The Clock's Song.

Eileen of four,
Eileen of smiles;
Eileen of five,
Eileen of tears;
Eileen of ten, of fifteen years,
Eileen of youth
And woman's wiles;
Eileen of twenty,
In love's land,
Eileen all tender
In her bliss,
Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss,
And the sly weapon in life's hand, -
Eileen aroused to share all fate,
Eileen a wife,
Pale, beautiful,
Eileen most grave
And dutiful,
Mourning her dreams in queenly state.
Eileen! Eileen!....

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop was an American Roman Catholic nun and social worker. Born on May 20, 1851, in Lenox, Massachusetts, she was the daughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the famous novelist. After a failed marriage, Lathrop turned towards religious life and dedicated herself to caring for those with incurable cancer. She founded the Dominican Sisters of Hawthorne, and the community grew to operate several homes for cancer patients. She passed away on July 9, 1926.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

The Girls We Might Have Wed.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

The Clock-Tower Bell.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

A Passing Voice.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

For Others.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

English

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Seven Times Four. Maternity.

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall!
When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses,
And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small!
Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses,
Eager to gather them all.

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups!
Mother shall thread them a daisy chain;
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow,
That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain;
Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow" -
Sing once, and sing it again.

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,
Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow;
A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters,
And haply one musing doth stand at her prow.
O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters,
Maybe he t...

Jean Ingelow

Lady Button-Eyes

When the busy day is done,
And my weary little one
Rocketh gently to and fro;
When the night winds softly blow,
And the crickets in the glen
Chirp and chirp and chirp again;
When upon the haunted green
Fairies dance around their queen -
Then from yonder misty skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.

Through the murk and mist and gloam
To our quiet, cozy home,
Where to singing, sweet and low,
Rocks a cradle to and fro;
Where the clock's dull monotone
Telleth of the day that's done;
Where the moonbeams hover o'er
Playthings sleeping on the floor -
Where my weary wee one lies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.

Cometh like a fleeting ghost
From some distant eerie coast;
Never footfall can you hear
As that spirit fareth near -
Never ...

Eugene Field

In The Garret

    Four little chests all in a row,
    Dim with dust, and worn by time,
    All fashioned and filled, long ago,
    By children now in their prime.
    Four little keys hung side by side,
    With faded ribbons, brave and gay
    When fastened there, with childish pride,
    Long ago, on a rainy day.
    Four little names, one on each lid,
    Carved out by a boyish hand,
    And underneath there lieth hid
    Histories of the happy band
    Once playing here, and pausing oft
    To hear the sweet refrain,
    That came and went on the roof aloft,
    In the falling summer rain.


    "Meg" on the first lid, smooth and fair.
    I look in with loving eyes,
    For folded here, with well-known care,
    A goodly gathering lies,
 ...

Louisa May Alcott

Noon

As some contented bird doth coo
    She trilled a song of fond delight,
    The while she spread the cloth of white,
And set the cups and plates for two.

She leaned beyond the window sill,
    And looked along the busy street,
    And listened for his coming feet.
The skies were calm, the winds were still.

'O love, my love, why art thou late?
    The kettle boils, the cloth is spread,
    The clock points close to noon,' she said.
O clock of time!    O clock of fate!

She heard the moon's glad sound of cheer;
    (The hiss, the whirl, the crash, the creak,
    Of maddened wheels, the awful shriek
Of awestruck men -she did not hear.)

She lightly tripped about the room,
    And near the window, where his eyes
    Might greet it w...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Sleep And Time.

"Wake, baillie, wake! the crafts are out;
    Wake!" said the knight, "be quick!
For high street, bye street, over the town
    They fight with poker and stick."
Said the squire, "A fight so fell was ne'er
    In all my bailliewick."
What said the old clock in the tower?
    "Tick, tick, tick!"

"Wake, daughter, wake! the hour draws on;
    Wake!" quoth the dame, "be quick!
The meats are set, the guests are coming,
    The fiddler waxing his stick."
She said, "The bridegroom waiting and waiting
    To see thy face is sick."
What said the new clock in her bower?
    "Tick, tick, tick!"

Jean Ingelow

The Lady Of Rathmore Hall.

Throughout the country for many a mile
There is not a nobler, statelier pile
    Than ivy crowned Rathmore Hall;
And the giant oaks that shadow the wold,
Though hollowed by time, are not as old
    As its Norman turrets tall.

Let us follow that stream of sunset red,
Crimsoning the portal overhead,
    Stealing through curtaining lace,
Where sits in a spacious and lofty room
Full of gems of art - exotics in bloom -
    The Lady of the place.

If Rathmore Hall is with praises named,
Not less is its queen-like mistress famed
    For wondrous beauty and grace;
And as she reclines there, calmly now,
The sunset flush on her ivory brow,
    We marvel at form and face.

Wondrously perfect, peerlessly fair,
Are the mouth and the eyes and ...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon