The New England magazine . ich thou hast chosen for thy prim thou then hide from some mad lovers eyes, Or hath the haughty prelate of the woods, Yon Cardinal in scarlet, bidden thee To do a penance, veiled and shrouded thus? Still guardest thou thy mystery from us, Sweet, silent nun! and tho the brook might tell, Shifting his wild song to a minor key,He hath conspired to keep thy secret well. THE SONG-WEAVERS By CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM Across the heavy warp of life they fling The flying shuttle of their fantasy And rhythmic weave a figured tapestryOf thoughts aglow and words
The New England magazine . ich thou hast chosen for thy prim thou then hide from some mad lovers eyes, Or hath the haughty prelate of the woods, Yon Cardinal in scarlet, bidden thee To do a penance, veiled and shrouded thus? Still guardest thou thy mystery from us, Sweet, silent nun! and tho the brook might tell, Shifting his wild song to a minor key,He hath conspired to keep thy secret well. THE SONG-WEAVERS By CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM Across the heavy warp of life they fling The flying shuttle of their fantasy And rhythmic weave a figured tapestryOf thoughts aglow and words warp of life s a dull and sordid thing, Taut cords of strife and lust and treachery; But Master-Weavers glimpse what life may beAnd interweave their bright imaginingOf Passion, masterful, that yields to none Save Honor, that will neither yield nor lie;Of Battle, bravely lost and fairly won; Of Love, that humankind can deify;Of Justice, calm, benignant, like the Sun, All-seeing, as He paces through the ONCE in a while, after struggling with theswash of novels now weekly and weakly sentout where persons you would not care to meet goon as if idiotic, depraved, or insane; orboredalmostto inanition by a wishy-washy flood of so-calledpoetry — oh, how that glorious name is insulted bythe vague, or diluted, or objectionable stuff whichis neither poetical, worth while, or even intelligible!— or sent into a waking drowse by highly laudedessays which weary by their sameness and unvary-ing egotisms, the point of view of one person whosays nothing really new, original, or brilliant, thework of those who are not sufficiently great in thisdifficult department of literature to deserve re-spectful study; then, after all this depressing, en-feebling experience I long for something in theway of reading that wakes me up, stirs and startsheart and brain; that makes me surprised orshocked or downright angry or antagonistic; a sortof mental Tabasco or a cocktail of Chutney
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidnewenglandma, bookyear1887
