In A London Drawing-Room: George Eliot

“The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke.
For view there are the houses opposite
Cutting the sky with one long line of wall
Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch
Monotony of surface and of form
Without a break to hang a guess upon.
No bird can make a shadow as it flies,
For all is shadow, as in ways o’erhung
By thickest canvass, where the golden rays
Are clothed in hemp. No figure lingering
Pauses to feed the hunger of the eye
Or rest a little on the lap of life.
All hurry on and look upon the ground,
Or glance unmarking at the passers by
The wheels are hurrying too, cabs, carriages
All closed, in multiplied identity.
The world seems one huge prison-house and court
Where men are punished at the slightest cost,
With lowest rate of colour, warmth and joy.”

Psalm 150: Mary Sidney

“Oh, laud the Lord, the God of hosts commend,
Exalt his pow’r, advance his holiness:
With all your might lift his almightiness;
Your greatest praise upon his greatness spend.

Make trumpet’s noise in shrillest notes ascend;
Make lute and lyre his loved fame express;
Him let the pipe, him let the tabret bless,
Him organ’s breath, that winds or waters lend.

Let ringing timbrels so his honor sound,
Let sounding cymbals so his glory ring,
That in their tunes such melody be found
As fits the pomp of most triumphant king.

Conclude: by all that air or life enfold,
Let high Jehovah highly be extolled.”

Rain After Drought: Menella Bute Smedley

“A wind came out of the Moon’s clear heart,
Straight and soft in my face it blew;
It was not cold, but it made me start,
And think of something new.
What is coming? A thunder-cloud
To cover the wild, white sky
With a great procession purple and proud,
And a whirlwind flashing by?

It is only the tender, musical rain
Coming to comfort earth again!
Hark, it is here! There’s joy, indeed,
And work in the deeps below;
Every drop finds out a seed,
And tells it how to grow.
The fever of the grass is heal’d,
The thirsty roots revive,
A whisper runs about the field,
That daisies are alive;
All make ready a glad surprise
For anxious Day’s returning eyes.
Little he thought when he went to rest
What Night was going to do!
He had been watching a world oppress’d,
And now all things are new.

Now let him shine with all his might
On river and plain and bough,
Eyes that wearily ached last night
Will only glitter now.
Day, you never can last too long—
Day, you are welcome, for Earth is strong!”

Dedication: Dora Greenwell

“The pathway to my heart by few
Is sought, to few that pathway known,
So deep a thicket round it sown,
With grass and moss and weeds o’ergrown
The path itself, half hid from sight.
And hadst thou come with knocking light
Or loud, then from my windows pain
Had looked, a dreary chatelaine
And bid thee from the house, unmeet
So bright a guest to entertain.


But thou, with shy misgiving sweet,
Upon the threshold for awhile
Didst pause, and then with footstep fleet,
And ready, gay, victorious smile,
As one unused to plead or sue,
Didst lightly cross it o’er, made bold
By love, and like the Greek of old
Sat down beside my hearth, and there
I found thee seated, kind and fair,
To all around thee giving grace,
As one that takes a wonted place,
Nor causeth toil, nor bringeth care.


Then stay, dear friend, and be thou free
Of all my hospitality!
And doubt not I for thee shall find
Some leaf, some blossom, left behind,
Some bloom evanishing, some tone
That love and joy will not disown,
Some amber rosary of fair
Warm-scented beads, whereon a prayer
Yet lingers, or some amulet
Enshrouded in a golden fret;
And from my lute a strain shall flow;
And in my heart a flower will blow
From out life’s very ashes kissed!
To life by thee, sweet alchemist!”

A Doubting Heart: Adelaide Procter

“Where are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,
Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore.
O doubting heart!
Far over purple seas
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.

Why must the flowers die?
Prison’d they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.
O doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow,
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.

The sun has hid its rays
These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
O doubting heart!
The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky,
That soon (for spring is nigh)
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

Fair hope is dead, and light
Is quench’d in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?
O doubting heart!
Thy sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past,
And angels’ silver voices stir the air.”

Four and Eight: Ffrida Wolfe

“The Foxglove by the cottage door
Looks down on Joe, and Joe is four.

The Foxglove by the garden gate
Looks down on Joan, and Joan is eight.

