Poems by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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Take these rhymes into thy grace,
A blight, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness--
To spring belongs the violet, and the blown
When first the crocus thrusts its point of gold
[Midnight.]
GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720
Lines Found Among The Papers Of A Harvard Undergraduate
The spare Professor, grave and bald,
[One of the Bearers soliloquizes:]
CORYDON
From yonder gilded minaret
I
The folk who lived in Shakespeare's day
I vex me not with brooding on the years
I'll not confer with Sorrow
"The Southern Transept, hardly known by any other name but Poet's Corner."
Curled up and sitting on her feet,
Like Crusoe, walking by the lonely strand
My mind lets go a thousand things,
I
The sky is gray as gray may be,
Who is Lydia, pray, and who
SCENE: St. Petersburg. Period: the present time. A ballroom in the
Pillared arch and sculptured tower
Thou singest by the gleaming isles,
That face which no man ever saw
Wouldst know the clash of knightly steel on steel?
I
A Middle-Aged Lyrical Poet Is Supposed To Be Taking Final Leave Of The Muse Of Comedy. She Has Brought Him His Hat And Gloves, And Is Abstractedly Picking A Thread Of Gold Hair From His Coat Sleeve As He Begins To Speak:
1851-1870
Edward Rowland Sill, Died February 27, 1887
I beg you come to-night and dine.
Listen, my masters! I speak naught but truth.
A. D. 1670
I
Before you reach the slender, high-arched bridge,

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