. Fire and air . (0 ^ktxi^intt — To W. S. Brassington, Esq., Stratford Librarian WHERE, Sweet Muses, are thy Poets born? Neath lattice-leaded windows where the mornSmiles on the babe that knows not day from night,Nor yet has thought or passion or delight?—In antique houses built of sand and clayInlaid with oak, all white, and brown, and grey,Where beauty born of nature never strayed?Nay, nay! For poets are not born, but madeBy all the sweet and subtle influenceThat falls upon the windows of their sense,—The rocking cradle, childhoods wildwood ways,And Summers bloom, and Autumns golden days,—Th
. Fire and air . (0 ^ktxi^intt — To W. S. Brassington, Esq., Stratford Librarian WHERE, Sweet Muses, are thy Poets born? Neath lattice-leaded windows where the mornSmiles on the babe that knows not day from night,Nor yet has thought or passion or delight?—In antique houses built of sand and clayInlaid with oak, all white, and brown, and grey,Where beauty born of nature never strayed?Nay, nay! For poets are not born, but madeBy all the sweet and subtle influenceThat falls upon the windows of their sense,—The rocking cradle, childhoods wildwood ways,And Summers bloom, and Autumns golden days,—The tongues in trees, songs in the running brooks,Love, laughter, labor, and the lore of books.
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublishernp, bookyear1914
