Henry Meade Bland

Henry Meade Bland Poems

This was the place wherein the singer tuned
His harp and listening, caught the immortal strain.
...

Caught in a surge of life, with all my might
I deeply loved; and my reward is this:
That I have learned what is the beautiful
...

He lighted his keen, sure-working brain
As an engine is fired; and, starred and arrayed,
He sped in joy to the surging main,
...

Love brings the blush into the fair wild rose,
And paints the white upon the heron's plume;
And flings into wild dream the prophet's prose,
...

5.

The wind and the night and the stormy sea,
And I am one with the mighty three!
For the storm in my brain is sighing ever;
...

Our white-winged ship is sailing, sailing
Into the mild sea-calm of the past;
And the twilight stars are flashing, paling,
...

I am fire and dew and sunshine,
I am mist on the foamy wave,
I'm the rippling note from the field-lark;s throat,
I'm the jewel hid in the cave.
...

On Shasta's brow the thunder sleeps;
But, with the lightning's blazing rod
That burns o'er Lassen's fiery steeps,
...

With a sign for the unknown land fevering his brain,
With a pulse as strong as the engine-beat on the rail;
...

The Best Poem Of Henry Meade Bland

432 South Eighth

This was the place wherein the singer tuned
His harp and listening, caught the immortal strain.
Here under the sylvan shade the wild refrain,
A sorrow song of killing toil, he runed;
And with a loving pity he communed
Until his soul was touched with lyric pain
That brought an endless yearning to his brain
To heal for time the aching human wound.

Yes, guard with love the sacred precinct well
That homed the dreamer when he played the part,
And through the years, with fervent fancy, tell
The magic tale wrought by the mighty art,—
His art which, as a long Pacific swell,
Conquers the deep-set granite of the heart.

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