Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands, Like a new Nio… - Richard Henry Stoddard

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Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands,
Like a new Niobe with claspèd hands,
Silent above the flowers, her children lost,
Slain by the arrows of the early frost.

Richard Henry Stoddard

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About Richard Henry Stoddard

Richard Henry Stoddard (July 2, 1825 – May 12, 1903) was a U.S. critic and poet, was born in Hingham, Massachusetts.

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Also Known As

Alternative Names: R. H. Stoddard • Richard H. Stoddard • Richard Stoddard

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Letitia Elizabeth Landon William Butler Yeats Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Lord Byron Percy Bysshe Shelley

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There is no death—the thing that we call death
Is but another, sadder name for life,
Which is itself an insufficient name,
Faint recognition of that unknown Life—
That Power whose shadow is the Universe.

Silence is the speech of love,
The music of the spheres above.

Once when the days were ages,
And the old Earth was young,
The high gods and the sages
From Nature's golden pages
Her open secrets wrung.
Each questioned each to know
Whence came the Heavens above, and whence the Earth below.

Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands, Like a new Niobe with claspèd hands, Silent above the flowers, her children lost, Slain by the arrows of… - Richard Henry Stoddard

About Richard Henry Stoddard

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