The Sonnets—bound by Rivière
And newly illustrated!
As though the words that Shakespeare wrote
By outward dress are rated!
The soul—the fine, immortal part
That lives without the binding,
Is something from the poet’s heart;
’Tis here—and worth the finding.
IN “SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE”
In this book a woman wrote her heart—
Etching there the image of a Man.
Faithful woman! But the years depart,
And love is dust, and life a broken span!
IN GEORGE MEREDITH’S POEMS
Here is a forest tangle—
Rank weeds, luxuriant ferns, and giant trees,
All in a hoarse-voiced wrangle,
With creaking branches swaying in the breeze.
But if you care to listen,
Above the noise you’ll hear the piping of a bird,
Gay feathers in the tree-tops glisten,
And over all the sweetest music ever heard.