Poems by Lizette Woodworth Reese | Poetree

All Poems Original Poems Translations

The Ghost

The Ghost

I set a candle at my pane,

Yellowy in the drip of rain;

My love came in and looked at me;

I hid my face upon my knee.

The drip of rain was everywhere;

Blown to a rag in the quick air,

The candle flame was never still;

My love stood there upon the sill.

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

The Good Joan

The Good Joan

A long the thousand roads of France,

Now there, and here, swift as a glance,

A cloud, a mist blown down the sky,

Good Joan of Arc goes riding by.

In Domremy at candlelight,

The orchards blowing rose and white

About the shadowy houses lie;

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

A Rhyme Of Death's Inn

A Rhyme Of Death's Inn

A rhyme of good Death's inn!

My love came to that door;

And she had need of many things,

The way had been so sore.

My love she lifted up her head,

"And is there room?" said she;

"There was no room in Bethlehem's inn

For Christ who died for me."

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

A Christmas Folk-Song

A Christmas Folk-Song

The little Jesus came to town;

The wind blew up, the wind blew down;

Out in the street the wind was bold;

Now who would house Him from the cold?

Then opened wide a stable door,

Fair were the rushes on the floor;

The Ox put forth a horned head :

"Come, Little Lord, here make Thy bed."

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

Love Came Back At Fall O' Dew

Love Came Back At Fall O' Dew

Love came back at fall o' dew,

Playing his old part;

But I had a word or two

That would break his heart.

"He who comes at candlelight,

That should come before,

Must betake him to the night

From a barred door."

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

That Day You Came

That Day You Came

SUCH special sweetness was about

That day God sent you here,

I knew the lavender was out,

And it was mid of year.

Their common way the great winds blew,

The ships sailed out to sea;

Yet ere that day was spent I knew

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

Tears

Tears

When I consider Life and its few years—

A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun;

A call to battle, and the battle done

Ere the last echo dies within our ears;

A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears;

The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat;

The burst of music down an unlistening street,—

I wonder at the idleness of tears.

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

Spicewood

Spicewood

The spicewood burns along the gray, spent sky,

In moist unchimneyed places, in a wind,

That whips it all before, and all behind,

Into one thick, rude flame, now low, now high,

It is the first, the homeliest thing of all—

At sight of it, that lad that by it fares,

Whistles afresh his foolish, town-caught airs—

A thing so honey-colored, and so tall!

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

Wise

Wise

An apple orchard smells like wine;

A succory flower is blue;

Until Grief touched these eyes of mine,

Such things I never knew.

And now indeed I know so plain

Why one would like to cry

When spouts are full of April rain—

Such lonely folk go by!

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Lizette Woodworth Reese

Oh, Gray And Tender Is The Rain

Oh, Gray And Tender Is The Rain

Oh, gray and tender is the rain,

That drips, drips on the pane!

A hundred things come in the door,

The scent of herbs, the thought of yore.

I see the pool out in the grass,

A bit of broken glass;

The red flags running wet and straight,

Down to the little flapping gate.

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Lizette Woodworth Reese