Sunset

The glorious sun, behind the western hills,
    Slowly, in gorgeous majesty, retires,
Flooding the founts and forests, fields and rills,
    With the reflection of his golden fires.
How beauteous all, how calm, how still!
Yon star that trembles on the hill,
Yon crescent moon that raises high
Her beamy horns upon the sky,
    Seem bending down a loving glance
        From the unclouded skies,
    On the green Earth that far away
        In solemn beauty lies; -
And, like sweet Friendship in affliction's hour,
Grow brighter still the more the shadows lower.

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)

Not Yet

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

Be In Earnest

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

Somewhere

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

After Fifty Years

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

English

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Sunset On The Bearcamp

A gold fringe on the purpling hem
Of hills the river runs,
As down its long, green valley falls
The last of summers suns.
Along its tawny gravel-bed
Broad-flowing, swift, and still,
As if its meadow levels felt
The hurry of the hill,
Noiseless between its banks of green
From curve to curve it slips;
The drowsy maple-shadows rest
Like fingers on its lips.
A waif from Carrolls wildest hills,
Unstoried and unknown;
The ursine legend of its name
Prowls on its banks alone.
Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn
As ever Yarrow knew,
Or, under rainy Irish skies,
By Spensers Mulla grew;
And through the gaps of leaning trees
Its mountain cradle shows
The gold against the amethyst,
The green against the rose.

Touched by a l...

John Greenleaf Whittier

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)

Bright Thoughts For A Dark Day

Will the shadows be lifted to-morrow? -
    Will the sunshine come ever again? -
Will the clouds, that are weeping in sorrow,
    Their glorious beauty regain?
Will the forest stand forth in its greenness? -
    The meadows smile sweet as before? -
And the sky, in its placid sereneness,
    Bend lovingly o'er us once more?

Will the birds sing again as we heard them,
    Ere the tempest their gentle notes hushed? -
Will the breeze float again in its freedom,
    Where lately its melody gushed?
Will the beautiful angel of sunset
    Drape the heavens in crimson and gold,
As the day-king serenely retireth,
    'Mid grandeur and glory untold?

Yea; the clouds will be lifted to-morrow,
    From valley, and hill-top, and plain;
And sunshine, and...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Good Night

Good night, good night! - the day
Slowly has borne away,
                Music and light;
Once more the starry train
Sweeps over vale and plain,
Soft falls the dews again -
                Good night-good night!

Day's weary toils are done,
Set is the glorious sun,
                Faded the light; -
Now, to the weary breast
Ever a welcome guest, -
Comes the sweet hour of rest -
                Good night - good night!

Evening's cool shadows lie
Calmly o'er earth and sky;
                And, from the height
Of the far, wooded hill,
Sends the lone whip-poor-will,
Softer and sweeter still,
                Plaintive good night.

Gently let slumber lie
On every weary eye
                Tired of the light!
E'...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Beautiful Artist.

There's a beautiful Artist abroad in the world,
        And her pencil is dipped in heaven, -
The gorgeous hues of Italian skies,
The radiant sunset's richest dyes,
The light of Aurora's laughing eyes,
        Are each to her pictures given.

As I walked abroad yestere'en, what time
        The sunset was fairest to see,
I saw where her wonderful brush had been
Over a maple tree - half of it green -
And the fairiest col'ring that ever was seen
        She had left on that maple tree.

There was red of every possible hue,
        There was yellow of every dye,
From the faintest straw-tint to orange bright,
Fluttering, waving, flashing in light,
With the delicate, green leaves still in sight,
        Peeping out at the sunset sky.

She h...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Beyond the Sunset are the Hills of God.

Gleaming folds of read and gold linger in the western sky;
Fleecy clouds of purest tint, mingle with the purple dye.

Faintly to the dreamy mind comes the sound of earthly life;
Far beyond the shining banks, cometh rest from worldly strife.

Through the sunset's misty veil, now we look with longing eyes,
To behold more beauteous sight than the evening's glor'ous skies.

Slowly now the red banks part, showing what is hidden there;
Flushing hills of shadowy light, piercing through the dark'ning air.

Like the rainbow's promise clear, God has placed His emblem there,
Giving life and trust to all, love unbounded, rich and rare.

Glimpses of a life beyond come to each faint, weary heart,
And we long for that bright shore where the loved ones ne'er shall part.
...

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick