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The Old Mans Grave

 Make it where the winds may sweep 
Through the pine boughs soft and deep, 
And the murmur of the sea 
Come across the orient lea, 
And the falling raindrops sing 
Gently to his slumbering. 

Make it where the meadows wide 
Greenly lie on every side, 
Harvest fields he reaped and trod, 
Westering slopes of clover sod, 
Orchard lands where...Read more of this...

Spring in the South

 Now in the oak the sap of life is welling,
Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings;
Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling,
See how the pine-wood grows alive with wings;
Blue-jays fluttering, yodeling and crying,
Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass,
Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,--
Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass?

Last year's cotton-plants,...Read more of this...

Sirena

 NEAR to the silver Trent 
 SIRENA dwelleth; 
She to whom Nature lent 
 All that excelleth; 
By which the Muses late 
 And the neat Graces 
Have for their greater state 
 Taken their places; 
Twisting an anadem 
 Wherewith to crown her, 
As it belong'd to them 
 Most to renown her. 
 On thy bank, 
...Read more of this...

On the Hills

 Through the pungent hours of the afternoon,
On the autumn slopes we have lightly wandered 
Where the sunshine lay in a golden swoon
And the lingering year all its sweetness squandered. 
Oh, it was blithesome to roam at will 
Over the crest of each westering hill, 
Over those dreamy, enchanted lands 
Where the trees held to us their friendly hands! 

Winds...Read more of this...

Victoria

 Dear dead Victoria
Rotted cosily;
In excelsis gloria,
And R. I. P.

And her shroud was buttoned neat,
And her bones were clean and round,
And her soul was at her feet
Like a bishop's marble hound.

Albert lay a-drying,
Lavishly arrayed,
With his soul out flying
Where his heart had stayed.

And there's some could tell you what land
His spirit walks serene
(But I've heard them say in Scotland
It's never been...Read more of this...

Beauty is a waving tree

Beauty is a waving tree,
Beauty is a flower,
Beauty is a grassy lea
& a shady bower,
Beauty is the verdant Spring
In our hearts awakening.

Beauty is a summer sun
Warming all the land,
Whose full bounty doth o’errun
More than our demand;
Spreadeth Beauty her kind feast
Lavishly for man & beast.

Autumn’s quiet hast thou too,
Beauty, who canst feed
Every craving, known or new
Of the spirit’s need,
Laying up a...Read more of this...

The Promise of the Morning Star

 Thou father of the children of my brain
By thee engendered in my willing heart,
How can I thank thee for this gift of art
Poured out so lavishly, and not in vain.
What thou created never more can die,
Thy fructifying power lives in me
And I conceive, knowing it is by thee,
Dear other parent of my poetry!
For I was but a shadow with...Read more of this...

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