To William E. Channing
The pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,
"Servant of God! well done!"
Well done! Thy words are great and bold;
At times they seem to me,
Like Luther's, in the days of old,
Half-battles for the free.
Go on, until this land revokes
The old and chartered Lie,
The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes
Insult humanity.
A voice is ever at thy side
Speaking in tones of might,
Like the prophetic voice, that cried
To John in Patmos, "Write!"
Write! and tell out this bloody tale;
Record this dire eclipse,
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,
This dread Apocalypse!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
D'autres poésies de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Bridge
I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were...
The Belfrey of Bruges
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfrey old and brown;...
The Arsenal at Springfield
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge...
The Arrow and the Song
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not...
Thangbrand the Priest
Short of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet...
Tegner's Drapa
Heard a voice, that cried,
"Balder the Beautiful
Is...
Sunrise on the Hills
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was...
Sundown
The summer sun is sinking low;
Only the tree-tops redden...
St. John's, Cambridge
I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade
Thy western...
Spirit of Poetry, The
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells...
Précédentes poésies
Words of Comfort to Be Scratched on a Mirror
Helen of Troy had a wandering glance;
Sappho's restriction...
Wisdom
This I say, and this I know:
Love has seen the last of...
Walter Savage Landor
Upon the work of Walter Landor
I am unfit to write with...
Wail
Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I...
Victoria
Dear dead Victoria
Rotted cosily;
In excelsis...

