Helen Hoyt Poems

Little park that I pass through,
I carry off a piece of you
Every morning hurrying down
To my work-day in the town;
...

Are you awake? Do you hear the rain?
How rushingly it strikes upon the ground,
And on the roof, and the wet window-pane!
...

Oh, beautiful are the flowers of your garden,
The flowers of your garden are fair:
Blue flowers of your eyes
...

Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have borne its dread, its fear—
Oh, how my life has grown more dear
...

I have heard them in the night—
The cry of their fear,
Because there is no light,
Because they do not hear
...