O’er the yellow crocus on the lawn Floats a light white butterfly. Breezes waft it! See, ’t is gone! Duska, little soul, when didst thou die?
Collection:
A Russian Fantasy
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Alone I sit at eventide: The twilight glory pales, And o’er the meadows far and wide Chant pensive bobolinks. (One might say nightingales!) Song-sparrows warble on the tree, I hear the purling brook, And from the old “manse o’er the lea” Flies slow the cawing crow. (In England ’...
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O’er the yellow crocus on the lawn Floats a light white butterfly. Breezes waft it! See, ’t is gone! Duska, little soul, when didst thou die?
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Unflinching dante of a later day, Thou who hast wandered through the realms of pain And seen with aching breast and whirling brain Woes which thou wert unable to allay, What frightful visions hast thou brought away: Of torments, passions, agonies, struggles vain To break the prison walls, to...
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Saturnian mother! why dost thou devour Thy offspring, who by loving thee are curst? Why must they fear thee who would fain be first To add new glories to thy matchless dower? Why must they flee before thy cruel power, That punishes their best as treason’s worst,— The treason that despotic chains...