James Russell Lowell

James Russell Lowell

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James Russell Lowell (/ˈloʊəl/; February 22, 1819 – August 12, 1891) was an American Romantic poet, critic, editor, and diplomat. He is associated with the Fireside Poets, a group of New England writers who were among the first American poets that rivaled the popularity of British poets.
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It don't seem hardly right,
John,   When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight,
John,—   Your cousin, tu,
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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...
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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
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I cannot say a scene is
Because it is beloved of
But I shall love to linger there,
For sake of thy dear memory;
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Not as all other women
Is she that to my soul is dear;
Her glorious fancies come from far,
Beneath the silver evening-star,
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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,
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Into the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping and
From morn till night
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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
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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,
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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;
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I'Tis a woodland enchanted
By no sadder
Than blackbirds and thrushes,
That whistle to cheer
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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...
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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...
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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...
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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,
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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:
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