Red Poppies in the Wheat

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J. T. White & Company, 1921 - 97 pages

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Page 44 - ... effect only less direct and powerful than that of the intrinsic musical emotional bases, and the study of these conventions and their relationship to human psychology and life is the next step in the pursuit of a modern basis of musical criticism. (To be concluded.) Recompense BY JOHN RICHARD MORELAND All that we say returns, The bitter word or sweet; Days, weeks or years may intervene, But soon or late The spoken word and speaker meet. All that we do returns; The deed that's true or base We...
Page 85 - Twas vain, spring rose on emerald wings, Moth-like, from her dead chrysalis. Each germ within the tiny seed Throws off the husk that to it clings, And towards the sun it upward brings New life to blossom to its need. Ye hearts that mourn rise up and sing! Death...
Page 13 - RED POPPIES IN THE WHEAT Life is red poppies in the wheat, Love be not late! Keen is time's sickle; years are fleet; Life is red poppies in the wheat, Filled with brave dreams and crimson sweet But bound by fate! Life is red poppies in the wheat, Love be not late!
Page 21 - It was such a little, little sin, And such a great big day, That I thought the hours would swallow it, Or the wind blow it away. But the moments passed so swiftly, And the wind died out somehow, And the sin that was once a weakling Is a hungry giant now. These are the treasures that his heart holds dear: A christening cup marked, "To my little son...
Page 50 - Though your mouth was flaming red. Autumn, autumn, you did not think I saw you When you crept among the grasses and swayed them with your breath, When the wildflowers bent to greet you, And the trees reached out to meet you, For they thought your touch was beauty, But they found your kiss was death! Autumn, autumn, I hate you and...
Page 89 - A grave seems only six feet deep And three feet wide, Viewed with the calculating eye Of one outside. But when fast bound in the chill loam For that strange sleep, Who knows how wide its realm may be? Its depths, how deep?
Page 81 - THE PRIEST IS COME AND THE CANDLES BURN THE white moth is wooing his chosen mate, The birds have a nest in the weed and fern, But, love, you knock at my heart too late, The Priest is come and the candles burn. Where were you, love, when the morning was heavy with mating, And in life's noontime before vivid dreams had departed?
Page 19 - I did not heed that spring was here; The city streets were chill and gray, When lo, I passed a window where White dogwood blooms were on display. I paused ... I could not quickly pass The vision in the window small . . . I felt warm winds that stirred the grass, I heard the singing sand-dunes call!
Page 43 - A little babe upon her knee, Around her feet there played a child Whose age, I think, was nearly three. And as I looked, adown the path, In homespun clad there came a man, And as he neared the open door The little child to meet him ran. The man bent down and took the child...
Page 80 - I had And yet I let them slip away; And now in shame I bow my head For moments lost and words unsaid. So many deeds I planned to do To ease the road of your behest...

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