Poems by George Houghton

Below this spire, a town,
Where, truant from the city dials, come
The lazy hours to lose th...

I love this old, red house,
Where many a summer night I've lain at ease
Behind that upper win...

Weary with waiting, we climb to the hill-tops nearest to heaven,
Find only floating fogs, and...

White sand and cedars; cedars, sand;
Light-houses here and there; a strand
Strewn o'er with d...

Far nobler the sword that is nicked and worn,
Far fairer the flag that is grimy and torn,
Tha...

To sit on the sand and read fine tales,
To follow the slant of the whitened sails,
And the cl...

A hill of heather 'gainst a yellow sky;
And on its top, as on a buttress high,
A shape, a m...

In a scurry of clouds
Sudden day fell,
What ho! Ye swallows!
All is not well. With br...

I I am the Tzigans' pot;
I have come from a far-away no-man's-land,
Hung heavy in many a swa...

While King Karl at midnight feasted,
Sudden, springing from his chair,
With clenched hand he...

I Thou shalt not whimper, daughter mine!
No selfish season this for sighs!
There are kine to ...

Long were the night-times on that slip of shore,
Hedged in on one hand by the snow-capped hills...

Up o'er the hill and broken wall
There stole a weird form, bent but tall;
And softly through ...

A picture from Normandy. Three of them--lithe Lombard poplars--
Stand half wading in the brook,...

I A haw, with branches of bloom;
And a bird on the topmost,
Sitting and swinging,
And mer...