William Dean Howells

Is it the shrewd October wind
Brings the tears into her eyes?
Does it blow so strong read more

Is it the shrewd October wind
Brings the tears into her eyes?
Does it blow so strong that she must fetch
Her breath in sudden sighs?

Out of the fragrant heart of bloom,
The bobolinks are singing;
Out of the fragrant heart of read more

Out of the fragrant heart of bloom,
The bobolinks are singing;
Out of the fragrant heart of bloom
The apple-tree whispers to the room,
"Why art thou but a nest of gloom
While the bobolinks are singing?"

Commemoration of Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, 690 If I lay waste and wither up with doubt The blessed read more

Commemoration of Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, 690 If I lay waste and wither up with doubt The blessed fields of heaven where once my Faith possessed itself serenely safe from death; If I deny things past finding out; Or if I orphan my own soul from One That seemed a Father, and make void the place Within me where He dwelt in Power and Grace, What do I gain by what I have undone?

Inequality is as dear to the American heart as liberty itself

Inequality is as dear to the American heart as liberty itself

The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about read more

The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about her eyes,--
A mystery of mysteries.
So he must often pause, and stoop,
An all the wanton ringlets loop
Behind her dainty ear--emprise
Of slow event and many sighs.