To His Love.

"Teach me, love, to be true;
    Teach me, love, to love;
Teach me to be pure like you.
    It will be more than enough!

"Ah, and in days to come,
    Give me, my seraph, too,
A son nobler than I,
    A daughter true like you:

"A son to battle the wrong,
    To seek and strive for the right;
A beautiful daughter of song,
    To point us on to the light!"

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

In The Pit. "Chant Of The Firemen."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

The Man Of The Nation.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

A Story. (For The Irish Delegates In Australia.)

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Prayer.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, 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.

To The Girls Of The Unions.

Girls, we love you, and love
    Asks you to give again
That which draws it above,
    Beautiful, without stain.

Give us weariless faith
    In our Cause pure, passionate,
Dearer than life and death,
    Dear as the love that's it!

Give to the man who turns
    Traitrous hands or forlorn
Back from the plough that burns,
    Give him pitiless scorn!

Let him know that no wife
    Would bear him a fearless child
To hate and loathe the life
    Of a leprous father defiled.

Girls, we love you, and love
    Asks you to give again
That which draws it above,
    Beautiful, without stain!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Oh, Teach Me To Love Thee. (Air.--Haydn.)

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art,
Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart
    Shall all other passions disown;
Like some pure temple that shines apart,
    Reserved for Thy worship alone.

In joy and in sorrow, thro' praise and thro' blame,
Thus still let me, living and dying the same,
    In Thy service bloom and decay--
Like some lone altar whose votive flame
    In holiness wasteth away.

Tho' born in this desert, and doomed by my birth
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth,
    On Thee let my spirit rely--
Like some rude dial, that, fixt on earth,
    Still looks for its light from the sky.

Thomas Moore

Farewell To The Children.

In the early summer morning
    I stand and watch them come,
The children to the school-house;
    They chatter and laugh and hum.

The little boys with satchels
    Slung round them, and the girls
Each with hers swinging in her hand;
    I love their sunny curls.

I love to see them playing,
    Romping and shouting with glee,
The boys and girls together,
    Simple, fearless, free.

I love to see them marching
    In squads, in file, in line,
Advancing and retreating,
    Tramping, keeping time.

Sometimes a little lad
    With a bright brave face I'll see,
And a wistful yearning wonder
    Comes stealing over me.

For once I too had a darling;
    I dreamed what he should do,
And surely he'd have had, I...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Ad Domnulam Suam

Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer,
Love me: we will pass and part,
Ere this love grow stronger.

I have loved thee, Child! too well,
To do aught but leave thee:
Nay! my lips should never tell
Any tale, to grieve thee.

Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer,
I may love thee: we will part,
Ere my love grow stronger.

Soon thou leavest fairy-land;
Darker grow thy tresses:
Soon no more of hand in hand;
Soon no more caresses!

Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer,
Be a child: then, we will part,
Ere this love grow stronger.

Ernest Christopher Dowson

Francie.

I loved a child as we should love
Each other everywhere;
I cared more for his happiness
Than I dreaded my own despair.

An angel asked me to give him
My whole life's dearest cost;
And in adding mine to his treasures
I knew they could never be lost.

To his heart I gave the gold,
Though little my own had known;
To his eyes what tenderness
From youth in mine had grown!

I gave him all my buoyant
Hope for my future years;
I gave him whatever melody
My voice had steeped in tears.

Upon the shore of darkness
His drifted body lies.
He is dead, and I stand beside him,
With his beauty in my eyes.

I am like those withered petals
We see on a winter day,
That gladly gave their color
In the happy summer away.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

The Teacher's Lesson.

I saw a child some four years old,
Along a meadow stray;
Alone she went unchecked untold
Her home not far away.

She gazed around on earth and sky
Now paused, and now proceeded;
Hill, valley, wood, she passed them by,
Unmarked, perchance unheeded.

And now gay groups of roses bright,
In circling thickets bound her
Yet on she went with footsteps light,
Still gazing all around her.

And now she paused, and now she stooped,
And plucked a little flower
A simple daisy 'twas, that drooped
Within a rosy bower.

The child did kiss the little gem,
And to her bosom pressed it;
And there she placed the fragile stem,
And with soft words caressed it.

I love to read a lesson true,
From nature's open book
And oft I lear...

Samuel Griswold Goodrich