Katharine Lee Bates

Aug. 12, 1859 - Mar. 28, 1929


First Lines of Katharine Lee Bates

A mountain soul, she shines in crystal airA rose-white cloud that blossoms in the blue,All day these ruby-throated humming-birds,An arsenal of diamond spears,Beneath the softly falling snowDeath bars me from my garden, but by the dusty roadDull clang that hurts this dreamy air,Failure on failure seed the slow success.First was a fire of myrtle,Flood of stars that hold your courseHoly spirit gone free,Free of the weary clay,How we delighted in our driftwood fire,I had come to the trysting placeI will not fear the Valley, for amidI, who am deaf and blind,If the Celestial Body, ethereal, mystic, remembersLet the fires be swift, not slow.Life went hand in hand with JoyLove planted a rose,Lying too faint to look, too spent to stir,Marmoreal, impregnable,Measure grist by the millful,Must I, who walk alone,My love, my love, if you could come once moreNo, no, Belovèd; starry runaway,Now my Love is flown awayO strange, hushed fellowship of thoseO Work, drab angel, lead me day by day,Once we beheld ecstatic cripples flingingShe is the grace of all that are,Sorrow and vain desireThe Angel of the SunThe blue sky at its deepest was pricked by one keen starThe daily commonplace our mirth would brightenThe day is waning; gracious shadows grow;The God of Silence, at whose ancient shrineThe luxury of ease comes after ache;The path of sorrow is no lonely path;The rain that fell a yesterday is ruby on the roses,Under our balcony twinklesWe count them happy who have richly knownWestering Heart, Restless Heart, Heart of the Pioneer,What is the spirit? Nay,When at the last I lift my lids to brookWhen it befortunes us, who love so dearly,Where Time's long river hushes in the sea,White rose, white rose,Why wander more? My dreams have folded wing;Your own plants bloom again,