John Greenleaf Whittier ( 10 of 32 )
The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup read more
The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.
The best of a book is not the thought which it contains, but the thought which it suggests; just as read more
The best of a book is not the thought which it contains, but the thought which it suggests; just as the charm of music dwells not in the tones but in the echoes of our hearts.
Simply duty hath no place for fear.
Simply duty hath no place for fear.
Maud Muller looked and sighed: :Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!
He would dress read more
Maud Muller looked and sighed: :Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!
He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine."
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams
Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,
And tremble in the April read more
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams
Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,
And tremble in the April showers
The tassels of the maple flowers.
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; Who sows a field, or trains read more
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants a tree, is more than all.
Clothe with life the weak intent, let me be the thing I meant.
Clothe with life the weak intent, let me be the thing I meant.
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses read more
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses perished; And left, as its young beauty fled, An ashen memory in its stead.
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest,
read more
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest,
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board
The old broken links of affection restored,
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before.
What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye?
What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?
And let these altars, wreathed with flowers
And piled with fruits, awake again
Thanksgivings for the golden read more
And let these altars, wreathed with flowers
And piled with fruits, awake again
Thanksgivings for the golden hours,
The early and the latter rain!
