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Poems for English 100


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From Slavery then your rising realms to save, Regard the master, notice not the slave; Consult alone for freemen, and bestow Your best, your only cares to keep them so. Tyrants are never free; and small and great...
Columbiad, Joel Barlow
So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves to that mysterious realm, where each shall take his chamber in the silent halls of death, thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, scourged to his dungeon, but, sustain
Thanatopsis, William Cullen Bryant
He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps alright
To A Waterfowl, William Bryant
Fair insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, and blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about
To a Mosquito, Bryant
Forth from those blue eyes there spake a wishful tenderness, a doubt whether a grieve or to sleep, which innocence alone may wear. with ruthless haste he bound the silken fringes of those curtaining lids For ever.
Death of an Infant, Sigourney
Laid down to dreamless rest; And moved with bitterness I sighed, Not for the babe that slept, but for the mother at its side, whose soul in anguish wept.
Hebrew Dirge, Sigourney
'Tis where Ontario's billow like ocean's surge is curled, Where strong NIagara's thunders wake. The echo of the world. Where red missouri bringeth Rich tribute from the west, and rappahannock sweetly sleeps on Green virginia's breast.
Indian Names, Sigourney
When sudden from the forest wide A red-browed chieftain came, With towering form, and haughty stride, and eye like kindling flame:
The Indian's Welcome to the Pilgrim Fathers, Sigourney
For thou beneath the earth liest buried low, Which he alone as living walks upon; Though mayst at times have heard him speak to you And often wished perchance that y ou were he; and I must ever wish that it were true, For then thou couldst hold fellowshi
Yourself, Very
Standing on the bare ground, -my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinate space, -all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball. I am nothing. I see all. The currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part of
Nature, Emerson.
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, here once the embattled Farmers stood, and fired the shot heard round the world.
Hymn, Emerson
LIttle thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, Of thee from the hill-top looking down; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, deems not that great Napoleon.
Each and All, Emerson.
All friends shut out, Privacy of the story [...]
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow.
The Snow Storm, Emerson.
Minott, Lee, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint/ Possessed the land which rendered to their toil/ Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood.
Hamatreya, Emerson.
Against the being of a line. Line in nature is not found; Unit and universe are round; in vain produced, all rays return; evil will bless, and ice will burn.
Uriel, Emerson.
A dry thin leaf,even as the f and v are a pressed and dried b. The radicals of lobe are lb, the soft mass of the b with a liquid l behind it pressing it forward.
From Walden, Thoreau.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, he earns whate'er he can, and looks the whole world in the face, for he owes not any man.
The village blacksmith, Longfellow
Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly niger flowed; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain once more a king he strode and heard the tinkling caravans descend the mountain-road. He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
The Slave's Dream, Longfellow
The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
The Jewish Cemetary at Newport, Longfellow
Let us welcome, then, the strangers, hail them as our friends and brothers, and the heart's right hand of friendship Give them when they come to see us Gitche Manito, the mighty, said this to me in my vision.
From Hiawatha, Longfellow
This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded; this is the secret of despair, long in its cloudly bosom hoarded, now whispered and revealed to wood and field.
Snow-Flakes, Longfellow
Often I think of the beautiful town that is seated by the sea a boy's will is the wind's will (nostalgia).
My lost youth, Longfellow
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee, or how deem thee wise, who wouldst not leave him in his wandering to seek for treasure in the jewelled skies
To Science, Poe
Ah, distincly I remember it was in the bleak Dececmber, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the dloor;
The Raven, poe
He discovers the tomb of someone he is walking/talking w/his split personality this is a halloween poem he's going to the tomb of his loved one. (description).
Ulalume, Poe.
Down the valley of the shadow, ride, boldly, ride," the shade replied if you seek for --
Eldorado, Poe.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, and many an eye has danced to see that banner in the sky.
Old Ironsides, Holmes
When Sinai's summit was Jehovah's thrown, The chosen Prophet knew his voice alone; When pilate's hall that awful question heard, The heavenly Captive answered not a word.
