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279
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72, 219, 262, 447

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47

LAVELY, L. B.
LEWIS, ALICE B.
LISTER, JOHN
LONG, DANIEL ALBRIGHT
LORD, WILLIAM S.
McCANN, JOHN ERNEST
MCINTYRE, Rev. ROBERT
MAHANY, ROWLAND B.
MARBLE, EARL
MICHEL, NETTIE LEILA
MILBURN, Rev. WILLIAM HENRY
Moore, CHARLES L.
MOULTON, CHARLES WELLS
MURRAY, JOHN CLARK
Nash, MARY E.
NEVIN, W. CHANNING
OVERALL, JOHN W.
Owex, RICHARD
OXLEY, J. MACDONALD
PADEN, MAMIE S.
PHILLIPS, RYAL J.
Piatt, JOHN JAMES
PICKARD, S. T.
RANDALL, JAMES RYDER
RIDEING, WILLIAM H.
ROBERTS, CHARLES G. D.
Roche, JAMES JEFFREY
ROGERS, REV. CHARLES
Rose, W. R.
Ross, J.
SCOLLARD, CLINTON
SCOTT, D. C.
SELMES, MARY
SMITH, Eva MUNSON
STODDARD, CHARLES WARREN
THOMPSON, MAURICE
Tutin, J. R.
TYNAN, KATHARINE
UPHAM, JAMES
WETHERELL, MARY E.
WILLIAMS, FRANCIS HOWARD
WOODBURY, CHARLES J.
YEATS, W. B.

462

289

INDEX OF AUTHORS OF PROSE SKETCHES.

ABBEY, HENRY
ADAMS, Oscar FAY
ALDRICH, CHARLES
ARCHIBALD, Mrs. GEORGE
ASHTON, EUGENE
BATES, MARGARET HOLMES
BECKER, Emily F.
Bigelow, ALLEN G.
BIGGART, MABELLE B.
BOLTON, SARAH K.
BOWEN, JOHN Eliot
BROOMHALL, A. F
BROWNE, Francis F.
BUCKE, Dr. R. M.
BUTTERWORTH, HEZEKIAH
CARMAN, BLISS
CHAMPLIN, EDWIN R.
CHANDLER, HORACE P.
CHAPIN, BELA
CLARK, KATE UPSON
COLLIER, THOMAS S.
CONWAY, KATHARINE ELEANOR.
CROCKETT, INGRAM
CRONYN, ELIZABETH A.
DANDRIDGE, DANSKE
DEWHURST, F. E.
DONIGAN, J. W.
DORLING, WILLIAM
EGGLESTON, EDWARD
EVERETT, JOHN C.
FLAGG, E. H.
FORMAN, ALLAN
GAVAN, JOHN W.
GRIFFITH, GEORGE BANCROFT
GUINEY, LOUISE IMOGEN
HAMMAN, MATTIE WYNN
HARLAND, MARION
Houston, WILLIAM
Howe, CAROLINE DANA
JACKSON, A. N.
KENGOTT, GEORGE F.
KIRK, ELLEN OLNEY
KOOPMAN, HARRY LYMAN
LATTIMORE, S. A,

431
307, 437

461
274
467
285

327
63, 271

167
165
325
160

52
333
354
421
138
283
185
339

65
337
149

40
465
267
169
222

44
414
394
443
471
313

3
91
454
200
229
427
303
143

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

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469

A beaten and a baffled man.
A beggar died last night.
A bivalve feeding in the warm salt sea.
About this little room of mine.
Across the trackless skies.
A cup of coffee, eggs, and rolls.
A damp gray blanket hides.
A dew-drop in a lily's cup.
A fiery young world, in far voids of sky.
A flower! a flower!
A gnarled and massive oak log.
Ah, my beloved! my best is all your due.
A hopeless, heartless human life.
Ah, Poet, you are out of date.
A human friend was granted unto me.
A journeying to Emmaus.
A keen, insistent hint of dawn.
A kindly look, a word of commendation.
A lark's song dropped from heaven.
A little elbow leans upon your knee.
A little way below her chin.
All books that for Love's sake are ever

