Old St. David's

"What an image of peace and rest." — Longfellow

In Radnor Valley, from the world apart,
The little Church stands peaceful as of old,
Guarding her memories, yet half untold,
Deep in the silent places of her heart.

Life comes, and passes by her, as it wills;
But musing on loved things evanishèd,
She keeps the generations of the dead,—
Herself unchanged amid her beauteous hills:

Unchanged, though full of change her days have been,
Since builded here, ere Washington was born,
She seemed the home of exiled hearts forlorn—
The open portal to hope's fair demesne.

Close as the ivy that adorns her walls,
So grateful thoughts have twined themselves and clung
About this lowly sanctuary, sprung

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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To England

We are not twain, but one: though seas divide us—
The children of the English-speaking race—
This nothing now can change: whate'er betide us,
This is our birthright grace.

The tongue that holds our earliest recollection,
Whose accents moved us like a fond caress—
The tongue in which we lisped our first affection,
Must still attach and bless.

America and England knit together—
Offspring of one great Mother, Sister Lands—
Fear neither frowning fate nor boding weather,
When close are joined their hands.

Beneath the ocean-billow sways the cable
That gives them instant knowledge, each of each,
And were it sunk, their hearts would still be able
To find a way of speech.

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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!