Thomas Bailey Aldrich ( 10 of 31 )
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's read more
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and read more
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,
Which she will make when summer comes again--
Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings.
Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
read more
Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
Hoarding golden honey.
In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.
In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.
Good night! I have to say good night,
To such a host of peerless things!
Good night! I have to say good night,
To such a host of peerless things!
But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait
At the portcullis, at thy castle gate,
Longing read more
But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait
At the portcullis, at thy castle gate,
Longing to see the charmed door of dreams
Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!
When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit,
What life, what glorious eagerness it is,
Then mark how read more
When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit,
What life, what glorious eagerness it is,
Then mark how full Possession falls from this,
How fairer seems the blossom than the fruit,--
I am perplext, and often stricken mute.
Wondering which attained the higher bliss,
The wing'd insect, or the chrysalis
It thrust aside with unreluctant foot.
When friends are at your hearthside met,
Sweet courtesy has done its most
If you have made read more
When friends are at your hearthside met,
Sweet courtesy has done its most
If you have made each guest forget
That he himself is not the host.
Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.
Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.
Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant.
Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant.
