The Watcher
by Sarah Josepha Hale (1788-1879)
The night was dark and fearful,
The blast swept wailing by;
A Watcher, pale and tearful,
Look
The Watcher
by Sarah Josepha Hale (1788-1879)
The night was dark and fearful,
The blast swept wailing by;
A Watcher, pale and tearful,
Look
The Windmill
by Robert Bridges (1844-1930)
The green corn waving in the dale,
The ripe grass waving on the hill:
I lean across the paddock pale
And gaze upon the giddy mill.
Its hurtling sails a mighty sweep
Gut thro
The West
by John Reed (1887-1920)
Gulls to their home on the aged rock
Wheeling athwart the spray,
Thrill of the wind from the isles of Ind
In the heart of the dying day.
Dreams in the depths of the solemn pines
Ancient before our birth,
Hearing the speech of the plains that reach
To the ends of the happy earth.
Out of the years that have passed away
Out of the days to be,
Night brings the pang of the salt air
Across the Red Sky
by Katherine Mansfield (1888-1923)
Across the red sky two birds flying,
Flying with drooping wings.
Silent and solitary their ominous flight.
All day the triumphant sun with yellow banners
Warred and warred with the earth, and when she yielded
Stabbed her heart, gathered her blood in a chalice,
Spilling it over the evening sky.
When the dark plumaged birds go flying, flying,
Quiet lies the earth wrapt in her mournful shadow,
Her sightless eyes turned to the red sky
And the restlessly seeking birds.
An sich Selbst
by Andreas Gryphius (1616-1664)
Mir grauet vor mir selbst; mir zittern alle Glieder
Wenn ich die Lipp
Before Exile
by Louise Mack (1870-1935)
Here is my last good-bye,
This side the sea.
Good-bye! good-bye! good-bye!
Love me, remember me.
This is my last good-bye,
This side the sea.
I bless, I pledge, I cling,
Love me, remember me.
This is my last good-bye
To each dear tree,
To every silent plain,
Love me, remember me.
This is my last good-bye,
This side the sea.
O friends! O enemies!
Love me, remember me.
You will remain, but I
Must cross the sea.
My heart is faint with love,
O Land! remember me.
You will not even ask
What claim has she.
She loved us, she has gone
The Willow
by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
Who shall sing a simple ditty about the Willow,
Dainty-fine and delicate as any bending spray
That dandles high the dainty bird that flutters there to trill a
Tremulously tender song of greeting to the May.
Bravest, too, of all the trees!