Helen Gray Cone Poems

When the charm at last is fled
From the woodland stark and pale,
And like shades of glad hours dead
Whirl the leaves before the gale:
...

Life's House being ready all,
Each chamber fair and dumb,
Ere life, the Lord, is come
...

'There needs no crown to mark the forest's king.'
Thus, long ago thou sang'st the sound-heart tree
Sacred to sovereign Jove, and dear to thee
...

'Faces, faces, faces of the streaming marching surge,
Streaming on the weary road, toward the awful steep,
...

The eastern heaven was all faint amethyst,
Whereon the moon hung dreaming in the mist;
To north yet drifted one long delicate plume
...

Mine enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight;
But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite:
...

One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world's fight,
Deserter from the host of God, that here
Still darkly struggles,-waked from death in fear,
...

Into what beech or silvern birch, O friend
Suspected ever of a dryad strain,
Hast crept at last, delighting to regain
...

The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church;
A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch.
...

'T was a pleasant Sunday morning while the spring was in its glory,
English spring of gentle glory; smoking by his cottage door,
...