Jane broke down and the professor rose and put his arms around her, awkwardly, and kissed her. He had not kissed her in years. They sat down together before the hearth and gazed into the blackened ashes. He held her hand in his. Finally she spoke. She almost understood—
"Shall we have apple dumplings for supper, professor? The kind you used to like?" She was smiling now.
"No, Jane," he said gravely, "we'll have peach preserves."
Literary Monthly, 1909.
THE GOOD GREY POET
SONNET
EDWIN PARTRIDGE LEHMAN '10
All men must feel the beauty of a star
That rides in the illimitable space
Of heav'n; the beauty of an Helen's face;
Or of a woodland water, glimpsed afar,
Where haze-empurpled meadows, undefined
And slumbrous, intervene; of quiet, cool,
Sequester'd glades, where in the level pool
The long green rushes dip before the wind.
These all men feel. But three times blessed he
Whose eye and ear, of finer fibre spun,
Sense the elusive thread of beauty, where
The common man hath deemed that none can be.
The beauty of the commonplace is one
In substance with the beauty of the rare.
Literary Monthly, 1910.