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Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman

Tuckerman, Frederick Goddard (1821-1873)

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PART I.
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PART II.
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Sonnets.
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PART 1.
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PART II.
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[I. That boy,”—the farmer said, with hazel wand]
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[II. Nor idle all, though naught he sees in thine]
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[III. Yes; though the brine may from the desert deep]
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[IV. But Grief finds solace faint in others' ills]
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[V. No shame dissuades his thought, no scorn despoils]
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[VI. No! cover not the fault. The wise revere]
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[VII. His heart was in his garden; but his brain]
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[VIII. Companions were we in the grove and glen]
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[IX. But unto him came swift calamity]
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[X. Thy baby, too, the child that was to be]
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[XI. Still pressing through these weeping solitudes]
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[XII. How most unworthy, echoing in mine ears]
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[XIII. Even as a lover, dreaming, unaware]
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[XIV. The breeze is sharp, the sky is hard and blue]
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[XV. Gertrude and Gulielma, sister-twins]
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[XVI. Under the mountain, as when first I knew]
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[XVII. Roll on, sad world! not Mercury or Mars]
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[XVIII. And Change, with hurried hand, has swept these scenes]
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[XIX. And faces, forms, and phantoms, numbered not]
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[XX. O hard endeavour, to blend in with these]
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[XXI. Last night I dreamed we parted once again]
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[XXII. Put off thy bark from shore, tho' near the night]
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[XXIII. Some truths may pierce the spirit's deeper gloom]
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[XXIV. Each common object, too,—the house, the grove]
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[XXV. Small gossip, whispering at the window-pane]
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[XXVI. Yet from indifference may we hope for peace]
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[XXVII. But the heart murmurs at so harsh a tone]
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[XXVIII. Yet sometimes, with the sad respectant mind]
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[XXIX. How oft in schoolboy-days, from the school's sway]
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[XXX Yet, even mid merry boyhood's tricks and scapes]
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[XXXI. My Anna ! when for thee my head was bowed]
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[XXXII. Oh for the face and footstep! woods and shores]
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[XXXIII. One still dark night, I sat alone and wrote]
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[XXXIV. My Anna! though thine earthly steps are done]
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[XXXV. Nor all of solemn is my thought of her]
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[XXXVI. Farewell! farewell, O noble heart! I dreamed]
  
[XXXVII. As Eponina brought, to move the king]

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223

[XXV. Small gossip, whispering at the window-pane]

Small gossip, whispering at the window-pane,
Finds reason still for aught beneath the sun
Answers itself ere answer shall be none,
And in the personal field delights to reign,
Meting to this, his grief, to that his gain;
And busy to detract, to head or hang!
Oh! wiser far, for him who lieth hid
Within himself,—secure, like him to stay,
Icesius' son; who, when the city rang,
Knew there was news abroad, nor wondered what.
If these conspire, why should I counterplot?
Or vex my heart with guessing whether or not
John went to church, or what my neighbour did
The day before, day before yesterday?
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