The female poets of America

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Rufus Wilmot Griswold
Carey and Hart, 1849 - Biography & Autobiography - 400 pages
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Page 45 - I walked the ocean strand; A pearly shell was in my hand : I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name — the year — the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast : A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away.
Page 372 - Among the beautiful pictures That hang on Memory's wall Is one of a dim old forest, That seemeth best of all : Not for its gnarled oaks olden, Dark with the mistletoe ; Not for the violets golden That sprinkle the vale below ; Not for the milk-white lilies That lean from the fragrant...
Page 277 - Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet us, Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill.
Page 372 - I once had a little brother, With eyes that were dark and deep — In the lap of that old dim forest He licth in peace asleep: Light as the down of the thistle, Free as the winds that blow, We roved there the beautiful summers, The summers of long ago...
Page 354 - Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; If no silken cord of love hath bound thee To some little world through weal and woe...
Page 95 - Unfathomed and resistless. God hath set His rainbow on thy forehead ; and the cloud Mantled around thy feet. And he doth give Thy voice of thunder power to speak of Him Eternally, — bidding the lip of man Keep silence, — and upon thy rocky altar pour Incense of awe-struck praise.
Page 387 - WE wreathed about our darling's head The morning-glory bright ; Her little face looked out beneath, So full of life and light, So lit as with a sunrise, That we could only say, " She is the morning-glory true, And her poor types are they.
Page 331 - The twilight hours, like birds, flew by, As lightly and as free ; Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Ten thousand on the sea ; For every wave with dimpled face, That leaped upon the air, Had caught a star in its embrace, And held it trembling there.
Page 89 - I'll believe thee; Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent, Let me think it innocent! Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure; All I ask is friendship's pleasure; Let the shining ore lie darkling,— Bring no gem in lustre sparkling; Gifts and gold are naught to me, I would only look on thee!
Page 277 - Pause not to dream of the future before us ; Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er...

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