And cries to the rest, “Not here!”
From an Eastern Apologue Miss Hall has drawn a charming illustration of the power of influence and association:
“Thou smell’st not ill, thou object plain,
Thou art a small, pretentious grain
Of amber, I suppose.”
“Nay, my good friend, I am by birth
A common clod of scentless earth….
But I lived with the Rose.”
In the poems of a blither note, Miss Hall excels, having a swift and sprightly fancy and
a clever aptness of phrase, which, in Allegretto, her collection of lighter verse, reveals itself in charming witticisms and whimsicalities. Her children’s poems are delicate in touch and fancy, and quaintly humorous. Her lines, “To A Weed,” in the second collection, tuck away a moral in their sprightly comment; indeed, a bit of philosophy as to being glad in the sun and taking one’s due of life, despite limitations, which renders them more than the merry apostrophe they seem: