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Bagatelle - Corydon: A Pastoral Bagatelle - Corydon: A Pastoral

Bagatelle - Corydon: A Pastoral
SCENE: A roadside in Arcady SHEPHERD. Good sir, have you seen pass this way A mischief straight from market-day? You'd know her at a glance, I think; Her eyes are blue, her lips are pink; She has a way of looking back Over her shoulder, and, alack! Who gets that look one time, good sir, Has naught to do but follow her. PILGRIM. I have not seen this maid, methinks, Though she that passed had lips like pinks. SHEPHERD. Or like two strawberries made one By... Poems - Post by : BackRackHosting - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1907

Pauline Pavlovna Pauline Pavlovna

Pauline Pavlovna
SCENE: St. Petersburg. Period: the present time. A ballroom in the winter palace of the Prince--. The ladies in character costumes and masks. The gentlemen in official dress and unmasked, with the exception of six tall figures in scarlet kaftans, who are treated with marked distinction as they move here and there among the promenaders. Quadrille music throughout the dialogue. Count SERGIUS PAVLOVICH PANSHINE, who has just arrived, is standing anxiously in the doorway of an antechamber with his eyes fixed upon a lady in the costume of a maid of honor in the time of... Poems - Post by : Billr - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1069

Sargent's Portrait Of Edwin Booth At 'the Players' Sargent's Portrait Of Edwin Booth At "the Players"

Sargent's Portrait Of Edwin Booth At 'the Players'
That face which no man ever saw And from his memory banished quite, With eyes in which are Hamlet's awe And Cardinal Richelieu's subtle light, Looks from this frame. A master's hand Has set the master-player here, In the fair temple that he planned Not for himself. To us most dear This image of him! "It was thus He looked; such pallor touched his cheek; With that same grace he greeted us-- Nay, 'tis the man, could it but speak!" Sad words that shall be said... Poems - Post by : Paula - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3226

'like Crusoe, Walking By The Lonely Strand' "like Crusoe, Walking By The Lonely Strand"

'like Crusoe, Walking By The Lonely Strand'
Like Crusoe, walking by the lonely strand And seeing a human footprint on the sand, Have I this day been startled, finding here, Set in brown mould and delicately clear, Spring's footprint--the first crocus of the year! O sweet invasion! Farewell solitude! Soon shall wild creatures of the field and wood Flock from all sides with much ado and stir, And make of me most willing prisoner!(The end)Thomas Bailey Aldrich's poem: "Like Crusoe, Walking By The Lonely Strand"... Poems - Post by : cashdream - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1561

No Songs In Winter No Songs In Winter

No Songs In Winter
The sky is gray as gray may be, There is no bird upon the bough, There is no leaf on vine or tree. In the Neponset marshes now Willow-stems, rosy in the wind, Shiver with hidden sense of snow. So too 'tis winter in my mind, No light-winged fancy comes and stays: A season churlish and unkind. Slow creep the hours, slow creep the days, The black ink crusts upon the pen-- Just wait till bluebirds, wrens, and jays And golden orioles come again!(The end)Thomas Bailey Aldrich's poem: No... Poems - Post by : tmellon - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1690

'i'll Not Confer With Sorrow' "i'll Not Confer With Sorrow"

'i'll Not Confer With Sorrow'
I'll not confer with Sorrow Till to-morrow; But Joy shall have her way This very day. Ho, eglantine and cresses For her tresses!-- Let Care, the beggar, wait Outside the gate. Tears if you will--but after Mirth and laughter; Then, folded hands on breast And endless rest.(The end)Thomas Bailey Aldrich's poem: "I'll Not Confer With Sorrow"... Poems - Post by : jamesjoseph - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2990

Sestet: Sent To A Friend With A Volume Of Tennyson Sestet: Sent To A Friend With A Volume Of Tennyson

