Treasure Island

Jones Very

(28 August 1813 – 8 May 1880 / Salem, Massachusetts)

Quotations

  • ''It is the way unseen, the certain route,
    Where ever bound, yet thou art ever free;
    The path of Him, whose perfect law of love
    Bids spheres and atoms in just order move.''
    Jones Very (1831-1880), U.S. poet. The Hand and Foot (l. 11-14). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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  • '''Tis to yourself I speak; you cannot know
    Him whom I call in speaking such a one,
    For you beneath the earth lie buried low,
    Which he alone as living walks upon:''
    Jones Very (1831-1880), U.S. poet. Yourself (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
  • ''A word perhaps loud spoken you may get,
    Or hear our feet when heavily they tread;
    But he who speaks, or him who's spoken to,
    Must both remain as strangers still to you.''
    Jones Very (1831-1880), U.S. poet. Yourself (l. 11-14). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
  • ''I see them,—crowd on crowd they walk the earth,
    Dry leafless trees no autumn wind laid bare;
    And in their nakedness find cause for mirth,
    And all unclad would winter's rudeness dare;''
    Jones Very (1831-1880), U.S. poet. The Dead (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
  • ''The hand and foot that stir not, they shall find
    Sooner than all the rightful place to go;''
    Jones Very (1831-1880), U.S. poet. The Hand and Foot (l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
  • ''They borrow words for thoughts they cannot feel,
    That with a seeming heart their tongue may speak;
    And in their show of life more dead they live
    Than those that to the earth with many tears they give.''
    Jones Very (1831-1880), U.S. poet. The Dead (l. 11-14). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.

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The Clouded Morning

The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail,
Hanging like curtains all the horizon round,
Or overhead in heavy stillness sail;
So still is day, it seems like night profound;
Scarce by the city's din the air is stirred,
And dull and deadened comes its every sound;
The cock's shrill, piercing voice subdued is heard,
By the thick folds of muffling vapors drowned.
Dissolved in mists the hills and trees appear,

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