Abraham Davenport (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)
In the old days (a custom laid asideWith breeches and cocked hats) the people sentTheir wisest men to make the ...
In the old days (a custom laid asideWith breeches and cocked hats) the people sentTheir wisest men to make the ...
"To the winds give our banner!Bear homeward again!"Cried the Lord of Acadia,Cried Charles of Estienne;From the prow of his shallopHe ...
What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night,And all the little watchman-stars have fallen asleep ...
Kwannon, the Japanese goddess of mercy, is represented with many hands, typifying generosity and kindness. In one of these hands she is supposedto hold an axe, wherewith she severs the threads of human lives. I am the ancient one, the many-handed, The merciful am I. Here where the black pine bends above the sea They bring their gifts to me — Spoil of the foreshore where the corals lie, Fishes of ivory, and amber stranded, And carven beads Green as the fretted fringes of the weeds. Age after age, I watch the long sails pass. Age after age, I see them come once more Home, as the grey-winged pigeon to the grass, The white crane to the shore. Goddess am I of heaven and this small town Above the beaches brown. And here the children bring me cakes, and flowers, And all the strange sea-creatures that they find, For "She," they say, "the Merciful, is ours, And she," they say, "is kind." Camphor and wave-worn sandalwood for burning They bring to me alone, Shells that are veined like irises, and those Curved like the clear bright petals of a rose. Wherefore an hundredfold again returning I render them their own — Full-freighted nets that flash among the foam, Laughter and love, and gentle eyes at home, Cool of the night, and the soft air that swells My silver temple bells. Winds of the spring, the little flowers that shine Where the young barley slopes to meet the pine, Gold of the charlock, guerdon of the rain, I give to them again. Yet though the fishing boats return full-laden Out of the broad blue east, Under the brown roofs pain is their handmaiden, And mourning is their feast. Yea, though my many hands are raised to bless, I am not strong to give them happiness. Sorrow comes swiftly as the swallow flying, O, little lives, that are so quickly done! Peace is my raiment, mercy is my breath, I am the gentle one. When they are tired of sorrow and of sighing I give them death. (Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall)
THERE is an old tradition sacred held in Wexford town,That says: "Upon St. Martin's Eve no net shall be let ...
Great honour hath Boston, the city, won of late in a glorious frayWith a handful of Portuguese fishers on that ...
WHEN we were farm boys, years ago,I dare not tell how many,When, strange to say, the fairest dayWas often dark ...
Wandering by the river's edge,I love to rustle through the sedgeAnd through the woods of reed to tearAlmost as high ...
I.THROUGH the streets of MarbleheadFast the red-winged terror sped;Blasting, withering, on it came,With its hundred tongues of flame,Where St. Michael's ...
When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late,Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children ...
I climb the highest cliff; I hear the soundOf dashing waves; I gaze intent around;I mark the gray cope, and ...
Dread phantom, with pale finger on thy lips, Who dost unclose the awful doors for each, That ope but once, and are ...
The rowan tree grows by the tower foot,(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea, Can the dead feel joy or pain?_)And ...
The word of the Lord by nightTo the watching Pilgrims came,As they sat by the seaside,And filled their hearts with ...
IT chanced that while the pious troops of FranceFought in the crusade Pio Nono preached,What time the holy Bourbons stayed ...
Clear shone the moon, my mansion walls Towered white above the wood,Near, down the dark oak avenue An humble cottage stood.My gardener's ...
In leaving us, whom thou hast governed well Holding the helm of state through all these yearsThe land at large unites ...
MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spiritOf the true-hearted and the unshackled gone?Sons of old freemen, do we but ...
For the Reunion of the Bates Family at Quincy, August 3, 1916FAR away on the sunny levelsWhere Kent lies drowsing ...
Dear Fanny, I mean, now I'm laid on the shelf,To give you a sketch—ay, a sketch of myself.'Tis a pitiful ...
Down by the pier, when the sweet morn is blowing,Slips from her moorings the fisher's light bark,Sends up her ringing ...
Walton! dear Angler! when, a school-freed boy, Of varnished rod and silken tackle proud, I sought the brooks, or by some still ...
IWHEN tulips bloom in Union Square,And timid breaths of vernal air Go wandering down the dusty town,Like children lost in Vanity ...
A fisher was casting his flies in a brook, According to laws of such sciences, With a patented reel and a patented ...
WHERE the ironbarks are hanging leaves disconsolate and pale, Where the wild vines o'er the ranges their spilt cream of ...
WRITTEN TO COMMEMORATE THE ANNIVER-SARY OF MY BROTHER TOM 'S BIRTHDAYO memory, take my hand to-dayAnd lead me thro' the ...
ACROSS the frozen marshesThe winds of autumn blow,And the fen-lands of the WetterAre white with early snow.But where the low, ...
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon-- Over the crinkling sea,The moon man flings him a silvered net Fashioned of moonbeams three.And some folk ...
When the summer harvest was gathered in,And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin,And the ploughshare was in ...
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know. Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch waterfrom the ...
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