Poems by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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,