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John Greenleaf Whittier's Poetry, by title

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  • 'Neath skies that winter never knew
    The air was full of light and balm,
    38 lines
  • FROM these wild rocks I look to-day
    O'er leagues of dancing waves, and see
    33 lines
  • Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps,
    Her stones of emptiness remain;
    63 lines
  • We wait beneath the furnace-blast
    The pangs of transformation;
    88 lines
  • I.
    Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands,
    30 lines
  • Talk not of sad November, when a day
    Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon,
    28 lines
  • Bland as the morning breath of June
    The southwest breezes play;
    34 lines
  • Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers
    And golden-fruited orange bowers
    56 lines
  • The circle is broken, one seat is forsaken,
    One bud from the tree of our friendship is shaken;
    53 lines
  • One morning of the first sad Fall,
    Poor Adam and his bride
    58 lines
  • Friend of my many years!
    When the great silence falls, at last, on me,
    19 lines
  • 'TIS over, Moses! All is lost!
    I hear the bells a-ringing;
    136 lines
  • Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing,
    The solemn vista to the tomb
    93 lines
  • Here, while the loom of Winter weaves
    The shroud of flowers and fountains,
    33 lines
  • The river hemmed with leaning trees
    Wound through its meadows green;
    53 lines
  • The name the Gallic exile bore,
    St. Malo! from thy ancient mart,
    58 lines
  • SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell
    Ceased quivering in the steeple,
    104 lines
  • We saw the slow tides go and come,
    The curving surf-lines lightly drawn,
    138 lines
  • UP, laggards of Freedom! — our free flag is cast
    To the blaze of the sun and the wings of the blast;
    32 lines
  • BENEATH thy skies, November!
    Thy skies of cloud and rain,
    30 lines
  • This day, two hundred years ago,
    The wild grape by the river's side,
    38 lines
  • To-day the plant by Williams set
    Its summer bloom discloses;
    188 lines
  • To kneel before some saintly shrine,
    To breathe the health of airs divine,
    106 lines
  • MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit
    Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone?
    68 lines
  • Take our hands, James Russell Lowell,
    Our hearts are all thy own;
    58 lines
  • Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill,
    Behold! thou art a woman still!
    19 lines
  • The firmament breaks up. In black eclipse
    Light after light goes out. One evil star,
    28 lines
  • When first I saw our banner wave
        Above the nation's council-hall,
    67 lines
  • In the old days (a custom laid aside
    With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent
    98 lines
  • 'Midst the men and things which will
    Haunt an old man's memory still,
    148 lines
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