Our Limitations, Holmes
I du believe in Freedom's cause, Ez fur away ez Payris is; I love to see her stick her claws in them infarnal phayrisees; It 's wal enough agin a king To dror resolves an' triggers, -
Bigalow Papers, Lowell
As a smooth, silent iceberg, that never is ignified, save when by reflection 't is kindled o' nights. He's too smooth and too polished. Three fifths of him genius and two fifths sheer fudge.
A Fable for Critis, Lowell
Oh Freedom! If to me belong Nor mightly Milton's gift divine, Nor Marvel's wit and graceful song, still with a love as deep and strong as theirs, i lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine!
Proem , Whittier.
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn which once he wore! the glory from his gray hairs gone FOREVERmore! A fallen angel's pride of thought.
Ichabod, Whittier
Say unto foul oppression, Cease: Ye tyrants rage no more, and let the joyful trump of peace, now bid the vassel soar.
On Liberty and Slavery, Horton.
I will save my preciuous children From their darkly threatened doom, I will hew their path to freedom Through the portals of the tomb. A moment in the sunlight, she held a glimmering knife, the next moment she had bathed it in the crimson fount of life.
The slave mother, a Tale of the Ohio, Harper
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.
Song of myself, Whitman
Moving through time, spiritual to the physical world. Physical to the spiritual. Generations and generations travel.
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, Whitman
O darkness! o in vain! O i am very sick and sorrful. O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea! o troubled reflection in the sea! O throat! o throbbing heart! and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.
Sea Drift, Whitman
Angels - twice descending reimbursed my store burglar! banker - father! i am poor once more.
I never lost as much but twice, Dickinson
Untouched by Morning - and Untouched by noon- Sleep the meek members of the ressurection, rafter of stain and roof of stone.
Safe in their alabaster chambers, Dickinson
Reaching late his flower, round her chamber hums- counts his nectars enters and is lost in Balms.
Come slowly - Eden!, Dickinson
Were I with thee wild nights should be our luxury!
Wild nights - Wild nights!, Dickinson
It powders all the wood it fills with alabaster wool the wrinkles of the road it scactters like the birds.
It sifts from leaden sieves, Dickinson
Heavenly hurt, it gives us - we can find no scar but internal differencec - where the meanings are.
There's a certain slant of light, Dickinson
The north - tonight so adequate - it forms - so preconcerted with itself - so distant - to alarms - an ounconcern so sovreign to universe or me -
Of Broze - and Blaze -, Dickinson
I judged my features - jarred my hair- I pushed my dimbles by, and waited if they twinkled back - conviction might, of me -
I felt my life with both my hands, Dickinson
He bit an angle worm in halves and ate the fellow, raw and then, drank a dew from mconvenient Grass and then hopped sidewise to the wall to let a beetle pass.
A bird, came down the walk -, Dickinson
THey weighed me, dust by dust - they balanced film with film then haded me my being's worth a single dream of heaven!
I took one Draught of life -, Dickinson
Least Village, boasts it's blacksmith - Whose anvil's even ring stands symbol for the finer forge that soundless tugs - within -
Dare you see a soul at the "white heat"?, Dickinson
'Tis vast - as our Capacity - as fair - as our idea - to him of adequate desire - no further 'tis, than here -
Heaven is so far of the mind, Dickinson
He sometimes holds opon the fence- Or struggles to a tree- or clasps a rock, with both his hands- but not for sympathy
The black berry - wears a thorn in his side -, Dickinson
With Blue - uncertain -stumbling buzz - Between the light - and me - and then the windows failed - and then I could not see to see -
I heard a fly buzz when I died, Dickinson
ANd were you lost, I would be - though my name Rang loudest on the heavenly fame-
I cannot live with you-, Dickinson
And when at night - our good day done - I guard my master's head - 'tis better than the Eider Duck's Deep pillow - to have shared. Though I than He - may longer live he longer must - than I-
My life had stood -a loaded gun-, dickinson
Groped up to see if god were there - groped backward at himself/ caressed a trigger absently and wandered out of life -
He scanned it -staggered -, Dickinson
The blonde assassin passes on - the sun proceeds unmmoved to measure off another day
Apparently with no surprise, Dickinson
HIs soul is marching on. He caputured harper's ferry with his nineteen men so true, and he frightened old virginia till she trembled through and through but his soul is marching on.
