#Irish #XIXCentury
IN the Spring we see: Then the buds are dear to us—immat… In the Summer we live: When bright eyes are near to us, o… In the Autumn we love:
AN INCIDENT OF THE F… NO song of a soldier riding down To the raging fight from Winchest… No song of a time that shook the e… With the nations’ throe at a natio…
THE kindly words that rise within… And thrill it with their sympathet… But die ere spoken, fail to play t… And claim a merit that is not thei… The kindly word unspoken is a sin,…
HER hair was a waving bronze, and… Deep wells that might cover a broo… And who, till he weighed it, could… That her heart was a cinder instea…
A LEGEND OF THE BUSH. MY tale which I have brought is o… Ere that fair Southern land was s… Brought thitherward in reeking shi… Like blight upon the coast, or lik…
A KINDLY act is a kernel sown, That will grow to a goodly tree, Shedding its fruit when time has f… Down the gulf of eternity.
To toil all day and lie worn-out a… To rise for all the years to slave… And breed new broods to do no othe… In toiling, bearing, breeding—life… To myriad men, too base for man or…
“LOVE is the secret of the world… “The cup we drain and still desire… The loadstone hungers for the stee… Inert amid a million stones, respo… So yearn and answer hearts that tr…
Nation of sun and sin, Thy flowers and crimes are red, And thy heart is sore within While the glory crowns thy head. Land of the songless birds,
IN the far time of Earth’s sweet… When Morning hung with rapture on… When every sentient life paid love… And every law was Nature’s own be… When reason ruled as subtle instin…
THEY came in the early spring-da… With the first refreshing showers And I watched the growing beauty Of the little drooping flowers. They had no bright hues to charm m…
Chicago, October 9,1871. GAUNT in the midst of the prairi… She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements;
THERE once was a time when, as o… The earth was not round, but an en… The sea was as wide as the heavens… Just millions of miles, and begin… And that was the time—ay, and more…
‘SHE is dead!’ they say; 'she is… Her mother has kissed her clay-col… Her blue eyes show through the wax… Her grave is dug, and its heap of… ‘She is dead!’ they say to the peo…
NOT on the word alone Let love depend; Neither by actions done Choose ye the friend. Let the slow years fly—
