Jones Very Poems

I gazed upon thy face--and beating life,
Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast
And every thought whose being was a strife
...

Still, still my eye will gaze long fixed on thee,
Till I forget that I am called a man,
And at thy side fast-rooted seem to be,
And the breeze comes my cheek with thine to fan.
...

Fleeting years are ever bearing
In their silent course away
All that in our pleasures sharing
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Thy beauty fades and with it too my love,
For 'twas the self-same stalk that bore its flower;
Soft fell the rain, and breaking from above
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There is no worship now,—the idol stands
Within the spirit's holy resting place!
Millions before it bend with upraised hands,
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Poet's hand has placed thee there,
Autumn's brown and withered scroll!
Though to outward eye not fair,
Thou hast beauty for the soul,
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Soon the waves so lightly bounding
All forget the tempest blast;
Soon the pines so sadly sounding
Cease to mourn the storm that's past.
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THE eagles gather on the place of death
So thick the ground is spotted with their wings,
The air is tainted with the noisome breath
The wind from off the field of slaughter brings;
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The light will never open sightless eyes,
It comes to those who willingly would see;
And every object,—hill, and stream, and skies,—
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I cannot hear thy voice with other’s ears,
Who make of thy lost liberty a gain;
And in thy tale of blighted hopes and fears
...