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 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,
A man said unto his Angel: "My spirits are fallen low, And I cannot carry this battle: O brother! where might I go?
Down the long road, bent and brown, Youth, that dearly loves a vision, Ventures to the gate Elysian, As a pilgrim from the town.
SUCH natural debts of love our Oxford knows, So many ancient dues undesecrate, I marvel how the landmark of a hate
HIGH above hate I dwell: O storms! farewell. Though at my sill your daggered thunders play, Lawless and loud to-morrow as to-day,
The Atoning Yesterday
Ye daffodilian days, whose fallen towers Shielded our paradisal prime from ill, Fair Past, fair motherhood! let come what will, We, being yours, defy the anarch powers.
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.
A Friend's Song for Simoisius
The breath of dew, and twilight's grace, Be on the lonely battle-place; And to so young, so kind a face, The long, protecting grasses cling!
Irish Peasant Song
I try to knead and spin, but my life is low the while. Oh, I long to be alone, and walk abroad a mile; Yet if I walk alone, and think of naught at all, Why from me that's young should the wild tears fall?
Among the Flags
In Doric Hall, Massachussetts State House Dear witnesses, all-luminous, eloquent, Stacked thickly on the tessellated floor!
The spacious open vale, the vale of doom, Is full of autumn sunset; blue and strong The semicirque of water sweeps among Her lofty acres, each a martyr's tomb;
In the Reading-Room of the British Museu...
Praised be the moon of books! that doth above A world of men, the fallen Past behold, And fill the spaces else so void and cold To make a very heaven again thereof;
Comments about Louise Imogen Guiney
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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 ...