The Two Angels (Alexander Anderson Poems)
Two angels, as I grew up glad and gay From golden infancy,Were with me, walking all along the way On ...
Two angels, as I grew up glad and gay From golden infancy,Were with me, walking all along the way On ...
A weary waste of blank and barren land,A lonely, lonely sea of shifting sand,A golden furnace gleaming overhead,Scorching the blue ...
What would'st thou have for easement after grief, When the rude world hath used thee with despite, And care sits at thine elbow day and night, Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief? To me, when life besets me in such wise, 'Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain, And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth, To roam in idleness and sober mirth, Through summer airs and summer lands, and drain The comfort of wide fields unto tired eyes. By hills and waters, farms and solitudes, To wander by the day with wilful feet; Through fielded valleys wide with yellowing wheat; Along gray roads that run between deep woods, Murmurous and cool; through hallowed slopes of pine, Where the long daylight dreams, unpierced, unstirred, And only the rich-throated thrush is heard; By lonely forest brooks that froth and shine In bouldered crannies buried in the hills; By broken beeches tangled with wild vine, And long-strewn rivers murmurous with mills. In upland pastures, sown with gold, and sweet With the keen perfume of the ripening grass, Where wings of birds and filmy shadows pass, Spread thick as stars with shining marguerite: To haunt old fences overgrown with brier, Muffled in vines, and hawthorns, and wild cherries, Rank poisonous ivies, red-bunched elder-berries, And pièd blossoms to the heart's desire, Gray mullein towering into yellow bloom, Pink-tasseled milkweed, breathing dense perfume, And swarthy vervain, tipped with violet fire. To hear at eve the bleating of far flocks, The mud-hen's whistle from the marsh at morn; To skirt with deafened ears and brain o'erborne Some foam-filled rapid charging down its rocks With iron roar of waters; far away Across wide-reeded meres, pensive with noon, To hear the querulous outcry of the loon; To lie among deep rocks, and watch all day On liquid heights the snowy clouds melt by; Or hear from wood-capped mountain-brows the jay Pierce the bright morning with his jibing cry. To feast on summer sounds; the jolted wains, The thresher humming from the farm near by, The prattling cricket's intermittent cry, The locust's rattle from the sultry lanes; Or in the shadow of some oaken spray, To watch, as through a mist of light and dreams, The far-off hayfields, where the dusty teams Drive round and round the lessening squares of hay, And hear upon the wind, now loud, now low, With drowsy cadence half a summer's day, The clatter of the reapers come and go. Far violet hills, horizons filmed with showers, The murmur of cool streams, the forest's gloom, The voices of the breathing grass, the hum Of ancient gardens overbanked with flowers: Thus, with a smile as golden as the dawn, And cool fair fingers radiantly divine, The mighty mother brings us in her hand, For all tired eyes and foreheads pinched and wan, Her restful cup, her beaker of bright wine: Drink, and be filled, and ye shall understand!(Archibald Lampman)
Dear husband, raise me in thine arms,-the hour is drawing nearWhen I must part with thee, and these our little ...
Sunset again! Behind the massy greenOf the continuous oaks the sun hath fallen, And his last rays have struggled through, ...
SPRINGAcross the street, across the grass,Across my life I watch her pass.No pure star on a dusky heightHath eyes more ...
Awakes for me and leaps from shroudAll radiantly the moon's own nightOf folded showers in streamer cloud;Our shadows down the ...
'Tis a little old house with a squeak in the stairs,And a porch that seems made for just two easy ...
ALL women are lovely and radiantly fairIn the magazine pages today,They all have a mop of luxuriant hair,In the magazine ...
I saw fond lovers in that glowThat oft-times fades away too soon:I saw and said, "Their joy I know—I, too, ...
(In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett) ("Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.") William Butler Yeats. ...
A moment abundant in blessing sun shining radiantly on the birch cross, a gift planted within her labyrinth A rich ...
1 Adios, Carenage In idle August, while the sea soft, and leaves of brown islands stick to the rim of ...
"Flowers, only flowers -- bring me dainty posies, Blossoms for forgetfulness," that was all he said; So we sacked our ...
When I am dead I will not care Forever more, If sky be radiantly fair Or tempest roar. If my ...
Deeming that I was due to die I framed myself a coffin; So full of graveyard zeal was I, I ...
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools. Gold! We wheeled in the furrow, fired with ...
Each day I live I thank the Lord I do the work I love; And in it find a rich ...
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness ...
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his ...
ON the bird of air blue-breasted glint the rays of gold, And its shadowy fleece above us waves the forest ...
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