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The Morn And Eve Of Life.
So soft Time's plumage in life's budding spring,We rarely note the flutter of his wing.The untutored heart, from pain and sadness free,Beats high with hope and joy and ecstasy;And the fond bosoms of confiding youthBelieve their fairy world a world of truth.The thorn is young upon the rose's stem;They heed it not, it has no wound for them.While yet the heart is new to misery,There is a gloss on everything we see;There is a freshness, which returns no moreWhen fades the morn of life that soon is o'er;A warmth of feeling, ardency of joy,Delight almost exempt from an alloy,A zest for pleasure, fearlessness of pain,That we are destined ne'er to know again.And what succeeds this era joyous, bright?Is it a cloudless eve or starless n...
Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney
The Death Of The Pauper Child.
Hush, mourning mother, wan and pale! No sobs - no grieving now:No burning tears must thou let fall Upon that cold still brow;No look of anguish cast above, Nor smite thine aching breast,But clasp thy hands and thank thy God - Thy darling is at rest.Close down those dark-fringed, snowy lids Over the violet eyes,Whose liquid light was once as clear As that of summer skies.Is it not bliss to know what e'er Thy future griefs and fears,They will be never dimmed like thine By sorrow's scalding tears?Enfold the tiny fingers fair, From which life's warmth has fled,For ever freed from wearing toil - The toil for daily bread:Compose the softly moulded limbs, The little waxen feet,...
Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Garden-Fancies - I. The Flowers Name
I.Heres the garden she walked across,Arm in my arm, such a short while since:Hark, now I push its wicket, the mossHinders the hinges and makes them wince!She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,As back with that murmur the wicket swung;For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,To feed and forget it the leaves among.II.Down this side ofthe gravel-walkShe went while her robes edge brushed the box:And here she paused in her gracious talkTo point me a moth on the milk-white flox.Roses, ranged in valiant row,I will never think that she passed you by!She loves you noble roses, I know;But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!III.This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,Stoope...
Robert Browning
Philosopher
Philosophers are lined with eyes within,And, being so, the sage unmakes the man.In love, he cannot therefore cease his trade;Scarce the first blush has overspread his cheek,He feels it, introverts his learned eyeTo catch the unconscious heart in the very act.His mother died,--the only friend he had,--Some tears escaped, but his philosophyCouched like a cat sat watching close behindAnd throttled all his passion. Is't not likeThat devil-spider that devours her mateScarce freed from her embraces?
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Disappointment
Oh, come, Beloved, before my beauty fades,Pity the sorrow of my loneliness.I am a Rosebush that the Cypress shades,No sunbeams find or lighten my distress.Daily I watch the waning of my bloom.Ah, piteous fading of a thing so fair!While Fate, remorseless, weaving at her loom,Twines furtive silver in my twisted hair.This noon I watched a tremulous fading roseRise on the wind to court a butterfly."One speck of pollen, ere my petals close,Bring me one touch of love before I die!"But the gay butterfly, who had the powerTo grant, refused, flew far across the dell,And, as he fertilised a younger flower,The petals of the rose, defrauded, fell.Such was my fate, thou hast not come to me,Thine eyes are absent, and thy voice i...
Adela Florence Cory Nicolson
Separation.
ELIZABETH TO WALTERHe has come and he has gone, Meeting, parting, both are o'er;And I feel the same dull pain,Aching heart and throbbing brain Coming o'er me once againThat I often felt before.For he is my father's son, And, in childhood's loving timeHe and I so lone, so young,No twin blossoms ever sprung,No twin cherries ever clung, Closer than his heart and mine.He is changed, ah me! ah me! Have we then a different aim?Shall earth's glory or its goldMake his heart to mine grow cold?Or can new love kill the old? Leaving me for love and fameOh, my brother fair to see! Idol of my lonely heart,Parting is a time of test,Father, give him what is best,...
