Edith Matilda Thomas Poems

Apple-green west and an orange bar,
And the crystal eye of a lone, one star . . .
And, "Child, take the shears and cut what you will,
Frost to-night -- so clear and dead-still."
...

Threading a darksome passage all alone,
The taper's flame, by envious current blown,
Crouched low, and eddied round, as in affright,
So challenged by the vast and hostile night,
...

I know it must be winter (though I sleep) --
I know it must be winter, for I dream
I dip my bare feet in the running stream,
And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep.
...

You ask me for a tale of Halloween?
'Tis well. I lately read a treasure tome
Within whose legend-haunted lone demesne
The free, wild Fancy finds herself at home.
...

Oh, the glance of the dew! Oh, the flame of the rose springing forth of the thorn!
Oh, the song of the arrow-marked finch singing love in the front of the morn!
...

THE battle-smoke still fouled the day,
With bright disaster flaming through;
Unchecked, absorbed, she held her way—
The whispering death still past her flew.
...

She was so little—little in her grave,
The wide earth all around so hard and cold—
She was so little! therefore did I crave
My arms might still her tender form enfold.
...

Pluck me yon rose, but say not, '‘T will not last!'
Or that 'To-morrow’s rose may be more sweet.'
Say not, the darling bird I hear, will fleet
When its green summer home yields to the blast.
...

I heard the New Year whisper, passing by,
'I am the Old Year, and did never die.

'As phenix bird, that from the sunset springs,
Next in the East replumes his wondrous wings,
...

Oh, mystery of the morning gloam,
Of haunted air, of windless hush!
Oh, wonder of the deepening dome-
Afar, still far, the morning's flush!
...