Poems by George Parsons Lathrop

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Poor, withered face, that yet was once so fair,
O many-toned rain!
I.
Through the pauses of thy fervid singing
For them that hope in Thee.... Thou shalt hide them in the secret of Thy face, from the disturbance of men.
When the mornings dankly fall
The soul of a nation awaking, -
The soul of a nation awaking, -
Before the golden gate she stands,
I
Autumn is gone: through the blue woodlands bare
Autumn is gone: through the blue woodlands bare
"Who is Blackmouth?" Well, that's hard to say.
Over the mossy walls,
Far out at sea there has been a storm,
Wide as the sky Time spreads his hand,
Now the last wreath of snow
Veiled in visionary haze,
I
To-day I saw a little, calm-eyed child, -
Glad hours have been when I have seen
I push on through the shaggy wood,
[PLYMOUTH PLANTATION: 1622]
A budding mouth and warm blue eyes;
A budding mouth and warm blue eyes;
I
I
A youth unto herself Grief took,
Her moods are like the fountain's, changing ever,
Helen, in her silent room,
Helen, in her silent room,
And did you think my heart
My love for thee is like a winged seed
When the leaves, by thousands thinned,
Here stands the great tree still, with broad bent head;
Here stands the great tree still, with broad, bent head,
Lo, all about the lofty blue are blown
[CHANCELLORSVILLE, MAY, 1863]
Dear face - bright, glinting hair;
A thousand times I would have hoped,
"There, on the left!" said the colonel: the battle had shuddered and faded away,
[FOR A BIRTHDAY: MAY 20]
Daughter of my nobler hope
Music is in all growing things;
With my beloved I lingered late one night.
With my beloved I lingered late one night.
Haunted by unknown feet -
O jay -
O wholesome Death, thy sombre funeral-car
O Wholesome Death, thy sombre funeral-car
O wayward rose, why dost thou wreathe so high,
The sea goes up; the sky comes down.
The sea goes up; the sky comes down.
Soft-throated South, breathing of summer's ease
Soft-throated South, breathing of summer's ease
Strike hands, young men!
Birds that like vanishing visions go winging,
Valleys lay in sunny vapor,
Standing here alone,
How sweetly sang the bobolink,
How sweetly sang the bobolink,
(ARNOLD'S MARCH TO CANADA, 1775)
I
I
Do you remember, my sweet, absent son,
At morn his bark like a bird
FEBRUARY 6, 1881
Last night it snowed; and Nature fell asleep.
Dear love, let this my song fly to you:
Some fairy spirit with his wand,
Dost thou remember, Love, those hours
Thou art my morning, twilight, noon, and eve,
Thou art my morning, twilight, noon, and eve,
[Read before the Sons of the Revolution, New-York, February 22, 1887]
(A REPLY)
A tangled orchard round the farm-house spreads,
Ethereal, faint that music rang,
Hark to that faint, ethereal twang
Glimmers gray the leafless thicket
Glimmers gray the leafless thicket
"Go," said the star to its light:
A penciled shade the sky doth sweep,
The sunshine of thine eyes,
The sunshine of thine eyes,
"How shall we honor the man who creates?"
I warn, like the one drop of rain
Seaward, at morn, my doves flew free;
At night, with shaded eyes, the summer moon
When, looking deeply in thy face,
I.
(TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES)

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