The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet,
    And clasps the summer with a new delight,
        Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
    When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.

        The tree outgrows the bud's suggestive grace,
    And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
        But even this to deeper joy gives place
    When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.

        Life's rarest moments are derived from change.
    The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
        And suns itself in feelings new and strange;
    The most enduring pleasure is but brief.

        Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same.
    Nothing contents us long, however dear.
        The spirit in us, like the grosser fr...

Tears, tears,
With wifely fears
Immixed - I held my breath,
My boy!
As down the street
The drums did beat
That led you to your death,
My boy!

Oh! Oh!
Where'er I go,
And soldier boys I see,
My jo!
I wis', I wis',
For him whose kiss
Was blessedness to me,
My jo!

Still, still,
By wish and will,
The land you saved, I love,
My boy!
Beneath a stone,
It holds your bone,
I'll clasp your soul above,
My boy!

"A spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up."

And the Spirit said,
"I can make the clock of the years go backward,
But am loth to stop it where you will."
And I cried, "Agreed
To that. Proceed:
It's better than dead!"

He answered, "Peace";
And called her up - as last before me;
Then younger, younger she freshed, to the year
I first had known
Her woman-grown,
And I cried, "Cease! -

"Thus far is good -
It is enough - let her stay thus always!"
But alas for me. He shook his head:
No stop was there;
And she waned child-fair,
And to babyhood.

Still less in mien
To my great sorrow became she slowly,
And smalled till she was nought at all
In his checkless griff;
And it was as if
She ha...

Versified by Clara Doty Bates


I see a little group about my chair,
Lovers of stories all!
First, Saxon Edith, of the corn-silk hair,
Growing so strong and tall!

Then little brother, on whose sturdy face
Soft baby dimples fly,
As fear or pleasure give each other place
When wonders multiply;

Then Gold-locks--summers nine their goldenest
Have showered on her head,
And tinted it, of all the colors best,
Warm robin-red breast red;

Then, close at hand, on lowly haunches set,
With pricked up, tasseled ear,
Is Tony, little cleared-eyed spaniel pet,
Waiting, like them, to hear.

I say I have no story--all are told!
Not to be daunted thus,
They only crowd more confident and bold,
And laugh, incredulous.

A...

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune’s dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted, to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis’d,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am suffic’d,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear;
You shall, if righteous dealing I find there.
Do not you fall through frailty; I'll be sure
To keep my bond still free from forfeiture.

The shadow of the lantern on the wall,
The lantern hanging from the twisted beam,
The eye that sees the lantern, shadow and all.

The crackle of the sinking fire in the grate,
The far train, the slow echo in the coombe,
The ear that hears fire, train and echo and all.

The loveliness that is the secret shape
Of once-seen, sweet and oft-dreamed loveliness,
The brain that builds shape, memory, dream and all....

A white moon stares Time's thinning fabric through,
And makes substantial insubstantial seem,
And shapes immortal mortal as a dream;
And eye and brain flicker as shadows do
Restlessly dancing on a cloudy wall.

(Supposed To Be Written Near His Tomb.)

Behold! this marble tablet bears inscribed
The name of Shakspeare!
            What a glorious theme
For never-ending praise! His drama's page,
Like a clear mirror, to our wondering view
Displays the living image of the world,
And all the different characters of men:
Still, in the varying scenes, or sad, or gay,
We take a part; we weep; we laugh; we feel
All the strong sympathies of real life.
To him alone, of mortals, Fancy lent
Her magic wand, potent to conjure up
Ideal Forms, distinctly character'd,
Exciting fear, or wonder, or delight.

The works of Shakspeare! are they not a fane,
Majestic as the canopy of heaven,
Embracing all created things, a fane
His superhuman genius has upraised,
To N...

Let us have a jolly spree,
An wi' joy an harmonie,
Let the merry moments flee,
For mi love's come back.
O, the days did slowly pass,
When awd lost mi little lass,
But nah we'll have a glass,
For mi love's come back.

O, shoo left me in a hig,
An shoo didn't care a fig,
But nah aw'll donce a jig,
For mi love's come back,
An aw know though far away,
'At her heart ne'er went astray,
An awst ivver bless the day,
For mi love's come back.

When shoo axt me yesterneet,
What made mi een soa breet?
Aw says, "Why cant ta see'ts
'Coss mi love's come back,"
Then aw gave her sich a kiss,
An shoo tuk it nooan amiss; -
An awm feeard awst brust wi bliss,
For mi love's come back.

Nah, awm gooin to buy a ring,
An a cr...

Secret and wise as nature, like the wind
Melancholy or light-hearted without reason,
And like the waxing or the waning moon
Ever pale and lovely: you are like these
Because you are free and live by your own law;
While I, desiring life and half alive,
Dream, hope, regret and fear and blunder on.
Your beauty is your life and my content,
And I will liken you to an apple-tree,
Mary and Margaret playing under the branches,
And everywhere soft shadows like your eyes,
And scattered blossom like your little smiles.

"If ever I walk to church to wed,
    As other maidens use,
And face the gathered eyes," she said,
    "I'll go in satin shoes!"

She was as fair as early day
    Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
    Like flute-notes softly blown.

The time arrived when it was meet
    That she should be a bride;
The satin shoes were on her feet,
    Her father was at her side.

They stood within the dairy door,
    And gazed across the green;
The church loomed on the distant moor,
    But rain was thick between.

"The grass-path hardly can be stepped,
    The lane is like a pool!" -
Her dream is shown to be inept,
    Her wish they overrule.

"To go forth shod in satin soft
    A coach would be r...

1.

In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.


2.

True, she has forc'd thee from my breast,
Yet, in my heart, thou keep'st thy seat;
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.


3.

And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head -
Without thee! where would be my Heaven?

Underneath the growing grass,
    Underneath the living flowers,
    Deeper than the sound of showers:
    There we shall not count the hours
By the shadows as they pass.

Youth and health will be but vain,
    Beauty reckoned of no worth:
    There a very little girth
    Can hold round what once the earth
Seemed too narrow to contain.

The moon is a curving flower of gold,
The sky is still and blue;
The moon was made for the sky to hold,
And I for you.

The moon is a flower without a stem,
The sky is luminous;
Eternity was made for them,
To-night for us.

Perchè al viso d' Amor portava insegna.

A LOVE JOURNEY--DANGER IN THE PATH--HE TURNS BACK.


    Bright in whose face Love's conquering ensign stream'd,
A foreign fair so won me, young and vain,
That of her sex all others worthless seem'd:
Her as I follow'd o'er the verdant plain,
I heard a loud voice speaking from afar,
"How lost in these lone woods his footsteps are!"
Then paused I, and, beneath the tall beech shade,
All wrapt in thought, around me well survey'd,
Till, seeing how much danger block'd my way,
Homeward I turn'd me though at noon of day.

MACGREGOR.

They say that every idle word
Is numbered by the Omniscient Lord.
O Parliament! 'tis well that He
Endureth for Eternity,
And that a thousand Angels wait
To write them at thy inner gate.

In this lone, open glade I lie,
Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;
And at its end, to stay the eye,
Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!

Birds here make song, each bird has his,
Across the girdling city's hum.
How green under the boughs it is!
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!

Sometimes a child will cross the glade
To take his nurse his broken toy;
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead
Deep in her unknown day's employ.

Here at my feet what wonders pass,
What endless, active life is here!
What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!
An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.

Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod
Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out,
And, eased of basket and of rod,
Counts his day's spoil, the ...

Our present tears here, not our present laughter,
Are but the handsels of our joys hereafter.