Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and
yellow light, over the tops of houses, and down into the
clefts of streets.
These and all else, were to me the same as they are to you;
I project myself a moment to tell you--also I return.
[Footnote 86: Was born in New York in 1819, and has been printer,
teacher, and later, an official at Washington. His poetry, though
irregular in form, and often coarse in sentiment, is decidedly original
and vigorous.]
* * * * *
=_Amelia B. Welby, 1819-1852._= (Manual, p. 523.)
=_402._= "THE BEREAVED."
It is a still and lovely spot
Where they have laid thee down to rest;
The white rose and forget-me-not
Bloom sweetly on thy breast,
And birds and streams with liquid lull
Have made the stillness beautiful.
And softly through the forest bars
Light, lovely shapes, on glossy plumes,
Float ever in, like winged stars,
Amid the purpling glooms.
Their sweet songs, borne from tree to tree,
Thrill the light leaves with melody.
Alas! too deep a weight of thought
Had filled thy heart in youth's sweet hour;
It seemed with love and bliss o'erfraught;
As fleeting passion-flower
Unfolding 'neath a southern sky,
To blossom soon, and soon to die.
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