Nathaniel Parker Willis

She had been told that God made all the stars That twinkled up in heaven, and now she stood Watching the coming of the twilight on,

She was not very beautiful, if it be beauty's test To match a classic model when perfectly at rest; And she did not look bewitchingly, if witchery it be,

She's beautiful! Her raven curls Have broken hearts in envious girls - And then they sleep in contrast so,

It is not the fear of death That damps my brow; It is not for another breath

A violet by a mossy stone, Half hidden from the eye, Fair as a star, when only one,

Argument. - The poet starts from the Bowling Green to take his sweetheart up to Thompson's for an ice, or (if she is inclined for more) ices. He confines his muse to matters which any every-day man and young woman may see in taking the same promenade for the same innocent refreshment. Come out, love, the night is enchanting! The moon hangs just over Broadway;

'They are all up - the innumerable stars - And hold their place in heaven. My eyes have been Searching the pearly depths through which they spring

The perfect world by Adam trod, Was the first temple - built by God - His fiat laid the corner stone,

I used to love a radiant girl - Her lips were like a rose leaf torn; Her heart was as free as a floating curl,

Claudio. Know you any Hero? Hero. None my lord!                As You Like it. Gentle and modest Hero! I can see

The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune Fitfully on the skylight, and the shade Of the fast flying clouds across my book

They said that I was strange. I could not bear Confinement, and I lov'd to feel the wind Blowing upon my forehead, and when morn

Fleetly hath passed the year. The seasons came Duly as they are wont, the gentle Spring, And the deliscious Summer, and the cool,

Fleetly hath past the year. The seasons came Duly as they are wont - the gentle Spring, And the delicious Summer, and the cool,

Winter is come again. The sweet south west Is a forgotten wind, and the strong earth Has laid aside its mantle to be bound

I will throw by my book. The weariness Of too much study presses on my brain, And thought's close fetter binds upon my brow

I was in Greece. It was the hour of noon, And the 'gean wind had dropped asleep Upon Hymettus, and the thymy isles

They may talk of love in a cottage And bowers of trellised vine, Of nature bewitchingly simple,

Oh the merry May has pleasant hours, And dreamily they glide, As if they floated like the leaves

It was a shady nook that I had found Deep in the greenwood. A delicious stream Ran softly by it on a bed of grass,

I love to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old

Down the green slope he bounded. Raven curls From his white shoulders by the winds were swept, And the clear color of his sunny cheek

'Tis well - 'tis well - that clustering shade Is on thy forehead sweetly laid; And that light curl that slumbers by

A servant of the living God is dead! His errand hath been well and early done, And early hath he gone to his reward.

'Tis difficult to feel that she is dead. Her presence, like the shadow of a wing That is just given to the upward sky,

There stood an unsold captive in the mart, A gray-haired and majestical old man, Chained to a pillar. It was almost night,

Lift up thine eyes, sweet Psyche! What is she That those soft fringes timidly should fall Before her, and thy spiritual brow

It was a mountain stream that with the leap Of its impatient waters had worn out A channel in the rock, and wash'd away

The moon was shining yet. The Orient's brow, Set with the morning star, was not yet dim; And the deep silence which subdues the breath

He sat by me in school. His face is now Vividly in my mind, as if he went From me but yesterday - its pleasant smile

"Sleep, like a lover, woo thee, Isabel! And golden dreams come to thee,

Elegance floats about thee like a dress, Melting the airy motion of thy form Into one swaying grace, and loveliness,

Beautiful robin! with thy feathers red Contrasting sweetly with the soft green tree, Making thy little flights as thou art led

The frozen ground looks gray. 'Twill shut the snow Out from its bosom, and the flakes will fall Softly and lie upon it. The hushed flow

The evening star will twinkle presently. The last small bird is silent, and the bee Has gone into his hive, and the shut flowers

Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever. - Shelley.

Sogna il guerri'r le schiere, Le sel ve il cacciat'r; E sogna il pescat'r;

She stood up in the meekness of a heart Resting on God, and held her fair young child Upon her bosom, with its gentle eyes

On the cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there,

!'Twas late, and the gay company was gone, And the light lay soft on the deserted room From alabaster vases, and a scent

'Twas late, and the gay company was gone, And light lay soft on the deserted room From alabaster vases, and a scent

I had a passion when I was a child For a most pleasant idleness. In June, When the thick masses of the leaves were stirr'd

Innocent dreams be thine! The silver night Is a fit curtain for thy lovely sleep. The stars keep watch above thee, and the moon

It was a sultry day of summer time. The sun pour'd down upon the ripen'd grain With quivering heat, and the suspended leaves

Alone! alone! How drear it is Always to be alone! In such a depth of wilderness,

Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved, before the flood, the secret of Alchemy that gives gold at will. Epicurean. That 'Emerald Green of the Pyramid' - Were I where it is laid,

There's something in a noble boy, A brave, free-hearted, careless one, With his unchecked, unbidden joy,

'Twas a rich night in June. The air was all Fragrance and balm, and the wet leaves were stirred By the soft fingers of the southern wind,

All that thou art, I thrillingly And sensibly do feel; For my eye doth see, and my ear doth hear,

Pass thou on! for the vow is said That is never broken; The hand of blessing hath, trembling, laid

Sleep on! Sleep on! beguiling The hours with happy rest. Sleep! - by that dreamy smiling,

When the rose is brightest, Its bloom will soonest die; When burns the meteor brightest,

Nay, lady, one frown is enough In a life as soon over as this, And though minutes seem long in a huff,

I'm twenty-two - I'm twenty-two - They gaily give me joy, As if I should be glad to hear

The shadows lay along Broadway, 'T was near the twilight-tide, And slowly there a lady fair