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To Fitz-Greene Halleck |
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I see the sons of genius rise
The nobles of our land,
And foremost in the gathering ranks
I see the poet-band.
That priesthood of the Beautiful
To... |
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To flee from memory |
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English |
To flee from memory
Had we the Wings
Many would fly
Inured to slower things
Birds with surprise
Would scan the cowering Van
Of men escaping
From the mind of man
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To forgive Enemies H does pretend |
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English |
* * *
To forgive Enemies H . does pretend
Who never in his Life forgave a friend
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To F—— (I mock thee not) |
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English |
To F——
I mock thee not tho I by thee am Mocked
Thou callst me Madman but I call thee Blockhead
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To F—— (You call me Mad tis Folly to do so) |
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English |
To F——
You call me Mad tis Folly to do so
To seek to turn a Madman to a Foe
If you think as you speak you are an Ass
If you do not you are but what you was
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To George Peabody |
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English |
No Eastern tale, no annals of the past,
Of Greece or Rome, deeds such as thine relate,
Deeds kings and emperors might emulate,
That o'er thy native land new luster cast;
The... |
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To Giulia Grisi |
Nathaniel Parker Willis |
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English |
When the rose is brightest,
Its bloom will soonest die;
When burns the meteor brightest,
’T will vanish from the sky.
If Death but wait until delight
O’errun the heart like wine,
And break the cup when brimming quite,
I die—for thou... |
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To God |
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To God
If you have formd a Circle to go into
Go into it yourself & see how you would do
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To H (You think Fuseli is not a Great Painter) |
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To H
You think Fuseli is not a Great Painter Im Glad
This is one of the best compliments he ever had
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To Hafiz |
Thomas Bailey Aldrich |
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English |
Though gifts like thine the fates gave not to me,
One thing, O Hafiz, we both hold in fee—
Nay, it holds us; for when the June wind blows
We both are slaves and lovers to the rose.
In vain the pale Circassian lily shows
Her face at her green lattice, and... |
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To hang our head — ostensibly — |
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English |
To hang our head — ostensibly —
And subsequent, to find
That such was not the posture
Of our immortal mind —
Affords the sly presumption
That in so dense a fuzz —
You — too — take Cobweb attitudes... |
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To Harriet |
Percy Bysshe Shelley |
1812 |
Love |
Whose is the love that, gleaming through the world,
Wards off the poisonous arrow of its scorn?
Whose is the warm and partial praise,
Virtue's most sweet reward?
Beneath whose looks did my reviving soul
Riper in truth and virtuous daring grow?
Whose eyes have I... |
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To Hartley Coleridge |
William Wordsworth |
1790 |
English |
Six Years Old
O THOU whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought
The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol,
Thou fairy voyager! that dost float
In such clear water, that thy... |
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To hear an Oriole sing |
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To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing —
Or only a divine.
It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd —
The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear... |
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To Helen |
Edgar Allan Poe |
1843 |
Love |
I saw thee once - once only - years ago:
I must not say how many - but not many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,
There fell a silvery-silken veil of light,... |
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To Helen |
Edgar Allan Poe |
1829 |
English |
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicæan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy... |
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To Helen |
Edgar Allan Poe |
1829 |
English |
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicæan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy... |
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To help our Bleaker Parts |
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To help our Bleaker Parts
Salubrious Hours are given
Which if they do not fit for Earth
Drill silently for Heaven —
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To Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
James Russell Lowell |
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English |
On His Birthday, 27th February, 1867
I NEED not praise the sweetness of his song,
Where limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds
Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he wrong
The new moon’s mirrored skiff, he slides along,
Full without noise, and... |
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To Her Absent Sailor |
John Greenleaf Whittier |
1827 |
English |
From “The Tent on the Beach”
HER window opens to the bay,
On glistening light or misty gray,
And there at dawn and set of day
In prayer she kneels:
“Dear Lord!” she saith, “to many a home
From wind and wave the wanderers come;
I only see... |
