This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1883 Excerpt: ...longing eye, But he is not on the street nor up the hill. Farther on in life I see him, sunny-browed, but strangely fair, Of ambition in his breast a tiny flame, Going forth each Monday morning to the city's gloom and glare, Coming back each sunny Saturday the same. Home again to spend the Sabbath, free from city ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1883 Excerpt: ...longing eye, But he is not on the street nor up the hill. Farther on in life I see him, sunny-browed, but strangely fair, Of ambition in his breast a tiny flame, Going forth each Monday morning to the city's gloom and glare, Coming back each sunny Saturday the same. Home again to spend the Sabbath, free from city strife and din, With that old love for his homestead in him still; And I scan the rows of faces when the 'bus comes driving in, But he is not on the street nor up the hill. Once again my fancy paints him with that weary load of pain, On his brow, the first faint traces of decay, Coming homeward from his labour never to go out again, Growing paler and more feeble day by day. Ever cheery, ever hopeful that the worst would soon blow by, Never sinking 'neath the burden of his ill, Never fretting nor repining with a downcast doubting eye; Moving slow along the street and up the hill. Coming quietly down the roadway I can see him even yet, Shaking hands with some kind well-wisher the while; Not the proudest in the village but spoke kindly when they met, And he answered back their greeting with a smile. I can see him at the window looking out upon the rain, When the weary wind blows eerily and shrill; But the vision passes from me--all is blank and void again, And he is not on the street nor up the hill. All that weary, dreary winter, icy-fingered, bleak and grim, Like a shadow form he flitted to and fro; And the spring renewed earth's verdure, but no glow returned to him, Though our blinded eyes were loth to think it so. And the spring wore into summer, and the fields grew bare and brown, And the bees danced with the butterflies at will; Then he sought his little chamber and he quietly laid him down, Never more to walk the street nor up the hill. Till hi...
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Add this copy of Lays of the Line, and Other Poems to cart. $56.29, good condition, Sold by Bonita rated 4.0 out of 5 stars, ships from Newport Coast, CA, UNITED STATES, published 2015 by Palala Press.
