The Poets and Poetry of Minnesota (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1864. Excerpt: ... MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. POET, TEY Oh, to be a poet Writing at his will, Could one only know it And be poet still 'Twould be very pleasant, Very, I declare, Just to bring my spirit-Easel anywhere, And to fill it brightly, Just when I should choose, Of the visions sprightly I so often lose: Day's last clouds that glisten In an evening sky, While the hills all listen To its dying sigh: --Bluish waters calling All the forest through, To the red leaves falling And the falling dew--Airy, gorgeous castles, Rainbow-arched, where 1 could send my spirit Just to get the air And to try its pinions, Upward as it flies, For a higher mansion--Mansion in the skies. Now, were I a poet, All the world would be Brighter--yes--I know it--Better unto me--And the mourning raiment Which we wear through time Would be far less gloomy, Fringed with a rhyme. So my sad soul lingers Daring to aspire But to warm its fingers At a poet's fire. THEY COME AT LAST. They come at last Like the low gushing of the summers stream, Those visions of the past That haunt me in my lonely hours--a fairy's dream. Their blissfulness has come With sound as sweet as angel's melody, Or the faint breathing hum Of evening leaves in the wild-wood tree. My spirit's natal hour Caught all a hue from such a scene as this--And memory's power Would rest its wing forever on this mount of bliss. And in thy charmed ear Comes voices soft as those of balmy spring Hopes rich and dear As those to which a maiden's wishes cling. Hope's heritage is mine And pure ones mingle in the ceaseless song, As, bending o'er the shrine, They swell the echoes of the bright-winged throng. And 'round me is the spell That shadows forth the fate of coming years, As sibyls tell Fate's, sealed book--alike its smiles and tears. And I have b...