LONGFELLOW'S "BOOK OF SONNETS" 'T WAS Sunday evening as I wandered down Of silence smiles, I heard the chimes of "Grace" brown. To-day, again, I past along Broadway In the fierce tumult and mid-noise of noon, For as I walked I read the poet's book. "H. H." I WOULD that in the verse she loved some word, Herself has lit the fire whose blood-red flame In summer's glory, by the sunset sea That onward through the Golden Gate it fled. THE MODERN RHYMER 141 THE MODERN RHYMER I Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, The earth is fresh to you and me; And birds that sing, and winds that blow, That moved before Will Shakespeare's eyes; Go to our spirits shall not be laid, Can make a poet sing and dream; II Beneath the false moon's pallid glare, Sweet Shakespeare was not known to you! You saw the ocean from the shore; Through mid-seas now our ship doth roar Thoughts, that were never thought before, Westward, still westward, on doth fare, O million-centuried thoughts that make |