SMALL, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals, And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles, Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep, Upon the lore so voluble and deep, That aye at fall of night our care condoles. This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice That thus it passes smoothly, quietly. Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise May we together pass, and calmly try What are this world's true joys, -- ere the great voice, From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly. November | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BY THE PACIFIC by HERBERT BASHFORD TO WORDSWORTH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS; AN IDYLL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE SKYFARER by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD LILIES: 8 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |