I The sister Hours in circles linked,Daughters of men, of men the mates,Are gone on flow with the day that winked,With the night that spanned at golden gates.Mothers, they leave us, quickening seed;They bear us grain or flower or weed,As we have sown; is nought extinctFor them we fill to be our Fates.Life of the breath is but the loan;Passing death what we have sown. Pearly are they till the pale inherited stainDeepens in us, and the mirrors... more...

PREFACE The poems garnered up in this little volume were written at different periods in the life of the author, dating from her early girlhood up to recent years. They were not written with a view of making a book, each poem being the spontaneous outpouring of a deeply poetic nature and called forth by some experience that claimed her attention. The "Old Man of the Mountain," for instance, was written while the author was contemplating this... more...

CROWS. THEY stream across the fading western skyA sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas;Now parting into scattered companies,Now closing up the broken ranks, still highAnd higher yet they mount, while, carelessly,Trail slow behind, athwart the moving treesA lingering few, 'round whom the evening breezePlays with sad whispered murmurs as they fly. A lonely figure, ghostly in the dimAnd darkening twilight, lingers in the shadeOf bending... more...

  That model Miss, Jemima Jane  Was very good, and very plain;  Her parents noticed with delight  How neat she was, and how polite.  Sometimes her young companions came  And begged she'd join them in a game.  But it was never any use;  She'd make some civil, quiet excuse,  And, "Dear Mama," she'd whisp'ring say,  "I love plain sewing more than... more...

PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY   The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they  Than when their cunning fashioner first blew  The pith of music from them: Yet for you  And me their notes are blown in many a way  Lost in our murmurings for that old day  That fared so well, without us.—Waken to  The pipings here at hand:—The clear halloo  Of truant-voices, and the... more...

TO THE MOTHER "A Court as of angels,A public not to be bribed,Not to be entreated,Not to be overawed." Such is the audience—in long clothes or short frocks, in pinafores or kilts, or in the brief trousers that bespeak the budding man—such is the crowing, laughing court, the toddling public that awaits these verses. Every home, large or small, poor or rich, that has a child in it, is a Pinafore Palace, and we have borrowed the... more...

THE KITTENS’ STEPMOTHER. There are two little girls living nearly a hundred rods apart, Mamie and Fannie. Each had a nice pet cat. Mamie’s cat had three little kittens. When they were about three weeks old their poor mother was killed by a useless dog. For two days Mamie fed her kittens with a spoon, and did all she could to comfort them; but they would cry for their mother. Fannie’s cat had only one kitten, and it died at... more...

THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT. I. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to seaIn a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of moneyWrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above,And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!" II. Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,How charmingly sweet you sing! Oh! let us be... more...

he Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to seaIn a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of moneyWrapped up in a five-pound note.   The Owl looked up to the stars above,And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,What a beautiful Pussy you are,You are,You are!What a beautiful Pussy you are!"   Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long... more...

INVOCATION (From a High Cliff) Sweep unrestOut of my blood,Winds of the sea! Sweep the fogOut of my brainFor I am oneWho has told Life he will be free.Who will not doubt of work that's done,Who will not fear the work to do.Who will hold peaks PrometheanBetter than all Jove's honey-dew.Who when the Vulture tears his breastWill smile into the Terror's Eyes.Who for the World has this Bequest—Hope, that eternally is wise. THE FAIRIES... more...