Albert Laighton Poems

Though the sexton, grim and old,
Turns the mould.
Damp and cold.
In the churchyard, for the bed
...

The days are growing longer now;
On yonder elm-tree's topmost bough,
On the gilded cross that crowns the spire,
...

I wandered alone beside the stream;
The tide was out and the sands were bare;
The tremulous tone of the sea-bird's scream
...

I wearied of the stormy hours,
And shaped my song to murmuring words;
I longed to hear the song of birds
...

Dear, lovely flower, whose fragrant lips unclose
To breathe a benediction to the Spring,
Soon as the blue-bird and the robin sing;
...

Oft have I walked these woodland paths,
Without the blessed foreknowing
That underneath the withered leaves
...

After the twilight dies,
In the distance vague and dim,
While Hesperus still like a jewel lies
On the dark horizon's rim,
...

Grand in his dreamless sleep our Admiral lies,
The brave heart still, so fondly loved and blest;
...

Come forth, beloved, to the night
What though no stars are in the skies
Enough for me the loving light
...

Found dead! dead and alone!
There was nobody near, nobody near
When the Outcast died on his pillow of stone
...