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William Hepworth Dixon, White Conquest: Volume 1 | 164 | 0 | Browse | Search |
William Hepworth Dixon, White Conquest: Volume 2 | 164 | 0 | Browse | Search |
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) | 20 | 0 | Browse | Search |
The Daily Dispatch: April 6, 1861., [Electronic resource] | 16 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Frederick H. Dyer, Compendium of the War of the Rebellion: Regimental Histories | 15 | 1 | Browse | Search |
The Daily Dispatch: July 4, 1864., [Electronic resource] | 13 | 11 | Browse | Search |
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) | 12 | 0 | Browse | Search |
The Daily Dispatch: July 13, 1863., [Electronic resource] | 12 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 13. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) | 11 | 3 | Browse | Search |
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore) | 11 | 9 | Browse | Search |
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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for White or search for White in all documents.
Your search returned 3 results in 3 document sections:
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 43 (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 185 (search)
71.
red, White, and Blue. by Theodore Tilton. I. Red cypress!
Thee I pluck to-day. All flowers have meaning, poets say. The legend of thy leaf Is death, the grave, and grief. Thou growest for the sake Of all the hearts that break; But since so many hearts have bled, Thy flower hath turned blood-red. Thee on my breast I wear, For now a heart bleeds there. II. White rose!
Why pluck I not the red? The red rose speaks of love: --And love I not my dead? What speaks the white rose of? Despair!
Love's last despair! This is the load I bear; So I the white rose wear. III. Blue harebell!
Mute the knell Of thy soft bell, Yet each breath shakes it, as in toll Of some departed soul. Grief is thy second name; Grief bendeth down thy head; Grief boweth mine the same ;-- Who grieveth not for some one dead? Grief's flower I wear upon my breast; Grief is my heart's lone guest; --But never yet was grief unblest! So every weeper hath confess'd: --So hath my heart its rest.
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 316 (search)