1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Fortunate One
DE her ashen hearth she sate her down, Whence he she loved had fled,—His children plucking at her sombre gown And calling for the dead.
One came to her clad in the robes of May, And said sweet words of cheer,
Bidding her bear the burden in God’s way, And feel her loved ones near.
And she who spake thus would have given, thrice blest, Long lives of happy years, To clasp his children to a mother’s breast, And weep his widow’s tears.
Harriet Monroe
Harriet Monroe (December 23, 1860 – September 26, 1936) was an American editor, scholar, literary critic, poet, and patron of the arts. She was
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Two Capitals—1910
White Moscow of the pearly towers, And golden domes for praise, And chiming hours Red Moscow of the Kremlin walls,
Washington
Oh, hero of our younger race Great builder of a temple new Ruler, who sought no lordly place Warrior who sheathed the sword he drew
Titanic Requiem
Sleep softly in your ocean bed, You who could grandly die Our fathers, who at Shiloh bled, Accept your company
The Night-Blooming Cereus
ER of the moon Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago; Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid,
