The Yale Literary Magazine, Bind 70,Oplag 4 |
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Side 130
I rose quickly and lighted a candle . Holding this above my head , I boldly entered the hall and cried with a loud voice : " Silence ! " " " The uproar suddenly ceased . Peering about , I could see dimly a number of pale shadows ...
I rose quickly and lighted a candle . Holding this above my head , I boldly entered the hall and cried with a loud voice : " Silence ! " " " The uproar suddenly ceased . Peering about , I could see dimly a number of pale shadows ...
Side 137
It is interesting to see how the devotion to their Emperor of the higher class rose above every consideration and set the example to the nation . Here is an extract from the memorial to their Sovereign in acknowledgment of the death ...
It is interesting to see how the devotion to their Emperor of the higher class rose above every consideration and set the example to the nation . Here is an extract from the memorial to their Sovereign in acknowledgment of the death ...
Side 139
The lingering bee Swings from the rose and hastens to his rest , A shadowed place in some dim tree . A gray , tired light is settling in the westWatch fire - fly ! Dream - goblins creep ! Come lady wind and croon my love to sleep !
The lingering bee Swings from the rose and hastens to his rest , A shadowed place in some dim tree . A gray , tired light is settling in the westWatch fire - fly ! Dream - goblins creep ! Come lady wind and croon my love to sleep !
Side 154
You fancy the morning - glory , while I gather the roses . ... and again we find a delicate orchid blooming in an out of the way forest glade , or , perhaps , a double wild rose springing in the very midst of a half - forsaken road .
You fancy the morning - glory , while I gather the roses . ... and again we find a delicate orchid blooming in an out of the way forest glade , or , perhaps , a double wild rose springing in the very midst of a half - forsaken road .
Side 161
Though the rose be dust on the temple floor , Through the shrouded door I come . For Nature my Mother is old and chill And hath sore need of me . Marvel of marvels , Church of GodMother , I come to thee . -The Harvard Monthly .
Though the rose be dust on the temple floor , Through the shrouded door I come . For Nature my Mother is old and chill And hath sore need of me . Marvel of marvels , Church of GodMother , I come to thee . -The Harvard Monthly .
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