To Mrs. Kean

More poems by Anne Lynch Botta

• A dirge for O'Connell

  Throw open, once again,
  The portals of the tomb;
  And give, among the glorious dead, …

• A farewell to Ole Bull

  There was a fountain in my heart
  Whose deeps had not been stirred;
  A thirst for music in my soul …

• A summer idyl

  The city is dreary and dusty and lone,
  The Smiths and the Joneses and Jenkinses gone;
  The doors are all barred, and the shutters all down, …

• A thought by the sea shore

  "Even in our ashes live their wonted fires."
  Bury me by the sea,
  When on my heart the hand of Death is press'd. …

All poems by Anne Lynch Botta →