An Eclipse

Let there be an end
And all be done;
Pass over, fair eclipse,
That hides the sun.

Dear face that shades the light
And shadows me,
Begone, and give me peace,
And set me free.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Dora Sigerson Shorter was an Irish poet and sculptor born in Dublin in 1866. She was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival, a movement that aimed to promote Irish literature and culture in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. She was also a close friend of W.B. Yeats and married the writer and journalist Clement King Shorter. Dora's work often dealt with themes of Irish nationalism and folklore, and she published several volumes of poetry before her untimely death in 1918.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

At Christmas Time

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

All Souls Eve

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

The Lover

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

My Neighbours Garden

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

English

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When The Dark Comes

When the dark comes,
Is this the end? I pray,
No answer from the night,
And then once more the day.
I take the world again
Upon my neck and go
Pace with the serious hours.
Since fate will have it so,
Begone dead man, unclasp
Your hands from round my heart,
I and my burden pass,
You and your peace depart.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

A Solar Eclipse

In that great journey of the stars through space
    About the mighty, all-directing Sun,
The pallid, faithful Moon has been the one
Companion of the Earth.    Her tender face,
Pale with the swift, keen purpose of that race
    Which at Time's natal hour was first begun,
    Shines ever on her lover as they run
And lights his orbit with her silvery smile.

Sometimes such passionate love doth in her rise,
    Down from her beaten path she softly slips,
And with her mantle veils the Sun's bold eyes,
    Then in the gloaming finds her lover's lips.
While far and near the men our world call wise
    See only that the Sun is in eclipse.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

On An Eclipse Of The Moon At Midnight.

Up, up, into the vast extended space,
Thou art ascending in thy majesty,
Beautiful moon, the queen of the pale sky!
But what is that which gathers on thy face,
A dark mysterious shade, eclipsing, slow,
The splendour of thy calm and steadfast light?
It is the shadow of this world of woe,
Of this vast moving world; portentous sight!
As if we almost stood and saw more near
Its very action - almost heard it roll
On, in the swiftness of its dread career,
As it hath rolled for ages! Hush, my soul!
Listen! there is no sound; but we could hear
The murmur of its multitudes, who toil
Through their brief hour. The heart might well recoil;
But this is ever sounding in His ear
Who made it, and who said, "Let there be light!"
And we, the creatures of a mortal hour,

William Lisle Bowles

On An Eclipse Of The Moon

Struggling, and faint, and fainter didst thou wane,
O Moon! and round thee all thy starry train
Came forth to help thee, with half-open eyes,
And trembled every one with still surprise,
That the black Spectre should have dared assail
Their beauteous queen and seize her sacred veil.

Walter Savage Landor

A New Year

Behold! a new white world!
        The falling snow
Has cloaked the last old year
        And bid him go.

To-morrow! cries the oak-tree
        To his heart,
My sealèd buds shall fling
        Their leaves apart.

To-morrow! pipes the robin,
        And again
How sweet the nest that long
        Was full of rain.

To-morrow! bleats the sheep,
        And one by one
My little lambs shall frolic
        Neath the sun.

For us, too, let some fair
        To-morrow be,
O Thou who weavest threads
        Of Destiny!

Thou wast a babe on that
        Far Christmas Day,
Let us as children follow
        In Thy way.

So that our hearts grown cold
        Neath time and pain,
With young ...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Dora.

A waxing moon that, crescent yet,
In all its silver beauty set,
And rose no more in the lonesome night
To shed full-orbed its longed-for light.
Then was it dark; on wold and lea,
    In home, in heart, the hours were drear.
Father and mother could no light see,
    And the hearts trembled and there was fear.
- So on the mount, Christ's chosen three,
Unware that glory it did shroud,
Feared when they entered into the cloud.

She was the best part of love's fair
Adornment, life's God-given care,
As if He bade them guard His own,
Who should be soon anear His throne.
Dutiful, happy, and who say
When childhood smiles itself away,
'More fair than morn shall prove the day.'
Sweet souls so nigh to God that rest,
How shall be bettering of your best!<...

Jean Ingelow