Fine Printing and the Graphic Arts: The Library of Helen Lee (with additions): Sale 290, Thursday, July 29, 2004 PBA Galleries, San Francisco, 2004, Wraps, , , Very Good
90 pp., adv. Illustrated. 'Helen Lee worked most of her adult life at Mackenzie & Harris, the famous typefounders and typesetters of San Francisco. She was in the center of all M & H's endeavors in creating typeset pages for the famous and even a few infamous printers for the decades of the 1950's through the rest of the century. She was known by all the beginning neophytes of printing to the highly successful printers of San Francisco because of her enthusiastic encouragement, her open friendliness and her devotion to the art of bookmaking.'
Cabinet of American Illustration, Cartoon Drawings: Swann Collection of Caricature and Cartoon, Civil War Photographs Civil War Photographs, Drawings (Master),Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Color Photographs, Fine Prints Fine Prints, Posters: Performing Arts Posters, Stereograph Cards Stereograph Cards, Daguerreotypes, Fenton Crimean War Photographs, Fine Prints: Japanese, pre-1915, Lomax Collection, Panoramic Photographs, Thesaurus For Graphic Materials, Van Vechten Collection, Wright Brothers Negatives, and much more.
"NYU Bobst Library, NYU Institute of Fine Arts, NYU Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences, NYU Real Estate Institute, The New-York Historical Society, New York School of Interior Design, Cooper Union, New School University, Parsons School of Design, Mannes College of Music."
I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend,
Like God it useth me.
In plains that room for shadows make
Of skirting hills to lie,
Bound in by streams which give and take
Their colors from the sky;
Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade,
O what have I to do with time?
For this the day was made.
Cities of mortals woe-begone
Fantastic care derides,
But in the serious landscape lone
Stern benefit abides.
Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy,
And merry is only a mask of sad,
But, sober on a fund of joy,
The woods at heart are glad.
There the great Planter plants
Of fruitful worlds the grain,
And with a million spells enchants
The souls that walk in pain.
Still on the seeds of all he made
The rose of beauty burns;
Through times that wear and forms that fade,
Immortal youth returns.
The black ducks mounting from the lake,
The pigeon in the pines,
The bittern's boom, a desert make
Which no false art refines.
Down in yon watery nook,
Where bearded mists divide,
The gray old gods whom Chaos knew,
The sires of Nature, hide.
Aloft, in secret veins of air,
Blows the sweet breath of song,
O, few to scale those uplands dare,
Though they to all belong!
See thou bring not to field or stone
The fancies found in books;
Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own,
To brave the landscape's looks.
Oblivion here thy wisdom is,
Thy thrift, the sleep of cares;
For a proud idleness like this
Crowns all thy mean affairs.