penned.
All day, like smiles that wreathe.
All day the Princess ran away:
All day through the valley of Ajalon flowed.
All that long, mad March day.
All the children come to me.
All through the sultry evening hours.
All things are shadows of thee, Lord.
All things that we can hear or see.
Almighty Framer of the skies.
Alone she bears the mystic flame.
Along the waste, a great way off.
Always with me! always with me!
A man can build a mansion.
Among the priceless gems and treasures
Among the thousand, thousand spheres

that roll,
An Attic girl with garlands on her hair.
And I said, "She is dead, I could not brook.”
And you, ye glittering hosts.
An eddying speck the swallow fies.
Angel faces watch my pillow.
A Painter quickly seized his brush.
A pillowed head on the cold, cold clay.
A printer and his proof this thought sugo

gest.
A rondlet is just a pulse of summer song.
A rondlet is just seven verses.
A satyr with weird look.
As Cupid, on a summer's day.
A sea-cliff carved into a base-relief!
A sea of blossoms, golden as the glow.
A sentinel angel sitting high in glory.
A soft-breasted bird from the sea.
As one who, mid the wintry surge.
A song for the girl I love.
A song welled up in the singer's heart.
A sower went forth to sow.

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394

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As Perseus ere he tried the unknown seas.
A star came falling from the sky.
As the day's last light is dying.
As thoughts possess the fashion of the mood.
A sudden strange unfolding.
As when the imperial bird wide-circling.
A tender morn for thee.
At milking time, when shadows climb.
At Naishapur his ashes lie.
At Nebra, by the Unstrut.
A tree is blossoming in some distant grove.
A twilight star that rests above the steep.
Autumn with the rush of the storm.
Awake, awake! Nay, slumber not.
Awake, O lyre! thy tender rhythmic throng.
A wee bit raggit laddie.
A welcome would I give thee, new-born

year.
A white sail gleamed across the bay.
A word, and all a heart.
A world of radiant roses iar and wide.
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your

flight.
Beautiful woman, thou art.
Before the beginning of years.
Behold him! How his great heart glows.
Be like the sun, that pours its ray.
Beneath the mild sun vanish.
Beside the glowing flames we sat.
Be strong, O soul! The morning breaketh

fair.
Be there a traitor who deserves in sooth.
Be to every man just, -and to Woman.
Better to smell the violet cool.
Beyond the edge of the mountain.
Beyond the mountains' dusky mass,
Blessed is he who hath not trod the ways..
Bless my heart! You're come at last.
Blow, blow, ye trumpets, blow,
Blow, freely blow.
Blue hills beneath the haze.
Bold March! Wild March.
Breathing the summer-scented air.
Bring the rod, the line, the reel.
Broad wave on wave of scarlet.
Burly and big his books among.
Bursts from a rending East in flaws.
But one short week ago the trees were bare.
By Nebo's lonely mountain.
By silent forest and field and mossy stone.
By the city dead-house by the gate.
By the dark and silent river.
By the moon's pale light.
By ways of dreaming and doing.
Can aught into the Innermost intrude.
Cast first the World.
Chaste pilot of the dawn.
Come my tan-faced children.
Come out and hear the waters shoot.
Come over, come over the waters so dark.

Come,” said her voice.

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453

78
290
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236
265
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85
295

53
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rare,

471

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431
309
358
96
75
441
167

462
486
378

347

146

477
395

232
486
382
422
216
411

97
435

49
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107
85

18
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441
132

41
331
280
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377

158

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273
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117

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450

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393
182

37
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304
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423
487
103

Come up hither! come away!"
Crude, pompous, turgid," the reviewers

said.
Cut-cut-cot-ca-dive-cot!
Dare not to tell me I have lost thee.
Dark night her tent once more unfurled.
Daughters of Eve! Your mother did not

well.
Day follows day; years perish.
Dear brother, thou who grandly didst aspire.
Death solves the doubt.
Didst thou rejoice because the day was fair.
Dost deem him weak who owns.
Dost thou not know God's country.
Do you know you have asked for the cost-

liest thing.
Do you remember me, my glorified.
Down by the salley gardens:
Dream not I hold too dear.
Drecker, a drawbridge keeper opened wide.
Dwell not too long with solitude.
Each day when the glow of sunset.
Each moment holy is.
Each on his own strict line we move.
Each year I mark one lone outstanding tree.
E'en while I sing, see Faction urge her

claim.
Engender beauty in the realm of thought.
England's sun was slowly setting.
Ensigns of empires flaunt thy flanking wall.
Ere country ways had turned to street.
Fair young mother, with children three.
Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty.
Far nobler the sword that is nicked and

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worn.

Hark! the owlet flaps his wings.
Hark! to the voice which cries.
Haste not, halt not; it will go.
Have you seen an apple orchard in the

spring ?
Have you seen Pan? I heard him pipe.
Hawk or shrike has done this deed.
Heaven's fairest star.
He falters on the threshold.
He has taken the vow of poverty.
He is not alone an artist weak and white.
Helen, thy beauty is to me.
He loved two women: one whose soul was

clean.
He placed a rose in my nut-brown hair.
Her china cup is white and thin.
Her eyes are bright as bright can be
Here is a breathing time.
Here lived the slayer, and there the slain.
Her face was very fair to see.
Her hair is the gold-brown of chestnuts.
Her hair was a waving bronze.
Her heart, her mind, her voice.
He rides away at early light.
Her robes are of purple and scarlet.
Her song but savored of despair.
He's a rude fellow. When I meet him he.
He the great World-Musician at whose

stroke.
He walks with God upon the hills.
He was coming from the altar.
He wed my sister yesterday! Ah, me!
He who had marred my life in cruel wise.
Hills to the North! where a slumbering lion.
His spirit is in apogee!
How bright and beautiful are the flowers.
How calmly she sleeps in the grave.
How cracked and poor his laughter rings.
How does a woman love? Once, no more.
How doth he shelter them, His birds.
How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly.
How shall I breathe to thee.
How still she lies!
How they are provided for,
How tired! Eight hours of racking work.
How sweet I roamed from field to field.
How sweet the manger smells.
I am a woman-therefore I may not.
I am silent to-night in the basement dim.
I am the impof stone that squats and leers.
I am the key that parts the gates of fame.
I came between the glad green hills.
I could not choose but gaze..
I don't go much on religion.
I'd rather live in Bohemia.
I envy those sweet souls that walk serenely.
If any one can tell.
I feel no need of Nature's flowers.
If I had known in the morning.
If men cared less for wealth and fame.
If only 'twere not Christmas Eve.
If, sitting with this little worn-out shoe.
If there be any good.
If this now silent harp could wake.
If thou art a poet-son of God.
If thou canst make the frost be gone.
If we had parted that first night.
If we knew the baby fingers.
I had a beautiful garment.

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Fetch on your scissors, your slender blade.
First I tried to live on faith.
Flow on, noble rivers! flow on.
Fluting and sighing, with young locks

aflow.
“ Fly to the mountain, fly!"
Forgive! forgive! this burning tear.
For the hopes that were wrecked.
For those who think life's common thought.
For years in towering stateliness I stood.
Friend! when you felt the baleful.
From far a-field the cows are coming home.
From night to night.
From Shasta town to Redding town.
From the madding crowd they stand apart.
From the noisome garrets and cellars.
Full moody is my love and sad.
Full oft, O Venus! heaven's dearest star.
Full slow to part with her best gifts is Fate.

Give me a theme,” the little poet cried.
God send me tears!
Going out to fame and triumph.
Golden and russet and golden.
Golden rod! in autumn splendor.

Good day!” cried one who drove to West.
Grant me, O God! the glory of gray hairs.
Had I the choice to tally greatest bards.
Hail to the North! hail to the South!
Hair as silk of corn sun-kissed.
Half god, half brute, within the self-same

shell.
Happy the man, whose wish and care.
Hark, ah, the nightingale.
Hark! is 't thy step, New Year ?

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I had a vision of mankind to be.

70
I had been buried a month and a year. 287
I have been an acolyte.

139
I have ships that went to sea.

359
I heard the city time-bells call.

394
I know that the world.

438
lay my fingers on Time's wrist to score.

444
I listen to the plashing of the lake.

260
I live for those who love me.

106
I'll seek him yet: in some warm nook.

205
I love to watch them, trickling on the floor.

178
I may not speak in words, dear.

48
I met a traveller on the road.

5
I met her Easter morning.

210
I mourn the gem I might have had.

221
Imperial bloom, whose every curve we see. 320
Imperious on her ebon throne.

206
I passed along the water's edge.

455
"I'm sorry, and I hurried back.”

433
I'm weary of gazing into the dark.

223
In a strong tower that fronts a stormy sea. 461
In days to come we plan good deeds.

442
In dead, dull days I heard a surging cry.
In dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships.
In dreams I found a wondrous land.

320
In dreary, ceaseless monotone.

97
In fallow fields I long to lie.

66
In Lyons, in the mart of that French town. 71
In no more fitting place could we have met.

432
In September the land grows gold.

288
In sorrow once there came to me.

310
In streets, amid the city signs.
In the dark and narrow street.
In the dark Gethesmane.
In the days o' langsyne.
In the depths of untold sorrow.

326
In the gray beech shadows.
In the Kingdom of the Blind.

165
In the shadows I'm sitting.

332
In the slimy bed of a sluggish mere.

185
In the twilight, in his sanctum, sat the editor
alone.

231
Into the night, the odorous summer night.

144
Into the town of Conemaugh.

373
Into the ward of the white-washed walls. 239
I plucked a rose at eventide.

338
I really am obliged to you.
I remember when I was a boy.

479

49
I said, if I might go back again.
I saw a bright and peaceful scene.

442
I saw a snowflake in the air.

95
I saw a wonderful sight.

105
I saw in dreams a dim bleak heath.

321
I saw the young Morn in her beauty unfold-
ing

75
I see a young Lieutenant, fresh from books.

465
I send no greeting; I do not even feel.

303
I strayed from the bower of the roses.

95
It fell at night upon a rocking world.

443
It happened one day up in Heaven.

326
I think, oftimes, that lives of men may be.

390
It is better to die, since death comes surely.

186
It isn't a scrumptuous thing to see.

482
It isn't the thing you do dear.

412
It is the starry hush of night.

220
It is well that we sink in the Lethean wave.

290
It must be sweet, O thou, my dead.

314
It's O my heart, my heart.

314
I tread the stones of Manhattan.

252

It was a nuptial of the dead.
It was a small and foolish child.
It was but yesterday I saw his sheep.
It was the fair, white season of first snow.
I walked afield one morn in late November.
I was loung'n' amongst m' pillows.
I watch you in your crystal sphere.
I well remember how, a girl.
I will be glad to-day; the sun.
I will be still.
I woke and heard the thrushes sing.
I worshipped her in such devout, strong

wise,
I would not lose a single silvery ray.
Joys have three stages.
Joy stood upon my threshold, mild and fair.
Keep holy watch with silence.
Last night returning from my twilight walk.
Last year I knew naught of thee.
Late at night I saw the Shepherd.
Lay a laurel on his coffin, and a sword.
Leaf by leaf the roses fall.
Leona, the hour draws nigh.
Let him alone. He would make pure the

world.
Let Shakespeare hold the mirror up to

nature.
Let's sing of the Maple.
Let the plover pipe, to his mate.
Let us take to our hearts a lesson.
Life brings no burden to be borne.
Life's morning lies behind.
Life's whirl and din!
Light, and the fading of night.
Light at its full of the harvest moon.
Like Joseph's coat his tattered raiment

shows.
Like the flakes of the snow.
Like the love-bringing wind when it goes.
Like waves which once have kissed the

shore.
Listen to the tawny thief.
Little drops of water.
Lo! here I stand all trembling and dig.

mayed.
Long years ago he bore to a land beyond

the sea.
Long years within its sepulchre.
Look up,—not down.'
Lord, for the erring thought.
Love has wings as light as a bird.
Love is fire in air.
Love is the centre and circumference.
Love laid down his golden head.
Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee
Love, that thou lov'st me not.
Lo, wounded of the world.
Lyrist of woods and waters, loving best.
Many a bud enfolds a hue.
May peace with thee abide.
Melpomene among her livid people.
Mild offering of a dark and sullen sire.
Milton! thou Titan of the epic song.
Moan, ye wind, moan, oh moan.
My blessed wife! (and may her kind in-

crease).
My brave lad he sleeps in his faded coat

of blue.
My Fred! I can't understand it."

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My friend he was; my friend from all the

rest.
My heart a haunted manor, where Time.
My horse's feet beside the lake.
My lot grew lighter day by day.
My soul desires to live.
My soul to-day is far away.
Nation of sun and sin.
Near, near, so near.
Near strange, weird temples.
No battle note or pomp of arms reversed.
No door so thick, no bolt so strong.
No, I will not say good-by.
Norroway hills are grand to see.
No song of a soldier riding down.
Not from the whole wide world I choose

thee.
Not on seas of wild commotion,
Not solitarily in fields we find.
Not where long past ages sleep.
Now do I know that Love is blind.
No wind, no bird. The river flames like

brass.
Now Westward Sol had spent the richest

beams.
Now Winter is fighting his battles.
O Babylon; O Babylon.
O beautiful, stately ships.
O Beauty, Beauty, thou wilt drive me mad.
O Captain! my Captain!
O fairest maid of rarest days.
O Fancy, if thou flyest, come back anon.
Of me and of my theme think what thou

wilt.
O golden rod! sweet golden rod!
Oh are the heavens clear, ye say.
Oh earth, oh dewy mother, breath on us.
Oh, if the world were mine, Love.
O highest, strongest, sweetest woman-soul.
Oh, Ireland, my country, the hour.
Oh, how shall I help to right the world.
Oh, my laddie, my laddie.
Oh! what has caused my killing miseries..
Oh, what shall I do with them both?
Oh, why left I my hame?
Oh! wild birds sing to me a strain.
O lassie ayont the hill.
Old friends and dear, it were ungentle

rhyme.
let me live with those dear souls.
O Love-star of the unbeloved March.
O man with your rule and measure.
On a green, mossy bank.
On all the outer world, a holy hush.
Once, as I pondered o'er stranger books.
Once before, this self-same air.
Once in an English woodland.
Once looking from a window on a land.
Once on my mother's breast, a child, I

crept.
One by one, o'er a dreamer's face.
One drop of this, and she will not know.
One night, as old Saint Peter slept.
One of us, love, must stand.
One questions eagerly, “Can friendship

die?"
One stood upon the morning hills and

saw.
Only a vine-clad cot by the wayside.

Only a year have thou and I been friends.
Only waiting till the shadows.
On the Rialto Bridge we stand.
On the road; the lonely road.
O Spirit of the Spring, delay, delay.
Ostera! spirit of springtime.
O still, white face of perfect peace.
O that word Regret!
Out of the darkness—whence?
Out on a world that's gone to weed.
Out upon the unknown deep.
Over the Barrington meadows.
Over the hill the farmboy goes.
Over the mountain road.
O what a host of holy recollections.
O white and midnight sky, O starry bath.
O who would dare stand?
O wilderness of worlds! ye stars!
Play on! Play on! As softly glides.
“Poppies," she said and sighed.
Princess Eyebrigh's seventeen,
Quaint city on the Finnish sea.
*Rejoice," said the Sun; “I will make thee

gay,”
Respect the Future,” which belongs to me.
Rest, heroes rest! all conflicts now are

ended.
Return, they cry, ere yet your day.
Rich was the harvest he vow'd to reap.
Sad is our youth, for it is ever going.
Sad is the thought of sunniest days.
Sad mortal couldst thou but know.
Sank a palace in the sea.
Saviour! happy should I be.
Say not good-bye! dear friend."
Say, what blinds us, that we claim the

glory.
Seek not the tree of silkiest bark.
Self-awed with its only glory is the night.
Serene I fold my hands and wait.
Sharp drives the rain.
She came and went, as comes and goes.
She heard the waves creep up the sand.
She is false, O Death, she is fair.
She lay like a rose-leaf on his cup.
She rose in the night and fled.
She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh.
She steers the stars through Heaven's

azure deep.
She stood before a chosen few.
Should your cherished purpose fail.
Sing the old songs amid the sounds dis-

persing.
Sitting all day in a silver mist.
Six little feet to cover.
Sleep, my pretty one.
Softly it stole up out of the sea.
Softly, O midnight Hours.
Soft through the shimmering sunshine.
Some gaudy prince has stayed here.
Something lies in the room.
Sometime in the future, I cannot tell

when.
Sometime, when life's lessons.
Somewhere 'tis told that in an Eastern

land.
Soon beyond the harbor bar.
So sweet, so sweet, she sang, is love.
'Speak tenderly! For he is dead," we say.

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