Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 139 June to November 1919 . ek later I heard thathe was rested and ready to go throughwhatever might lie ahead. Once more hehad climbed up where he could look intothe future. You simply cant keep a good prophetin the pattern! Time Hath No Lance to Wound Her BY ALAN SULLIVAN TIME hath no lance to wound her,Age follows not her feet,For time hath ever found her Unaged—divine—complete,With all that men may cherish In her clear gaze exprest,And all for which men perishHid, potent, in her breast: Kin with all perfect creatures, Serving—as serve the free,Bearing a
Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 139 June to November 1919 . ek later I heard thathe was rested and ready to go throughwhatever might lie ahead. Once more hehad climbed up where he could look intothe future. You simply cant keep a good prophetin the pattern! Time Hath No Lance to Wound Her BY ALAN SULLIVAN TIME hath no lance to wound her,Age follows not her feet,For time hath ever found her Unaged—divine—complete,With all that men may cherish In her clear gaze exprest,And all for which men perishHid, potent, in her breast: Kin with all perfect creatures, Serving—as serve the free,Bearing all lesser natures With proud benignity;Lavish of her hearts treasure, Just—as the Gods are just,And conscious of the measure Of all she holds in trust: As wheels the still nights splendor About its changeless pole,All mercies calm and tender Circle her steadfast soul;And starry things that wander Through caverns in the skiesPause, and peer down—then ponder Oer the mirror of her eyes. Vol. CXXXIX.—No. 830.—30 His Fiancee BY BETH BRADFORD GILCHRIST. SJtT had not occurred toHuldah Baring as with-in the bounds of pos-sible human fortuitiesthat she could everdislike coming Ridge was toodeeply a part of herself; its brooks, itswoods, its ledges, its sunsets and high-shouldering hills and far-flung pasturesteeps were too intricately interwovenwith her happiest memories to makesuch contemplation comfortable. Toadmit it opened a vista of ugly possi-bilities. It was like admitting a distastefor yourself or your family. You shud-dered back as from the brink of achasm. Especially, to evade Baring Ridge inspringtime was unthinkable. As farback as she could remember into herlittle girlhood had not pussy-willows incity florists windows stirred her veinsto a delicious tumult? It mattered noth-ing that snow lay deep on The Ridgeand would so lie for months; Huldahwas thereafter uneasy until with thebirds she could turn her face toward thecoquettish Northern spring. In t
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