I stood and watched him playing, A little lad of three,
And back to me came straying The years that used to be;
In him the boy was Maying Who once belonged to me
The selfsame brown his eyes were As those that once I knew;
Soul of the Poet
wheresoe'er,
Reclaimed from earth, thy genius
Her wings of immortality ;
Dear Morris--here is your letter--Can my answer reach you now
Fate has left me your debtor,
You will remember how;
For I went away to Nantucket,
Farewell, too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own;
For sure our souls were near allied, and
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine
The day returns again, my natal day;
What mix'd emotions with the Thought arise
Beloved friend, four years have pass'd
Since thou wert snatch'd forever from our eyes
HT," you said, "to-night, all Ireland
The curlews call
" The dinner-talk went on,
And I knew what you heard and what you saw,
(To have been read before the statue of Lafayette and Washington
Paris, on Decoration Day,
May 30, 1916
) Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When—with sweet flowers of our New England May Hiding th...
What beck'ning ghost, along the moon-light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade
'Tis she
—but why that bleeding bosom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly
But the essential advantage for a poet is not, to have a beautiful world with which to deal: it is to be able to see beneath both beauty and ugliness; to see the boredom, and the horror, and the glory
T
S
It was his story
AR
DE OF
IM, who grac'd the mimick scene, And charm'd attention with resistless pow'r;
Whose wond'rous art, whose fascinating mien, Gave glowing rapture to the short-liv'd hour
The light of evening,
Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos,
A pussy-cat who was the household pet for seventeen years
Naught but a little cat, you say;
Yet we remember her,
A creature loving, loyal, kind,