Category: Poetry
Nightingale I never heard, Nor the skylark, poet’s bird; But there is an æther-winger So surpasses every singer, (Though unknown to lyric fame,) That at morning, or at nooning, When I hear his pipe a-tuning, Down I fling Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth,-- What are all their songs o...
I knew a gentle Man;-- Alas! his soul has flown; Now that his tender heart is still, Pale anguish haunts my own. His eye, in pity’s tear, Would often saintly swim; He did to oth...
3. Part 3Through vasty shades of savage Occident The Ohio groped what time the man I sing Took first quick draught of that free element That thrills Swiss life, and felt the quivering Of...
4. Part 4The morning air is richly rife With southern soft perfumes; Yon orchard glows with sudden blush Of mingled buds and blooms; The madrigals of wooing birds Awaken amorous Spring,...
1. Part 1Nightingale I never heard, Nor the skylark, poet’s bird; But there is an æther-winger So surpasses every singer, (Though unknown to lyric fame,) That at morning, or at nooning,...