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Denis Florence MacCarthy
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 200 pages of information about Poems.

Her gracious smile dispels the gloom
  Of many a love-sick girl and boy;
Her very presence in a room
  Doth fill the languid air with joy.

Her breath is like a fragrant tune,
  She is the soul of every spot;
Gives nature to the rich saloon,
  And splendour to the peasant’s cot.

Her mission is to calm and soothe,
  And purely glad life’s every stage;
Her garlands grace the brow of youth,
  And hide the hollow lines of age.

But to the poet she belongs,
  By immemorial ties of love;—­
Herself a folded book of songs,
  Dropp’d from the angel’s hands above.

Then come and make his heart thy home,
  For thee it opes, for thee it glows;—­
Type of ideal beauty, come! 
  Wonder of Nature! queenly Rose!

THE BATH OF THE STREAMS.

Down unto the ocean,
Trembling with emotion,
Panting at the notion,
  See the rivers run—­
In the golden weather,
Tripping o’er the heather,
Laughing all together—­
  Madcaps every one.

Like a troop of girls
In their loosen’d curls,
See, the concourse whirls
  Onward wild with glee;
List their tuneful tattle,
Hear their pretty prattle,
How they’ll love to battle
  With the assailing sea.

See, the winds pursue them,
See, the willows woo them
See, the lakelets view them
  Wistfully afar,
With a wistful wonder
Down the green slopes under,
Wishing, too, to thunder
  O’er their prison bar.

Wishing, too, to wander
By the sea-waves yonder,
There awhile to squander
  All their silvery stores,
There awhile forgetting
All their vain regretting
When their foam went fretting
  Round the rippling shores.

Round the rocky region,
Whence their prison’d legion,
Oft and oft besieging,
  Vainly sought to break,
Vainly sought to throw them
O’er the vales below them,
Through the clefts that show them
  Paths they dare not take.

But the swift streams speed them
In the might of freedom,
Down the paths that lead them
  Joyously along. 
Blinding green recesses
With their floating tresses,
Charming wildernesses
  With their murmuring song.

Now the streams are gliding
With a sweet abiding—­
Now the streams are hiding
  ’Mid the whispering reeds—­
Now the streams outglancing
With a shy advancing
Naiad-like go dancing
  Down the golden meads.

Down the golden meadows,
Chasing their own shadows—­
Down the golden meadows,
  Playing as they run: 
Playing with the sedges,
By the water’s edges,
Leaping o’er the ledges,
  Glist’ning in the sun: 

Streams and streamlets blending,
Each on each attending,
All together wending,
  Seek the silver sands;
Like the sisters holding
With a fond enfolding—­
Like to sisters holding
  One another’s hands.

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