poem index

poet

Trumbull Stickney

by this poet

poem
These are my murmur-laden shells that keep 
A fresh voice tho' the years be very gray. 
The wave that washed their lips and tuned their lay 
Is gone, gone with the faded ocean sweep, 
The royal tide, gray ebb and sunken neap 
And purple midday,—gone! To this hot clay 
Must sing my shells, where yet the primal
poem
These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown, 
The sward with shrivelled foliage strown, 
The shrubs and trees 
By weary wings of sunshine overflown 
And timid silences,—

Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours, 
Seem happy, and the gladness pours 
From day to day, 
And yester-year across this year
poem
They lived enamoured of the lovely moon, 
The dawn and twilight on their gentle lake. 
Then Passion marvellously born did shake 
Their breast and drave them into the mid-noon. 
Their lives did shrink to one desire, and soon 
They rose fire-eyed to follow in the wake 
Of one eternal thought,—when sudden brake