The Moss supplicateth for the Poet

Though i am humble, slight me not,
  But love me for the Poet’s sake;
Forget me not till he ’s forgot,
  For care or slight with him I take.

For oft he passed the blossoms by
  And turned to me with kindly look;
Left flaunting flowers and open...

Poet: Richard Henry Dana
Alice Ray

The birds their love-notes warble
  Among the blossomed trees;
The flowers are sighing forth their sweets
  To wooing honey-bees;
The glad brook o’er a pebbly floor
  Goes dancing on its way,—
But not a thing is so like spring
  As happy...

Poet: Sarah Josepha Hale
The Watcher

The night was dark and fearful,
  The blast swept wailing by;
A watcher, pale and tearful,
  Looked forth with anxious eye:
How wistfully she gazes—
  No gleam of morn is there!
And then her heart upraises
  Its agony of prayer.

...

Poet: Sarah Josepha Hale
The Demon-Lover

Scene. the terraced roof of ABSALOM’S house, by night; adorned with vases of flowers, and fragrant shrubs; an awning spread over part of it.  TAMAR and HADAD.
Tam.  No, no, I well remember—proofs, you said,
Unknown to Moses.
  Had.        Well, my love, thou knowest...

Poet: James Abraham Hillhouse
Stanzas

My life is like the summer rose,
  That opens to the morning sky,
But, ere the shades of evening close,
  Is scattered on the ground—to die!
Yet on the rose’s humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept the waste to see—
...

Poet: Richard Henry Wilde
A Farewell to America

Farewell, my more than fatherland!
  Home of my heart and friends, adieu!
Lingering beside some foreign strand,
  How oft shall I remember you!
  How often, o’er the waters blue,
Send back a sigh to those I leave,
  The loving and beloved few,...

Poet: Richard Henry Wilde
To the Mocking-Bird

Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!
Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature’s school,...

Poet: Richard Henry Wilde
On Snow-Flakes melting on His Lady's Breast

To kiss my Celia’s fairer breast,
  The snow forsakes its native skies,
But proving an unwelcome guest,
  It grieves, dissolves in tears, and dies.

Its touch, like mine, but serves to wake
  Through all her frame a death-like chill,—
Its tears,...

Poet: William Martin Johnson
On the Death of My Son Charles

My son, thou wast my heart’s delight,
  Thy morn of life was gay and cheery;
That morn has rushed to sudden night,
  Thy father’s house is sad and dreary.

I held thee on my knee, my son!
  And kissed thee laughing, kissed thee weeping;
But ah!...

Poet: Daniel Webster
Private Devotion

I love to steal awhile away
  From every cumbering care,
And spend the hours of setting day
  In humble, grateful prayer.

I love, in solitude, to shed
  The penitential tear;
And all His promises to plead,
  When none but God can hear....

Poet: Phoebe Hinsdale Brown