1. Margaret Junkin Preston
The Vision of the Snow

“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...

Poet: Margaret Junkin Preston
The Hero of the Commune

“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,...

Poet: Margaret Junkin Preston
A Grave in Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond

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...

Poet: Margaret Junkin Preston
Myrrh-Bearers

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...

Poet: Margaret Junkin Preston
“Under the shade of the trees”

   [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...

Poet: Margaret Junkin Preston