Nineteenth-Century American Poetry (Penguin Classics)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Whitman, Dickinson, and Melville occupy the center of this anthology of nearly three hundred poems, spanning the course of the century, from Joel Barlow to Edwin Arlington Robinson, by way of Bryant, Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Poe, Holmes, Jones Very, Thoreau, Lowell, and Lanier.
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
lamp, nor Learning’s lore, But, humbly falling Before our Father and our Friend, implore Our gift and calling: Outside the vineyard we have wandered long In storm and winter; O guide the grasping hands, the footsteps wrong, And bid us enter Ere the day draw to dark: nor heave and prize With strength unable, Nor range a world for wisdom’s fruit that lies On our own table. So shall we find each movement an advance, Each hour momentous, If but in our own place and circumstance, Thou,
tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main, Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, The ocean, roaring up the
a Spirit-world reveal, Not far in space, but near to every soul; Which naught but mists of sense and sin conceal, (would from men’s sight those mists at length might roll!) He is with incredulity received, Or with a slow, reluctant faith believed. 1860 FOREVERMORE A sad refrain I heard, from poet sad, Which on my soul with deadening weight did fall; But quick another word, which made me glad, Did from the heavens above me seem to call. The first was Nevermore: which, like a knell,
of his brain, And when he has skimmed it once, skim it again; If at all they resemble him, you may be sure it is Because their shoals mirror his mists and obscurities, As a mud-puddle seems deep as heaven for a minute, While a cloud that floats o’er is reflected within it. “There is Bryant, as quiet, as cool, and as dignified, As a smooth, silent iceberg, that never is ignified, Save when by reflection ’t is kindled o’ nights With a semblance of flame by the chill Northern Lights. He
grandsons around them, In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their day’s sport, The city sleeps and the country sleeps, The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, And such as it is to be of these more or less I am, And of these one and all I weave the song of myself. 16 I am of old and young, of the