Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson

1830-1885

 

First Lines of Helen Hunt Jackson

A room in the palace is shut. The kingA veiled priestess, in a holy place,Along Ancona's hills the shimmering heat,As yearning currents from the trackless snows,At my heart's doorAt westward window of a palace gray,Christmas stars! your pregnant silentness,Counting the hours by bells and lightsDarling he said, "I never meantDear yesterday, glide not so fast;Deep in the hill the gold sand burned;For one to bear my message, I looked outFriends crowd around and take it by the hand,He slept on a bed of roses,Like a blind spinner in the sun,Men may be banished, and a blood-price set,Month when they who love must love and wed!Month which the warring ancients strangely styledMy brothers' ships sail out by night, by day;No days such honored days as these! When yetO golden month! How high thy gold is heaped!O Joy, hast thou a shape?O Month whose promise and fulfilment blend,O the years I lost before I knew you,O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,She died, as many travellers have died,She has no heart, they said, and turned away,Silence again. The glorious symphonySome flowers are withered and some joys have died;Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;The birds must know. Who wisely singsThe king rode fast, the king rode well,The lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakesThe month of carnival of all the year,They told me I was heir, I turned in haste,This is the treacherous month when autumn daysWhen children in the summer weather play,Yes, all is ready now; the door and gate