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Dreams.
Thank God for dreams! I, desolate and lone, In the dark curtained night, did seem to beThe centre where all golden sun-rays shone, And, sitting there, held converse sweet with thee.No shadow lurked between us; all was bright And beautiful as in the hours gone by,I smiled, and was rewarded by the light Of olden days soft beaming from thine eye.Thank God, thank God for dreams!I thought the birds all listened; for thy voice Pulsed through the air, like beat of silver wings.It made each chamber of my soul rejoice And thrilled along my heart's tear-rusted strings.As some devout and ever-prayerful nun Tells her bright beads, and counts them o'er and o'er,Thy golden words I gathered, one by one, And slipped them into memo...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
To Caroline. [1]
1.When I hear you express an affection so warm,Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe;For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.2.Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring,That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear,That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring,Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;3.That the time must arrive, when, no longer retainingTheir auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze,When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.4.Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features,Though I ne'er shall presume to ...
George Gordon Byron
Love And Fancy.
"Whenever, amid bow'rs of myrtle, Love, summer-tressed and vernal-eyed, At morn or eve is seen to wander, A dark-haired girl is at his side." De La Hogue.One morn, just as day in the far east was breaking, Young Love, who all night had been roving about,A charming siesta was quietly taking, His strength, by his rambles, completely worn out.Round his brow a wreath, woven of every flower That springs from the hillside, or valley, was bound;In his hand was a rose he had stol'n from some bower, While his bow and his quiver lay near on the ground.Wild Fancy just came from her kingdom of dreams, The breath of the opening day to enjoy,And to catch the warm kiss ...
George W. Sands
She Dearly Loved The Flowers
I saw her first when she was old,Her form devoid of grace;Her locks that once were yellow goldWere white, and on her faceWere furrows deep, which told of pain,And toil, and worldly fret,Which all, alas, had been in vain,But nature claimed the debt.Her eyes were gray and lacked in glow,Her voice some thought was gruff,And when excited was not slowTo use a sharp rebuff;For she in speech was free from art;Men feared her verbal stroke,And yet they said, "She has a heart;She never wears a cloak."Her creed, perhaps, was heterodox,If creed she ever had.She knew far more of pans and crocks,But this was not her fad;Her light, I fear, did not shine outIn pious talk and airs,In fact I entertain a doubt...
Joseph Horatio Chant
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
Jessie.
You miss the touch of her dear hand, Her laughter gay and sweet, The dimpled cheek, the sunny smile, The patter of her feet. The loving glances she bestowed, The tender tales she told - The world, since she has gone away, Seems empty, drear and cold. Dear, oft you prayed that God would give Your darling joy and grace, That pain or loss might never dim The brightness of her face. That her young heart might keep its trust, Its purity so white, Its wealth of sweet unselfishness, Her eyes their radiant light, Her fair, soft face its innocence Of every guile and wrong, And nothing touch to mar the joy And gladness of her song. God he...
Jean Blewett
Sympathy.
It comes not in such wise as she had deemed, Else might she still have clung to her despair.More tender, grateful than she could have dreamed, Fond hands passed pitying over brows and hair, And gentle words borne softly through the air,Calming her weary sense and wildered mind,By welcome, dear communion with her kind.Ah! she forswore all words as empty lies; What speech could help, encourage, or repair?Yet when she meets these grave, indulgent eyes, Fulfilled with pity, simplest words are fair, Caressing, meaningless, that do not dareTo compensate or mend, but merely sootheWith hopeful visions after bitter Truth.One who through conquered trouble had grown wise, To read the grief unspoken, unexpressed,
Emma Lazarus
Forevermore.
IO heart that vainly followsThe flight of summer swallows,Far over holts and hollows,O'er frozen buds and flowers;To violet seas and levels,Where Love Time's locks dishevelsWith merry mimes and revelsOf aphrodisiac Hours.IIO Love who, dreaming, borrowsDead love from sad to-morrows,The broken heart that sorrows,The blighted hopes that weep;Pale faces pale with sleeping;Red eyelids red with weeping;Dead lips dead secrets keeping,That shake the deeps of sleep!IIIO Memory that showersAbout the withered hoursWhite, ruined, sodden flowers,Dead dust and bitter rain;Dead loves with faces teary;Dead passions wan and dreary;The weary, weary, weary,Dead h...
Madison Julius Cawein
Sonnet: - XX.
I sat within the temple of her heart,And watched the living Soul as it passed through,Arrayed in pearly vestments, white and pure.The calm, immortal Presence made me start.It searched through all the chambers of her mindWith one mild glance of love, and smiled to viewThe fastnesses of feeling, strong - secure,And safe from all surprise. It sits enshrinedAnd offers incense in her heart, as onAn altar sacred unto God. The dawnOf an imperishable love passed throughThe lattice of my senses, and I, too,Did offer incense in that solemn place -A woman's heart made pure and sanctified by Grace.
Charles Sangster
Autumn-Time.
