قراءة كتاب Three Unpublished Poems
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
And the silver lock of my father's hair.
PICTURE OF "FRUITLANDS" The old house where Bronson Alcott and the English Mystics tried to found a community somewhat after the order of Brook Farm in 1843. Emerson backed the scheme. The house is open to the public Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday afternoons during the summer.FOOTNOTE:
[A] This was true of him in his early youth.
TO PAPA
In high Olympus' sacred shade
A gift Minerva wrought
For her beloved philosopher
Immersed in deepest thought.
A gift Minerva wrought
For her beloved philosopher
Immersed in deepest thought.
A shield to guard his aged breast
With its enchanted mesh
When he his nectar and ambrosia took
To strengthen and refresh.
With its enchanted mesh
When he his nectar and ambrosia took
To strengthen and refresh.
Long may he live to use the life
The hidden goddess gave,
To keep unspotted to the end
The gentle, just, and brave.
The hidden goddess gave,
To keep unspotted to the end
The gentle, just, and brave.
| December, 1887. | Louisa M. Alcott. |
Before closing, another unpublished poem is added to the foregoing ones. It was written by Louise Chandler Moulton upon hearing of the death of Louisa Alcott, and is in the Fruitlands collection.
Louisa M. Alcott
IN MEMORIAM
As the wind at play with a spark
Of fire that glows through the night;
As the speed of the soaring lark
That wings to the sky his flight—
So swiftly thy soul has sped
In its upward wonderful way,
Like the lark when the dawn is red,
In search of the shining day.
Thou art not with the frozen dead
Whom earth in the earth we lay,
While the bearers softly tread,
And the mourners kneel and pray;
From thy semblance, dumb and stark,
The soul has taken its flight—
Out of the finite dark,
Into the infinite Light.
Of fire that glows through the night;
As the speed of the soaring lark
That wings to the sky his flight—
So swiftly thy soul has sped
In its upward wonderful way,
Like the lark when the dawn is red,
In search of the shining day.
Thou art not with the frozen dead
Whom earth in the earth we lay,
While the bearers softly tread,
And the mourners kneel and pray;
From thy semblance, dumb and stark,
The soul has taken its flight—
Out of the finite dark,
Into the infinite Light.
Old letters and old poems from the pen of some well-known author of the past that are found in unexpected places, or come
