The Poems of H. C. Bunner

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C. Scribner's Sons, 1897 - 253 страница
 

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Страница 61 - The birds singing gayly, that came at my call, — Give me them, — and the peace of mind, dearer than all! Home, Home, sweet, sweet Home! There's no place like Home!
Страница 60 - MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
Страница 198 - And he found her with his Three. Then she covered her face with her fingers, That were wrinkled and white and wee, And she guessed where the boy was hiding, With a One and a Two and a Three. And they never had stirred from their places, Right under the...
Страница 6 - But only Love, may lead Love in To Arcady, to Arcady. Ah, woe is me, through all my days Wisdom and wealth I both have got. And fame and name, and great men's praise; But Love, ah Love! I have it not. There was a time, when life was new — But far away, and half forgot — I only know her eyes were blue; But Love — I fear I knew it not. We did not wed, for lack of gold, And she is dead, and I am old. All things have come since then to me. Save Love, ah Love ! and Arcady.
Страница 198 - But he still had Two and Three. "You are up in papa's big bedroom, In the chest with the queer old key!
Страница 197 - ONE, TWO, THREE!" IT was an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy that was half-past three; And the way that they played together Was beautiful to see. She couldn't go running and jumping, And the boy, no more could he; For he was a thin little fellow, With a thin little twisted knee. They sat in the yellow sunlight, Out under the maple tree; And the game that they played I'll tell you, Just as it was told to me. It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing, Though you'd never have known it to be — With...
Страница 35 - A PITCHER OF MIGNONETTE" A PITCHER of mignonette In a tenement's highest casement, — Queer sort of flower-pot — yet That pitcher of mignonette Is a garden in heaven set, To the little sick child in the basement— The pitcher of mignonette, In the tenement's highest casement.
Страница 4 - I'll brim it well with pieces red, If you will tell the way to tread. Oh, I am bound for Arcady, And if you but keep pace with me You tread the way to Arcady.
Страница iii - A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

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