When the clouds in the Western sky
Flush red with the setting sun,--
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IN the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still,
I hear the strange cry of the lone whippoorwill,
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'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse
One bright midsummer day,
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It is the year's high noon,
The earth sweet incense yields,
40 lines, 1 comment
One golden summer day,
Along the forest-way,
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My Charlie has gone to the war,
My Charlie so brave and tall;
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This verdant field that smiles to Heaven
In Nature's bright array,
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Friar Anselmo (God's grace may he win!)
Committed one sad day a deadly sin;
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As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night,
All our hearts and our hopes are as one,
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I am glad that you have come,
Arthur, from the dusty town;
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"Phoebe! Phoebe! Where is the chit?
When I want her most she's out of the way.
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I have a beautiful castle,
With towers and battlements fair;
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Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days;
At thy name all our hearts own a thrill,
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Throw open wide your golden gates,
O poet-landed month of June,
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There's a fountain of Fable whose magical power
Time's ravages all could repair,
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Thirty years have come and gone,
Melting away like Southern Snows,
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'Tis just three months and eke a day,
Since in the meadows, raking hay,
71 lines, 1 comment
One autumn day, when hedges yet were green,
And thick-branched trees diffused a leafy gloom,
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From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth,
With a glance half of hope, half of fear,
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KING COTTON looks from his window
Towards the westering sun,
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An old frog lived in a dismal swamp,
In a dismal kind of way;
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To Egypt's king, who ruled beside
The reedy river's flow,
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FLORENCE wears an added grace,
All her earlier honors crowning;
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A violet grew by the river-side,
And gladdened all hearts with its bloom;
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Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round
And a year stands full-orbed and complete,
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In the far-off Polar seas,
Far beyond the Hebrides,
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"A VICTORY! --a victory!"
Is flashed across the wires;
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Underneath protected branches, from the highway just aloof;
Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof.
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I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs,
In the fragrant orchard close,
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I wrote my name upon the sand,
And trusted it would stand for aye;
20 lines, 3 comments
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