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A Death-Bed

Her suffering ended with the day,
  Yet lived she at its close,
And breathed the long; long night away
  In statue-like repose.

But when the sun in all his state
  Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through Glory’s morning gate
  And...

Poet: James Aldrich
Dirge

Softly!
  she is lying
    With her lips apart;
Softly!
  She is dying
    Of a broken heart.

Whisper!
  Life is growing
    Dim within her breast;
Whisper!
  She is going
    To her final rest.

...

Poet: Charles Gamage Eastman
Florence Vane

I loved thee long and dearly,
    Florence Vane;
My life’s bright dream and early
    Hath come again;
I renew in my fond vision
    My heart’s dear pain,
My hope, and thy derision,
    Florence Vane.

The ruin lone and hoary,...

Poet: Philip Pendleton Cooke
The Wife

I could have stemmed misfortune’s tide,
  And borne the rich one’s sneer,—
Have braved the haughty glance of pride,
  Nor shed a single tear;
I could have smiled on every blow
  From life’s full quiver thrown,
While I might gaze on thee, and know...

Poet: Anna Peyre Dinnies
Blind Louise

She knew that she was growing blind,—
    Foresaw the dreary night
That soon would fall, without a star,
    Upon her fading sight;

Yet never did she make complaint,
    But prayed each day might bring
A beauty to her waning eyes,—
    ...

Poet: George Washington Dewey
Under the Violets

Under the violets, blue and sweet,
  Where low the willow droops and weeps,
Where children tread with timid feet,
  When twilight o’er the forest creeps,
  She sleeps,—my little darling sleeps.

Breathe low and soft, O wind! breathe low
  Where so...

Poet: Edward Young
The Voice of the Grass

Here i come creeping, creeping everywhere;
    By the dusty roadside,
    On the sunny hill-side,
    Close by the noisy brook,
    In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
    ...

Poet: Sarah Roberts Boyle
A Winter Wish

  old wine to drink!
    Ay, give the slippery juice
That drippeth from the grape thrown loose
    Within the tun;
Plucked from beneath the cliff
Of sunny-sided Teneriffe,
  And ripened ’neath the blink
    Of India’s sun!
    Peat...

Poet: Robert Hinckley Messinger
A Proem

When in my walks I meet some ruddy lad—
  Or swarthy man—with tray-beladen head,
Whose smile entreats me, or his visage sad,
  To buy the images he moulds for bread,

I think that,—though his poor Greek Slave in chains,
  His Venus and her Boy with...

Poet: Samuel Ward
Horace

He who would echo Horace’ lays
  Aspires to an Icarian fame;
And borne on waxen wings essays
  A flight—may give some sea a name.

My fate perchance! But as I write
  I see through Time’s reverted glass,
In fleckered mists of shade and light,...

Poet: John Osborne Sargent