Nor ever lingered in her wayward flight
With dusk-eyed glance to recompense his quest,
But over crocus hills and meadows gray
Sped fleetly on her way.
Now when the Day, shorn of his failing strength,
Hath fallen spent before the sunset bars,
The fair, wild Night, with pity touched at length,
Crowned with her chaplet of out-blossoming stars,
Creeps back repentantly upon her way
To kiss the dying Day.
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Now on the hill
That never a wimpling mist uplifts,Nor a trembling leaf drop-laden stirs;From the ancient firsAroma of balsam drifts,And the silent places are filledWith elusive odors distilledBy the rain from asters empearled and frilled,And a wild wet savor that dwellsFar adown in tawny fallows and bracken dells.Then with a rush,Breaking the beautiful hushWhere the only sound was…
I like to think of the many words
Must have spoken to them of NazarethWords not freighted with life and death,Piercing through soul and heart like swords.But gracious greeting and grateful phrase,The simple speechThat plain folk utter each to each.Ere over him too darkly layThe prophet shadow of Calvary,I think he talked in very truthWith the innocent gayety of youth,Laughing upon some festal…
If Mary had known
Little hands that were tender and white as a rose,All dented with dimples from finger to wrist,Such as mothers have kissedThat one day they must feel the fierce blowsOf a hatred insane,Must redden with holiest stain,And grasp as their guerdon the boon of the bitterest pain,Oh, I think that her sweet, brooding faceMust have blanched…
There’s a grayness over the harbor like fear on the face of a woman,
And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil presageOf a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour north-eastern sky.Slowly the pale mists rise, like ghosts of the sea, in the offing,Creeping all wan and chilly by headland and sunken reef,And a wind is wailing and keening like a lost thing…
Hate is only Love that has missed its way.
Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate,I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful,Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great.Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss impassioned,Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my pulse’s…
Only a long, low-lying lane
Across a bare and russet plainWhere wild winds whistle vagrantly;I know that many a fairer pathWith lure of song and bloom may woo,But oh ! I love this lonely strathBecause it is so full of you.Here we have walked in elder years,And here your truest memories wait,This spot is sacred to your tears,That to your…