To A Day Lily

        What! only to stay
        For a single day?
Thou beautiful, bright hued on
        Just to open thine eyes
        To the blue of the skies
And the light of the glorious sun,
        Then, to fade away
        In the same rich ray,
And die ere the day is done?

        Bright thing of a day
        Thou hast caught a ray
From Morn's jewelled curtain fold
        On thy burning cheek,
        And the ruby streak
His dyed it with charms untold -
        And the gorgeous vest
        On thy queenly breast,
Is dashed with her choicest gold.

        A statelier queen
        Has never been seen,
A lovelier never will be! -
        Nay, Solomon, dressed
        In his kingliest best,
Was never a match for thee,
        O beautiful flower,
        O joy of an hour -
And only an hour - for me!

        An hour, did I say?
        Nay, loveliest, nay,
Not thus shall I part with thee,
        But with subtle skill
        I shall keep thee still,
Fadeless and fresh with me: -
        Through toil and duty,
        "A thing of beauty
Forever" my own to be'

        As with drooping head
        Amid thorns I tread,
I shall see thee unfold anew,
        In the desert's dust,
        Where journey I must,
Why beautiful form shall view,
        And visions of Home
        O'er my spirit will come,
As thro' tear-drops I gaze on you'

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)

The Beech-Nut Gatherer.

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

Come Unto Me.

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

Marguerite

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

Brother, Rest.

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

English

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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
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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)

To Water Lilies.

Beautiful flowers! with your petals bright,
Ye float on the waves like spirits of light,
Wooing the zephyr that ruffles your leaves
With a gentle sigh, like a lover that grieves,
When his mistress, blushing, turns away
From his pleading voice and impassioned lay.

Beautiful flowers! the sun's westward beam,
Still lingering, plays on the crystal stream,
And ye look like some Naiad's golden shrine,
That is lighted up with a flame divine;
Or a bark in which love might safely glide,
Impelled by the breeze o'er the purple tide.

Beautiful flowers! how I love to gaze
On your glorious hues, in the noon-tide blaze,
And to see them reflected far below
In the azure waves, as they onward flow;
When the spirit who moves them sighing turns
Where his golden c...

Susanna Moodie

By And By

        God will not let His bright gifts die
If I may not sing my songs just now
        I shall sing them by and by


A young man with a Poet's soul,
    And a Poet's kindling eye -
Dark, dreamy, full of unvoiced thought -
    And forehead calm and high,
Toiled wearily at his heavy task
    Till his soul grew sick with pain,
And the pent up fires that burned within
    Seemed withering heart and brain

"Work, work, work!" he murmured low,
    Glancing up at the golden west -
Work, with the sunset heavens aglow
    By the hands of angels dressed,
Work for this perishing, human clay,
    While the soul, like a prisoned bird,
Flutters its helpless wings always
    By passionate longings stirred

"I hear in the wandering...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

To The Same Flower

Pleasures newly found are sweet
When they lie about our feet:
February last, my heart
First at sight of thee was glad;
All unheard of as thou art,
Thou must needs, I think, have had,
Celandine! and long ago,
Praise of which I nothing know.

I have not a doubt but he,
Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who the first with pointed rays
(Workman worthy to be sainted)
Set the sign-board in a blaze,
When the rising sun he painted,
Took the fancy from a glance
At thy glittering countenance.

Soon as gentle breezes bring
News of winter's vanishing,
And the children build their bowers,
Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mould
All about with full-blown flowers,
Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold!
With the proudest thou art there,
Mantling i...

William Wordsworth

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)