. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. s with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears, Both parts of an infinite plan—Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height;That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan,Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells a
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. s with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears, Both parts of an infinite plan—Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height;That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan,Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Page X i n e hte ]B,xm:lxxvb. attir (©its $\<tm&us Querns Let me live in my house by the side of the road— Its here the race of men go are good, they are bad, they are weak, they arc;strong. Wise, foolish—so am I ;Then why should I sit in the scorners seat, Or hurl the cynics ban ?Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Used by special arrangement with thepublishers, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard I Have aRendezvous with Death Alan Seeger(Born June 22, 1888; Died July 4, igi6) I have a rendezvous with DeathAt some disputed barricadeWhen Spring comes round withrustling shadeAnd apple blossoms fill the have a rendezvous with DeathWhen Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my handAnd lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath;It may be I shall pass him, still, I have a rendezvous with DeathOn some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow flowers appear. God knows twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down,Where love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,Where hushed awakenings are dear . . But Ive a rendezvous with DeathAt midnight in some flaming town,When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous. One of the greate
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