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Elaine Goodale Eastman Quotes
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Pure and perfect, sweet arbutus
Twines her rosy-tinted wreath.
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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Nature lies disheveled, pale,
With her feverish lips apart,—
Day by day the pulses fail,
Nearer to her bounding heart;
Yet that slackened grasp doth hold
Store of pure and genuine gold;
Quick thou comest, strong and free,
Type of all the wealth to be,—
Goldenrod!
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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The seal and guerdon of wealth untold
We clasp in the wild marsh marigold.
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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Thy subtle charm is strangely given,
My fancy will not let thee be,
Then poise not thus 'twixt earth and heaven,
O white anemone!
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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The starry, fragile windflower,
Poised above in airy grace,
Virgin white, suffused with blushes,
Shyly droops her lovely face.
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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Skirting the rocks at the forest edge
With a running flame from ledge to ledge,
Or swaying deeper in shadowy glooms,
A smoldering fire in her dusky blooms;
Bronzed and molded by wind and sun,
Maddening, gladdening every one
With a gypsy beauty full and fine,—
A health to the crimson columbine!
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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With careless joy we thread the woodland ways
And reach her broad domain.
Thro' sense of strength and beauty, free as air.
We feel our savage kin,
And thus alone with conscious meaning wear
The Indian's moccasin!
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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Death in the wood,—
In the death-pale lips apart;
Death in a whiteness that curdled the blood,
Now black to the very heart:
The wonder by her was formed
Who stands supreme in power;
To show that life by the spirit comes
She gave us a soulless flower!
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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When emerald slopes are drowned in song, When weary grows the unclouded blue, When warm winds sink in billow bloom, And flood you with a faint perfume, One moment leaves the rapturous throng To seek the haunts of meadow rue!
Elaine Goodale Eastman
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Bloodroot! in thy tingling veins The sap of life runs cold and clear; 1 break thy shining stem, and fear No conscious guilt, no lasting stains.
Elaine Goodale Eastman
Quote of the day
I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up.
Mark Twain
Elaine Goodale Eastman
Bio:
Elaine Goodale Eastman and Dora Read Goodale were American poets and sisters from Massachusetts. They published their first poetry as children still living at home, and were included in Edmund Clarence Stedman's classic An American Anthology.
Elaine Goodale Eastman on Wikipedia
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