Ina D. Coolbrith Poems

J.F.B. Died April 29,1882

Forth from this low estate,
Fetterless now of fate,
...

Most lives lie more in the shadow, I think, than in the sun,
And the shadow from some is lifted only when life is done;
And so, though I wear mourning, I am glad at heart to know,
She rests in her still white slumber, under the Christmas snow.
...

Never a leaf is shorn
But the vine surely misses:
From ministering night-dew torn,
From the sun’s kisses;
...

As bright the dew upon the rose,
Though no eye sees its glisten;
As sweet the song the singer sings,
Though none may look nor listen.
...

Note to the brave on the battle-field
Alone, the palms of victory belong,
Nor only to the great of earth the song
Of praise and paean should the singer yield.
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Shall we count the reeds at our feet,
Or the fluttering, falling leaves?
Or number the golden sheaves
Of the ripening wheat?
...

Francis D’ Assisi, gentlest Saint of Saint’s,
Within his garden where the roses grew
That knew no thorn, slept from a weariness
Of overtoil, lulled by the the minstrelsy
...

The wind it bloweth a-cold, a-cold,
And the dreary Winter rain is falling;
And over the desolate, drenched wold
The sad sea-voice is calling:
...