Ada Cambridge

Ye, that the untrod paths have braved, With heart and brain unbound;
Who ask not that your souls be saved, But that the Truth be found;
Whose fiery cross is borne unseen,
Whose meek brows, bleeding but serene With only thorns are cr...

Me let the world disparage and despise — As one unfettered with its gilded chains,
As one untempted by its sordid gains,
Its pleasant vice, its profitable lies;
Let Justice, blind and halt and maimed, chastise The rebel spirit surgi...

Bright eyes, sweet lips, with many fevers fill The young blood, running wildly, as it must;
But lips and eyes beget a strange distrust
Electric fingers send the sudden thrill Through senses unsubservient to the will;
The flames die ...

See those resplendent creatures, as they glide O'er scarlet carpet, between footmen tall,
From sumptuous carriage to effulgent hall— A dazzling vision in their pomp and pride
See that choice supper—needless—cast aside— Though worth a tho...

How calm the spangled city spread below
How cool the night
How fair the starry skies
How sweet the dewy breezes

Earth, outward tuning on her path in space This pensive southern face, Swathing its smile and shine In that soft veil that day and darkness twine,
The silver-threaded twilight thin and fine, With April dews impearled,
Looms like another ...

Through jewelled windows in the walls     The tender daylight smiles;
Majestic music swells and falls     Adown the stately aisles;
Shadows of carven roof and rood,
Of stony saints and angels, brood     Above the altar-glow;

Good-bye
— 'tis like a churchyard bell — good-bye
Poor weeping eyes
Poor head, bowed down with woe

Numb, half asleep, and dazed with whirl of wheels,
And gasp of steam, and measured clank of chains,
I heard a blithe voice break a sudden pause,
Ringing familiarly through the lamp-lit night, "Wife, here's your Venice

"On board the Petrel, in St
Lucia's bay,
Of yellow fever—aged twenty-nine
" "Who did you say, my lady

An old house, crumbling half away, all barnacled and lichen-grown,
Of saddest, mellowest, softest grey,—with a grand history of its own— Grand with the work and strife and tears of more than half a thousand years
Such delicate, tender, r...

And is the great cause lost beyond recall
Have all the hopes of ages come to naught
Is life no more with noble meaning fraught
Is life but death, and love its funeral pall