James Russell Lowell

GH old the thought and oft exprest, 'Tis his at last who says it best,
I'll try my fortune with the rest
Life is a leaf of paper white Whereon each one of us may write His word or two, and then comes night
'Lo, time and space enough...

God makes sech nights, all white an'
Fur 'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten

Once git a smell o' musk into a draw,
An' it clings hold like precerdents in law;
Your gra'ma'am put it there,—when, goodness knows,—To jes this—worldify her Sunday-clo'es;
But the old chist wun't sarve her gran'son's wife,(For, 'th...

Guvener B
is a sensible man;
He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;
He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,

My coachman, in the moonlight there,
Looks through the sidelight of the door;
I hear him with his brethren swear,
As I could do—but only more

Then Thorstein looked at Hakon, where he sate,
Mute as a cloud amid the stormy hall,
And said: "O Skald, sing now an olden song,
Such as our fathers heard who led great lives;

AY is a pious fraud of the almanac
A ghastly parody of real
Shaped out of snow and breathed with eastern wind;
Or if, o'er-confident, she trust the date,

I'Tis a woodland enchanted
By no sadder
Than blackbirds and thrushes,
That whistle to cheer

It don't seem hardly right,
John,   When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight,
John,—   Your cousin, tu,

Into the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping and
From morn till night

Soldier and statesman, rarest unison;
High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn As life's indifferent gifts to all men born;
Dumb for himself, unless it were to God,
But for his barefoot sol...

Careless seems the great Avenger;
History’s lessons but
One death-grapple in the darkness“Twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold,

Not as all other women
Is she that to my soul is dear;
Her glorious fancies come from far,
Beneath the silver evening-star,

Prelude to Part
Over his keys the musing organist, Beginning doubtfully and far away,
First lets his fingers wander as they list, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay:
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument Gives hopes...

They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds,
Dim ghosts of men that hover to and fro,
Hugging their bodies round them, like thin
Wherein their souls were buried long ago:

I cannot say a scene is
Because it is beloved of
But I shall love to linger there,
For sake of thy dear memory;