The Poets of Maine: A Collection of Specimen Poems from Over Four Hundred Verse-makers of the Pine-tree State

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Elwell, Pickard, 1888 - American literature - 856 pages
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Page 98 - The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still : " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Page 668 - Under the willows, and over the hill, He patiently followed their sober pace ; The merry whistle for once was still, And something shadowed the sunny face. Only a boy ! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go : Two already were lying dead. Under the feet of the trampling foe. But after the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun, And stealthily followed the footpath damp.
Page 89 - Or, rising half in his rounded nest, He takes the time to smooth his breast, Then drops again, with filmed eyes, And sleeps as the last vibration dies. Sweet bird ! I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd like thee ! With wings to fly to wood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; And daily, with unwilling feet, I tread, like thee, the crowded street, But, unlike me, when day is o'er, Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar ; Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, Canst smooth the feathers...
Page 98 - I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods; And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods.
Page 88 - ON the cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air; I love to see him track the street With his wary eye and active feet...
Page 668 - ... Speckle, and Bess, Shaking their horns in the evening wind ; Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, — But who was it following close behind ? Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue ; And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, Looked out a face that the father knew. For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, And yield their dead unto life again ; And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn In golden glory at last may wane. The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; For...
Page 247 - 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 154 - Hay bring us there to be. Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; Amid our worldly cares, Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard.
Page 474 - Over my heart, in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures — Faithful, unselfish and patient, like yours; None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep; — Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Page 541 - Only waiting till the shadows Are a little longer grown, Only waiting till the glimmer Of the day's last beam is flown; Till the night of earth is faded From the heart, once full of day; Till the stars of heaven are breaking Through the twilight soft and gray.

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