To G. P. L.

We see the sky, - we love it day by day;
We feel the wind of Spring, from blossoms winging;
We meet with souls tender as tints in May:
For these large ecstasies what are we bringing?

There is no price, best friend, for greatest meed.
Laid on the altar of our true affection,
Wild flowers of love for me must intercede:
And lo! I win your unexcelled protection.

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

Francie.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

Looking Backward.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

Beyond Utterance.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

Twenty Bold Mariners.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

English

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The Lover Who Thinks.

Dost thou remember, Love, those hours
Shot o'er with random rainy showers,
When the bold sun would woo coy May?
She smiled, then wept - and looked another way.

We, learning from the sun and season,
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'Gainst maiden majesty, to give
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But love, ah, love we know is blind!
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What then? Is all our purpose lost?
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May Song.

How fair doth Nature

Appear again!
How bright the sunbeams!

How smiles the plain!

The flow'rs are bursting

From ev'ry bough,
And thousand voices

Each bush yields now.

And joy and gladness

Fill ev'ry breast!
Oh earth! oh sunlight!

Oh rapture blest!

Oh love! oh loved one!

As golden bright,
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On yonder height!

Thou blessest gladly

The smiling field,
The world in fragrant

Vapour conceal'd.

Oh maiden, maiden,

How love I thee!
Thine eye, how gleams it!

How lov'st thou me!

The blithe lark loveth

Sweet song and air,
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Heav'n's incense fair,

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O Come To The Meadows.

O come to the meadows! I'll show you where
    Primrose and violet blow,
And the hawthorn spreads its blossoms fair,
    White as the driven snow.
I'll show you where the daisies dot
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The gold-cup and the meadow-sweet,
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    And sighs above the tide.
The stately flag that gaily rears
    Aloft its yellow crest,
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    Of morn delight to rest.

The first in Nature's dainty wreath,
    We'll cull the brier-rose,
The crowfoot and the purple heath,
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Love Eternal

The human heart will never change,
The human dream will still go on,
The enchanted earth be ever strange
With moonlight and the morning sun,
And still the seas shall shout for joy,
And swing the stars as in a glass,
The girl be angel for the boy,
The lad be hero for the lass.

The fashions of our mortal brains
New names for dead men's thoughts shall give,
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The beauty of a meadow-flower
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The old magician of the skies,
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Love

Love is the sunlight of the soul,
That, shining on the silken-tressèd head
Of her we love, around it seems to shed
A golden angel-aureole.

And all her ways seem sweeter ways
Than those of other women in that light:
She has no portion with the pallid night,
But is a part of all fair days.

Joy goes where she goes, and good dreams,
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Of Love that dies not, and her soft eyes glance
Like sunshine set to music seems.

Queen of our fate is she, but crowned
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Love That Lives

Dear face - bright, glinting hair;
Dear life, whose heart is mine -
The thought of you is prayer,
The love of you divine.

In starlight, or in rain;
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Ever, with joy or pain,
To you my quick thoughts go

Like winds or clouds, that fleet
Across the hungry space
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Where life again wins grace.

Now, as in that once young
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I long for, gladden in you.

And when in the silent hours
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My blood with fragrant flame!

Perished is all that grieves;
And lo, our old-new joys
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George Parsons Lathrop