Maria White Lowell Poems

SOFT hangs the opiate in the brain,
And lulling soothes the edge of pain,
Till harshest sound, far off or near,
...

We wreathed about our darling's head
The morning-glory bright;
Her little face looked out beneath
So full of life and light,
...

Here blooms the legend fed with time and chance,
Fresh as the morning, though in centuries old;
The whitest lily in the shield of France,
...

O BIRD, thou dartest to the sun,
When morning beams first spring,
And I, like thee, would swiftly run;
As sweetly would I sing.
...