Poems by Charles Sangster

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By England's side we stand,
I am happier for the Spring;
Bird of the fanciful plumage,
That morn our hearts were like artesian wells,
If seasons, like the human race, had souls,
OCTOBER 13TH, 1859.*
Who'll dive for the dead men now,
Her thoughts are sweet glimpses of heaven,
"They run! they run!" - "Who run?" Not they
Dear Carrie, were we truly wise,
England's Hope and England's Heir!
"God bless the darling Eva!" was my prayer.
Thank God I love the Flowers!
Underneath the maple-tree
Sounds of rural life and labour!
We never say, "Good Night;"
Old Grandpere gat in the corner,
When the heavens throb and vibrate
I think through the long, long evenings,
Full on the wave the moonlight weeps,
In the mildest, greenest grove
Young Love sat in a rosy bower,
Like a bold, adventurous swain,
Boy! this world has ever been
"Truth lights our minds as sunrise lights the world.
At the wheel plied Mariline,
O God! forgive the erring thought,
The winds are piping loud to-night,
Alice, I need not tell you that the Art
When the evening broods quiescent
Oh, I'd be a Fairy King,
Day by day, with startling fleetness,
Sons of the race whose sires
We have a joke whenever we meet,
My soul goes out to meet her, and my heart
'Tis summer still, yet now and then a leaf
Oh, holy sabbath morn! thrice blessed day
The birds are singing merrily, and here
Another day of rest, and I sit here
Blest Spirit of Calm that dwellest in these woods!
Through every sense a sweet balm permeates,
Our life is like a forest, where the sun
Above where I am sitting, o'er these stones,
Poor snail, that toilest at my weary feet,
Oh, that I were the spirit of these wilds!
The moon shone down on fair Eliza's face,
I've almost grown a portion of this place,
There is no sadness here. Oh, that my heart
How my heart yearns towards my friends at home!
Last night I heard the plaintive whippoorwill,
My footsteps press where, centuries ago,
THERE WAS A TIME - and that is all we know!
I do not wonder that the Druids built
I sat within the temple of her heart,
Intense young soul, that takest hearts by storm,
Dark, dismal day - the first of many such!
Spread lightly, virgin shower,
Erratic Soul of some great Purpose, doomed
Spirit of Song! whose whispers
I have laid my cheek to Nature's, placed my puny hand in hers,
A joy from my soul's departed,
My mind is like a troubled sea
I stood upon the Plain,
His heart's a burning censer, filled with spice
All peacefully gliding,
Over the snows,
All my mind has sat in state,
I asked the first stray swallow of the spring,
I yearn for the Unattainable;
Within Fancy's Halls I sit, and quaff
Early each spring the little wren
Her love is like the hardy flower
Within thine eyes two spirits dwell,
I long for diviner regions, -
Young again! Young again!