The Nests at Washington, and Other Poems

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W. Low, 1864 - American poetry - 150 pages
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Page 54 - quiet where the tide Of Life, upheav'd on either side, Hangs" trembling, ready soon to beat With human waves the Morning Street. Ay, soon the glowing morning flood Breaks through the charmed solitude: This silent stone, to music won, Shall murmur to the rising sun; The busy place, in dust and heat, Shall rush with wheels and swarm with feet; THE
Page 101 - World, if you will hear me now: I may not own a sounding Lyre • And wear my name upon my brow Like some great jewel full of fire. But let me, singing, sit apart, In tender quiet with a few, And keep my fame upon my heart, A little blush-rose wet with dew.
Page 53 - The dew is in the Morning Street. Where are the restless throngs that pour Along this mighty corridor While the noon shines ?—the hurrying crowd Whose footsteps make the city loud— The myriad faces—hearts that beat No more in the deserted street ? Those footsteps in their dreaming maze Cross thresholds of forgotten days; Those faces brighten from the years
Page 53 - STREET. ALONE I walk the Morning Street, Fill'd with the silence vague and sweet : All seems as strange, as still, as dead As if unnumber'd years had fled, Letting the noisy Babel lie Breathless and dumb against the sky ; The light wind walks with me alone Where the hot day flame-like was blown, Where the wheels roar'd, the dust was
Page 43 - dark Root little care, That toils below it ceaselessly. I put my question to the flower : " Pride of the Summer, garden-queen, Why livest thou thy little hour?" And the Rose answer'd, " I am seen.'' I put my question to the Root— " I mine the earth content," it said, " A hidden miner underfoot; I know a Rose is overhead.
Page 55 - STREET. The Arachne-threads of Purpose stream Unseen within the morning gleam; The life shall move, the death be plain ; The bridal throng, the funeral train, Together, face to face shall meet And pass within the Morning Street,
Page 35 - FARM. This my freehold use content— Here no landlord rides for rent; I proclaim my jubilee, In my Black Republic, free. Come," she beckons ; " Enter, through Gates of gossamer, doors of dew (Lit with Summer's tropic fire), My Liberia of the brier.
Page 74 - Are bless'd with dew and steal away. Oh, scarce a pulse of sound! Afar, Flashes upon a spire a star— Lo, in the East a dusky light: Ghost-like the moon moves through the night. Unveiling slow, a fa^ce of blood She lifts into the solitude! The city sleeps; above, behold The moonrise kiss a cross of gold!
Page 106 - Well, we had to go through the rocky lane, Close to that bridge where the water roars, By a still, red house, where the dark and rain Go in when they "will at the open doors; And the moon, that had
Page 33 - kind (Outcasts of the garden-bound), Colonize the expended ground, Using (none her right gainsay) Confiscations of decay: Thus she clothes the barren place, Old disgrace, with newer grace. Title-deeds, which cover lands Ruled and reap'd by buried hands,

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