Louise Imogen Guiney
Born on January 7, 1861, in Roxbury (now part of Boston), Massachusetts,
Louise Guiney was educated at Elmhurst, a convent school in Providence, Rhode Island.
To help support her family she began contributing to various newspapers and magazines. Her poems, collected in Songs at the Start (1884) and The White Sail and Other Poems (1887), and her essays, collected in Goose Quill Papers (1885), soon attracted the attention of the Boston literary establishment, and the verse in A Roadside Harp (1893) and the essays in Monsieur Henri (1892), A Little English Gallery (1894), and Patrins (1897) brought her to the center of aesthetic life in Boston.
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Louise Imogen Guiney Poems
Open, Time, and let him pass Shortly where his feet would be! Like a leaf at Michaelmas Swooning from the tree,
A man said unto his Angel: "My spirits are fallen low, And I cannot carry this battle: O brother! where might I go?
A Song Of The Lilac
Above the wall that's broken, And from the coppice thinned, So sacred and so sweet The lilac in the wind!
I We chose the faint chill morning, friend and friend, Pacing the twilight out beneath an oak,
High-hearted Surrey! I do love your ways, Venturous, frank, romantic, vehement, All with inviolate honor sealed and blent, To the axe-edge that cleft your soldier-bays:
Ode For A Master Mariner Ashore
THERE in his room, whene’er the moon looks in, And silvers now a shell, and now a fin, And o’er his chart glides like an argosy,
GOOD oars, for Arnold’s sake, By Laleham lightly bound, And near the bank, O soft, Darling swan!
On First Entering Westminster Abbey
Thabor of England! since my light is short And faint, O rather by the sun anew Of timeless passion set my dial true, That with thy saints and thee I may consort,
The Lights Of London
The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot Far down into the valley's cold extreme, Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream Like fleeing spectres, shudder and are not.
Sunday Chimes In The City
Across the bridge, where in the morning blow The wrinkled tide turns homeward, and is fain Homeward to drag the balck sea-goer's chain, And the long yards by Dowgate dipping low;
A Seventeenth-Century Song
She alone of Shepherdesses With her blue disdayning eyes, Wo'd not hark a Kyng that dresses All his lute in sighes:
Waiting on Him who knows us and our need, Most need have we to dare not, nor desire, But as He giveth, softly to suspire Against His gift, with no inglorious greed,
SUCH natural debts of love our Oxford knows, So many ancient dues undesecrate, I marvel how the landmark of a hate
Among The Flags
In Doric Hall, Massachussetts State House Dear witnesses, all-luminous, eloquent, Stacked thickly on the tessellated floor!
Comments about Louise Imogen Guiney
Open, Time, and let him pass
Shortly where his feet would be!
Like a leaf at Michaelmas
Swooning from the tree,
Ere its hour the manly mind
Trembles in a sure decrease,
Nor the body now can find
Any hold on peace.
Take him, weak and overworn;
Fold about his dying dream
Boyhood, and the April morn,
And the rolling stream:
Weather on a sunny ridge,
Showery weather, far from here;
Under some deep-ivied bridge,
Water rushing clear:
Water quick to cross and part,
(Golden light on silver sound),
Weather that was ...