Mr. Stoddard also wished to be remembered kindly to you.
Yours truly,
Elizabeth Stoddard.
P.S. I meant to say while on "The Lion's Cub" that I never was so impressed with the gravity and dignity of S.'s verse, nor so clearly saw the profound melancholy of his mind. He really cares little for life. Ah, me!
E.S.
[CHAPTER VII]
1895-1900
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... The laurel and the praise But unto them, true helpers of their kind, Who, daily walking by imagined streams Rear fanes empyreal in Verse of Gold,— Rare architects of figments and of dreams.—Lloyd Mifflin. |
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That jar of violet wine set in the air, That palest rose sweet in the night of life.—Stephen Phillips. |