The Swallow (John Bannister Tabb Poems)
Skim o'er the tide,And from thy pinions flingThe sparkling water-drops,Sweet child of spring!Bathe in the dying sunshine warm and bright,Till ...
Skim o'er the tide,And from thy pinions flingThe sparkling water-drops,Sweet child of spring!Bathe in the dying sunshine warm and bright,Till ...
The Magi came to Bethlehem,The House of Bread, and following them,As they the Star, I too am ledTo Christ, the ...
"I feel the flowers growing over me."Prophetic thought! Behold, no cypress gloomPortrays in dim memorial the doomThat quenched the ray ...
I give thee, love, a carcanet,With all the rainbow splendor set,Of diamonds that drink the sun,Of emeralds that feed uponHis ...
One bird, that ever with the wakening springWas wont to sing,I wait, through all my woodlands, far and near,In vain ...
"A nun of Winter's sisterhood,"A Snowdrop in the garden stoodAlone amid the solitudeThat round her lay.No sister blossom there was ...
How hast thou, little spring,The heart to sing,Leaving thy lofty homeFor yonder plain,Whence ne'er againReturning canst thou come?"Nay not as ...
The little birds that hither bringThe earliest messages of Spring,Seem, fountain-like, to overflowWith music melted from the snow.So sweet the ...
Orbs of Autumnal beauty, breathed to lightFrom blooms of May,Rounded between the touch of lengthening nightAnd lessening day,Flushed with the ...
Though long in wintry sleep ye lay,The powers of darkness could not stayYour coming at the call of day,Proclaiming spring.Nay; ...
Snow! Snow! Snow!Do thy worst, Winter, but know, but knowThat, when the Spring cometh, a blossom shall blowFrom the heart ...
Were you, little Monarch, crowned,Under ground?Or did the Daylight make you kingOf the Spring?Ere your blossom-retinueCome to you,I, before your ...
This is the mystic scrollWhereon a parting soul—The aged Year—His testament and willRecords:—a secret tillThe Spring appear. (John Bannister Tabb)
'Tis thine the earliest song to singOf welcome to the wakening spring,Who round thee, as a blossom, weavesThe fragrance of ...
'Tis spring; but laidIn ambuscadeThe Snow malignant lingers,And on the hillThe March wind stillAt times must blow his fingers. (John ...
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