Lucy Larcom

  • What is it fades and flickers in the fire,
      Mutters and sighs, and yields reluctant breath,
    As if in the red embers some desire,
      Some word prophetic burned, defying death?

    Lords of the forest, stalwart oak and pine,
      Lie down for us in flames of...

  • I do not own an inch of land,
      But all I see is mine,—
    The orchard and the mowing-fields,
      The lawns and gardens fine.
    The winds my tax-collectors are,
      They bring me tithes divine,—
    Wild scents and subtle essences,
      A tribute rare and...