Room for a soldier! lay him in the clover;
He loved the fields, and they shall be his cover;
Make his mound with hers who called him once her lover:
Where the rain may rain upon it,
Where the sun may shine upon it,
Where the lamb hath lain upon it,
And the bee will dine upon it.
Bear him to no dismal tomb under city...
What shall we do now, Mary being dead,
Or say or write that shall express the half?
What can we do but pillow that fair head,
And let the Spring-time write her epitaph!—
As it will soon, in snowdrop, violet,
Wind-flower and columbine and maiden’s tear;
Each letter of that pretty alphabet,
That spells in flowers the pageant of...
The handful here, that once was Mary’s earth,
Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul,
That, when she died, all recognized her birth,
And had their sorrow in serene control.
“Not here! not here!” to every mourner’s heart
The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier;
And when the tomb-door opened, with a start
We heard...
This is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day,
I bring palm branches, found upon my way:
But these will wither; thine shall never die,—
The sacred palms thou bearest to the sky!
Dear little saint, though but a child in years,
Older in wisdom than my gray compeers!
We doubt and tremble,—we, with bated breath,
Talk of this mystery of life and...
Into the noiseless country Annie went,
Among the silent people where no sound
Of wheel or voice or implement—no roar
Of wind or billow moves the tranquil air:
And oft at midnight when my strength is spent
And day’s delirium in the lull is drowned
Of deepening darkness, as I kneel before
Her palm and cross, comes to my soul this...
Ermine or blazonry, he knew them not,
Nor cloth of gold, for Duty was his Queen;
But this he knew,—a soul without a spot,
Judgment untarnished, and a conscience clean.
In peace, in war, a worker day and night,
Laborious chieftain! toiling at his lamp;
The children had the splendor of the fight,—
Home was his battle-field, his...
Finding francesca full of tears, I said,
“Tell me thy trouble.” “Oh, my dog is dead!
Murdered by poison!—no one knows for what—
Was ever dog born capable of that?”
“Child,”—I began to say, but checked my thought,—
“A better dog can easily be bought.”
For no—what animal could him replace?
Those loving eyes! That fond, confiding face!...
My christmas gifts were few: to one
A fan, to keep love’s flame alive,
Since even to the constant sun
Twilight and setting must arrive;
And to another—she who sent
That splendid toy, an empty purse—
I gave, though not for satire meant,
An emptier thing—a scrap of verse;
For thee I chose Diana’s head,
Graved...
quale allodetta che in aere si spazia
Prima cantando, e poi tace, contenta,
Dell’ ultima dolcezza che la sazia.
DANTE: Paradiso, XX.
O ye sweet heavens! your silence is to me
More than all music. With what full delight
I come down to my dwelling by the sea
And look from out the lattice on the night!
There the same glories burn serene and bright
As in my boyhood; and if I am old
Are they not also? Thus my spirit is bold
To think perhaps we are coeval. Who
Can...