Like music heard in mellow chime,The charm of her transforming time Upon my senses stealsAs softly as from sunny walls,In day's decline, their shadow falls Across the sleeping fields.A fair, illumined bookIs nature's page whereon I look While "autumn turns the leaves;"And many a thought of her designsBetween those rare, resplendent lines My fancy interweaves.I dream of aborigines,Who must have copied from the trees The fashions of the day:Those gorgeous topknots for the head,Of yellow tufts and feathers red, With beads and sinews gay.I wonder if the saints beholdSuch pageantry of colors bold Beyond the radiant sky;And if the tints of ParadiseAre heightened by the strange...
Hattie Howard
Dear Hands.
The touches of her hands are like the fall Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of downThe peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brownThe blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,The touches of her hands, and the delight - The touches of her hands!The touches of her hands are like the dewThat falls so softly down no one e'er knewThe touch thereof save lovers like to oneAstray in lights where ranged Endymion.O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs,Or - in between the midnight and the dawn,When long unrest and tears...
James Whitcomb Riley
Poetry and Prose.
Do you remember the wood, love,That skirted the meadow so green;Where the cooing was heard of the stock-dove,And the sunlight just glinted between.The trees, that with branches entwiningMade shade, where we wandered in bliss,And our eyes with true love-light were shining, -When you gave me the first loving kiss?The ferns grew tall, graceful and fair,But none were so graceful as you;Wild flow'rs in profusion were there,But your eyes were a lovelier blue;And the tint on your cheek shamed the rose,And your brow as the lily was white,And your curls, bright as gold, when it glows,In the crucible, liquid and bright.And do you remember the stile,Where so cosily sitting at eve,Breathing forth ardent love-vows the while,We ...
John Hartley
Recollections of Love
IHow warm this woodland wild Recess!Love surely hath been breathing here;And this sweet bed of heath, my dear!Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,As if to have you yet more near.IIEight springs have flown, since last I layOn sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills,Where quiet sounds from hidden rillsFloat hear and there, like things astray,And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.IIINo voice as yet had made the airBe music with your name; yet whyThat asking look? that yearning sigh?That sense of promise every where?Belovéd! flew your spirit by?IVAs when a mother doth exploreThe rose-mark on her long-lost child,I met, I loved you, maiden mild!As whom I long had loved befor...
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Words
I cannot tell what I would tell thee,What I would say, what thou shouldst hear:Words of the soul that should compell thee,Words of the heart to draw thee near.For when thou smilest, thou, who fillestMy life with joy, and I would speak,'T is then my lips and tongue are stillest,Knowing all language is too weak.Look in my eyes: read there confession:The truest love has least of art:Nor needs it words for its expressionWhen soul speaks soul and heart speaks heart.
Vale
Good-bye, sweet friend, good-bye,And all the world must beBetween my friend and me;And nothing is, dear heart,But hands that meet to part;Good-bye, sweet friend, good-bye.Good-bye, sweet love, good-bye,And one long grave must beBetween my love and me;What comfort there, dear heart,For hands that meet to part?Good-bye, sweet love, good-bye.
Dora Sigerson Shorter
A Song. To The Moon.
Thou, lamp! the gods benignly gave,To light a lover on his way;Thou, Moon! along the silv'ry wave,Ah! safe this flutt'ring heart convey: -Sweet is thy light, and sweet thy shade,The guide and guardian of our bliss,A lover's panting lips to lead,Or veil him in the ravish'd kiss.Her white robe floats upon the air;My Lyra hears the dashing oar:Ye floods, oh! speed me to my fair!My soul is with her long before.Oh! lightly haste, thy lover view,And ev'ry anxious fear resign;Ye tow'rs, no longer fear'd, adieu!The treasure which ye held is mine!
John Carr
Youth.
Sweet empty sky of June without a stain, Faint, gray-blue dewy mists on far-off hills,Warm, yellow sunlight flooding mead and plain, That each dark copse and hollow overfills; The rippling laugh of unseen, rain-fed rills,Weeds delicate-flowered, white and pink and gold,A murmur and a singing manifold.The gray, austere old earth renews her youth With dew-lines, sunshine, gossamer, and haze.How still she lies and dreams, and veils the truth, While all is fresh as in the early days! What simple things be these the soul to raiseTo bounding joy, and make young pulses beat,With nameless pleasure finding life so sweet.On such a golden morning forth there floats, Between the soft earth and the softer sky,In ...
Unbind Thee, Love.
Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, From those dark ties unbind thee;Tho' fairest hand the chain hath wove, Too long its links have twined thee.Away from earth!--thy wings were made In yon mid-sky to hover,With earth beneath their dove-like shade, And heaven all radiant over.Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, Too long thy soul is sleeping;And thou mayst from this minute's joy Wake to eternal weeping.Oh, think, this world is not for thee; Tho' hard its links to sever;Tho' sweet and bright and dear they be, Break or thou'rt lost for ever.
Thomas Moore