“she has gone to be with the angels;”
So they had always said
To the little questioner asking
Of his fair, young mother, dead.
They had never told of the darkness
Of the sorrowful, silent tomb,
Nor scared the sensitive spirit
By linking a thought of gloom
With the girl-like, beautiful being,
Who patiently...
“garÇon! you—you
Snared along with this cursed crew?
(Only a child, and yet so bold,
Scarcely as much as ten years old!)
Do you hear? do you know
Why the gendarmes put you there, in the row,
You, with those Commune wretches tall,
With your face to the wall?”
“Know? To be sure I know! why not?
We ’re here...
I read the marble-lettered name,
And half in bitterness I said:
“As Dante from Ravenna came,
Our poet came from exile—dead.”
And yet, had it been asked of him
Where he would rather lay his head,
This spot he would have chosen. Dim
The city’s hum drifts o’er his grave,
And green above the hollies wave
Their...
Three women crept at break of day
A-grope along the shadowy way
Where Joseph’s tomb and garden lay.
With blanch of woe each face was white,
As the gray Orient’s waxing light
Brought back upon their awe-struck sight
The sixth-day scene of anguish. Fast
The starkly standing cross they passed,
And, breathless, neared the gate at...
[The last words of Stonewall Jackson 1 were: “Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”]
WHAT are the thoughts that are stirring his breast?
What is the mystical vision he sees?
—“Let us pass over the river, and rest
Under the shade of the trees.”
Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks?
Sighs the worn spirit...
