The Wild Rose With Other Poems

The title Wild Rose comes from the poet's mother, Jane Marie's, who loved the wild roses she collected in the forests of Northern Arizona and nurtured for over forty years. The second part of the book, Other Poems Sung by the Window, is a collection of poems inspired by her loving influence on his life.

Excerpt from The Home of the Wild Rose: And Other Poems The efforts of Mr. And Mrs. Geo. W. Skinner to make the volume presentable are greatly appreciated by the author, and he wishes to acknowledge also the kind ness and support of his friends everywhere. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1911 edition. Excerpt: ... Once again let's gather 'round Listlessly upon the ground, Gather 'neath the maple's shade, Where of old we oft delayed Through the noontide of the day, Chatting all our cares away. There again let's meekly lie While the bees go humming by. Though the truant's ways are wrong, Let the school-bell sing its song, Who is left can truly say Why we are not there to-day? None--the years have laid them low 'Neath the flowers and 'neath the snow, And the west winds, sighing, sweep Where the master lies asleep. Little's left to us old men Of life's threescore years and ten; Few, if any, of the joys That we knew as village boys, Beckon from a future day--We are plodding on the way, Looking lingeringly back Down the dim, receding track. Old friends of long ago, Scattered where the four winds blow, Fifty years have passed between Winter's snow and summer's green--Yet these years of life apart Have not severed heart from heart; You are as of old to me--Friends deep carved in memory. THE RIVER CHIPPEWA O Summer-burdened Chippewa, Along thy winding way Beneath the green enrobed trees I watch thy waters play. Thy banks are decked with purest green, Thy pebbled shore below Adorns thy course with jewels rare And tunes its crystal flow. Here stands the pine with sable plume Upon the upland side, And here the shadowy cedar spreads Its long arms o'er the tide, While all between, the alder grows, The grape-vine twines its wreath To make a lovers' fav'rite bower Along the bank beneath. Here sing the birds at morning time, Here sing the birds at noon, At eventide their voices drown The river's purling tune--The robin and the oriole, The cat-bird and the wren, Make music from the birch top And from the brushy glen. In sunny days of summer Here hums the busy bee, ..