Thomas Bailey Aldrich ( 10 of 31 )
Night is a stealthy, evil Raven,
Wrapt to the eyes in his black wings.
Night is a stealthy, evil Raven,
Wrapt to the eyes in his black wings.
In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.
In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.
Only the sea intoning,
Only the wainscot-mouse,
Only the wild wind moaning
Over the read more
Only the sea intoning,
Only the wainscot-mouse,
Only the wild wind moaning
Over the lonely house.
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and read more
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,
Which she will make when summer comes again--
Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings.
Good night! I have to say good night,
To such a host of peerless things!
Good night! I have to say good night,
To such a host of peerless things!
Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant.
Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant.
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's read more
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.
But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait
At the portcullis, at thy castle gate,
Longing read more
But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait
At the portcullis, at thy castle gate,
Longing to see the charmed door of dreams
Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!
When friends are at your hearthside met,
Sweet courtesy has done its most
If you have made read more
When friends are at your hearthside met,
Sweet courtesy has done its most
If you have made each guest forget
That he himself is not the host.
Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.
Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.
