Phantom Days, by Caroline Spencer
Sweetheart, when the year turns back,
And ov...
Rose Poems
The Statue and the Rose, by Caroline Spencer
One night I passed the gardens of the King;
T...
Love Songs, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson
I There are some things too wonderful to tell:...
Mid Winter, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson
If I were God, I'd mould hills rolling low,
...
The Return, 1918, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson
Flowers are on the mantle; in the grate
A new ...
The Flight, by Charles G. D. Roberts
She rose in the night and fled;
Such a night ...
To Francis Jammes, by Charles Guérin
O JAMMES, your house is like your face. A bear...
In the Laramie, by Charles Hazelius Sternberg
For many years my life work ply,
And many mus...
An Inn, by Charles Vildrac
IT is an inn there is
At the cross-roads of Ch...
Vive la France!, by Charlotte Holmes Crawford
Franceline rose in the dawning gray,
And her ...
Arizona, by Christine Siebeneck Swayne
Stretched out from both my hands
Lie the parch...
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...
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,
...
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...
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 Heart of the Hills, by Clinton Scollard
In the lyric tide of April, in the month of da...
The Isle of Doom, by Clinton Scollard
Out of the mist off Galway shore,
Out of the ...