Nora Pembroke
Mary Bayfield
How beautiful the summer nightWhen birds roost on the mossy tree,When moon and stars are shining brightAnd home has gone the weary bee!Then Mary Bayfield seeks the glen,The white hawthorn and grey oak tree,And nought but heaven can tell me thenHow dear thy beauty is to me.Dear is the dewdrop to the flower,The old wall to the weary bee,And silence to the evening hour,And ivy to the stooping tree.Dearer than these, than all beside,Than blossoms to the moss-rose tree,The maid who wanders by my side--Sweet Mary Bayfield is to me.Sweet is the moonlight on the tree,The stars above the glassy lake,That from the bottom look at meThrough shadows of the crimping brake.Such are sweet things--but sweeter stillThan ...
John Clare
Mary.
One balmy summer night, Mary, Just as the risen moonHad thrown aside her fleecy veil, We left the gay saloon;And in a green, sequestered spot, Beneath a drooping tree,Fond words were breathed, by you forgot, That still are dear to me, Mary, That still are dear to me.Oh, we were happy, then, Mary-- Time lingered on his way,To crowd a lifetime in a night, Whole ages in a day!If star and sun would set and rise Thus in our after years,The world would be a paradise, And not a vale of tears, Mary, And not a vale of tears.I live but in the past, Mary-- The glorious day of old!When love was hoarded in the heart, As misers hoard their gold:And often like a bridal...
George Pope Morris
Valentine Day (Prose)
Ha monny young folk are langin for th' fourteenth o' February! An ha mony old pooastmen wish it ud niver come? Sawr owd maids an' crusty owd bachelors wonder 'at fowk should have noa moor sense nor to waste ther brass on sich like nonsense. But it's noa use them talkin', for young fowk have done it befoor time, an' as long as it's i'th' natur on 'em to love one another an' get wed, soa long will valentine makers have plenty to do at this time o'th' year. Ther's monny a daycent sooart of a young chap at thinks he could like to mak up to a young lass at he's met at th' chapel or some other place, but as sooin as he gets at th' side on her, he caant screw his courage up to th' stickin' place, an' he axes her some sooart ov a gaumless question, sich as "ha's your mother," or summat he cares noa moor abaat. An' as sooin as he gets to hissell h...
John Hartley
The Sultan's Palace
My spirit only lived to look on Beauty's face,As only when they clasp the arms seem served aright;As in their flesh inheres the impulse to embrace,To gaze on Loveliness was my soul's appetite.I have roamed far in search; white road and plunging bowWere keys in the blue doors where my desire was set;Obedient to their lure, my lips and laughing browThe hill-showers and the spray of many seas have wet.Hot are enamored hands, the fragrant zone unbound,To leave no dear delight unfelt, unfondled o'er,The will possessed my heart to girdle Earth aroundWith their insatiate need to wonder and adore.The flowers in the fields, the surf upon the sands,The sunset and the clouds it turned to blood and wine,Were shreds of the thin veil behind whose beade...
Alan Seeger
First Bloom Of Love.
O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl!Gathering violets near the woods,Whose coy young petals half unfurlThe mystery of their dulcet moods.O blushing girl! O girl of spring!I hear no answer move the air;Yet eyelids hovering on the wingReveal deep meanings curtained there.O girl of spring! O spring of love!Let silent violets be the speechFrom you to me, and let them proveWhat maiden silence will not teach!
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
Beauty Accurst
I am so fair that wheresoe'er I wendMen yearn with strange desire to kiss my face,Stretch out their hands to touch me as I pass,And women follow me from place to place.A poet writing honey of his dearLeaves the wet page, - ah! leaves it long to dry.The bride forgets it is her marriage-morn,The bridegroom too forgets as I go by.Within the street where my strange feet shall strayAll markets hush and traffickers forget,In my gold head forget their meaner gold,The poor man grows unmindful of his debt.Two lovers kissing in a secret place,Should I draw nigh, - will never kiss again;I come between the king and his desire,And where I am all loving else is vain.Lo! when I walk along the woodland wayStrange creatures leer at...
