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BEFORE THE RAIN

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

E knew it would rain, for all the morn,
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapoury amethyst

Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,

To sprinkle them over the land in showers.

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!

THE VOICE OF THE SEA

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

N the hush of the autumn night
I hear the voice of the sea,
In the hush of the autumn night
It seems to say to me
Mine are the winds above,
Mine are the caves below,
Mine are the dead of yesterday
And the dead of long ago!

And I think of the fleet that sailed From the lovely Gloucester shore, I think of the fleet that sailed

And came back nevermore! My eyes are filled with tears,

And my heart is numb with woeIt seems as if 'twere yesterday, And it all was long ago!

AUTUMN

EMILY DICKINSON

HE morns are meeker than they were,

PHE

The nuts are getting brown;

The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned
I'll put a trinket on.

Copyright, 1890, by Roberts Brothers.

THE

THE GRASS

EMILY DICKINSON

HE grass so little has to do, — A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes

The breezes fetch along,

And hold the sunshine in its lap

And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,

And make itself so fine,

A duchess were too common

For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass

In odors so divine,

As lowly spices gone to sleep,

Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,

And dream the days away,

The grass so little has to do,

I wish I were the hay.

Copyright, 1890, by Roberts Brothers.

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A ribbon at a time.

The steeples swam in amethyst,

The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,

The bobolinks begun.

Then said I softly to myself,

"That must have been the sun!"

But how he set I know not,

There seemed a purple stile

Which little yellow boys and girls

Were climbing, all the while.

Till when they reached the other side,

A dominie in gray

Put gently up the evening bars,

And led the flock away.

Copyright, 1890, by Roberts Brothers.

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