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About this poet

The Comptess Anna de Brémont was born Anna Dunphy in 1864. A journalist, memoirist, fiction writer, and poet, she authored two poetry collections: Sonnets and Love Poems (J. J. Little, 1892) and Love Poems (Argus Printing Co., 1889). She died in 1922.

The Christmas Wreath

Oh! Christmas wreath upon the wall,
     Within thine ivied space
I see the years beyond recall,
     Amid thy leaves I trace
The shadows of a happy past,
     When all the world was bright,
And love its magic splendour cast
     O’er morn and noon and night.

Oh! Christmas wreath upon the wall,
     ’Neath memory’s tender spell
A wondrous charm doth o’er thee fall,
     And round thy beauty dwell.
Thine ivy hath the satiny sheen
     Of tresses I’ve caressed,
Thy holly’s crimson gleam I’ve seen
     On lips I oft have pressed.

Oh! Christmas wreath upon the wall,
     A mist steals o’er my sight.
Dear hallow’d wreath, these tears are all
     The pledge I now can plight
To those loved ones whose spirit eyes
     Shine down the flight of time;
Around God’s throne their voices rise
     To swell the Christmas Chime!

This poem was published in Sonnets and Love Poems (J. J. Little, 1892). This poem is in the public domain.

This poem was published in Sonnets and Love Poems (J. J. Little, 1892). This poem is in the public domain.

Anna de Brémont

The Comptess Anna de Brémont was born Anna Dunphy in 1864. A journalist, memoirist, fiction writer, and poet, she authored two poetry collections: Sonnets and Love Poems (J. J. Little, 1892) and Love Poems (Argus Printing Co., 1889). She died in 1922.

by this poet

poem

The midnight hour had come. With tearful eyes
And sad the Old Year strained I to my breast.
For we were loth to part—his lips I pressed
All tenderly in answer to his sighs.
A generous lover he; to say good-bye
Wrung heart and soul, bowed was his head and chilled
The hand with gifts and

poem

There’s a holy light like a beacon bright,
     Afar over land and sea.
Soft its lambent ray o’er the broad earth plays
     With a rosy dancing glee,
And the topmost peak of the mountains bleak
     Blush fair in the glowing morn.
Over wood and tarn sweeps the glorious dawn