The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their land-deeds give them no title.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature
Although it is the smallest region featured in Language of the Land, the Northeast has deep literary roots, reaching back to New England's seventeenth-century Puritan writers. Many of America's best-known authors have come from the region and have celebrated its immense geographic and cultural variety and great natural beauty. Within a short distance of each other lie Vermont and New Hampshire's mountains, Pennsylvania's rolling hills, New York's lakes, ponds and forests, Massachusetts's salt marshes and sand dunes, and Maine's rocky coastlines, as well as the important urban centers of Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington. All have produced major literary voices.
Also connected with the region are unforgettable characters: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Iroquois warrior Hiawatha, based on a legendary Native American hero; Herman Melville's Captain Ahab, relentlessly pursuing vengeance on the Great White Whale who injured him; and E.B. White's spider Charlotte and pig Wilbur, whose adventures in rural Vermont have delighted several generations of children.
Scenery between Gorham and Shelburne New Hampshire
Across wild country on solitary roads
Within a fugue of parting, I was consoled
By birches' sovereign whiteness in sad woods,
Dark glow of pines, a single elm's distinction—
I was consoled by trees.
May Sarton, "All Day I Was With Trees"
Scenery between Gorham and Shelburne New Hampshire, ca. 1940. FSA-OWI Collection. Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress (12a)
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Franconia Notch Village, New Hampshire
My route went north in Vermont and then east in New Hampshire in the White Mountains. . . . The villages are the prettiest . . . in the whole nation, neat and white-painted and . . . unchanged for a hundred years except for traffic and paved streets.
John Steinbeck, Travels With Charley
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Delaware Water Gap from New Jersey
One [tour] was labelled "The Scenic Route," and showed a broad black line extending from New York via the Water Gap, Stroudsburg, Wilkes-Barre, Scranton, Binghamton, . . . Buffalo, and Niagara Falls. This interested me. . . . Visions of green hills, deep valleys, winding rivers, glistering cataracts and the like leaped before my eyes.
Theodore Dreiser, Hoosier Holiday
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He [Natty Bumppo or Hawkeye] wore a hunting shirt of forest green, fringed with faded yellow, and a summer cap of skins which had been shorn of their fur. He also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum. . . . His moccasins were ornamented after the gay fashion of the natives, while the only part of his underdress which appeared below the hunting frock was a pair of buckskin leggings that laced at the sides. . . . A pouch and horn completed his personal accouterments, though a rifle of great length leaned against a neighboring sapling. . . . His countenance . . . was charged with an expression of sturdy honesty.
James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans
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It was Moby Dick that dismasted me; Moby Dick that brought me to this dead stump I stand on now...it was that accursed white whale that razed . . . . me and I'll chase him around Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition's flames before I give him up.
Captain Ahab in Herman Melville, Moby Dick
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Boats at Nantucket Island, Massachusetts
Nantucket! Take out your maps and look at it! See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone lighthouse. Look at it a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a background. There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a substitute for blotting paper.
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
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The quick dim doublets of sound like butterflies winged toward us close to the earth, skimming the feathery crust rather than risking a plunge upward into the steep smooth dome that capped a space of Pennsylvania a hundred miles wide. From the spot where the lower road led off from the upper we could see on a clear day to the first blue beginnings of the Alleghenies.
John Updike, The Centaur
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Paterson lies on the valley under the Passaic Falls
its spent waters forming the outline of his back.
He lies on his right side, head near the thunder of the water filling his dreams!
William Carlos Williams, Paterson
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On the coast of Maine, where many green islands and salt inlets fringe the deep-cut shoreline stood a small house facing the morning light. All the weather-beaten houses of that region face the sea apprehensively, like the women who live in them.
Sarah Orne Jewett, The Country of the Pointed Firs
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Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of non-olfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
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Back of 340 East 63rd Street, New York
So we drove along, between the green of the park and the stony lifeless elegance of hotels and apartment buildings, toward the vivid, killing streets of our childhood. These streets hadn't changed, though housing projects jutted up out of them now like rocks in the middle of a boiling sea. . . . boys exactly like the boys we once had been found themselves smothering in these houses, came down into the streets for light and air, and found themselves encircled by disaster. Some escaped the trap, most didn't. Those who got out always left something of themselves behind. . . .
James Baldwin, Sonny's Blues
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Northeast View from the Empire State Building
But, ah! Manhattan's sights and sounds, her smells,
Her crowds, her throbbing voice, the thrill that comes
From being of her a part, her subtle spells,
Her shimmering towers, her avenues, her slums—
James Weldon Johnson, "My City"
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Across the Common, Boston
Boston State-House is the hub of the solar system. You couldn't pry that out of a Boston man if you had the tire of all creation straightened out for a crowbar.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table
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The Presidential range of the White Mountains
If I must choose which I would elevate
The people or the already lofty mountains.
I'd elevate the already lofty mountains.
The only fault I find with old New Hampshire
Is that her mountains aren't quite high enough.
Robert Frost, "New Hampshire"
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Thoreau's Cove, Walden, Concord, Massachusetts
Whenever I looked out on the pond it impressed me like a tarn high up on the side of a mountain, its bottom far above the surface of other lakes, and, as the sun arose, I saw it throwing off its nightly clothing of mist, and here and there, by degree, its soft ripples or its smooth reflecting surface was revealed while the mists, like ghosts, were stealthily withdrawing in every direction into the woods, as at the breaking up of some nocturnal conventicle.
Henry David Thoreau, Walden
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