Poetry
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Jean M. Snyder
Stars (At Locheven)Have you walked in the woodsWhen twilight wraps a veil of mistAround the gray-green treesIn early spring?It is then the snow-white trilliumGleam like stars from the carpetOf last year’s leaves:And tall white violets glowLike clouds of nebulæ along the path.And flecked, like points of lightIn the quiet pools of waterAmong the gray-green boles,Are the stars of heaven. Curling and...
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Unknown
PART FIRST. Oene, of all the chilly Arctics, queen,Ascended to her everlasting throneBuilt on the steadfast centre of the world,And waited for the middle hour of night,Now swiftly coming, to convene her court.Set in an ocean of perpetual calmWas the fair island honoured by her reign;Slowly around her rolled the Frigid Zone,Dim in the mystic moonlight far away,—A silvery ring, circling her nearer...
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Various
O the angels know the blessed day, And strike their harps anew? Then may the echo of their lay Float sweetly down to you, And fill your soul with Christmas song That your heart shall echo your whole life long. Havergal. A bright and happy Christmas to you! Lift up yourselves to the great meaning of the day, and dare to think of your humanity as something so sublimely precious that it is worthy of being...
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POETRY FOR POETRY'S SAKE One who, after twenty years, is restored to the University where he was taught and first tried to teach, and who has received at the hands of his Alma Mater an honour of which he never dreamed, is tempted to speak both of himself and of her. But I remember that you have come to listen to my thoughts about a great subject, and not to my feelings about myself; and, of...
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Anonymous
THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM. At an early period in the history of Holland, a boy was born in Haarlem, a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily still more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. His father was a sluicer,—that is, one whose employment it was to open and shut the sluices, or large oak-gates, which, placed at certain regular distances, close the entrance...
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Olive Custance
The Inn of Dreams Sweet Laughter! Sweet Delight!My heart is like a lighted Inn that waitsYour swift approach . . . and at the open gatesWhite Beauty stands and listens like a flower.She has been dreaming of you in the night,O fairy Princes; and her eyes are bright.Spur your fleet horses, this is Beauty's hour!Even as when a golden flame up-curledQuivers and flickers out in a...
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Carolyn Wells
INTRODUCTION On a topographical map of Literature Nonsense would be represented by a small and sparsely settled country, neglected by the average tourist, but affording keen delight to the few enlightened travellers who sojourn within its borders. It is a field which has been neglected by anthologists and essayists; one of its few serious recognitions being in a certain "Treatise of Figurative...
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MY MOTHER'S KISS. My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss, I feel its impress now; As in the bright and happy days She pressed it on my brow. You say it is a fancied thing Within my memory fraught; To me it has a sacred place— The treasure house of thought. Again, I feel her fingers glide Amid my clustering hair; I see the...
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by:
Willem Blaeu
The Spirit of William Shakespeare,sore vexed of them who say that in hisSonnets he writ not from the truth ofhis heart but from the toyings of hisbrain, and that he devised but a feignedobject to fit a feigned affection, hereinmaketh answer, renewing as best ashadow may that rhyme wherein hewas more excellent in theliving body I THE wise world saith I not unlock’d my heartWhen I of thee and thy dear...
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Peter Newell
THE BASEMENT When Fritz, the Janitor's bad kid, Went snooping in the basement, He found a rocket snugly hid Beneath the window casement. He struck a match with one fell swoop; Then, on the concrete kneeling, He lit the rocket and—she—oop! It shot up through the ceiling. [pg] [pg] The Steiners on the floor above Of breakfast were partaking; Crash! came the rocket, unannounced, And set them all...
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