A Book of Epigrams   By: Various

GATHERED BY Ralph A. Lyon

EVANSTON William S. Lord 1902

EPIGRAMS

POETRY

She comes like the hushed beauty of the night, But sees too deep for laughter; Her touch is a vibration and a light From worlds before and after.

[Charles E. Markham

POETRY

Poetry? Can I define it, you inquire? Yes; by your pleasure, Poetry is Thought, in princeliest attire, Treading a measure.

[Duffield Osborne

THE YEAR'S MINSTRELSY

Spring, the low prelude of a lordlier song; Summer, a music without hint of death: Autumn, a cadence lingeringly long: Winter, a pause; the Minstrel Year takes breath.

[William Watson

THE SUN

All the World's bravery that delights our eyes, Is but thy several liveries; Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, Thy nimble Pencil paints this landscape as thou go'st.

[Abraham Cowley

FAREWELL

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved, and next to nature, art. I warm'd both hands before the fire of life: It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

[Walter Savage Landor

LIFE

As a shaft that is sped from a bow unseen to an unseen mark, As a bird that gleams in the firelight, and hurries from dark to dark, As the face of the stranger who smiled as we passed in the crowded street, Our life is a glimmer, a flutter, a memory, fading, yet sweet!

[William Cranston Lawton

EPIGRAM ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD FORBES.

Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low. He woo'd and won her; and, by love made bold, She showed him more than mortal man should know, Then slew him lest her secret should be told.

[Sydney Dobell

ON LONGFELLOW'S DEATH

No puissant singer he, whose silence grieves To day the great West's tender heart and strong; No singer vast of voice: yet one who leaves His native air the sweeter for his song.

[William Watson

DANIEL WEBSTER

We have no high cathedral for his rest, Dim with proud banners and the dust of years; All we can give him is New England's breast To lay his head on and his country's tears.

[Thomas William Parsons

EUGENE FIELD

Fades his calm face beyond our mortal ken, Lost in the light of lovelier realms above; He left sweet memories in the hearts of men And climbed to God on little children's love.

[Frank L. Stanton

THE DEBTOR CHRIST

Quid Mihi Et Tibi

What, woman, is my debt to thee, That I should not deny The boon thou dost demand of me? "I gave thee power to die."