An Inn, by Charles Vildrac
IT is an inn there is
At the cross-roads of Ch...
Plant Poems
Vive la France!, by Charlotte Holmes Crawford
Franceline rose in the dawning gray,
And her ...
A Birthday, by Christina Rossetti
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is ...
Arizona, by Christine Siebeneck Swayne
Stretched out from both my hands
Lie the parch...
An Hawaiian Afternoon, by Christine Siebeneck Swayne
The sun upon the rocks,
And the breakers on t...
The Rainbow, by Christopher Pearse Cranch
Child of the sunlight,
Flower of the skies,
...
To the Aurora Borealis, by Christopher Pearse Cranch
Arctic found of holiest light,
Springing thro...
A La Mode, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
I One loved her for her beauteous face,
Oh, ...
Ashes of Roses, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
If I had known, dear heart, that thou wouldst...
The Curse of Conemaugh, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
Where's nature's breast with anguish riven,
U...
Lost Art, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
O LIFE profound! Thine opening ways
Lay clear ...
The Magdalen, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
My beautiful lilies down under the snow,
Hast...
Midsummer Morn, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
A wondrous blue of summer sky,
A dream of fai...
Penetralia, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
We are drifting in a dreamland, I and thou,
...
Question--Answer, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
WINTER. The sun is waning wan and old;
The d...
Rest, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
Hush! For a white rose is sleeping,
Sweet, w...
Worship, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
In the midst of the congregation,
Where the h...
Abbeydorney, by Clinton Scollard
Abbeydorney, Abbeydorney,
Long ago thy race ...
Bernard of Ventadorn, by Clinton Scollard
Brave was Bernard of Ventadorn
As any knight i...
The Call, by Clinton Scollard
O'er violet-dotted height and king-cup hollow
...
Daffodil Gold, by Clinton Scollard
Gold of the daffodil, drawn
Out of the cup of...
Declining Summer, by Clinton Scollard
Reluctantly the summer goes;
The crimson radi...
Flight, by Clinton Scollard
Tell me where goes
The wraith that was the ros...
The Glory of the Spring, by Clinton Scollard
I heard the lyric passion in the night,
And f...
The Heart of the Hills, by Clinton Scollard
In the lyric tide of April, in the month of da...