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As A Pale Child Post by :andy_t Category :Poems Author :Helen Hay Whitney Date :October 2011 Read :1972

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As A Pale Child

As a pale child, hemmed in by windy rain,
Patiently turns to touch his well-known toys,
Playing as children play who make no noise,
Yet happy in a way; then sighs again,
To watch the world across the storm-dim pane,
And sees with wistful eyes glad girls and boys
Who romp beneath the rain's unlicensed joys,
And feels wild longings sweep his gentle brain.

So I, contented with my flowers for stars,
Stroll in my fair, walled garden happily,
Knowing no gladder game till, shrill and sweet,
I hear life's cry ring down the silent street,
And press my face against the sunlit bars
To watch the joyous spirits who are free.

(The end)
Helen Hay Whitney's poem: As A Pale Child

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Flower Of The Clove Flower Of The Clove

Flower Of The Clove
Ah, Love, have pity!--I am but a child; I ask but light and laughter, and the tears Darken the sunlight of my fairest years. By love made desolate, by love beguiled, I waste the Spring. Love's harvest wains are piled With poppies and gold grain--I glean but fears Of empty hands, grim hunger, and the jeers Of happy wives whose loves are reconciled. But mine! Ah, mine is like a tattered leaf Upon a turbid stream. I have no pride, No life, but love, which is a bitter grief.

'chaque Baiser Vaut Un Roman' "chaque Baiser Vaut Un Roman"

'chaque Baiser Vaut Un Roman'
I, living love and laughter, have forgot The way the heart has uttered melody. As sobbing, plaintive cadence of the sea A poet's soul should rest, remembering not The inland paths of green, the flowers, the spot Where fairies ring. In hermit ecstasy Music is born, and gay or wofully Lovers of Poesy share her lonely lot. For you and me, Beloved, crowned with Spring, Catching Love's flowers from off the lap of Time, What are the songs my voice has scorned to sing? Ghostly they hover round my heart-wise lips;