George Marion McClellan

Find and share the perfect poems. Then the golden hour Will tick its last And the flame will go down in the flower. A briefer length of moon Will mark the sea-line and the yellow dune. Then we may think of this, yet There will be something forgotten And something we should forget. It will be like all things we know: A stone will fail; a rose is sure to go. It will be quiet then and we may stay Long at the picket gate,— But there will be less to say. This poem is in the public domain.

City stir—wind on eardrum— dancewind: herbstained— flowerstained—silken—rustling— tripping—swishing—frolicking— courtesing—careening—brushing— flowing—lying down—bending— teasing—kissing: treearms—grass— limbs—lips. City stir on eardrum—.

Little grey dreams, I sit at the ocean’s edge, At the grey ocean’s edge, With you in my lap. I launch you, one by one, And one by one, Little grey dreams, Under the grey, grey, clouds, Out on the grey, grey, sea, You go sailing away, From my empty lap, Little grey dreams. Sailing! Sailing! Into the black, At the horizon’s edge. Angelina Weld Grimké, a journalist, playwright, teacher, author, and poet, was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1880.