“I’m glad we’re small,” said Joan, “I love
To see inside the fox’s glove,
Where taller people cannot see,
And all is ready for the bee;
The door is wide, the feast is spread,
The walls are dotted rosy red.”
“And only little people know
How nice it looks in there,” said Joe.
Said Joan, “The upper rooms are locked;
A bee went buzzing up—he knocked,
But no one let him in, so then
He bumbled gaily down again.”
“Oh dear!” sighed Joe, “if only we
Could grow as little as that bee,
We too might room by room explore
The Foxglove by the cottage door.”

The Foxglove by the garden gate
Looked down and smiled on Four and Eight.”

Birds Sing I Love You: Augusta Davies Webster

“Birds sing “I love you, love” the whole day through,
And not another song can they sing right;
But, singing done with, loving’s done with quite,
The autumn sunders every twittering two.
And I’d not have love make too much ado
With sweet parades of fondness and delight,
Lest iterant wont should make caresses trite,
Love-names mere cuckoo ousters of the true.

Oh heart can hear heart’s sense in senseless nought,
And heart that’s sure of heart has little speech.
What shall it tell? The other knows its thought.
What shall one doubt or question or beseech
Who is assured and knows and, unbesought,
Possesses the dear trust that each gives each.”

As Many Stars: Mathilde Blind

“As many stars as are aglow
Deep in the hollows of the night
As many as the flowers that blow
Beneath the kindling light;

As many as the birds that fly
Unpiloted across the deep;
As many as the clouds on high,
And all the drops they weep;

As many as the leaves that fall
In autumn, on the withering lea,
When wind to thundering wind doth call,
And sea calls unto sea;

As many as the multitude
Of quiet graves, where mutely bide
The wicked people and the good,
Laid softly side by side;—

So many thoughts, so many tears,
Such hosts of prayers, are sent on high,
Seeking, through all Man’s perished years,
A love that will not die.”

from Gallicanus: Hroswitha

“O Christ, lover of virginity and font of chastity!
Thou Who through the intercession of Thy holy martyr Agnes
Hast preserved my body from stain and my mind from pagan errors!
Thou Who hast shown me as an example
Thy Mother’s virgin bed where Thou didst manifest Thyself true God!
Thou Who before time began wast born of God the Father,
And in the fullness of time wast born again true man, of a mother’s womb –
I implore Thee, true Wisdom,
co-eternal with the Father, the Creator, Upholder and Governor of the Universe,
Grant my prayer!

May Gallicanus, who seeks to gain the love which I can give only to Thee,
Be turned from his unlawful purpose.
Take his daughters to Thyself,
And pour the sweetness of Thy love into their hearts
That they may despise all carnal bonds,
And be admitted to the blessed company of virgins
Who are consecrated to Thee!

(trans. Christopher St. John)”

The Alchemist: Louise Bogan

“I burned my life, that I might find
A passion wholly of the mind,
Thought divorced from eye and bone,
Ecstasy come to breath alone.
I broke my life, to seek relief
From the flawed light of love and grief.

With mounting beat the utter fire
Charred existence and desire.
It died low, ceased its sudden thresh.
I had found unmysterious flesh —
Not the mind’s avid substance — still
Passionate beyond the will.”

Sunset: Hilda Conkling

“Once upon a time at evening-light
A little girl was sad.
There was a color in the sky,
A color she knew in her dreamful heart
And wanted to keep.
She held out her arms
Long, long,
And saw it flow away on the wind.
When it was gone
She did not love the moonlight
Or care for the stars.
She had seen the rose in the sky.

Sometimes I am sad
Because I have a thought
Of this little girl.”

The Homely Ghost: Marjory Nicholls

“I shall come back
Very quietly, very softly,
A little brown shadow.

I shall not come
When the moon is white like a bone,
And the house-dogs howl.
Not on a dark night
With uneasy winds,
When the ivy scratches the window,
And the paper stirs on the wall.

I shall come back
In the Autumn,
In the early twilight.
I shall wear a russet cloak
And have a basket on my arm
With red apples and brown nuts in it,
And golden honey-comb.

I shall watch the children playing
And they will not be afraid.
The old woman will just walk past and nod;
Walk past, and into the beech-wood
With its coppery leaves on the ground,
And down by the pond, and the fields
With their big yellow ricks.

