Woodbines in October
As dyed in blood the streaming vines appear,
While long and low the wind about them grieves:
The heart of Autumn must have broken here,
And poured its treasure out upon the leaves.
More poems by Charlotte Fiske Bates
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A Character
His face is truly of the Roman mould,
He bears within the heart of Cato, too;
Although his look may seem severe and cold, … -
Delay
I do affirm that thou hast saved the race
As much as thou hast ever made it lose:
Men of quick action may thy name abuse, … -
The Clue
Oh, frame some little word for me
None else shall ever hear or see,—
Something my soul can call her own, … -
The Living Book
This bears the seal of immortality,
For every soul that reads it feels the search
Of answering thought, and thousands there may be …