To Mrs. Julia Ward Howe

    Dear Lady of Tranquillity, Ah! lightly have the years
    Their music on thy heart-strings played, and all the smiles and tears
    That mark the joy of living, that sound the depths of pain
    For thee make one great harmony - a happy heart's refrain.


        (On her eighty-sixth birthday.)

Helen Leah Reed

Helen Leah Reed (1860-1926) was an American author and poet, renowned for her contributions to children's literature and her historical novels. She was an influential literary figure of her time, often remembered for her stories that blended education with entertainment. Reed's works reflected her deep knowledge and interest in history, making her a notable figure in early 20th-century American literature.

Helen Leah Reed

The Christmas Letter

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

Oak-Leaves

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

Religion. I-34 (From The Odes Of Horace)

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

A Modern Grandmother

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

English

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To John Townsend Trowbridge

    Gay Summer sees the flowering
    Of buds that were the gift of Spring;
    And Winter counts the ripened sheaves
    That Autumn harvested. Who grieves
    When he at length has won the race,
    Or backward then his way would trace?

    Oh, honored Poet, Wit, and Sage,
    This birthday marks an open page,
    And here before its record's writ,
    These words we would inscribe on it.
    "Thou, upon whom thy years fourscore
    So lightly sit, thou hast a store
    Of memories such as they alone
    May have whose hearts all truth have known.
    Now may this year bring thee no less
    Than all the past of happiness!"

        (On his eightieth birthday.)

Helen Leah Reed

To Julia. On Her Birthday.

When Time was entwining the garland of years,
    Which to crown my beloved was given,
Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears,
    Yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven.

And long may this garland be sweet to the eye,
    May its verdure forever be new;
Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh,
    And Sympathy nurse it with dew.

Thomas Moore

A Greeting

Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers
And golden-fruited orange bowers
To this sweet, green-turfed June of ours!
To her who, in our evil time,
Dragged into light the nation's crime
With strength beyond the strength of men,
And, mightier than their swords, her pen!
To her who world-wide entrance gave
To the log-cabin of the slave;
Made all his wrongs and sorrows known,
And all earth's languages his own,
North, South, and East and West, made all
The common air electrical,
Until the o'ercharged bolts of heaven
Blazed down, and every chain was riven!

Welcome from each and all to her
Whose Wooing of the Minister
Revealed the warm heart of the man
Beneath the creed-bound Puritan,
And taught the kinship of the love
Of man below and God abo...

John Greenleaf Whittier

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Margaret Walbridge,

Died at Saratoga, N.Y., June 2d, 1862, aged 35.

WRITTEN ON HER BIRTH-DAY.


This was her birth-day here,
    When summer's latest flowers
Were kindling to their flush and prime,
As if they felt how short the time
    In these terrestrial bowers.

She hath a birth-day now
    No hastening night that knows,
She hath a never-ending year
Which feels no blight of autumn sere,
    Nor chill of wintry snows.

She hath no pain or fear,
    But by her Saviour's side
Expansion finds for every power;
And knowledge her angelic dower
    An ever-flowing tide.

They sorrow, who were called
    From her sweet smile to part,
Who wore her love-links fondly twined
Like woven threads of gold refined
    Around their inmost ...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Georgiana Ives Comstock,

Died at Hartford, April 30th, 1861, aged 22.


I saw a brilliant bridal.
                    All that cheers
And charms the leaping heart of youth was there;
And she, the central object of the group,
The cherished song-bird of her father's house,
Array'd in beauty, was the loved of all.
Would I could tell you what a world of flowers
Were concentrated there--how they o'erflow'd
In wreaths and clusters--how they climb'd and swept
From vase to ceiling, with their gay festoons
Whispering each other in their mystic lore
Of fragrance, and consulting how to swell,
As best they might, the tide of happiness.

A few brief moons departed and I sought
The same abode. There was a gather'd throng
Beyond the threshold stone. A few white flowers
Crept o'er...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

To J.M.B.

    'Oh, were I a heliotrope,
    I would play poet,
    And blow a breeze of fragrance
    To you; and none should know it.


    'Your form like the stately elm
    When Phoebus gilds the morning ray;
    Your cheeks like the ocean bed
    That blooms a rose in May.


    'Your words are wise and bright,
    I bequeath them to you a legacy given;
    And when your spirit takes its flight,
    May it bloom aflower in heaven.


    'My tongue in flattering language spoke,
    And sweeter silence never broke
    in busiest street or loneliest glen.
    I take you with the flashes of my pen.


    'Consider the lilies, how they grow;
    They toil not, yet are fair,
    Gems and flowers and Solomon's seal.
 ...

Louisa May Alcott