FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   155   156   157   158   159   160   161   162   163   164   165   166   167   168   169   170  
171   172   173   174   175   176   177   178   179   180   181   182   183   184   185   186   187   188   189   190   191   192   193   194   195   >>   >|  
rich man's house, alike; the loaded hands Give sprays to all they meet, Till, gay with flowers, the people come and go, And all the air is sweet. The Southern land, well weary of its green Which may not fall nor fade, Bestirs itself to greet the lovely flower With leaves of fresher shade; The pine has tassels, and the orange-trees Their fragrant work begin: The spring has come--has come to Florida, With yellow jessamine. Constance Fenimore Woolson [1840-1894] KNAP WEED By copse and hedgerow, waste and wall, He thrusts his cushions red; O'er burdock rank, o'er thistles tall, He rears his hardy head: Within, without, the strong leaves press, He screens the mossy stone, Lord of a narrow wilderness, Self-centred and alone. He numbers no observant friends, He soothes no childish woes, Yet nature nurtures him, and tends As duly as the rose; He drinks the blessed dew of heaven, The wind is in his ears, To guard his growth the planets seven Swing in their airy spheres. The spirits of the fields and woods Throb in his sturdy veins: He drinks the secret, stealing floods, And swills the volleying rains: And when the bird's note showers and breaks The wood's green heart within, He stirs his plumy brow and wakes To draw the sunlight in. Mute sheep that pull the grasses soft Crop close and pass him by, Until he stands alone, aloft, In surly majesty. No fly so keen, no bee so bold, To pierce that knotted zone; He frowns as though he guarded gold, And yet he garners none. And so when autumn winds blow late, And whirl the chilly wave, He bows before the common fate, And drops beside his grave. None ever owed him thanks or said "A gift of gracious heaven." Down in the mire he droops his head; Forgotten, not forgiven. Smile on, brave weed! let none inquire What made or bade thee rise: Toss thy tough fingers high and higher To flout the drenching skies. Let others toil for others' good, And miss or mar their own; Thou hast brave health and fortitude To live and die alone! Arthur Christopher Benson [1862-1925] MOLY The root is hard to loose From hold of earth by mortals; but God's power Can all things do. 'Tis black, but bears a flower As white as milk. --Chapman's Homer Traveler, pluck a stem of moly, If thou touch at Circe's isle,-- Hermes' moly, growing solely To undo enchanter's wile! When she proffers thee her chalice,-- Wine and spices mixed with malice,-- W
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   155   156   157   158   159   160   161   162   163   164   165   166   167   168   169   170  
171   172   173   174   175   176   177   178   179   180   181   182   183   184   185   186   187   188   189   190   191   192   193   194   195   >>   >|  



Top keywords:
leaves
 

heaven

 

flower

 
drinks
 
proffers
 
common
 

forgiven

 

droops

 

solely

 

gracious


enchanter
 
Forgotten
 

chilly

 

spices

 

pierce

 

majesty

 

malice

 

stands

 

knotted

 

autumn


growing
 

chalice

 

frowns

 
guarded
 

garners

 
Hermes
 
Benson
 

fortitude

 

health

 

Christopher


Arthur

 

mortals

 
Traveler
 
Chapman
 

things

 
fingers
 

inquire

 

higher

 

drenching

 

Constance


jessamine

 

yellow

 
Fenimore
 

Woolson

 
Florida
 
spring
 

orange

 

tassels

 
fragrant
 

burdock