Alfred W Arrington Poems

A brain that burns with its own heat,--
A heart that breaks at every beat,--
A wildering march of weary feet,
In search of what we may not meet,
...

Oh! the beautiful dreams which the angels of sleep
Shed in mercy o'er senses that wake but to weep;
...

Making early with the twilight
When the leaves of June are rife,
Let me forth incline to ponder
On the mysteries of life.
...