Tell reddening rose-buds not to blow
Wait not for spring to pass away,–
Love’s summer months begin with May!
Too young for love?
Ah, say not so!
Too young? Too young?
Ah, no! no! no!
Too young for love?
Ah, say not so,
To practise all love learned in May.
June soon will come with lengthened day
While daisies bloom and tulips glow!
Too young for love?
Ah, say not so!
Too young? Too young?
Ah, no! no! no!
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DECEMBER 15, 1874
And bringing the sense of dismay and confusion to.Of course some must speak,–they are always selected to,But pray what’s the reason that I am expected to?I’m not fond of wasting my breath as those fellows do;That want to be blowing forever as bellows do;Their legs are uneasy, but why will you jog anyThat long to…
SHE gathered at her slender waist
Its folds a golden belt embraced,One rose-hued gem it bore.The girdle shrank; its lessening roundStill kept the shining gem,But now her flowing locks it bound,A lustrous diadem.And narrower still the circlet grew;Behold! a glittering band,Its roseate diamond set anew,Her neck’s white column spanned.Suns rise and set; the straining claspThe shortened links resist,Yet flashes in a…
AND can it be you’ve found a place
That makes so fine a show,For one of Rip Van Winkle’s race?And is it really so?Who wants an old receipted bill?Who fishes in the Frog-pond still?Who digs last year’s potato hill?–That’s what he’d like to know!And were it any spot on earthSave this dear home that gave him birthSome scores of years ago,He had not…
WHEN o’er the street the morning peal is flung
Its wide vibrations, wafted by the gale,To each far listener tell a different tale.The sexton, stooping to the quivering floorTill the great caldron spills its brassy roar,Whirls the hot axle, counting, one by one,Each dull concussion, till his task is done.Toil’s patient daughter, when the welcome noteClangs through the silence from the steeple’s throat,Streams, a…
TO J. F. CLARKE
Through pastures green, the Master’s sheep?What guileless ‘Israelite indeed’The folded flock may watch and keep?He who with manliest spirit joinsThe heart of gentlest human mould,With burning light and girded loins,To guide the flock, or watch the fold;True to all Truth the world denies,Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin;Not always right in all men’s eyes,But faithful…
I STOOD On Sarum’s treeless plain,
Lone tenants of her bleak domain,Loomed huge and gray the Druid stones.Upheaved in many a billowy moundThe sea-like, naked turf arose,Where wandering flocks went nibbling roundThe mingled graves of friends and foes.The Briton, Roman, Saxon, Dane,This windy desert roamed in turn;Unmoved these mighty blocks remainWhose story none that lives may learn.Erect, half buried, slant or…