Thank Heaven! the crisis- The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last- And the fever called “Living” Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As
Ethiopia Saluting the Colors. by Walt Whitman
1 WHO are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, With your woolly-white and turban’d head, and bare bony feet? Why, rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet? 2 (’Tis while our army lines Carolina’s sand and
Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and
I Arise From Dreams Of Thee by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me
With Antecedents. by Walt Whitman
1 WITH antecedents; With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations of past ages; With all which, had it not been, I would not now be here, as I am: With Egypt, India, Phenicia, Greece and Rome; With the Kelt,
The Triumph of Life by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth. The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above
Ode to Pity by Jane Austen
1 Ever musing I delight to tread The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed On disappointed Love. While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush Sings sweet and Melancholy, And the thrush Converses
To Helen 1 by Edgar Allan Poe
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
Beginners. by Walt Whitman
HOW they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at intervals;) How dear and dreadful they are to the earth; How they inure to themselves as much as to any—What a paradox appears their age; How people respond to them,
An Exhortation by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, Would they ever change their hue As the light