It was the Time of Roses,—
We plucked them as we passed!
That churlish season never frown’d
On early lovers yet:—
Oh, no—the world was newly crown’d
With flowers when first we met!
‘Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the Time of Roses,—
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.—
What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask’d the like of Love,
You snatched a damask bud;
And oped it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.—
It was the Time of Roses,—
We plucked them as we pass’d!
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The world is with me, and its many cares,
That wait on all terrestrial affairs–The shades of former and of future years–Forboding fancies and prophetic tears,Quelling a spirit that was once elate.Heavens! what a wilderness the world appears,Where youth, and mirth, and health are out of date;But no–a laugh of innocence and joyResounds, like music of the fairy race,And, gladly turning from the world’s…
A little fairy comes at night,
with silver spots upon her wings,And from the moon she flutters down.She has a little silver wand,And when a good child goes to bedShe waves her wand from right to leftAnd makes a circle round her head,And then it dreams of pleasant things,Of fountains filled with fairy fish,And trees that bear delicious fruit,And bow their…
An Allegory
And noise in every street—The murmur of many tongues,The noise of numerous feet—While round the Workhouse doorThe Laboring Classes flock,For why? the Overseer of the PoorIs setting the Workhouse Clock.Who does not hear the trampOf thousands speeding alongOf either sex and various stamp,Sickly, cripple, or strong,Walking, limping, creepingFrom court and alley, and lane,But all in…
O Lady, leave thy silken thread
There’s living roses on the bush,And blossoms on the tree;Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless handSome random bud will meet;Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt findThe daisy at thy feet.‘Tis like the birthday of the world,When earth was born in bloom;The light is made of many dyes,The air is all perfume;There’s crimson buds, and…
I remember, I remember
The little window where the sunCame peeping in at morn;He never came a wink too soonNor bought too long a day;But now, I often wish the nightHad borne my breath away.I remember, I rememberThe roses, red and white,The violets, and the lily-cups–Those flowers made of light!The lilacs where the robin built,And where my brother setThe…
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
Hues of all flow’rs, that in their ashes lie,Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed,—Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red,—Like exhalations from the leafy mould,Look here how honor glorifies the dead,And warms their scutcheons with a glance of gold!—Such is the memory of poets old,Who on Parnassus’ hill have bloom’d elate;Now they are…
It was the time of roses—
We pluck’d them as we pass’d!
That churlish season never frown’d
On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown’d
With flowers when first we met!
‘Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck’d them as we pass’d!
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‘By the North Pole, I do challenge thee!’
IPaery, my man! has thy brave legYet struck its foot against the pegOn which the world is spun?Or hast thou found No ThoroughfareWrit by the hand of Nature thereWhere man has never run!IIHast thou yet traced the Great UnknownOf channels in the Frozen Zone,Or held at Icy Bay,Hast thou still miss’d the proper trackFor homeward…
What is a mine—a treasury—a dower—
A poet’s wide possession of the earth.He has th’ enjoyment of a flower’s birthBefore its budding—ere the first red streaks,—And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks.Look—if his dawn be not as other men’s!Twenty bright flushes—ere another kensThe first of sunlight is abroad—he seesIts golden ‘lection of the topmost trees,And opes the splendid fissures of…
Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow;
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrowTheir sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.Here are red roses, gather’d at thy cheeks,—The white were all too happy to look white:For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks;It withers in false hands, but here ’tis bright!Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leafCurls…
Lov’st thou not, Alice, with the early tide
And stretch his sail towards the ocean wide,—Like God’s own beadsman going forth to castHis net into the deep, which doth provideEnormous bounties, hidden in its vastBosom like Charity’s, for all who seekAnd take its gracious boon thankful and meek?The sea is bright with morning,—but the darkSeems still to linger on his broad black sail,For…
Ruth
Clasp’d by the golden light of morn,Like the sweetheart of the sun,Who many a glowing kiss had won.On her cheek an autumn flush,Deeply ripen’d;—such a blushIn the midst of brown was born,Like red poppies grown with corn.Round her eyes her tresses fell,Which were blackest none could tell,But long lashes veil’d a light,That had else been…
I
When the hot sun singes the yellow leavesTill they be gold,—and with a broader sphereThe Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;When more abundantly the spider weaves,And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,Touch’d with the dewy sadness of the time,To think how the…