Poets' Homes: Pen and Pencil Sketches of American Poets and Their Homes

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D. Lothrop, 1879 - 232 pages

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Page 138 - Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same power that brought me there brought you.
Page 32 - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Page 20 - Grandmother's mother: her age, I guess, Thirteen summers, or something less; Girlish bust, but womanly air; Smooth, square forehead with uprolled hair, Lips that lover has never kissed; Taper fingers and slender wrist; Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade; So they painted the little maid.
Page 140 - My angel — his name is Freedom — Choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west And fend you with his wing.
Page 140 - Hireling, and him that hires; And here in a pine state-house They shall choose men to rule In every needful faculty, In church, and state, and school. Lo, now! if these poor men Can govern the land and sea, And make just laws below the sun, As planets faithful be. And ye shall succor men; 'Tis nobleness to serve; Help them who cannot help again: Beware from right to swerve.
Page 109 - Sit and comb their beautiful hair, Those wonderful waves of brown and gold, Till the fire is out in the chamber there And the little bare feet are cold. Then out of the gathering winter chill, All out of the bitter St. Agnes weather, While the fire is out and the house is still, Maud and Madge together — Maud and Madge, in robes of white, The prettiest nightgowns under the sun, Curtained away from the chilly night, After the revel is done...
Page 104 - SO sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing, So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see ; So blithe and gay the humming-bird a-going From flower to flower, a-hunting with the bee.
Page 108 - THEY sat and combed their beautiful hair, Their long bright tresses, one by one. As they laughed and talked in the chamber there, After the revel was done. Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille; Idly they laughed like other girls, Who over the fire, when all is still, Comb out their braids and curls.
Page 139 - The morrow dawned with needless glow; Each snowbird chirped, each fowl must crow; Each tramper started; but the feet Of the most beautiful and sweet Of human youth had left the hill And garden...

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