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Full Online Book HomePoemsFragment From An Epistle Written When The Thermometer Stood At 98 Degrees In The
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Fragment From An Epistle Written When The Thermometer Stood At 98 Degrees In The Post by :JKinakin Category :Poems Author :Fanny Kemble Date :November 2011 Read :1128

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Fragment From An Epistle Written When The Thermometer Stood At 98 Degrees In The

Oh! for the temperate airs that blow
Upon that darling of the sea,
Where neither sunshine, rain, nor snow,
For three days hold supremacy;
But ever-varying skies contend
The blessings of all climes to lend,
To make that tiny, wave-rocked isle,
In never-fading beauty smile.
England, oh England! for the breeze
That slowly stirs thy forest-trees!
Thy ferny brooks, thy mossy fountains,
Thy beechen woods, thy heathery mountains,
Thy lawny uplands, where the shadow
Of many a giant oak is sleeping;
The tangled copse, the sunny meadow,
Through which the summer rills run weeping.
Oh, land of flowers! while sinking here
Beneath the dog-star of the West,
The music of the waves I hear
That cradle thee upon their breast.
Fresh o'er thy rippling corn-fields fly
The wild-winged breezes of the sea,
While from thy smiling, summer sky,
The ripening sun looks tenderly.
And thou--to whom through all this heat
My parboiled thoughts will fondly turn,
Oh! in what "shady blest retreat"
Art thou ensconced, while here I burn?
Across the lawn, in the deep glade,
Where hand in hand we oft have strayed,
Or communed sweetly, side by side,
Hear'st thou the chiming ocean tide,
As gently on the pebbly beach
It lays its head, then ebbs away,
Or round the rocks, with nearer reach,
Throws up a cloud of silvery spray?
Or to the firry woods, that shed
Their spicy odours to the sun,
Goest thou with meditative tread,
Thinking of all things that are done
Beneath the sky?--a great, big thought,
Of which I know you're very fond.
For me, my mind is solely wrought
To this one wish:--O! in a pond
Would I were over head and ears!
(Of a cold ducking I've no fears)
Or any where, where I am not;
For, bless the heat! it is too hot!

(The end)
Fanny Kemble's poem: Fragment From An Epistle Written When The Thermometer Stood At 98 Degrees In The Shade

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An Apology An Apology

An Apology
Blame not my tears, love: to you has been given The brightest, best gift, God to mortals allows;The sunlight of hope on your heart shines from Heaven, And shines from your heart, on this life and its woes.Blame not my tears, love: on you her best treasure Kind nature has lavish'd, oh, long be it yours!For how barren soe'er be the path you now measure, The future still woos you with hands full of flowers.Oh, ne'er be that gift, love, withdrawn from thy keeping! The jewel of life, its strong spirit,

''tis An Old Tale And Often Told' "'tis An Old Tale And Often Told"

''tis An Old Tale And Often Told'
Are they indeed the bitterest tears we shed,Those we let fall over the silent dead?Can our thoughts image forth no darker doom,Than that which wraps us in the peaceful tomb?Whom have ye laid beneath that mossy grave,Round which the slender, sunny, grass-blades wave?Who are ye calling back to tread againThis weary walk of life? towards whom, in vain,Are your fond eyes and yearning hearts upraised;The young, the loved, the honoured, and the praised?Come hither;--look upon the faded cheekOf that still woman, who with eyelids meekVeils her most mournful eyes;--upon her browSometimes the sensitive blood will faintly glow,When reckless hands her heart-wounds