trade! O Trade! would thou wert dead! The Time needs heart ’tis tired of head: We’re all for love,” the violins said. “Of what avail the rigorous tale Of bill for coin and
Nilsson
A rose of perfect red, embossed With silver sheens of crystal frost, Yet warm, nor life nor fragrance lost. High passion throbbing in a sphere That Art hath wrought of diamond clear, A great
In The Foam
Life swelleth in a whitening wave, And dasheth thee and me apart. I sweep out seaward: be thou brave. And reach the shore, Sweetheart. Beat back the backward-thrusting sea. Thy weak white arm his
Barnacles
My soul is sailing through the sea, But the Past is heavy and hindereth me. The Past hath crusted cumbrous shells That hold the flesh of cold sea-mells About my soul. The huge waves
Our Hills
Dear Mother-Earth Of Titan birth, Yon hills are your large breasts, and often I Have climbed to their top-nipples, fain and dry To drink my mother’s-milk so near the sky. O ye hill-stains, Red,
The Dying Words Of Stonewall Jackson
“Order A. P. Hill to prepare for battle.” “Tell Major Hawks to advance the Commissary train.” “Let us cross the river and rest in the shade.” The stars of Night contain the glittering Day
Rose-Morals
I. Red. Would that my songs might be What roses make by day and night Distillments of my clod of misery Into delight. Soul, could’st thou bare thy breast As yon red rose, and
Nine From Eight
I was drivin’ my two-mule waggin, With a lot o’ truck for sale, Towards Macon, to git some baggin’ (Which my cotton was ready to bale), And I come to a place on the
The Raven Days
Our hearths are gone out and our hearts are broken, And but the ghosts of homes to us remain, And ghastly eyes and hollow sighs give token From friend to friend of an unspoken
The Jacquerie A Fragment
Chapter I. Once on a time, a Dawn, all red and bright Leapt on the conquered ramparts of the Night, And flamed, one brilliant instant, on the world, Then back into the historic moat
The Song Of The Chattahoochee
Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my
The Mocking-Bird
Superb and sole, upon a plumed spray That o’er the general leafage boldly grew, He summ’d the woods in song; or typic drew The watch of hungry hawks, the lone dismay Of languid doves
A Birthday Song. To S. G
For ever wave, for ever float and shine Before my yearning eyes, oh! dream of mine Wherein I dreamed that time was like a vine, A creeping rose, that clomb a height of dread