Appreciation

To the sea-shell’s spiral round
’T is your heart that brings the sound:
The soft sea-murmurs that you hear
Within, are captured from your ear.

You do poets and their song
A grievous wrong,
If your own soul does not bring
To their high imagining
As much beauty as they sing.

More poems by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Identity

Somewhere—in desolate wind-swept space—
In Twilight-land—in No-man’s-land—
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, …
A Petition

To spring belongs the violet, and the blown
Spice of the roses let the summer own.
Grant me this favor, Muse—all else withhold— …
A Shadow of the Night

Close on the edge of a midsummer dawn
In troubled dreams I went from land to land,
Each seven-colored like the rainbow’s arc, …
After the Rain

The Rain has ceased, and in my room
The sunshine pours an airy flood;
And on the church’s dizzy vane …