Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley door pickup 10am - 7pm 3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
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  • Open Daily: 10am - 10pm
    Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm

    3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
    612-822-4611

Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm
3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611
Verses of a Prose-Writer

Verses of a Prose-Writer

Noble, James Ashcroft

Paperback

General World History

Currently unavailable to order

ISBN10: 1151410314
ISBN13: 9781151410313
Publisher: General Books
Pages: 56
Weight: 0.21
Height: 0.13 Width: 9.01 Depth: 5.98
Language: English
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1887 edition. Excerpt: ... AN INVITATION Come when Spring touches with gentle ringer The snows that linger Among the hills; When to our homestead return the swallows, And in the hollows Bloom daffodils. Or, if thou tarry, come with the Summer, That welcome comer, Welcome as he; When noon-tide sunshine beats on the meadow, A seat in shadow We'll keep for thee. B AN INVITATION Or, if it please thee, come to the reaping, When to safe keeping They bring the sheaves; When Autumn decketh with coloured splendour And pathos tender The dying leaves. Or come and warm us when Winter freezes, And northern breezes Are keen and cold, With loving glances, and close hand-pressings, And fervent blessings That grow not old. Nay! do not linger; for each to-morrow Will break in sorrow If thou delay: Come to us quickly; our hearts are burning With tender yearning: Come, come to-day. A BROKEN GOBLET Oh! could I give to thee, my love, A heart like that which once was mine; Could I life's goblet see, my love, Filled once again with sparkling wine, Our days might then be half-divine. But all the wine is spilled, my love, Ah, me, the spilling, it was sad! That cup can ne'er be filled, my love, The days are dead when, as a lad, The rich grape-perfume made me glad. I raised the goblet high, my love, Between mine eyes and the strong sun; A BROKEN GOBLET My lips and throat were dry, my love, With great desire to take but one Deep draught before my days were done. There came one from the South, my love, Ah me, but she was very fair! With tender, tremulous mouth, my love, And deep soft eyes and golden hair, --Sunlight was brighter, striking there. I seem to see her stand, my love, As in the days that now are dead; The goblet in one hand, my love, The other held a rose full red;--Ah me, the rose-leaves...

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