Marguerite

Lightly the shadows
Play through the trees,
Green are the meadows,
Soft is the breeze, -
June's early roses,
Pensive and sweet,
Droop where reposes
Lost Marguerite!

Meeting thee never
In the green bowers, -
Missing thee ever
'Mid the fresh flowers, -
Till the long hours die -
Hours once so fleet -
Hopelessly wait I,
Lost Marguerite!

Day has grown weary
In the blue sky,
Summer is dreary,
Melodies die;
Lowly the willow
Droopeth to meet
And kiss thy pillow,
Lost Marguerite!

Flower the fairest
Of sweet summer time,
Rosebud the rarest
Plucked ere its prime,
Mine to weep ever
Where the wares beat,
Meeting thee never,
Lost Marguerite!

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)

Looking Back

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

The Old Church Choir

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

Fount Of Bliss

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

Death

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)

Eloise.

                        Eloise! Eloise!
        It is morn on the seas,
And the waters are curling and flashing;
        And our rock-sheltered seat,
        Where the waves ever beat
With a cadenced and rhythmical dashing,
                Is here - just here,
                But I miss thee, dear!
And the sun-beams around me are flashing
        O seat, by the lonely sea,
        O seat, that she shared with me,
                Thou art all unfilled to day!
                And the plaintive, grieving main
                Hath a moan of hopeless pain
                That it had not yesterday.

                        Eloise! Eloise!
        It is noon; and the breeze
Through the shadowy woodland is straying;
        And our green, mossy seat,

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Loved And Lost, or The Sky-Lark And The Violet

LOVED AND LOST, - OR - THE SKY-LARK AND THE VIOLET.


VIOLET'S SONG

I.

        Come down from thy dazzling sphere,
            Bird of the gushing song!
Come down where the young leaves whisper low,
While the breeze steals in with a murmurous flow,
And the tender branches wave to and fro
            In the soft air all day long!

        I have watched thy daring wing
            Cleaving the sun-bright air,
Where the snowy cloud is asleep in light,
Or dreamily floating in robes of white,
While thy soul gushed forth in its song's free might,
            Till my spirit is dim with care.

        For oh, I have loved thee well,
            Thou of the soaring wing! -
And I fear lest the angels that sit on high,
In the ca...

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)

Flowers By A Grave

Alien blossoms! tell me why
    Seek ye such a lonely place,
Thus to bloom, and droop, and die
    Far away from all your race?

Wherefore, from the sunny bowers
    Where your beauteous kindred bloom,
Have ye come, O banished flowers!
    Thus to decorate a tomb?

"Mortal, dost thou question why
    Thus beside the grave we bloom?
Why we hither come to die,
    Aliens from our garden-home?

"'Twas Affection's gentle hand
    Placed us thus her dead so near; -
Tis at weeping Love's command
    That we breathe our fragrance here.

"Ask not why we wither here,
    Thou who ne'er hast tasted woe,
Who hast never felt the tear
    Of bereaved affection flow, -

"Ask not, till thy household band
    By death's cruel ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Silent Messenger

I sat beside a bed of pain,
    And all the muffled hours were still;
The breeze that bent the summer grain,
    Scarce sighed along the pine-clad hill;
The pensive stars, the silvery moon
    Seemed sleeping in a sea of calm.
And all the leafy bowers of June
    Were steeped in midnight's dewy balm.

She seemed to sleep, for lull of pain
    Had calmed the fevered pulse a while,
But, as I watched, she woke again,
    With wondering glance and eager smile.
The pale lips moved as if to speak,
    The thin hand trembled in my own,
Then, with a sigh for words too weak,
    The eyelids closed, and she was gone.

Gone! gone! - but where, or how, or when?
    I had not seen or form or face;
Unmarked God's messenger had been
    Beside me in ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)