Jones Very

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

Jones Very Poems

41. On Visiting The Graves Of Hawthorne And Thoreau 4/21/2010
42. He Was Acquainted With Grief 4/21/2010
43. The Latter Rain 1/1/2004
44. The Fair Morning 1/1/2004
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. Lines To A Withered Leaf Seen On A Poet's Table 4/21/2010
57. Worship 4/21/2010
58. Thy Beauty Fades 4/21/2010
59. Ehue! Fugaces, Posthume, Labuntur Anni 4/21/2010
60. The Columbine 1/1/2004
61. Beauty 4/21/2010
62. The Rail Road 4/21/2010
63. Change 4/21/2010
64. The Song 1/1/2004
65. How Many Of The Body's Health Complain, 1/1/2004
66. The New Man 1/1/2004
67. The New Birth 1/1/2004
68. The Violet 4/21/2010
69. Faith 4/21/2010
70. Psyche 1/1/2004
71. He Gave Me No Meat 4/21/2010
72. Bread 4/21/2010
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. Life 1/1/2004

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Best Poem of Jones Very

Nature

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by,
Because my feet find measure with its call;
The birds know when the friend they love is nigh,
For I am known to them, both great and small.
The flower that on the lonely hillside grows
Expects me there when spring its bloom has given;
And many a tree and bush my wanderings knows,
And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven;
For he who with his Maker walks aright,
Shall be their lord as Adam was before;
His ear shall catch each sound with new delight,
Each object wear the dress that then it wore;
And...

Read the full of Nature

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,