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George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 20 0 Browse Search
George Bancroft, History of the United States from the Discovery of the American Continent, Vol. 10 12 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2 10 0 Browse Search
Baron de Jomini, Summary of the Art of War, or a New Analytical Compend of the Principle Combinations of Strategy, of Grand Tactics and of Military Policy. (ed. Major O. F. Winship , Assistant Adjutant General , U. S. A., Lieut. E. E. McLean , 1st Infantry, U. S. A.) 6 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 4 0 Browse Search
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing) 4 0 Browse Search
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 4 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies 4 0 Browse Search
Knight's Mechanical Encyclopedia (ed. Knight) 4 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Carlyle's laugh and other surprises 2 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier). You can also browse the collection for Weimar (Thuringia, Germany) or search for Weimar (Thuringia, Germany) in all documents.

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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
rn and blinded slave? The heart has needs beyond the head, And, starving in the plenitude Of strange gifts, craves its common food,— Our human nature's daily bread. We are but men: no gods are we, To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, Each separate, on his painful peak, Thin-cloaked in self-complacency! Better his lot whose axe is swung In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's Who by the Ilm her spindle whirls And sings the songs that Luther sung, Than his who, old, and cold, and vain, At Weimar sat, a demigod, And bowed with Jove's imperial nod His votaries in and out again! Ply, Vanity, thy winged feet! Ambition, hew thy rocky stair! Who envies him who feeds on air The icy splendor of his seat? I see your Alps, above me, cut The dark, cold sky; and dim and lone I see ye sitting,—stone on stone,— With human senses dulled and shut. I could not reach you, if I would, Nor sit among your cloudy shapes; And (spare the fable of the grapes And fox) I would not if I could. Keep to your<