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60 oopies Art thou Ballad of St beautiful Beauty-cup blue bond bosom Bridge of Straubing bright call'd chain CHAMBERS TWAIN Chiswick Press clouds clover dead Death deep Doth Dream darling Dream loved ears earth ELKIN MATHEWS emerald equipoise Erin evermore eyes Fcap flame flower Frontispiece by Walter germ gleams God's Golden Day grey hand-made paper Hungarian Imperial 16mo inmost LABURNUMS leaf leaves LIFE'S BANQUET STAIRS lifts light lips LOVE'S NATURE Low drooping MEMORY OF LOSS moulding move Nature's Neath Night numbered and signed organic things Pleasure Poet's voice primal stage Printed on hand-made pulsating through organic Quatrains quickening force rays secret shining sight silent skies Sleep sleep.—Day Solent and Danube SONG sonnets Spring stars stream sung tears thee thou thrush tread trefoil True Shamrock tryst keeping verse VIGO STREET volume Walter Crane weeds weep WHIT LESS SWEET WILSEY MARTIN winds wings wintry Wood-Sorrel wrapp'd
Page 59 - He sang, he laugh'da blizzard laugh, he cried — ' Mine, mine ! The Maid is mine for evermore ! The hurricane's wild bells on Arctic shore Shall peal in thunders when I wed my bride.
Page 5 - I cannot tell thee, Sweet! though curls be gold, And thou reiterate till they be gray. О little Query! like a rose unblown, With folded mysteries in pink and white — Love cannot solve thee in thy morning light; Nor wisdom when thy three-score years have flown. W. WILSEY MARTIN. — For The Magazine of Poetry. AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD. THE glory has passed from the golden-rod's plume, The purple-hued asters still linger in bloom; The birch is bright yellow, the sumachs are red, The maples like torches...
Page 7 - Pass current, as new thoughts, from brain to brain. INTERPRETATION. Nature's fair rind, the Poet doth ignite With his soul's flame; subjectively he sees Form, force, and law, and deep analogies — And all her beauty blazes in his light. SWEET-WOODRUFF. A Poet true to Art and God, not read In his life-space; but who when gone receives Full meed, is like sweet-woodruff, in whose leaves Men find small perfume until they be dead. SIMPLICITY.
Page 21 - SMALL THINGS AND GREAT. DEEM nought so small, it cannot sway thy fate; A gnat may wreck a Dynasty or State; Nor think, as acting on the humblest lot, That aught beneath the sun can be too great. WAITING. As shuts the wild wood-sorrel when the light Dies down, so shuts my heart behind a gate Of gloom when thou art gone. Thy dawn I wait, As her closed leaves the passing of the night. LOVE'S COMPELLING. ONE snowflake kiss I'd give and take away, Thy "No" I dare not heed, for sweet Love's sake.
Page 16 - ... A friend to few. To one or two A friend indeed! W. WILSEY MARTIN. — For The Magazine of Poetry. LOVE. CAN true Love turn to Hate ? Can its pure force Be changed to that which stings without remorse ? Ah no! but when it dies, Hate writhes her coils And rears her cobra-length on Love's pale corse. Love's nature changeth never day by day, Though human heart-shrines crumble and decay; But sometimes when his eyes are drench'd with tears, He lifts his sad white wings and flies away. W. WILSEY MARTIN....
Page 5 - CURRENT POEMS. LITTLE MYRTLE. DEAR rosy Question! babbling all the day — "What am I ? tell me, 'fore my curls grow old," I cannot tell thee, Sweet! though curls be gold, And thou reiterate till they be gray. O little Query! like a rose unblown, With folded mysteries in pink and white — Love cannot solve thee in thy morning light; Nor wisdom when thy three-score years have flown. W. WILSEY MARTIN. — For The Magazine of Poetry. AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD. THE glory has passed from the golden-rod's...
Page 70 - Svo. 2s. fld. net. CHAMBERS TWAIN. By ERNEST RADFORD, with a Frontispiece by Walter Crane. Imperial 16mo.
Page 55 - And blossom-patches by the summer stirr'd, With sheen of woven silk, and gems that scatter rays. Knew we such rest, true heart! when mounting up? Such haste to lift the chalice to our lips, To learn if pleasure sweeter is in sips, Or when, with manhood's thirst, we drain the cup? Shall we stand by and carp at these — and say — "Go giddy ones, and moth-like fire your wings, — Pleasure is pain, and laughter sorrow brings.