Sestet: Sent To A Friend With A Volume Of Tennyson
Wouldst know the clash of knightly steel on steel? Or list the throstle singing loud and clear? Or walk at twilight by some haunted mere In Surrey; or in throbbing London feel Life's pulse at highest--hark, the minster's peal! . . . Turn but the page, that various world is here!(The end)Thomas Bailey Aldrich's poem: Sestet: Sent To A Friend With A Volume Of Tennyson... Poems - Post by : Alanna - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1025

A Struggle For Life A Struggle For Life

A Struggle For Life
One morning as I was passing through Boston Common, which lies between my home and my office, I met a gentleman lounging along The Mall. I am generally preoccupied when walking, and often thread my way through crowded streets without distinctly observing any one. But this man's face forced itself upon me, and a singular face it was. His eyes were faded, and his hair, which he wore long, was flecked with gray. His hair and eyes, if I may say so, were sixty years old, the rest of him not thirty. The youthfulness of his figure, the elasticity of his... Short Stories - Post by : plethora - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2242

A Rivermouth Romance A Rivermouth Romance

A Rivermouth Romance
I. At five o'clock on the morning of the tenth of July, 1860, the front door of a certain house on Anchor Street, in the ancient seaport town of Rivermouth, might have been observed to open with great caution. This door, as the least imaginative reader may easily conjecture, did not open itself. It was opened by Miss Margaret Callaghan, who immediately closed it softly behind her, paused for a few seconds with an embarrassed air on the stone step, and then, throwing a furtive glance up at the second-story windows, passed hastily down the street towards the river, keeping close... Short Stories - Post by : almills - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1420

Quite So Quite So

Quite So
I. Of course that was not his name. Even in the State of Maine it is still a custom to maim a child for life by christening him Arioch or Shadrach or Ephraim, nobody would dream of calling a boy "Quite So." It was merely a nickname which we gave him in camp; but it stuck to him with such bur-like tenacity, and is so inseparable from my memory of him, that I do not think I could write definitely of John Bladburn if I were to call him anything but "Quite So." It was one night shortly after the... Short Stories - Post by : McEbook - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2165

My Cousin The Colonel My Cousin The Colonel

My Cousin The Colonel
I Mrs. Wesley frequently embarrasses me by remarking in the presence of other persons--our intimate friends, of course--"Wesley, you are not brilliant, but you are good." From Mrs. Wesley's outlook, which is that of a very high ideal, there is nothing uncomplimentary in the remark, nothing so intended, but I must confess that I have sometimes felt as if I were paying a rather large price for character. Yet when I reflect on my cousin the colonel, and my own action in the matter, I am ready with gratitude to accept Mrs. Wesley's estimate of me, for if I am not... Short Stories - Post by : eSitesBuilder - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2867

'for Bravery On The Field Of Battle' "for Bravery On The Field Of Battle"

'for Bravery On The Field Of Battle'
I The recruiting-office at Rivermouth was in a small, unpainted, weather- stained building on Anchor Street, not far from the custom-house. The tumble-down shell had long remained tenantless, and now, with its mouse- colored exterior, easily lent itself to its present requirements as a little military mouse-trap. In former years it had been occupied as a thread-and-needle and candy shop by one Dame Trippew. All such petty shops in the town were always kept by old women, and these old women were always styled dames. It is to be lamented that they and their innocent traffic have vanished into the unknown.... Short Stories - Post by : cherman - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1651

Pere Antoine's Date-palm Pere Antoine's Date-palm

Pere Antoine's Date-palm
Near the Levee, and not far from the old French Cathedral in the Place d'Armes, at New Orleans, stands a fine date-palm, thirty feet in height, spreading its broad leaves in the alien air as hardily as if its sinuous roots were sucking strength from their native earth. Sir Charles Lyell, in his Second Visit to the United States, mentions this exotic: "The tree is seventy or eighty years old; for Pere Antoine, a Roman Catholic priest, who died about twenty years ago, told Mr. Bringier that he planted it himself, when he was young. In his will he provided that... Short Stories - Post by : reddog - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2997

