A Holiday Song.

                Away to the hills, away! -
            There is health in the summer air; -
        The rustling bough, and the bending spray,
            And the breath of flowers are there -
The honey-bee's hum and the wild bird's song,
And sunshine and summer winds all day long!

                Away to the hills, away!
            There are peace and calmness there -
        White cloudlets floating in light all day
            Through the blue transparent air, -
Rose-tinted mornings and noontides rare,
And sunsets of crimson and gold are there!

                Away to the hills, away!
            From your weariness and care -
        From toil that has held on with tyrant sway,
            To quiet and calmness there;
And bask in the beauty and bloom that fills
The cool, sweet depths of the summer hills!

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Sault Ste. Marie

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Till To-Morrow.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Let Us Pray

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Judson's Grave.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Song - Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!

Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!


Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!
    I'm dying, mother dear!
And shades of ever deepening gloom
    Are round, and o'er me here, -
The city's din is in my ear,
    Its glitter mocks my eye, -
Oh, take me where the skies are clear.
    And the hills are green, to die!

I do not dread the shadowy vale,
    The river deep and chill, -
For, leaning on my Saviour's arm,
    My soul shall fear no ill, -
But oh, to pass from Earth away
    Where skies are blue above,
Where glad birds sing, and streamlets play,
    And soft winds breathe of love!

And oh, within these fevered hands,
    To clasp my flowers again!
To lay them on my weary breast,
    And round my throbbing brain...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Up The Nepigon.

How beautiful, how beautiful,
    Beneath the morning sky,
In bridal veil of snowy mist,
    These dreamy headlands lie!
How beautiful, in soft repose,
    Upon the water's breast,
Steeped in the sunlight's golden calm,
    These fairy islets rest!

A Sabbath hush enfolds the hills,
    And broods upon the deep
Whose music every hollow fills,
    And climbs each rocky steep,
Now low and soft like love's own sigh,
    Now faint and far away,
Now plaining to the answering pines,
    With melancholy lay.

Like white-winged birds, through azure depths,
    Above the restless tide,
With snowy plume and golden crest,
    The fleecy cloudlets glide;
Their dancing shadows fleck the deep,
    Or flit above the green
Of emerald is...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Sunrise On The Hills

    I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

    ...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sunrise On The Hills.

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; - bathed in light
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown,
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance,
Through the grey mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft,
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard...

William Henry Giles Kingston

Under The Snow

    Over the mountains, under the snow
Lieth a valley cold and low,
'Neath a white, immovable pall,
Desolate, dreary, soulless all,
And soundless, save when the wintry blast
Sweeps with funeral music past.

    Yet was that valley not always so,
For I trod its summer-paths long ago;
And I gathered flowers of fairest dyes
Where now the snow-drift heaviest lies;
And I drank from rills that, with murmurous song,
Wandered in golden light along
Through bowers, whose ever-fragrant air
Was heavy with perfume of flowrets fair, -
Through cool, green meadows where, all day long,
The wild bee droned his voluptuous song;
While over all shone the eye of Love
In the violet-tinted heavens above.

    And through that valley ran veins of gold,
And the...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

By And By

        God will not let His bright gifts die
If I may not sing my songs just now
        I shall sing them by and by


A young man with a Poet's soul,
    And a Poet's kindling eye -
Dark, dreamy, full of unvoiced thought -
    And forehead calm and high,
Toiled wearily at his heavy task
    Till his soul grew sick with pain,
And the pent up fires that burned within
    Seemed withering heart and brain

"Work, work, work!" he murmured low,
    Glancing up at the golden west -
Work, with the sunset heavens aglow
    By the hands of angels dressed,
Work for this perishing, human clay,
    While the soul, like a prisoned bird,
Flutters its helpless wings always
    By passionate longings stirred

"I hear in the wandering...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)