Jones Very

(28 August 1813 – 8 May 1880 / Salem, Massachusetts)

Jones Very Poems

41. He Was Acquainted With Grief 4/21/2010
42. The Latter Rain 1/1/2004
43. The Fair Morning 1/1/2004
44. Bread 4/21/2010
45. The Acorn 4/21/2010
46. The Slave 4/21/2010
47. To The Fossil Flower 4/21/2010
48. The Ark 4/21/2010
49. In Him We Live 4/21/2010
50. Day 4/21/2010
51. The Canary Bird 4/21/2010
52. Morning 4/21/2010
53. The Clouded Morning 1/1/2004
54. The Eagles 1/1/2004
55. Memory 4/21/2010
56. Worship 4/21/2010
57. Thy Beauty Fades 4/21/2010
58. Ehue! Fugaces, Posthume, Labuntur Anni 4/21/2010
59. Beauty 4/21/2010
60. The Columbine 1/1/2004
61. The Light From Within 4/21/2010
62. The Rail Road 4/21/2010
63. Change 4/21/2010
64. How Many Of The Body's Health Complain, 1/1/2004
65. The New Man 1/1/2004
66. The New Birth 1/1/2004
67. The Violet 4/21/2010
68. Faith 4/21/2010
69. Psyche 1/1/2004
70. Lines To A Withered Leaf Seen On A Poet's Table 4/21/2010
71. He Gave Me No Meat 4/21/2010
72. The Song 1/1/2004
73. Love 4/21/2010
74. Soul-Sickness 4/21/2010
75. I Was Sick And In Prison 4/21/2010
76. The Barberry-Bush 4/21/2010
77. The Dead 1/1/2004
78. Thy Better Self 1/1/2004
79. Enoch 1/1/2004
80. Nature 1/1/2004

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Best Poem of Jones Very

Life

IT is not life upon Thy gifts to live,
But, to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee;
And when the sun and shower their bounties give,
To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tree,
Whose green head meets the eye for many a mile,
Whose moss-grown arms their rigid branches rear,
And full-faced fruits their blushing welcome smile
As to its goodly shade our feet draw near;
Who tastes its gifts shall never hunger more,
For 'tis the Father spreads the pure repast,
Who, while we eat, renews the ready store,
Which at his bounteous board must ever last; ...

Read the full of Life

The Clouded Morning

The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail,
Hanging like curtains all the horizon round,
Or overhead in heavy stillness sail;
So still is day, it seems like night profound;
Scarce by the city's din the air is stirred,
And dull and deadened comes its every sound;
The cock's shrill, piercing voice subdued is heard,
By the thick folds of muffling vapors drowned.
Dissolved in mists the hills and trees appear,

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