Category Archives: American Literature

“I taste a liquor never brewed” (214) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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I taste a liquor never brewed --
  From Tankards scooped in Pearl --
 Not all the Frankfort Berries
   Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air -- I am --
  And Debauchee of Dew --
 Reeling -- thro' endless summer days --
   From inns of molten blue --

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
  Out of the Foxglove's door --
 When Butterflies -- renounce their "drams" --
   I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats --
  And Saints -- to windows run --
 To see the little Tippler 
   Leaning against the -- Sun!

BOOKS: “The Song of Hiawatha” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The Song of HiawathaThe Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Project Gutenberg edition

This epic poem borrows from American Indian folklore and legend to build a fictional life story for the protagonist, Hiawatha. (There was an actual Hiawatha, but his life story apparently in no way resembles that of Longfellow’s Hiawatha, which is good because the fictional one had to deal with ghosts, tricksters, and deities.) The poem is part hero’s trials, part love story, and part tale of the supernatural, blending real world type tragedy with an otherworldly form.

The choice of trochaic tetrameter makes the poem rhythmically readable, while evoking a drumming sound that contributes to atmospherics.

When the poem came out in the mid-19th century, it faced some controversy. It was claimed that it was a knock off of the Kalevala of Finland. Longfellow’s reply was that he was influenced by that poem’s rhythm (the Kalevala is also trochaic,) but that all the plot events where from his conversations with American Indians and researchers, thereof, (or, presumably his own imagination,) and that any coincidence of events was owing to the broad brushstrokes of them both being heroic tales.

I enjoyed reading this poem and would highly recommend it for poetry readers and lovers of American Literature.






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“All overgrown by cunning moss,” (146) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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All overgrown by cunning moss,
   All interspersed with weed,
 The little cage of "Currer Bell"
   In quiet "Haworth" laid.

This Bird -- observing others
   When frosts too sharp became
 Retire to other latitudes --
   Quietly did the same --

But differed in returning --
   Since Yorkshire hills are green --
 Yet not in all the nests I meet --
   Can Nightengale be seen --

“Meditation” by Amy Lowell [w/ Audio]

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A wise man,
 Watching the stars pass across the sky,
  Remarked:
 In the upper air the fireflies move more slowly.

“A Glimpse” by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

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A glimpse through an interstice caught,
 Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-
   room around the stove late of a winter night,
   and I unremark'd seated in a corner,
 Of a youth who loves me and whom I love,
   silently approaching and seating himself near,
   that he may hold me by the hand,
 A long while amid the noises of coming and 
   going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
 There we two, content, happy in being together,
   speaking little, perhaps not a word.

“One’s-Self I Sing” by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

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One's-Self I sing, a simple separate person,
 Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.

Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
 Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is 
      worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete
      is worthier far,
 The Female equally with the Male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
 Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws
      divine,
 The Modern Man I sing.

“The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants” (1350) by Emily Dickinson

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The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants --
   At Evening, it is not
 At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
   It stop opon a Spot

As if it tarried always
   And yet it's whole Career
 Is shorter than a Snake's Delay --
   And fleeter than a Tare --

'Tis Vegetation's Juggler --
   The Germ of Alibi --
 Doth like a Bubble antedate
   And like a Bubble, hie --

I feel as if the Grass was pleased
   To have it intermit --
 This surreptitious Scion 
   Of Summer's circumspect.

Had Nature any supple Face
   Or could she one contemn --
Had Nature an Apostate --
   That Mushroom -- it is Him!

“The Rainy Day” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

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The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
 It rains, and the wind is never weary;
 The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
   And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
 It rains, and the wind is never weary;
 My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
   And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
 Thy fate is the common fate of all,
 Into each life some rain must fall,
   Some days must be dark and dreary.

“Success is counted sweetest” (112) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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Sucess is counted sweetest
   By those who ne'er succeed.
 To comprehend a nectar
   Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
   Who took the Flag today
 Can tell the definition 
   So clear of victory

As he defeated -- dying --
    On whose forbidden ear
 The distant strains of triumph
    Burst agonized and clear!

“Second Fig” by Edna St. Vincent Millay [w/ Audio]

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Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
 Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!