How It Fell Calm On Summer Night.

My Lady's rest was calm and deep:
She had been gazing at the moon;
And thus it chanced she fell asleep
One balmy night in June.

Freebooter winds stole richest smells
From roses bursting in the gloom,
And rifled half-blown daffodils,
And lilies of perfume.

These dainty robbers of the South
Found "beauty" sunk in deep repose,
And seized upon her crimson mouth,
Thinking her lips a rose.

The wooing winds made love full fast -
To rouse her up in vain they tried -
They kist and kist her, till, at last,
In ecstasy they died.

James Barron Hope

James Barron Hope was an American poet, lawyer, and orator, celebrated for his patriotic verse and speeches, particularly those pertaining to Virginia's history. Born on March 23, 1829, in Virginia, he became known for his eloquence and literary gifts. His works often reflected the Southern heritage and the tumultuous period of the American Civil War. Hope's contributions to American literature remain a testament to his skill and devotion to his craft. He passed away on September 15, 1887.

James Barron Hope

A Reply To A Young Lady.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

Summer Studies. II.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

The Charge At Balaklava.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

Our Heroic Dead.

James Barron Hope, Simple Poetry

English

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A Little Picture.

Oft when pacing thro' the long and dim
Dark gallery of the Past, I pause before
A picture of which this is a copy -
Wretched at best.

How fair she look'd, standing a-tiptoe there,
Pois'd daintily upon her little feet!
The slanting sunset falling thro' the leaves
In golden glory on her smiling face,
Upturn'd towards the blushing roses; while
The breeze that came up from the river's brink,
Shook all their clusters over her fair face;
And sported with her robe, until methought,
That she stood there clad wondrously indeed!
In perfume and in music: for her dress
Made a low, rippling sound, like little waves
That break at midnight on the tawny sands -
While all the evening air of roses whisper'd.
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June Night In Washington.

The scent of honeysuckle,
Drugging the twilight
With its sweet opiate of lovers' dreams!
The last red glow of the setting sun
On the red brick wall
Of the neighboring house,
And the scramble of red roses over it!

Slowly, slowly
The night smokes up from the city to the stars,
The faint foreshadowed stars;
The smouldering night
Breathes upward like the breath
Of a woman asleep
With dim breast rising and falling
And a smile of delicate dreams.

Softly, softly
The wind comes into the garden,
Like a lover that fears lest he waken his love,
And his hands drip with the scent of the roses
And his locks weep with the opiate odor of honeysuckle.
Sighing, sighing
As a lover that yearns for the lips of his love,
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Bliss Carman

A Song

Ive a kiss from a warmer lover
Than maiden earth can be:
She blew it up to the skies above her,
And now it has come to me;
From the far-away it has come today
With a breath of the old salt sea.

She lay and laughed on a lazy billow,
Far away on the deep,
Who had gathered the froth for my ladys pillow
Gathered a sparkling heap;
And the oceans cry was the lullaby
That cradled my love to sleep.

Far away on the blue Pacific
There doth my lady roam,
That is oft-times gay, but as oft terrific:
Her jewels are beads of foam:
In a coral cave, where a blue-green wave
Keeps guard, is my ladys home.

She claps her hands, and her henchman hurries
West of the sunset sheen:
Tis he who comes when a mist-wrack scurries,
Skirting th...

Barcroft Boake

Reverie Of Mahomed Akram At The Tamarind Tank

The Desert is parched in the burning sun
And the grass is scorched and white.
But the sand is passed, and the march is done,
We are camping here to-night.
    I sit in the shade of the Temple walls,
    While the cadenced water evenly falls,
    And a peacock out of the Jungle calls
    To another, on yonder tomb.
    Above, half seen, in the lofty gloom,
    Strange works of a long dead people loom,
Obscene and savage and half effaced -
An elephant hunt, a musicians' feast -
And curious matings of man and beast;
What did they mean to the men who are long since dust?
    Whose fingers traced,
    In this arid waste,
These rioting, twisted, figures of love and lust.

Strange, weird things that no man may say,
Things Humanity hides away; -
  ...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

June Longings.

Lo, all about the lofty blue are blown
Light vapors white, like thistle-down,
That from their softened silver heaps opaque
Scatter delicate flake by flake,
Upon the wide loom of the heavens weaving
Forms of fancies past believing,
And, with fantastic show of mute despair,
As for some sweet hope hurt beyond repair,
Melt in the silent voids of sunny air.

All day the cooing brooklet runs in tune:
Half sunk i' th' blue, the powdery moon
Shows whitely. Hark, the bobolink's note! I hear it,
Far and faint as a fairy spirit!
Yet all these pass, and as some blithe bird, winging,
Leaves a heart-ache for his singing,
A frustrate passion haunts me evermore
For that which closest dwells to beauty's core.
O Love, canst thou this heart of hope restore?

George Parsons Lathrop

Ill Omens.




When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
    And stars in the heavens still lingering shone.
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,
    The last time she e'er was to press it alone.
For the youth! whom she treasured her heart and her soul in,
    Had promised to link the last tie before noon;
And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen
    The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

As she looked in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses.
    Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,
A butterfly,^[1] fresh from the night-flower's kisses.
    Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.
Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces,
    She brushed him--he fell, alas; never to rise:
"Ah! such," said the girl...

Thomas Moore