Richard Le Gallienne
The Heart O' Spring
Whiten, oh whiten, O clouds of lawn!Lily-like clouds that whiten above,Now like a dove, and now like a swan,But never, oh never pass on! pass on!Never so white as the throat of my love.Blue-black night on the mountain peaksIs not so black as the locks o' my love!Stars that shine through the evening streaksOver the torrent that flashes and breaks,Are not so bright as the eyes o' my love!Moon in a cloud, a cloud of snow,Mist in the vale where the rivulet sounds,Dropping from ledge to ledge below,Turning to gold in the sunset's glow,Are not so soft as her footstep sounds.Sound o' May winds in the blossoming trees,Is not so sweet as her laugh that rings;Song o' wild birds on the morning breeze,Birds and brooks and murm...
Madison Julius Cawein
Love Thyself Last
Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty To those who walk beside thee down life's road;Make glad their days by little acts of beauty, And help them bear the burden of earth's load.Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger, Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;Go lend a hand, and lead him out of danger, To hights where he may see the world is fair.Love thyself last. The vastnesses above thee Are filled with Spirit Forces, strong and pure.And fervently, these faithful friends shall love thee: Keep thou thy watch o'er others and endure.Love thyself last; and oh, such joy shall thrill thee, As never yet to selfish souls was given.Whate'er thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee, And earth sha...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
To Lydia Maria Child
On reading her poem in "The Standard.The sweet spring day is glad with music,But through it sounds a sadder strain;The worthiest of our narrowing circleSings Loring's dirges o'er again.O woman greatly loved! I join theeIn tender memories of our friend;With thee across the awful spacesThe greeting of a soul I send!What cheer hath he? How is it with him?Where lingers he this weary while?Over what pleasant fields of HeavenDawns the sweet sunrise of his smile?Does he not know our feet are treadingThe earth hard down on Slavery's grave?That, in our crowning exultations,We miss the charm his presence gave?Why on this spring air comes no whisperFrom him to tell us all is well?Why to our flow...
John Greenleaf Whittier
Kotri, by the River
At Kotri, by the river, when the evening's sun is low,The waving palm trees quiver, the golden waters glow,The shining ripples shiver, descending to the sea;At Kotri, by the river, she used to wait for me.So young, she was, and slender, so pale with wistful eyesAs luminous and tender as Kotri's twilight skies.Her face broke into flowers, red flowers at the mouth,Her voice, - she sang for hours like bulbuls in the south.We sat beside the water through burning summer days,And many things I taught her of Life and all its waysOf Love, man's loveliest duty, of Passion's reckless pain,Of Youth, whose transient beauty comes once, but not again.She lay and laughed and listened beside the water's edge.The glancing rirer glistened and glinted through the...
An Old Likeness
Recalling R. T.Who would have thoughtThat, not having missed herTalks, tears, laughterIn absence, or soughtTo recall for so longHer gamut of song;Or ever to waft herSignal of aughtThat she, fancy-fanned,Would well understand,I should have kissed herPicture when scannedYawning years after!Yet, seeing her poorDim-outlined formChancewise at night-time,Some old allureCame on me, warm,Fresh, pleadful, pure,As in that bright timeAt a far seasonOf love and unreason,And took me by stormHere in this blight-time!And thus it aroseThat, yawning years afterOur early flowsOf wit and laughter,And framing of rhymesAt idle times,At sight of her pain...
Thomas Hardy
Student-Song.
When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, And Youth's blue sky is bright,And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend, Love's early dawning light,Let the free soul spurn care's control, And while the glad days shine,We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, O'ercast thy brow with gloom,For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, Shall follow Summer's bloom.Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes In changeful beauty shine,And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.For in the weary years, my friend, That stretched before us lie,There'll be enough of tears, my friend, To dim the brightest eye.So le...
John Hay