Who is Kate Seymour Maclean

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Kate Seymour Maclean Poems

  • Pictures In The Fire
    The wind croons under the icicled eaves--
    Croons and mutters a wordless song,
    And the old elm chafes its skeleton leaves
    Against the windows all night long. ...
  • The Ploughboy
    I wonder what he is thinking
    In the ploughing field all day.
    He watches the heads of his oxen,
    And never looks this way. ...
  • A Farewell
    Down the steep west unrolled,
    I watch the river of the sunset flow,
    With all its crimson lights, and gleaming gold,
    Into the dusk below. ...
  • A Madrigal
    The lily-bells ring underground,
    Their music small I hear
    When globes of dew that shine pearl round
    Hang in the cowslip's ear ...
  • A November Wood-walk
    Dead leaves are deep in all our forest walks;
    Their brightest tints not all extinguished yet,
    Shine redly glimmering through the dewy wet;
    And whereso'er thy musing foot is set, ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Kate Seymour Maclean

Sweet 34 Long 33 Hear 27 Voice 27 White 26 Bright 25 Gold 21 Face 21 Place 21 Golden 19


Kate Seymour Maclean Quotes

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Comments about Kate Seymour Maclean

Melaniejaxn: empty and folded are her busy hands; her corn and wine and oil are safely stored, as in the twilight of the year she stands, and with her gladness seems to thank the lord. -kate seymour maclean
Flusteredduck: advent days by kate seymour maclean
Musicrecbot: take a listen to: forgotten songs by kate seymour maclean
Melaniejaxn: empty and folded are her busy hands; her corn and wine and oil are safely stored, as in the twilight of the year she stands, and with her gladness seems to thank the lord. -kate seymour maclean
Greggiordano1: voiceover and narrator friends, a thanksgiving poetry collection for you!
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Poem of the day

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poem
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 073
 by Alfred Lord Tennyson

So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?

The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,
The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
...

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