Poems by Edward Smyth Jones

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

A blossom pink, a blossom blue,
For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring,
The sweetest singer once thou wast, but art no more;
Thou most majestic Queen of sculptural art,
I am a pilgrim far from home,
TO D. M. M.
Flag of the free, our sable sires
'Tis once in life our dreams come true,
There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams,
Written in Quinn Chapel, A. M. E. Church, Ninth and Walnut Streets, Louisville, Ky., Wednesday evening, October 16th, 1907, while Miss Lula E. Johnson was singing "Ave Maria."
Aye! many a rhyme my pen has flown,
I then acted as agent for the "Zion Record," published by Rev. R. A. Adams, 39 St. Catherine Street, Natchez, Miss., until August 20, 1902. Knowing that there was a dormitory to be built for girls at Alcorn, I went there, hoping to get work and to be
Put nothing in another's way,
While I keep my lonely hall,
Though man through life so swiftly wends,
I hold a token in my hand,
TO A. B. B.
Thrice hail the still unconquered King of Song!
To a violet that faded on my coat at Natchez, Miss. March 8th, 1902.
Coy, sweet maid, I love so well,
On seeing her December 25th, 1904, after two years' travel.
Were I a bird free born to fly
Oh! What is living but moving about,
I call thee angel of this earth,