Nathan Haskell Dole Poems

O’er the yellow crocus on the lawn
Floats a light white butterfly.
Breezes waft it! See, ’t is gone!
Duska, little soul, when didst thou die?
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Saturnian mother! why dost thou devour
Thy offspring, who by loving thee are curst?
Why must they fear thee who would fain be first
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Across the Bay are low-lying cliffs,
Where stand fishermen's cottages:
I can barely distinguish them with the naked eye.
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O, beautiful Vision of Peace,
Beam bright in the eyes of Man!
The host of the meek shall increase,
The Prophets are leading the van.
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Unflinching Dante of a later day,
Thou who hast wandered through the realms of pain
And seen with aching breast and whirling brain
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