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The Galaxy, June 1877 Vol. XXIII.—June, 1877.—No. 6. By: Various |
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The Galaxy, June 1877 Vol. XXIII is a diverse collection of articles, stories, and poetry that provide a snapshot of the cultural landscape of the time. The magazine covers a wide range of topics, from politics to literature to science, offering readers a well-rounded view of the world in 1877.
One of the highlights of this volume is the variety of voices and perspectives represented. The writers featured in The Galaxy come from different backgrounds and have different points of view, creating a rich tapestry of ideas and opinions. From the satirical pieces to the insightful essays, each contribution adds something unique to the publication.
Additionally, the quality of writing in The Galaxy is consistently high. The prose is engaging and well-crafted, drawing readers in and keeping them hooked until the very end. Whether discussing current events or delving into the realms of fiction, the authors display a talent for storytelling that is truly impressive.
Overall, The Galaxy, June 1877 Vol. XXIII is a compelling and thought-provoking read that offers a fascinating glimpse into the past. It's a must-read for anyone interested in history, literature, or just a good old-fashioned magazine. VOL. XXIII. JUNE, 1877. No. 6. SPRING LONGING. What art thou doing here, O Imagination? Go away, I entreat thee by the gods, as thou didst come, for I want thee not. But thou art come according to thy old fashion. I am not angry with thee only go away. Marcus Antoninus. Lilac hazes veil the skies. Languid sighs Breathes the mild, caressing air. Pink as coral's branching sprays, Orchard ways With the blossomed peach are fair. Sunshine, cordial as a kiss, Poureth bliss In this craving soul of mine, And my heart her flower cup Lifteth up, Thirsting for the draught divine. Swift the liquid golden flame Through my frame Sets my throbbing veins afire. Bright, alluring dreams arise, Brim mine eyes With the tears of strong desire. All familiar scenes anear Disappear Homestead, orchard, field, and wold. Moorish spires and turrets fair Cleave the air, Arabesqued on skies of gold. Lo, my spirit, this May morn, Outward borne, Over seas hath taken wing: Where the mediæval town, Like a crown, Wears the garland of the Spring. Light and sound and odors sweet Fill the street; Gypsy girls are selling flowers... Continue reading book >>
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