India
Silent amidst unbroken silence deep
Of dateless years, in loneliness supreme,
She pondered patiently one mighty theme,
And let the hours, uncounted, by her creep.
The motionless Himalayas, the broad sweep
Of glacial cataracts, great Ganges’ stream—
All these to her were but as things that seem,
Doomed all to pass, like phantoms viewed in sleep.
Her history? She has none—scarce a name.
The life she lived is lost in the profound
Of time, which she despised; but nothing mars
The memory that, single, gives her fame—
She dreamed eternal dreams, and from the ground
Still raised her yearning vision to the stars.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Morning
I woke and heard the thrushes sing at dawn,—
A strangely blissful burst of melody,
A chant of rare, exultant certainty,
Fragrant, as springtime breaths, of wood and lawn.
Night's eastern curtains still were closely drawn;
No roseate flush predicted pomps to be,
Or spoke of morning loveliness to me,
But, for those happy birds, the night was gone!
Darkling they sang, nor guessed what care consumes
Man's questioning spirit; heedless of decay,
They sang of joy and dew-embalmèd blooms.
My doubts grew still, doubts seemed so poor while they,
Sweet worshipers of light, from leafy glooms
Poured forth transporting prophecies of day.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Chrysanthemum
A Rose-tree, all ablush with opening flowers,
Just nodded to the heliotrope and pink,
Greeted the lilies by the fountain's brink
And curtseyed toward the jasmine's star-wreathed bowers.
She then perceived a plant which, in the hours
Since May-time blossoms blew and bobolink
Sang blithely, constant grew, yet seemed to drink
No beauty from spring sun or summer showers.
Scornful, she tossed her head, but soothingly
Dame Nature to the plant dishonored said:
"Time conquereth
The proud. Yon rose her petaled pomps shall see
Torn rudely by the Frost-King's icy breath,
When life luxuriant shall throb in thee,
And blossom in the very midst of death!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Limitation
As when the imperial bird, wide-circling, soars
From his lonely eyrie, towered above the seas
That wash the wild and rugged Hebrides,
A force which he unconsciously adores
Bounds the majestic flight that heaven explores,
And droops his haughty wing; as when the breeze
Tempts to o'erleap their changeless boundaries
The waves that tumble foaming to those shores;
So thou, my soul! impatient of restriction,
With deathless hopes and longings all aglow,
Aspirest still, and still the stern prediction
Stays thee, as them,—"No further shalt thou go!"
But, ah! the eagle feels not thine affliction,
Nor can the broken waves thy disappointment know.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
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Columbus
Viceroy they made him, Admiral and Don,
Wishing—good King and Queen!—to honor
him
Whose deeds should make all like distinctions
dim.
Columbus! Other title needs he none.
And they—in wisdom more than kingship
blest—
Go down to future days, remembered best
For service rendered to that lowly one.
Columbus! With proud love, yet reverently,
Pronounce that name,—the name of one who
heard
A word of life, and, answering that word,
Braved death, unfearing, on the Shadowy Sea;
Who—seeking land not known to any chart,
That land by faith deep graven on his heart—
Found justice, truth, and human liberty!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
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Before the Hour
Untimely blossom! Poor, impatient thing,
That, starting rashly from the sheltering mould,
Bravest the peevish wind and sullen cold,
Mistaking thine own ardors for the spring,—
Thou to my heart a memory dost bring
Of hopes once fair like thee, like thee too bold
To breathe their fragrance, and their flowers un-
fold,
That droop'd, of wintry rigors languishing.
Nor birds, nor bees, nor waters murmuring low,
Nor breezes blown from dewy Arcady,
Found they,—earth's welcome waiting to be-
stow;
Yet sweet, they felt, sweeter than dreams, would be
The summer they had sought too soon to know,—
The summer they should never live to see!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
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Didst Thou Rejoice?
Didst thou rejoice because the day was fair,—
Because, in orient splendor newly dressed,
On flowering glebe and bloomless mountain-crest
The sun complacent smiled? Ah! didst thou
dare
The careless rapture of that bird to share
Which, soaring toward the dawn from dewy nest,
Hailed it with song? From Ocean's treacherous
breast
Didst borrow the repose mild-mirrored there?
Thou foolish heart! Behold! the light is spent;
Rude thunders shake the crags; songs timorous
cease;
Lo! with what moan and mutinous lament
Ocean his pent-up passions doth release!
O thou who seekest sure and fixed content,
Search in thy soul: there find some source of
peace.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
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A Descant
When Spring comes tripping o'er the lea
And grasses start to meet her,
The bluebird sings
With quivering wings
Brief rhapsodies to greet her,
And deems—fond minstrel!—none may be,
The wide world over, blithe as he.
And where the brooklet tinkles by,
And the faery snowdrop dances,
And windflowers frail
And bloodroots pale
Lift up appealing glances,
The flute-voiced meadow-lark on high
Sings, "None on earth is glad as I!"
Laughs Corydon, "Your hearts are bold,
Yet little ye can measure,
Poor, silly birds,
Spring's sweetest words,
[...] Read more
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
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The Ideal
"Not the treasures is it that have awakened in me so unspeakable a desire, but the Blue Flower is what I long to behold." — Novalis.
Something I may not win attracts me ever,—
Something elusive, yet supremely fair,
Thrills me with gladness, but contents me never,
Fills me with sadness, yet forbids despair.
It blossoms just beyond the paths I follow,
It shines beyond the farthest stars I see,
It echoes faint from ocean caverns hollow,
And from the land of dreams it beckons me.
It calls, and all my best, with joyful feeling,
Essays to reach it as I make reply;
I feel its sweetness o'er my spirit stealing,
Yet know ere I attain it I must die!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Through the Rushes
Through the rushes by the river
Runs a drowsy tremor sweet,
And the waters stir and shiver
In the darkness at their feet;
From the sombre east up-stealing,
Gradual, with slow revealing,
Comes the dawn, and with a sigh,
Night goes by.
Here and there, to mildest wooing,
Folded buds are open blown;
And the drops their leaves bedewing,
Like to seed-pearls thickly sown,
Sinking, with the blessing olden,
Deep into each calyx golden,
A supreme behest obey,
Then melt away.
And while robes of splendor trailing,
Fitly deck the glowing morn,
[...] Read more
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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