A Roadside Harp

This is a collection of poems by Louise Imogen Guiney. Louise Imogen Guiney was an American poet, essayist and editor born in Roxbury, Massachusetts.


By : Louise Imogen Guiney (1861 - 1920)

00 - Dedication



01 - Peter Rugg, the Bostonian



02 - A Ballad of Kenelm



03 - Vergniaud in the Tumbril



04 - Winter Boughs



05 - M. A. 1822–1888



06 - W. H. 1778–1830



07 - The Vigil-at-Arms



08 - A Madonna of Domenico Ghirlandajo



09 - Spring Nightfall



10 - A Friend’s Song for Simoisius



11 - Athassel Abbey



12 - Florentin



13 - Friendship Broken



14 - A Song of the Lilac



15 - In a Ruin, after a Thunder-Storm



16 - The Cherry Bough



17 - Two Irish Peasant Songs



18 - The Japanese Anemone



19 - Tryste Noel



20 - A Talisman



21 - Heathenesse



22 - For Izaak Walton



23 - Sherman 'An Horatian Ode'



24 - When on the Marge of Evening



25 - Rooks in New College Gardens



26 - Open, Time



27 - The Knight Errant (Donatello’s Saint George)



28 - To a Dog’s Memory



29 - A Seventeenth-Century Song



30 - On the Pre-Reformation Churches about Oxford



31 - The Still of the Year



32 - A Foot-note to a Famous Lyric



33 - T. W. P. 1819–1892



34 - Summum Bonum



35 - Saint Florent-le-Vieil



36 - Hylas



37 - Nocturne



38 - The Kings



39 - Alexandriana



40 - London: Twelve Sonnets


Peter Rugg the Bostonian

The mare is pawing by the oak,
The chaise is cool and wide
For Peter Rugg the Bostonian
With his little son beside;
The women loiter at the wheels
In the pleasant summer-tide.
“And when wilt thou be home, Father?”
“And when, good husband, say:
The cloud hangs heavy on the house
What time thou art away.”
He answers straight, he answers short,
“At noon of the seventh day.”
“Fail not to come, if God so will,
And the weather be kind and clear.”
“Farewell, farewell! But who am I
A blockhead rain to fear?
God willing or God unwilling,
I have said it, I will be here.”
He gathers up the sunburnt boy
And from the gate is sped;
He shakes the spark from the stones below,
The bloom from overhead,
Till the last roofs of his own town
Pass in the morning-red.
Upon a homely mission
North unto York he goes,
Through the long highway broidered thick
With elder-blow and rose;
And sleeps in sound of breakers
At every twilight’s close.
Intense upon his heedless head
Frowns Agamenticus,
Knowing of Heaven’s challenger
The answer: even thus
The Patience that is hid on high
Doth stoop to master us...

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