Washington
Oh, hero of our younger race!
Great builder of a temple new!
Ruler, who sought no lordly place!
Warrior who sheathed the sword he drew!
Lover of men, who saw afarA world unmarred by want or war,
Who knew the path, and yet
To tread, till all men should implore;
Who saw the light, and led the
Where the gray world might greet the day;
Father and leader, prophet sure,
Whose will in vast works shall endure,
How shall we praise him on this day of days,
Great son of fame who has no need of praise?
How shall we praise him?
Open wide the -Of heroes moves o’er unresounding
Men whose brawned arms upraised these colors
And reared the towers that vanish in the sky,-The strong who, having wrought, can never, never die.
Harriet Monroe
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The Wonder Of It
How wild, how witch-like weird that life should be That the insensate rock dared dream of me, And take to bursting out and burgeoning— Oh, long ago—yo ho — And wearing green
In Tuolumne Meadows
I Love to sit in the And watch the foaming Leap over its granite bed I love these days that run On a burnished golden dial With the blue sky overhead
The Turbine
To W S M Look at her—there she sits upon her throne As ladylike and quiet as a nun
The Hotel
The long resounding marble corridors, the shining parlors with shining women in them The French room, with its gilt and garlands under plump little tumbling painted loves' The Turkish room, with its jumble of many carpets and its stiffly...