I shall pass the cottage-windows –
Those with red curtains and glinting with firelight.
I shall watch the blue smoke from the chimneys
And think of the groups around the fire.
Will any be thinking of me?
I don’t mind –
I am just a little brown shadow, flitting past.

Must I leave it?
Cold and alone, must I go
Through the wilds beyond Earth
To the courts where the white angels stand
August, majestic?

Be certain, I shall come back.”

Cats: Eleanor Farjeon

“Cats sleep, anywhere,
Any table, any chair
Top of piano, window-ledge,
In the middle, on the edge,
Open drawer, empty shoe,
Anybody’s lap will do,
Fitted in a cardboard box,
In the cupboard, with your frocks-
Anywhere! They don’t care!
Cats sleep anywhere.”

The Oak on the Mountain's Summit: Mary Baker Eddy

“Oh, mountain monarch, at whose feet I stand,—
Clouds to adorn thy brow, skies clasp thy hand,—
Nature divine, in harmony profound,
With peaceful presence hath begirt thee round.

And thou, majestic oak, from yon high place
Guard’st thou the earth, asleep in night’s embrace,—
And from thy lofty summit, pouring down
Thy sheltering shade, her noonday glories crown?

Whate’er thy mission, mountain sentinel,
To my lone heart thou art a power and spell;
A lesson grave, of life, that teacheth me
To love the Hebrew figure of a tree.

Faithful and patient be my life as thine;
As strong to wrestle with the storms of time;
As deeply rooted in a soil of love;
As grandly rising to the heavens above.”

We Have A Little Garden: Beatrix Potter

“We have a little garden,
A garden of our own,
And every day we water there
The seeds that we have sown.

We love our little garden,
And tend it with such care,
You will not find a faced leaf
Or blighted blossom there.”

Watching The Moon: Izumi Shikibu

“Watching the moon
at dawn
solitary, mid-sky,
I knew myself completely,
no part left out.”

The Fiddler: Marion Angus

“A fine player was he …
‘Twas the heather at my knee,
The Lang Hill o’ Fare
An’ a reid rose-tree,
A bonnie dryin’ green,
Wind fae aff the braes,
Liftin’ and shiftin’
The clear-bleached claes.

Syne he played again …
‘Twas dreep, dreep o’ rain,
A bairn at the breist
An’ a warm hearth-stane,
Fire o’ the peat,
Scones o’ barley meal
An’ the whirr, whirr, whirr,
O’ a spinnin’-wheel.

Bit aye, wae’s me!
The hindmaist tune he made …
‘Twas juist a dune wife
Greetin’ in her plaid,
Winds o’ a’ the years,
Naked wa’s atween,
And heather creep, creepin’
Ower the bonnie dryin’ green.”

Sleep Peacefully: Alfonsina Storni

“You said the word that enamors
My hearing. You already forgot. Good.
Sleep peacefully. Your face should
Be serene and beautiful at all hours.

When the seductive mouth enchants
It should be fresh, your speech pleasant;
For your office as lover it’s not good
That many tears come from your face.

More glorious destinies reclaim you
That were brought, between the black wells
Of the dark circles beneath your eyes,
the seer in pain.

The bottom, summit of the beautiful victims!
The foolish spade of some barbarous king
Did more harm to the world and your statue.”

Seven Times One: Jean Ingelow

“There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There’s no rain left in heaven.
I ’ve said my “seven times” over and over,—
Seven times one are seven.

I am old,—so old I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done.
The lambs play always,—they know no better;
They are only one times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low.
You were bright—ah, bright—but your light is failing;
You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet Bee! you ’re a dusty fellow,—
You ’ve powdered your legs with gold.
O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

O Columbine! open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!
O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest with the young ones in it,—
I will not steal them away;
I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet!
I am seven times one to-day.”

Easter Poem: Nora Jane Hopper

“I am the dream of April, I am the soul of May;
The sallows scatter, the sallows splatter their gold upon my way:
The gorses swing censers of spring to honour Easter Day.


I am the baby April, the woman May will be:
I set the berry and hang the cherry on briar and cornel-tree;
Mine ‘s the shut rose, the apple-blows, the rainbow on the sea.


My tears are all of April, my laughter is of May,
My sorrow’s all a cowslip-ball, so light to toss away:
My heart is bright with Easter light, my face is fair to see.
Because God’s risen, and out of prison the whole round world goes free.”