Katharine Lee Bates: Все стихи поэта

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If You Could Come

My love, my love, if you could come once more

From your high place,

I would not question you for heavenly lore,

But, silent, take the comfort of your face.

I would not ask you if those golden spheres

In love rejoice,

If only our stained star hath sin and tears,

But fill my famished hearing with your voice.

by Katharine Lee Bates

Yellow Clover

Must I, who walk alone,

Come on it still,

This Puck of plants

The wise would do away with,

The sunshine slants

To play with,

Our wee, gold-dusty flower, the yellow clover,

Which once in parting for a time

by Katharine Lee Bates

Freedom's Battle-Song

RED, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,

Stripes as red as blood well shed by many a hero gone.

Now 'tis ours to storm the towers of tyranny and wrong,

Freedom's sons who front the guns with Freedom's battle-song.

Fly the flag from dome and steeple,

Fly the flag from home and school,

Flag of Freedom's birth,

While we battle that the rule

by Katharine Lee Bates

Graves At Christiania

WE bore them their own wild heather

And ash-boughs jeweled red,

There where they sleep together,

Greatest of Norway's dead.

More than the hush of churches

Is the hush where Ibsen lies,

Columned by poplars and birches,

Vaulted by glorious skies.

by Katharine Lee Bates

Russia

WHAT sudden voice peals to the Caucasus,

To Finland and the bitter Caspian,

To those Siberian prisons whither man

Shall seek as to a shrine, that mutinous,

Divine word Liberty? Impetuous

She rises, Holy Russia, shakes the ban

From her stooped shoulders of colossal span,

A youth in diamond mail, miraculous.

by Katharine Lee Bates

The Least Of These

THE wolf of want is howling

At doors no angel keeps.

Young Mary smiled on her Holy Child,

But many a mother weeps.

The Kings of the East brought treasures

Uncounted and unpriced.

Who bears a gift to arms that lift

A little famished Christ?

by Katharine Lee Bates

The Retinue

Archduke Francis Ferdinand, Austrian Heir-Apparent,

Rideth through the Shadow Land, not a lone knight errant,

But captain of a mighty train, millions upon millions,

Armies of the battle-slain, hordes of dim civilians;

German ghosts who see their works with tortured eyes, the sorry

Specters of scared tyrants, Turks hunted by their quarry,

Liars, plotters red of hand, —like waves of poisonous gases

Sweeping through the Shadow Land the host of horror passes;

by Katharine Lee Bates

America To England

1899 -Who would trust England, let him lift his eyes

To Nelson, columned o'er Trafalgar Square,

Her hieroglyph of duty, written where

The roar of traffic hushes to the skies;

Or mark, while Paul's vast shadow softly lies

On Gordon's statued sleep, how praise and prayer

Flush through the frank young faces clustering there

To con that kindred rune of sacrifice.

by Katharine Lee Bates

America The Beautiful

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

by Katharine Lee Bates

Anniversary Hymn

[sung to tune: "All Saints New"]

Our fathers, in the years grown dim, reared slowly, wall by wall

A holy dwelling-place for Him, that filleth all in all.

They wrought His house of faith and prayer, the rainbow round the Throne,

A precious temple builded fair on Christ the Cornerstone.

The Angel of the Golden Reed hath found the measure strait'

He hears the Great Foundation plead for ampler wall and gate.

The living pillars of the Truth grown on from morn to morn,

by Katharine Lee Bates

Yellow Warblers

The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies

When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes,

I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,

— a winter wild with war and woe and wrong —

Beyond my casement had been void of song.

And lo! with golden buds the twigs were set,

Live buds that warbled like a rivulet

Beneath a veil of willows. Then I knew

by Katharine Lee Bates

Eavesdropping

THOUGH the winds but stir on their hoary thrones

Of hemlock and pungent pine,

All the whispering woodland tones

Gossip of things divine, —

Why God is gray in the granite rock,

And green in the lichen flake,

And swift in the darting swallow-flock,

And slow in the lapping lake;

by Katharine Lee Bates