John Brown's Body, Hardy
And Lo! a poor slave- mother with her little child pressed nigh. Then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild, As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child!
Brown of Ossawatomie, Whittier
In the beauty of hte lilies Christ was born across the sea, with a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me; as he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, while god is marching on.
Battle-Hymn of the Republic, Howe
O Lord told Moses what todo, O let my people go!
Let my people go, Howe
Needless to dwell; the story's known. The ringing of those plates on plates Still ringeth round the world - the clangor of that blacksmiths' fray. The anvil-din Resounds this message from the fates;
A utalitarian view of the Monitor's flight, Melville
Over the traffic of cities - over ther rumble of wheels in the streets; are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no - sleepers must sleep in those beds, no bargainer's bargains by day - no brokers or speculators - would they continue? Would
Beat! Beat! Drums!, Whitman
Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink, Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a pircutre, the negligent rest on the saddles, some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford --while s
Calvary Crossing a Ford, Whitman
He is gone down, the sun of the union,
Like pheobus, that sets in the west;
The planet of peace and commotion,
Forever has gone to his rest.
Lincoln is Dead, Horton
O powerful wester fallen star!
O shades of night - O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd - O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless - O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that w
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard BLoom'd, Whitman
I know not why but I am sure
That tint and place,
In some great fabric to endure
Past time and race,
My threads will have; so from the first,
Though blind, I never felt accurst.
Spinning, Hunt
I see over my own continent the Pacific railroad surmounting every barrier,
I see continual trains of cars winding along the Platte carrying freight and passengers,
I hear the locomotives rushing and roaing, and the shrill steam-whistle,
Passage to India, Whitman
Before them, under the garden wall,
Forward and back,
Went dreaily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.
Telling the Bees, Whittier
The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Snow-Bound: A winter Idyl, Whittier
He who first stretched his nerves of subtile wire
Over the land and through the sea-depths still,
Thought only of the flame-winged messenger
As a dull drudge that should encircle earth
Science and Poetry, Lowell
Our masters always tried to hide
Book learning from our eyes;
KNowledge didn't agree with slavery
'Twould make us all too wise.
Learning to Read, Harper
Do you blame me that I loved him,
That my heart beat glad and free,
When he told me in the sweetest tones
He loved but only me?
Double Standard, Harper
No signs of life are here; the very prayers
Inscribed around are in a language dead;
the light of the "perpetual lamp" is spent
that an undying radiance was to shed.
In the jewish synagogue at newport, Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to alnd;
here ar our sea-washed, sunset gates shall satand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imporsioned lightning, and her name
The new colossus, Lazarus
The master-songs are ended? - rather say
no songs are ended that are ever sung,
and that no names are dead names. when we write
men's letters on proud marble or sand,
we write them there forever.
Walt Whitman, Robinson
No, there is not a dawn in easter skies
to rift the fiery night that's in your eyes;
but there, where western glooms are gathering,
the dark will end the dark, if anything;
god says himself with every leaf that flies,
and hell is
Luke Havergal, Robinson
Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill;
they are all gone away.
There is nothing more to say.
The house on the hill, Robinson
Black Riders and OTher LInes, Crane
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,-
this debt we pay to human guile;
with torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
and mouth and myriad subtleties.
We wear a mask, Dunbar
I was not; now i am - a few days hence,
Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach,
And strech my hand to find that other hand
I question of the' eternal bending skies
The Mystery, Dunbar
The night is dewy as a maiden's mouth,
The skies are bright as are a maiden's eyes, soft as a mainde's breath, the wind that flies
The fire-flies come stagg'ring down the dark.
A summer's night, Dunbar

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