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Thomas Holley Chivers

Sonnet to Isa Sleeping

As graceful as the Babylonian willow
Bending, at noontide, over some clear stream
In Palestine, in beauty did she seem
Upon the cygnet-down of her soft pillow;
And now her breast heaved like some gentle billow
Swayed by the presence of the full round moon
Voluptuous as the summer South at noon
Her cheeks as rosy as the radiant dawn
When heaven is cloudless! When she breated, the air
Around was perfume! Timid as the fawn,
And meeker than the dove, her soft words were
Like gentle music heard at night, when all
Around is still until the soul of care
Was soothed, as noontide by some waterfall.

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from The Lost Pleiad (1854)Report problemRelated quotes
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The Shell

"...It seems in truth the fairest shell of ocean." —Shelley

I.
What is it makes thy sound unto my ear
So mournful, Angel of the mighty Sea?
Is it the soul of her who once was here,
Speaking affection, through thy lips, to me?

II.
Oh! from my childhood this has been to me
A mystery which no one could solve!—It sounds
And sorrows for the Sea incessantly—
Telling the grief with which my soul abounds!

III.
Here, in its labyrinthine curve, it leaves
The foot-prints of its song in many dyes;
And here, incessantly, it ever weaves
The rainbow-tissue of its melodies.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)Report problemRelated quotes
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The Wind

Thou wringest, with thy invisible hand, the foam
Out of the emerald drapery of the sea,
Beneath whose foldings lies the Sea-Nymph's home—
Lifted, to make it visible, by thee;
Till thou art exiled, earthward, from the maine,
To cool the parched tongue of the Earth with rain.

Thy viewless wing sweeps, with its tireless flight,
Whole Navies from their boundings on the waves—
Wrapping the canvas, pregnant with thy might,
Around the seamen in their watery graves!
Till thou dost fall asleep upon the grass,
And then the ocean is as smooth as glass.

Thou art the Gardner of the flowery earth—
The Sower in the spring-time of the year—
Clearing plantations, in thy goings forth,
Amid the wilderness, where all is drear—
Scattering ten thousand giant oaks around,
Like playthings, on the dark, opprobrious ground.

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)Report problemRelated quotes
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Autumn

Farewell! thou dying Year, farewell!
Thy reign is almost o'er;
Fled the freshness of vernal hours,
The glory of thy summer bowers,-
And e'en thy last pale ling'ring flowers
Will soon be here no more!


'Tis sad to see the hues of death
Fast stealing o'er thy bloom,
To hear the fitful Autumn gale
Sweep through the lonely wood and vale,
Breathing its low, prophetic wail,
O'er thy approaching doom!

To me, in every passing breeze,
There is a tone of grief,
Recalling hopes of vanished years,
Now only seem thro' Memory's tears,-
In every falling leaf!

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Apollo

What are stars, but hieroglyphics of God's glory write in lightning
On the wide-unfolded pages of the azure scroll above?
But the quenchless apotheoses of thoughts forever brightening
In the mighty Mind immortal of the God whose name is Love?
Diamond letters sculptured, rising, on the azure ether pages,
That now sing to one another--unto one another shine--
God's eternal scripture talking, through the midnight, to the Ages,
Of the life that is immortal, but the life that is divine.

Like some deep impetuous river from the fountains everlasting,
Down the serpentine soft valleys of the vistas of all Time,
Over cataracts of adamant uplifted unto mountains,
Soared his soul to God in thunder on the wings of thought sublime.
With the rising golden glory of the sun in ministrations,
Making oceans metropolitan of splendor for the dawn--
Piling pyramid on pyramid of music for the nations--
Sings the Angel who sits shining everlasting in the sun,
For the stars, which are the echoes of the shining of the sun.

Like the lightning piled on lightnings, ever rising, never reaching,

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poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)Report problemRelated quotes
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Lily Adair

On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby,
Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,
She played, on the banks of the Yuba,
Such songs as she heard in her dreams.
Like the heavens, when the stars from their cyries
Look down through the ebon night air,
Were the groves by the Ouphantic Fairies
Lit up for my Lily Adair—
For my child-like Lily Adair—
For my heaven-born Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Like two rose-leaves in sunshine when blowing,
Just curled softly, gently apart,
Were her lips by her passion, while growing
In perfume on the stalk of her heart.
As mild as the sweet influences
Of the Pleiades 'pregning the air—
More mild than the throned Excellencies
Up in heaven, was my Lily Adair—

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poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)Report problemRelated quotes
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The Fall of Usher

An elegy on Edgar Allan Poe

"Thou wert the Morning Star among the living,
Ere thy fair light had fled;
But, having died, thou art like Hesperus giving
New splendor to the dead." - Plato's Aster.

"Thou art gone to the grave!" but thy spirit is shining,
And singing afar in the Realms of the Blest ;
While the living are left by thy cold grave reclining,
And mourning for thee while they long for thy rest---
Left mourning for thee while they long for thy rest!

"Thou art gone to the grave!" thou art gone where thy slumber
No more shall be broken by sorrow or pain---
Soon to rise with that host which no mortal can number,
To lie down no more in that Valley again!
No more to lie down in that Valley again!

"Thou art gone to the grave!" there is none can restore thee,

[...] Read more

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To Isa in Heaven

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven! — Young.

Where is she now?
Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?
If death has laid his hand upon thy brow,
Has he not touched my heart?
Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,
And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!

If thou were dead,
I would not ask thee to reply;
But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled
To heaven, where it can never die!
Then why not come to me? Return—return
And comfort me, for I have much to mourn!

I sigh all day!
I mourn for thee the livelong night!
And when the next night comes, thou art away,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1842)Report problemRelated quotes
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To Mary in Heaven

I.
I met thee first in May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May;
But now thou art away, Mary!
Away from me—away!
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

II.
Ah! then thine eyes were mild, Mary!
Thy deep blue eyes were mild;
For thou wert then a child, Mary!
And I another child.
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)Report problemRelated quotes
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