poem index

poet

James Russell Lowell

by this poet

poem
May is a pious fraud of the almanac,
A ghastly parody of real Spring
Shaped out of snow and breathed with eastern wind;
Or if, o'er-confident, she trust the date,
And, with her handful of anemones,
Herself as shivery, steal into the sun,
The season need but turn his hourglass round,
And Winter suddenly, like
poem
   The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, 
The sea is restless and uneasy; 
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, 
Wandering thou knowest not whither;— 
Our little isle is green and breezy, 
Come and rest thee! Oh come hither, 
Come to this peaceful home of ours, 
      Where evermore 
The low west-wind creeps
poem
When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast	 
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,	 
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb	 
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime	 
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny