This is the end of the book
Written by God.
I am the earth he took,
I am the sod,
The wood and iron which he struck
With his sounding rod.
I am the reed that he blew:
Once quietly
By the riverside I grew,
Till...
Langdon Elwyn Mitchell
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I am the Virgin; from this granite ledge
A hundred weary winters have I watched
The lonely road that wanders at my feet;
And many days I ’ve sat here, in my lap
A little heap of snow, and overheard
The dry, dead voices of sere, rustling leaves;
... -
Her aged hands are worn with works of love;
Dear aged hands that oft on me are laid;
Her heart’s below, but, oh, her love’s above,
As flowers do sunward turn though in the shade.The set of sun is dear that lasts not long,
And she is sweeter far than... -
Fear
there is a sound I would not hear,
Although it music’s self might be;
Lest in my breast a crystal sphere
Might burst, might break for melody.There is a face I would not see
Tho’ like the springtime it were fair;
Lest love that... -
Technique
could but this be brought
Into your ken,—that the technique is thought!
Escape from “Style,” the notion men can use
Words without thoughts,—so wrench and so abuse
The innocent language to their ends that they
Will seem to be...