To William Butler Yeats
Tell us of beauty! Touch thy silver lyre
And bid thy Muse unfold her shining wings!
Tell us of joy—of those unaging things
Which wither not, nor are consumed of fire,
Things unto which the souls of all aspire!
Sing us the mystic song thine Erin sings,
Her poignant dreams, her weird imaginings,
With magic of thy "Land of Heart's Desire!"
Let others hate!—from lips not thine be hurled
Reproaches; since all hate at last must prove
Abortive, though it triumph for a while.
The gospels that indeed have won the world
Laid their foundations in the strength of love.
Sing thou, a lover, of thy wave-washed Isle!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Edmund Clarence Stedman
Life laid upon his forehead a caress,
And, smiling, gave him for his birthright dower,
Humor and judgment, passion, purpose, power,
And gifts of vision, pure and limitless:
Then—for she ever tempers man's success,
Nursing the canker in Earth's fairest flower—
She added pain; and taught him, hour by hour,
To know that only blessed which doth bless!
So, following the Gleam from early youth,
He lent a strengthening hand, and gave his heart,
And aided feet, less sure than his, to climb:
He sacrificed not others to his art,
But worshiped beauty with unselfish truth,
And lives, the well-beloved of his time!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Autumn
In her arms unconscious lying,
Cytherea's love is dying.
On the hill and in the valley,
Through the grove and sun-lit alley,
Drooping flower and fading leaf
Share her grief.
But in realms of gloom and night
Proserpina wreathes her hair,
And a gleam of tender light
Seems to pierce the darkness there:
"Ah!" she sighs, "I long have waited
With the calm of hopeless pain,
But to me, the sorrow-fated,
Comes the lost one back again!
Lovely things that seem to die
Hither now will quickly hie,
And to-morrow, in the gloom
Of this sad and sunless tomb,
Butterflies will lightly hover,
As o'er meadows fair;" she saith,
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When Christ was Born
On that divine all-hallowed morn
When Christ in Bethlehem was born,
How lone did Mary seem to be,
The kindly beasts for company!
Yet when she saw her infant's face—
Fair with the soul's unfading grace,
Softly she wept for love's excess,
For painless ease and happiness.
She pressed her treasure to her heart—
A lowly mother, set apart
In the dear way that mothers are,
And heaven seemed nigh, and earth afar:
And when grave kings in sumptuous guise
Adored her babe, she knew them wise;
For at his touch her sense grew dim—
So all her being worshiped him.
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Betrothal
Both your hands? . . . What mean they, dear?
I, unworthy,— dare I claim you?
Then, against the world, I hold you:
Mine—forever mine!
Men have waked from dreams of joy:
Teach me to believe this rapture!
Lift your eyes! O my beloved,
Let me read your heart!
Is it true? . . . Ah, me! those eyes!
How divinely kind!—how tender!
Doubt itself could not distrust them,
Or resist their light!
Dear, without you, I have been
Poorer than the humblest beggar
Who against your door at nightfall
Kneeling, asked for bread:
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
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Interchange
The oriole sang in the apple-tree;
The sick girl lay on her bed, and heard
The tremulous note of the glad wild bird;
And, "Ah!" she sighed, "to share with thee
Life's rapture exquisite and strong:
Its hope, its eager energy,
Its fragrance and its song!"
The oriole swayed in the apple-tree,
And he sang: "I will build, with my love, a nest,
Fine as e'er welcomed a birdling guest:
Like a pendent blossom, secure yet free,
It shall hang from the bough above me there,
Bright, bright with the gold that is combed for me
From the sick girl's auburn hair!"
Then he built the nest in the apple-tree;
And, burnished over, a ball of light,
It gleamed and shone in the sick girl's sight,
And she gazed upon it wonderingly:
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Brook Song: To the Spring
O beauty! vision of forgotten gladness!
Fulfillment of a dream that ne'er betrays!
O miracle of hope, and balm of sadness!
Creative ecstasy and fount of praise!
...........................................
I lay upon the ground and gave no token,
I hid my face mid sodden leaves and sere,
My languid pulses chill, my spirit broken,—
I knew not, O divine one! you were near;
For snows and frosts of winter, new-departed,
Still held my will in thrall and weighed me down;
And I forgot—forlorn and heavy-hearted—
Your promise, goddess of the violet crown!
But soft as music in remembrance sighing,
You fanned me with your wooing breath, and I,
Who shed no tears when lone I seemed and dying,
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Persephone
The wild bird's first exultant strain
Says,—"Winter is over—over!"
And spring returns to the wold again,
With breath as of lilac and clover.
With a certain soft, appealing grace
(Surely some sorrow hath kissed her!)
She gives to our vision her girlish face,
And we know how we've missed her—missed her!
For on a day she went away,
Long ere the leaves were falling,
And came no more for the whitethroat's lay,
Or the pewee's plaintive calling:
In tender tints on her broidered shoon
Blossomed the leaves of the myrtle,
And silky buds of the darling June
Were folded up in her kirtle;
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Return
Who knocks at the door so late, so late—
Who knocks so late at the door?
Is it one who comes as a stranger comes,
Or one who has knocked before?
Is it one who stays with intent to bless,
Or one who stands to implore?
My days have been as the years, she said,
And my heart, my heart is sore;
Love looked in my face for a moment's space
One happy spring of yore—
Looked in my face with a wistful grace:
And left me to grieve evermore!
Through all the days the door stood wide,
For hope had breathed a vow
That love should ne'er be kept outside.
The years were long and hope hath died;
The door at last is barred and fast—
Why comes this knocking now?
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
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A Ballad of a Drum
The Austrians at Arcola
(The fight had lasted long),
The Austrians at Arcola—
Some fifty thousand strong—
Assailed the bridge whereto the French
(A fourth their strength) had come,.[1]
With menace dire, and murderous fire;
Then fled before a drum!
For Estienne at Arcola—
Heroic little lad!—
Seeing the carnage on the bridge,
With soul grown sick and sad,
Had sworn that he, at least, would pass
Beyond the sanguine tide,
And beat his drum, whate'er should come,
Upon the farther side.
So Estienne at Arcola—
No fear had he to die!—
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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