Our New Neighbors At Ponkapog Our New Neighbors At Ponkapog

Our New Neighbors At Ponkapog
When I saw the little house building, an eighth of a mile beyond my own, on the Old Bay Road, I wondered who were to be the tenants. The modest structure was set well back from the road, among the trees, as if the inmates were to care nothing whatever for a view of the stylish equipages which sweep by during the summer season. For my part, I like to see the passing, in town or country; but each has his own unaccountable taste. The proprietor, who seemed to be also the architect of the new house, superintended the various details... Short Stories - Post by : valhalla - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3210

Miss Mehetabel's Son Miss Mehetabel's Son

Miss Mehetabel's Son
I. THE OLD TAVERN AT BAYLEY'S FOUR CORNERS. You will not find Greenton, or Bayley's Four-Corners, as it is more usually designated, on any map of New England that I know of. It is not a town; it is not even a village; it is merely an absurd hotel. The almost indescribable place called Greenton is at the intersection of four roads, in the heart of New Hampshire, twenty miles from the nearest settlement of note, and ten miles from any railway station. A good location for a hotel, you will say. Precisely; but there has always been a hotel there,... Short Stories - Post by : bjbauer - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2292

A Midnight Fantasy A Midnight Fantasy

A Midnight Fantasy
I. It was close upon eleven o'clock when I stepped out of the rear vestibule of the Boston Theatre, and, passing through the narrow court that leads to West Street, struck across the Common diagonally. Indeed, as I set foot on the Tremont Street mall, I heard the Old South drowsily sounding the hour. It was a tranquil June night, with no moon, but clusters of sensitive stars that seemed to shiver with cold as the wind swept by them; for perhaps there was a swift current of air up there in the zenith. However, not a leaf stirred on the... Short Stories - Post by : Smartyield - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1610

Mademoiselle Olympe Zabriski Mademoiselle Olympe Zabriski

Mademoiselle Olympe Zabriski
I. We are accustomed to speak with a certain light irony of the tendency which women have to gossip, as if the sin itself, if it is a sin, were of the gentler sex, and could by no chance be a masculine peccadillo. So far as my observation goes, men are as much given to small talk as women, and it is undeniable that we have produced the highest type of gossiper extant. Where will you find, in or out of literature, such another droll, delightful, chatty busybody as Samuel Pepys, Esq., Secretary to the Admiralty in the reigns of those... Short Stories - Post by : Amber - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2911

The Little Violinist The Little Violinist

The Little Violinist
Weep with me, all you that readThis little story;And know, for whom a tear you shed,Death's self is sorry.Ben Jonson.This story is no invention of mine. I could not invent anything half so lovely and pathetic as seems to me the incident which has come ready-made to my hand. Some of you, doubtless, have heard of James Speaight, the infant violinist, or Young Americus, as he was called. He was born in London, I believe, and was only four years old when his father brought him to this country, less than three years ago. Since that time he has appeared in... Short Stories - Post by : 1source - Date : August 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3475

Wyndham Towers Wyndham Towers

Wyndham Towers
TO EDWIN BOOTH. MY DEAR BOOTH: In offering these verses to you, I beg you to treat them (as you have many a time advised a certain lord chamberlain to treat the players) not according to their desert. "Use them after your own honor and dignity; the less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty." These many years your friend and comrade, T. B. ALDRICH. NOTE The motif of the story embodied in the following poem was crudely outlined in a brief sketch printed in an early collection of the authors verse, and subsequently cancelled for a purpose... Poems - Post by : kyshaonthego - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2108

'pillared Arch And Sculptured Tower' "pillared Arch And Sculptured Tower"

'pillared Arch And Sculptured Tower'
Pillared arch and sculptured tower Of Ilium have had their hour; The dust of many a king is blown On the winds from zone to zone; Many a warrior sleeps unknown. Time and Death hold each in thrall, Yet is Love the lord of all; Still does Helen's beauty stir Because a poet sang of her!(The end)Thomas Bailey Aldrich's poem: "Pillared Arch And Sculptured Tower"... Poems - Post by : chuck - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 914