John Townsend Trowbridge Poems

WE are two travellers, Roger and I.
Roger ’s my dog.—Come here, you scamp!
Jump for the gentlemen,—mind your eye!
...

FROM the house of desolation,
From the doors of lamentation,
I went forth into the midnight and the vistas of the moon;
...

JUST back from a beach of sand and shells,
And shingle the tides leave oozy and dank,
...

The listening Dryads hushed the woods;
The boughs were thick, and thin and few
The golden ribbons fluttering through;
...

HER triumphs are over, the crown
Has passed from her brow;
And she smiles, 'To whom now does the town
My poor laurels allow?'
...

ON Haverhill's pleasant hills there played,
Some sixty years ago,
In turned-up trousers, tattered hat,
...

OPEN lies the book before me: in a realm obscure as dreams
I can trace the pale blue mazes of innumerable streams, ...
...

TO Nature, in her shop one day, at work compounding simples,
Studying fresh tints for Beauty's cheeks, or new effects in dimples,
...

OUT from the Northern forest, dim and vast;
Out from the mystery
Of yet more shadowy times, a pathless past,
...

Around this lovely valley rise
The purple hills of Paradise.

O, softly on yon banks of haze,
...