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132 | Uncollected and Other Poems The youth, whose name was Allan Black, Replied with accent good He hated to expose his back To shadows in the wood. But if his newfound hapless friend Would straight with him return, That he would give him at the end As much as he could earn. And as the fared through wood and wold He questioned him full sore; “And you your elbows every cold? And did your father snore? And can you swing the mighty axe? And can you wield a pen? And would you lay an income tax Upon your fellow men?” The man replied with measured speech That he was very chill:— He laid his finger each or each And polkaed on the hill. And ever as young Allan Black Essayed to lead him home, He cried aloud “I will go back Unto the Church of Rome.” (“In an Old South Church entertainment in Boston Uncle Edward Hale4 actually printed this absolute nonsense.”5 18 October 1883, Gilman Papers, Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, folder 193) Sketches I. I can see straight ahead as I lie on the grass. Through the bars of a fence green with moss, A white strip of down where the cloud shadows pass, And the sea winds blow coolly across. A few calves feed and play on the closely cropped turf, Or doze in the quivering heat; There’s no noise save the sound of the sand-muffled surf And the shrill insect life at our feet. Far across the brown grass lies a blue, smiling pond, In its hollow contentedly curled; With a bar of bright sand and the ocean beyond, A sharp line at the edge of the world. U NC OL L E C T E D A N D O T H E R P OE M S | 133 II. Deeply the shadow falls, under the mighty walls Of ocean-beaten rock; The water heaves and groans, over its well-worn stones, With never ending shock. Cool is the pleasant breeze, over the pleasant seas, Soft is the friendly sky; Where cloudlets faint and white drift in the azure bright— Distant and high. On a shelving, pebbly beach, beyond the water’s reach, I sit this summer day; Watching its ceaseless flow, on the rocky shore below, And the tossing of the spray. And all along the walls, in dainty waterfalls, With many a twinkling drop The little drops run down, across the boulders brown, From the meadow land atop. The sunlight shines and gleams, across the little streams. The tide is rising fast; O may I always keep this chasm cool and deep, A picture in my past! (Buffalo Christian Advocate, 19 June 1884, 2) Ode to a Fool “Let a bear robbed of her whelps meet a man rather than a fool in his folly.” —Proverbs 17:12 Singular insect! Here I watch thee spin Upon my pin; And I know that thou hast not the least idea I have thee here. Strange is thy nature! For thou mayst be slain O’er and again, Dismembered, wasted, torn with tortures hot, Yet know it not. As well pour hate and scorn upon the dead As on thy head; While I discuss thee now I plainly see Thee snear at me. Marvellous creature! What mysterious power In idle hour Arranged the mighty elements whence came Thy iron frame! ...

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