In July.

I.

Oh, for a deep-shaded spot where the shadows cool
    Are hid from the rays of the glaring sun,
And the sparkling waters from a limped pool
    O'er the gleaming pebbles in ripples run!


II.

Where the sloping banks are with verdure clad,
    And the hoary cliffs with moss o'ergrown,
And the tangled vine and the wildflowers pad
    The fallen trunk and the hidden stone!


III.

Where the song that wells from a feathered throat
    The echoes repeat again and again,
And the drifted sedge and the bubbles float
    O'er the glassy depths of a miniature main!


IV.

Where the willows dip in the edge of the stream,
    And sway and nod in the passing breeze,
And a feller could tranquilly rest and dream
    Of a howling blizzard and a good hard freeze!

George W. Doneghy

No biography available

George W. Doneghy

"Is It Hot Enough Fer You?"

George W. Doneghy, Simple Poetry

Up And Down Old Clark's Run.

George W. Doneghy, Simple Poetry

"Restland."

George W. Doneghy, Simple Poetry

A Summer Evening.

George W. Doneghy, 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.

Dick's River.

I.

Rock-sentineled, romantic stream!
Thy waters flow with silvery gleam
Where glassy pools and visions greet
Embosomed in some cool retreat;
Then rippling o'er a pebbly bed,
With current fleet thy course is led
To where, walled in by beetling cliffs,
It plunges o'er the hidden rifts.


II.

Past where the meadows gently sweep
The limpid waters silent creep,
Until, o'erhung with cooling shade,
They lave the shores of sylvan glade,
And many a wild-flower blooming there
Its incense flings upon the air;
And spreading o'er each sloping side
An emerald carpet stretches wide.


III.

Now gliding out, the waters gleam
And sparkle with the sun's warm beam,
Reflecting then some mirrored cloud
Like specter...

George W. Doneghy

A Summer Evening.

I.

The sun has sunk in the crimson west,
    And "around the languid eyes of day"
The Twilight's dreamy shadows rest
    And light and shade alternate play;
The winds are hushed, nor leaf nor flower
Is swayed with motion by their power.


II.

The fireflies with meteor lamps
    Arise from out the dewy lawn,
And there the elfin cricket chants
    His vespers when the day is gone,
And far above, the sky's coquette
With all her starry train is met.

George W. Doneghy

Familiar Haunts.

I.

Give me the patches on my pants, the freckles on my face--
The happy heart where cankering care had never found a place--
And let my bare feet walk again that dirt road down the hill
That led me to the river's brink, beyond the old Mock Mill!


II.

Give me the youthful friends I knew, now scattered far and wide--
The loved ones who have passed beyond the bounds of time and tide--
And let me see the rose's hue that mantled every cheek
When we were run-aways from school, a-fishing in the creek.


III.

Give me the stone-bruise on my heel, the hat without a crown--
The unkempt suit of yellow hair the sun had burnt to brown--
And let me go and soak myself, just where we used to walk,
In that old swimmin' pool we had, up on the Hanging...

George W. Doneghy

An Idyl

        Upon a gnarly, knotty limb
            That fought the current's crest,
        Where shocks of reeds peeped o'er the brim,
            Wild wasps had glued their nest.

        And in a sprawling cypress' grot,
            Sheltered and safe from flood,
        Dirt-daubers each had chosen a spot
            To shape his house of mud.

        In a warm crevice of the bark
            A basking scorpion clung,
        With bright blue tail and red-rimmed eyes
            And yellow, twinkling tongue.

        A lunging trout flashed in the sun,
            To do some petty slaughter,
        And set the spiders all a-run
            On little stilts of water.

        Toward noon upon the swamp there stole
            A deep, ...

John Charles McNeill

Sweet September Days.

I.

There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,
That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;
And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,
Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.


II.

There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,
And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream
Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,
And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim.


III.

The tasseled corn is nodding, and the crow on drowsy wing
Is sailing o'er the orchard where the ripening apples swing,
And the fleecy clouds are floating in the azure of the sky,
And the gentle breeze is sighing as it's idly w...

George W. Doneghy

Twilight.

The sun is sinking where the western hills
    The vision bounds with rugged summits old,
And with his latest beam he brightly gilds
    And crowns with amethyst and gold.

The distant music of a tinkling bell
    Is floating o'er the meadow's gentle sweep--
No discords mar the magic of the spell,
    And stealthily the twilight shadows creep.

And gently falls upon the listening ear--
    Like tones from voices of the long-ago--
The cadence of the murmuring waters near--
    With rhythmic ripplings soft and low.

Now grow apace the shadows' slanting shapes
    And fade the rugged hills to misty gray,
As dying day its calm departure takes
    And yields to coming night her sable sway.

The vaulted dome above now glows afar
    With man...

George W. Doneghy