Works

[To the memory of Edwin B. Foster, a member of the Howards, who nobly sacrificed his own life for others, and in remembrance of those unknown to fame or friends who have silently followed in the steps of our Saviour.]
...

I would not ask thee back, fair May,
With all your bright-eyed flowers;
Nor would I welcome April days
With all their laughing showers;
For each bright season of the year...

There's a beautiful lake where the sun lies low,
And the skies are warm with their summer glow;
And a beautiful picture there I see
Where the winds are warm and the waves are free,...

Why should we dream of days gone by?
Why should we wait and wonder?
Sweet summer days have come and gone,
The leaves are falling yonder.

The wee sweet flowers we loved the best,...

Oh, soon the forests all will boast
A crown of red and gold;
A purple haze will circle round
The mountains dim and old;
Afar the hills, now green and fair,
Their sombre robes will wear;...

I wonder what they are,
These pretty, wayward things,
That o'er the gloomy earth
The wind of heaven flings.

Each one a tiny star,
And each a perfect gem;
What magic in the art...

"Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast and demure."

-- [Milton]


White-robed nun, I pray thee tell me
Whatsoe'er my life shall be;
Thou of God art purely chosen,...

Oh, what is so pure as the glad summer rain,
That falls on the grass where the sunlight has lain?
And what is so fair as the flowers that lie
All bathed in the tears of the soft summer sky?
...

O beautiful hills in the purple light,
That shadow the western sky,
I dream of you oft in the silent night,
As the golden days go by.

The river that flows at my longing feet...

A tiny drop of crystal dew
That fell from baby eyes of blue;
A shining treasure, there it lay
For grandma's love to wipe away.

A tear of sorrow, pure and meek...

The day is dead,
And evening trails her purple robes
In fading fires of red.

The day is dead.
And yonder lily welcomes sleep
And nods her weary head.

The day is dead,...

A limpid lake, a diamond gem,
The moonbeams kissed with light;
And all the stars that heaven knew
Were mirrored in the night.

How fair the world, how fair the night,
When lake and river run...

Where is the bard, O river grand and old,
That has thy praises sung, thy beauties told,
In measures lofty as the mighty pride
That lingers in thy deep and flowing tide?...

Low at my feet there lies to-night
A crushed and withered rose;
Within its heart of fading red
No crimson fire glows;
For o'er its leaves the frost of death
Steals like an icy breath;...

She stood by my side with a queenly air,
Her face it was young and proud and fair;
She held my rose in her hands of snow;
It crimsoned her face with a deeper glow;
The sunlight drooped in her eyes of fire...

Under the cross in the Southern skies,
Where the beautiful night like a shadow lies,
A fair young life went out in the light
To wake no more in the star-crowned night.
...

The sunlight fell with a golden gleam
On the waves of the rippling rill;
The pansies nodded their purple heads;
But the proud queen-rose stood still.
She loved the light and she loved the sun,...

[To the memory of Lieut. Wm. W. Wardell, of the First Massachusetts Cavalry, killed May 28, 1864.]


Above his head the cypress waves
Its dark green drooping leaves;...

Oh, what would you have, you splendid sun,
With your restless eyes of fire?
And why do you lean o'er the lilies pale?
What more can your heart desire?
...

The sun sinks down in the crimson west,
Oh, a beautiful sun is he;
With his purple robes and his crown of gold
And his feet dipped in the sea.

Along the shore where the sea-weeds lie...