The little white prayers Of Elspeth Fry Float up the arches Into the sky. A little black bird On the belfry high Pecks at them As they go by. Frances Shaw...
My house stands high— Where the harp of the wind Plays all day, Plays all night; And the city light Is far away. Where hangs the harp that the winds play?— High in the air— Over the sea? The long straight streets of the far-away town, Where the lines of light go sweeping down, Are the...Read More
I shall see a star tonight From a distant mountain height; From a city you will see The same star that shines on me. ’Tis not of the firmament On a solar journey bent; Fixed it is through time and weather;— ’Tis a thought we hold together. Frances Shaw...Read More
Who loves the rain And loves his home, And looks on life with quiet eyes, Him will I follow through the storm; And at his hearth-fire keep me warm; Nor hell nor heaven shall that soul surprise, Who loves the rain, And loves his home, And looks on life with quiet eyes. Frances Shaw...Read More