The Foster-Child (Mary Elizabeth Robinson Poems)
IN IMITATION OF SPENCER.CANTO I.'MID Cambria's hills a lowly cottage stood,Circled with mossy tufts of sombre green;A vagrant brook flow'd ...
IN IMITATION OF SPENCER.CANTO I.'MID Cambria's hills a lowly cottage stood,Circled with mossy tufts of sombre green;A vagrant brook flow'd ...
That one long dirge-moan sad and deep,Low, muffled by the solemn stressOf such emotion as doth steepThe soul in brooding ...
White as white butterflies that each one dons Her face their wide white wings to shade withal,Many moon-daisies throng the water-spring. While ...
ON THEMORNING OF HER BIRTH-DAY.LAST night, as musing on a layTo greet thee on thy natal day,Sleep o'er my eyes ...
A SONG.UP the dewy slopes of morningFollow me;Every smoky spy-glass scorning,Look and see, look and seeHow the simple sun is ...
SHE is more sparkling beautiful Than dawn-light seen thro' tears The weeping worlds of Paradise Shed down upon the spheres. ...
Dark-eyed, out of the snow-cold sea you came,The young blood under the cheek like dawn-light showing,Stray tendrils of dark hair ...
THE sobbings of the ocean wavesWere all the notes that Basil knew;He lov'd them since his ear could dwellWith gladness ...
WE have other tales for telling, we have other songs to sing, Who have looped the planet's waters in a ...
And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.—Jeremiah xxxii. 38.IHear, O Israel! and plead my cause ...
ALL naked at the crossroads thou dost sit. The snow descends and clings along thine hair.Dark wounds are in thy ...
THE years slip past, and the hour-glass flows, But its sands are more than the ocean-tide's;They ruin the rose ...
Who looks too long from his windowAt the gray, wide, cold sea,Where breakers scour the beachesWith fingers of sharp foam;Who ...
Brooding on the eightieth letter of Fors Clavigera, I speak this in memory of my grandmother, whose childhood and prime ...
I like to think that when I fall, A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea, This shelf of books along the ...
The lone man gazed and gazed upon his gold, His sweat, his blood, the wage of weary days; But now ...
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