Snippets in Time : Assorted Ephemera and Poetry
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Can anyone identify the author who penned this birthday love poem, his initials being P G, or the lady whose name was Mary. It is assumed to have been written in Great Britain, possibly in Scotland, and from the handwriting style it would appear to date to the Victorian period, but might be a little later.

Any critical comment concerning the style or quality of the poem is most welcome.

Code 124 : 45 The poem is roughly laid out in the format as portrayed below

Love thoughts - A Birthday Greeting

Dear Mary, Sweetheart mine
May all the joys of life be thine.
Another year from us hath fled,
Joy has come and tears been shed.
When winter's icy mantel drear
Uplifts the snowdrops pearly white appear.
And e'en the darkest cloud that hovers
Its silvery lining only covers.
So too we learn from natures book
If we perchance but stay to look,
That sorrowing howe'er tis born
Returns with joy e'en in the morn.
And so it is that when we think
The hand of fate will make us sink*
That looking upwards we discern
The hand that Leads us to** yearn
For higher things than earth can bring
And see thro. nature nature's King.
Life's lesson read, love wanders on,
Into the past his thoughts are thrown.
'Mong Babbling brooks and shady walks,
Sacred to many of loves own talks.
Where my love, my heart, confessed to me,
And answering love did fondly see.
Dearer than ever these walks had grown
Life lay before us sorrow scarce Known
When stern duty as if to try us, we part,
The world cares little for affairs of the heart.
But the darKness scattered love stronger grew
And from Wordly Cares no fear we Knew,
And into the future with Love as our guide,
We two will wander side by side,
Loving and trusting till united we stand
By heart and hand, By heart and hand
Dearest Mary Sweetheart, mine
Every earthly joy be thine.
This your Birthday greeting be
From your true Love     P.G.

* Due to an apparent correction the word sink is a little uncertain.

** Due to a tear in the original the word to is assumed.
 

Can anyone identify the author of this hand-written poem, which seems to have some connection to members of the Bertram & Gray families. It is in a photo / scrapbook, which belonged to the Hope family of Luffness, Haddingtonshire in Scotland. It has been sandwiched between death notices to Sophia Nicolle (ms) Bertram and Elie-Jean Bertram (Elizabeth Perrot), who both died in 1858, and illustrations of members of the Gray family, including Edward George Gray when he was in Paris.

Any critical comment concerning the style or quality of the poem is most welcome.

Code 157: 45 The poem is roughly laid out in the format as portrayed below

"It is not Winter yet."

The withered leaves are falling round,
Less bright the mounted radiance glows,
Few flowers are in the garden found,
And chill the night-wind blows!
But wherefore wear a brow of gloom,
Or speak of summer with regret,
Still many buds are left to blow -
It is not winter yet.

'Tis ever thus in human life;
Too oft the glance is backward cast;
We turn from scenes with pleasure rife,
To muse upon the past.
We may not see another spring,
We cannot by-gone hours forget;
But hope fresh flowers may round us fling,
It is not winter yet.

As even in the saddest hour,
Beneath a dark and stormy sky;
We often see some lovely flower
Spring up to glad the eye;
So, faithful friends, in life's worst gloom,
Can cheer by Kindness our regret;
Shake off the fear of darker doom -
It is not winter yet.