- Rose, Fred.; Little, George; Frost, Peter S.
I'll Be Your Regular Sweetie (But I Won't Be Your Once in a While).
A. J. Stasny, New York, 1920, Wraps, , , Very Good
3 pp., one leaf. A short tear to foreedge, writing above pub. statement on fron of wraps, else very good. ''And if you think that you can't be true, I'd be just as independent as you.''
Written in Spring
This gentle breath which eddies round my cheek,— This respiration of the waking spring,— How eloquently sweet it seems to speak Of hope and joy to every living thing! To every?—No, it speaks not thus to all Alike of hope; where misery gnaws the heart, Her gentle breathings on the senses fall Like hateful thoughts that make the memory start. The soul grows selfish where enjoyment flies, And, loathing, curses what it cannot taste; This glorious sun, and yon blue, blessed skies, And this green earth, but tell him of the past; The frightful past, that other name for death, That, when recalled, like mocking spectres come,— In forms of life, without the living breath, Like things that speak, yet organless and dumb! For all that seems in this fair world to live, To live to man, must catch the quickening ray From man’s free soul; and they but freely give Back unto him the life he gave; for they Are dead to him who lives not unto them. But unto him, whose happy soul reposes In love’s sweet dream, how exquisite a gem Seems every dewdrop on these budding roses! The humblest plant that sprouts beneath his feet, The ragged brier, nay, e’en the common grass, Within that soul a kindred image meet, As if reflected from an answering glass. And how they seem by sympathy to lend Their youthful freshness to each rising thought, As if the mind had just begun to send Her faculties abroad, uncurbed, untaught, From all in nature beautiful and fair To build her splendid fabrics, while the heart, Itself deluding, seems by magic rare To give a substance to each airy part. Sweet age of first impressions! free and light! When all the senses, like triumphal ports, Did let into the soul, by day, by night, The gorgeous pageants pouring from the courts Of Nature’s vast dominions!—substance then To the heart’s faith; but, now that youth’s bright dawn No longer shines, they flit like shadowy men That walk on ceilings; for the light is gone! Yet no,—not gone; for unto him that loves, The heart is youthful and the faith is strong; And be it love, or be it youth, that moves The soul to joy, that light will live as long. And, O, how blest this kind reacting law, That the young heart, with Nature’s beauties glowing, Should need, in all it felt, in all it saw, Another heart to share its overflowing; While he that feels the pure expansive power Of joyous love, must pour his feelings forth On every tree, and herb, and fragrant flower, And all that grows upon the beauteous earth.Washington Allston [1779–1843]