Poems by Edith Matilda Thomas

Poems by Edith Matilda Thomas

The Young of Spring, by Edith Matilda Thomas

There are so many, many young!
So many, in thy world, O Spring,
And scarcely yet they find ...

Mirage, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Treasure the shadow. Somewhere, firmly based,
Arise those turrets that in cloud-land shine;
...

The Naturalist, by Edith Matilda Thomas

He bides at home, and treasures all
That to his homely lot doth fall.
He says, to journey hen...

Nature and Man, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Oh, the glance of the dew! Oh, the flame of the rose springing forth of the thorn!
Oh, the so...

One Woman's Voice Against War, by Edith Matilda Thomas

I The voice of my sisters I hear (Oh voice of the summer leaves!
Oh voice of the murmuring wate...

On the Eve of Sleep, by Edith Matilda Thomas

What is softer than two snowflakes meeting
In a windless fall of snow?
What is lighter than a d...

On the Eve of War, by Edith Matilda Thomas

"Ancestral voices prophesying war."   THE MAN SPEAKS When torpid stands the blood of civic ...

Peace, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Much I desired when Youth did fire my veins,
To join fair combat with some foe august;
And mo...

The Springs of Long Ago, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Come near, O Sun, O South wind, blow!
And be the Winter's captives freed.
Where are the Spri...

The Tide of the Past, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Sometimes the troubled tide of all the Past
Upon my spirit's trembling strand is rolled;
Years...

The Witch's Child, by Edith Matilda Thomas

'Tis Elfinell--a witch's child,
From holy minster banned..
Again the old glad bell rings out
...

The Winter Thoughts of Trees, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Do ye remember, or do ye forget,
O silent and sufficing ones--ye Trees,
That take and pass t...

We Mourn for Peace, by Edith Matilda Thomas

"Who is this pacing sisterhood,
Moving in silent, broken mood,
Clad all in mourning weeds?
...

Tip's Kitten, by Edith Matilda Thomas

The master--he loved my kitten, my kitten;
She was still too weak to stand,
When he placed h...

Thefts of the Morning, by Edith Matilda Thomas

Bund us the Morning, mother of the stars
And of the winds that usher in the day!
Ere her light...