Ode to the Nightingale
ET
RD OF
OW
why complain In such soft melody of Song, That
ET
RD OF
OW
why complain In such soft melody of Song, That
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
When first the fiery-mantled sun His heavenly race begun to run;
Round the earth and ocean blue,
His children four the Seasons flew
First, in green apparel dancing, The young Spring smiled with angel grace;
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watry glade,
Where grateful Science still
Her Henry's holy shade;
In an age of Mammon and Greed, In an age of Humbug and Cant, Where Speech is greater than Deed In the reign of the sycophant,
Let us turn from the shameless lips that babble of things Divine,
And shout to the God we know not the Song of ...
EN dreaming kings, at odds with swift paced time, Would strike that banner down,
A nobler knight than ever writ or rhyme With fame’s bright wreath did
Through armed hosts bore it till it floated high Beyond the clouds, a light that canno...
OM
HE
EL OF
NE
Ah Ben
Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun
Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine...
(To have been read before the statue of Lafayette and Washington
Paris, on Decoration Day,
May 30, 1916
) Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When—with sweet flowers of our New England May Hiding th...
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright W...
And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die
And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry
No; such was not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots;
Though sad hearts round him thickened, 'Twas not from sickness...
LE
SS of the witching hour; Blest Contemplation's placid friend; Oft in my solitary bow'r,
I mark thy lucid beam From thy crystal car descend,
Whitening the spangled heath, and limpid sapphire stream