George Parsons Lathrop

George Parsons Lathrop Poems

George Parsons Lathrop Biography

George Parsons Lathrop (25 August 1851, Honolulu, Hawaii – 19 April 1898, New York) was a poet, novelist and brother of Francis Lathrop. He was educated at New York and Dresden, Germany, when he returned to New York, and decided on a literary career. Going to England on a visit he was married in London, 11 September 1871, to Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, daughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne. In 1875 he became associate editor of the Atlantic Monthly, and remained in that position two years, leaving it for newspaper work in Boston and New York. His contributions to the periodical and daily Press were varied and voluminous. In 1883 he founded the American Copyright League, which finally secured the international copyright law. He was also one of the founders of the Catholic Summer School of America. He and his wife were received into the Roman Catholic Church in New York in March 1891. After his death his widow, as Mother M. Alphonsa, organized a community of Dominican tertiaries, The Servants of Relief for Incurable Cancer Patients, who took charge of two cancer hospitals at New York. Among his published works are: Rose and Rose-tree (1875), poems; A Study of Hawthorne (1876); Afterglow (1876), a novel; Spanish Vistas (1883), a work on travel; Newport (1884), a novel; Dreams and Days (1892), poems; A Story of Courage (1894), centenary history of the Visitation Convent, Georgetown, D.C. He edited (1883) a complete, and the standard, edition of Hawthorne's works, and adapted The Scarlet Letter for Walter Damrosch's opera of that title, which was produced at New York in 1896.)

The Best Poem Of George Parsons Lathrop

Jessamine

Here stands the great tree still, with broad bent head;
Its wide arms grown aweary, yet outspread
With their old blessing. But wan memory weaves
Strange garlands, now, amongst the darkening leaves.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Beneath these glimmering arches Jessamine
Walked with her lover long ago; and in
The leaf-dimmed light he questioned, and she spoke;
Then on them both, supreme, love's radiance broke.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Sweet Jessamine we called her; for she shone
Like blossoms that in sun and shade have grown,
Gathering from each alike a perfect white,
Whose rich bloom breaks opaque through darkest night.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
For this her sweetness Walt, her lover, sought
To win her; wooed her here, his heart o'er fraught
With fragrance of her being; and gained his plea.
So 'We will wed,' they said, 'beneath this tree.'
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Yet dreams of conquering greater prize for her
Roused his wild spirit with a glittering spur.
Eager for wealth, far, far from home he sailed;
And life paused;—while she watched joy vanish, veiled.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Ah, better at the elm-tree's sunbrowned feet
If he had been content to let life fleet
Its wonted way!—lord of his little farm,
In zest of joys or cares unmixed with harm.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
For, as against a snarling sea one steers,
He battled vainly with the surging years;
While ever Jessamine must watch and pine,
Her vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Then silence fell; and all the neighbors said
That Walt had married, faithless, or was dead:
Unmoved in constancy, her tryst she kept,
Each night beneath the tree, ere sorrow slept.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
So, circling years went by, till in her face
Slow melancholy wrought a mingled grace,
Of early joy with suffering's hard alloy—
Refined and rare, no doom could e'er destroy.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Sometimes at twilight, when sweet Jessamine
Slow-footed, weary-eyed, passed by to win
The elm, we smiled for pity of her, and mused
On love that so could live, with love refused.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
And none could hope for her. But she had grown
Too high in love, for hope. She bloomed alone,
Aloft in proud devotion; and secure
Against despair; so sweet her faith, so sure.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Her wandering lover knew not well her soul.
Discouraged, on disaster's changing shoal
Stranding, he waited; starved on selfish pride,
Long years; nor would obey love's homeward tide.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
But, bitterly repenting of his sin,
Deeper at last he learned to look within
Sweet Jessamine's true heart—when the past, dead,
Mocked him with wasted years forever fled.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Late, late, oh late, beneath the tree stood two;
In trembling joy, and wondering 'Is it true?'—
Two that were each like some strange, misty wraith:
Yet each on each gazed with a living faith.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell:
Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.
Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed,
Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Here stands the great tree, still. But age has crept
Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept
The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might
The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
And the moon hangs low in the elm.

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