Helen Gray Cone
Helen Gray Cone Poems
|42.||Sonnet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow||4/22/2010|
|47.||A Fairy Tale||4/22/2010|
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Though pent in stony streets, 'tis joy to know,
'Tis joy, although we breathe a fainter air,
The spirit of those places far and fair
That we have loved, abides; and fern-scents flow
Out of the wood's heart still, and shadows grow
Long on remembered roads as warm days wear;
And still the dark wild water, in its lair,
The narrow chasm, stirs blindly to and fro.
Delight is in the sea-gull's dancing wings,
And sunshine wakes to rose the ruddy hue
Of rocks; and from her tall wind-slanted stem
A soft bright plume the goldenrod outflings
Along the breeze, above...
A Fairy Tale
There stands by the wood-path shaded
A meek little beggar maid;
Close under her mantle faded
She is hidden like one afraid.
Yet if you but lifted lightly
That mantle of russet brown,
She would spring up slender and sightly,
In a smoke-blue silken gown.