Henry Abbey

(11 July 1842 - 7 June 1911 / Kingston, NY)

Henry Abbey Poems

1. The Storm 4/26/2012
2. While The Days Go By 4/26/2012
3. The Singer's Alms 4/26/2012
4. The Roman Sentinal 4/26/2012
5. Winter Days 9/21/2010
6. To Baffle Time 4/26/2012
7. Trailing Arbutus 4/26/2012
8. What Do We Plant? 9/21/2010
9. Fanciebat 4/26/2012
10. The Sunken City 4/26/2012
11. The French Marshall 4/26/2012
12. Bellerophon 4/26/2012
13. The Picture 4/26/2012
14. Science And The Soul 4/26/2012
15. Eleusinia 4/26/2012
16. Emmanuel 4/26/2012
17. The Fisher-Maidens 4/26/2012
18. Flos Morti 4/26/2012
19. The Troubadour 4/26/2012
20. The Patriot's Courage 4/26/2012
21. The Long Regret 4/26/2012
22. Moro 4/26/2012
23. By Hudson's Tide 4/26/2012
24. To A Blue Hepatica 4/26/2012
25. The Age Of Good 4/26/2012
26. The Bedouin's Rebuke 4/26/2012
27. Faith’s Vista 9/21/2010
28. Agnes Hatot 4/26/2012
29. Ontiora 4/26/2012
30. In Memory Of General Grant 9/21/2010
31. The King And The Naiad 4/26/2012
32. The Statue 4/26/2012
33. Donald 9/21/2010
34. Invocation To The Sun 4/26/2012
35. Mary Magdalene 4/26/2012
36. Low Tide 4/26/2012
37. The Drawbridge Keeper 4/26/2012
38. On A Great Warrior 9/21/2010
39. Autumn Ballad 4/26/2012
40. Along The Nile 4/26/2012
Best Poem of Henry Abbey

Along The Nile

To G. W. C.
We journey up the storied Nile;
The timeless water seems to smile;
The slow and swarthy boatman sings;
The dahabëah spreads her wings;
We catch the breeze and sail away,
Along the dawning of the day,
Along the East, wherein the morn
Of life and truth was gladly born.

We sail along the past, and see
Great Thebes with Karnak at her knee.
To Isis and Osiris rise
The prayers and smoke of sacrifice.
'Mid rites of priests and pomp of kings
Again the seated Memnon sings.
We watch the palms along the shore,
And dream of what is here no ...

Read the full of Along The Nile

Donald

O white, white, light moon, that sailest in the sky,
Look down upon the whirling world, for thou art up so high,
And tell me where my Donald is who sailed across the sea,
And make a path of silver light to lead him back to me.
O white, white, bright moon, thy cheek is coldly fair;

A little cloud beside thee seems thy wildly floating hair;
And if thou wouldst not have me wan, and pale, and cold like thee,
Go, make a mighty tide to draw my Donald back to me.

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