Poems eBook

Denis Florence MacCarthy
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 281 pages of information about Poems.

  Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,
    Sighing for the May—­
Sighing for their sure returning,
When the summer beams are burning,
  Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying,
    All the winter lay. 
  Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,
    Sighing for the May.

  Ah! my heart is pained and throbbing,
    Throbbing for the May—­
Throbbing for the sea-side billows,
Or the water-wooing willows,
  Where in laughing and in sobbing
    Glide the streams away. 
  Ah! my heart is pained and throbbing,
    Throbbing for the May.

  Waiting sad, dejected, weary,
    Waiting for the May. 
Spring goes by with wasted warnings,
Moon-lit evenings, sun-bright mornings;
  Summer comes, yet dark and dreary
    Life still ebbs away: 
  Man is ever weary, weary,
    Waiting for the May!


When I wander by the ocean,
When I view its wild commotion,
Then the spirit of devotion
  Cometh near;
And it fills my brain and bosom,
  Like a fear!

I fear its booming thunder,
Its terror and its wonder,
Its icy waves, that sunder
  Heart from heart;
And the white host that lies under
  Makes me start.

Its clashing and its clangour
Proclaim the Godhead’s anger—­
I shudder, and with langour
  Turn away;
No joyance fills my bosom
  For that day.

When I wander through the valleys,
When the evening zephyr dallies,
And the light expiring rallies
  In the stream,
That spirit comes and glads me,
  Like a dream.

The blue smoke upward curling,
The silver streamlet purling,
The meadow wildflowers furling
  Their leaflets to repose: 
All woo me from the world
  And its woes.

The evening bell that bringeth
A truce to toil outringeth,
No sweetest bird that singeth
  Half so sweet,
Not even the lark that springeth
  From my feet.

Then see I God beside me,
The sheltering trees that hide me,
The mountains that divide me
  From the sea: 
All prove how kind a Father
  He can be.

Beneath the sweet moon shining
The cattle are reclining,
No murmur of repining
  Soundeth sad: 
All feel the present Godhead,
  And are glad.

With mute, unvoiced confessings,
To the Giver of all blessings
I kneel, and with caressings
  Press the sod,
And thank my Lord and Father,
  And my God.


The different hues that deck the earth
All in our bosoms have their birth;
’Tis not in the blue or sunny skies,
’Tis in the heart the summer lies! 
The earth is bright if that be glad,
Dark is the earth if that be sad: 
And thus I feel each weary day—­
’Tis winter all when thou’rt away!

Project Gutenberg
Poems from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
Follow Us on Facebook