Spicewood Author:Lizette Woodworth Reese Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: LILAC DUSK WHAT ghost of an old room comes, goes at will, Shaped there before you to your tired sight? Is it kind-ceilinged, drenched with yellowy light, A... more » jug of flowering herbs upon the sill? What part of me drifts thinly back to you, Like scent of rainy grass blown to and fro? A succory-colored gown praised long ago? A turn of head? A wistful word or two? This lilac dusk, when you unlock your door— How sad a sound the little business makes— All these and more! To a far loveliness grown, Your town below seems like a jeweled shore, The sky a lustrous sea that on it breaks. An ache comes to the room. You are alone. THE THORN-TREES OF HUNTINGDON HP HE old thorn-trees of Huntingdon, -- Oh, white they blow again! Oh, white they blow in Huntingdon, Down an old crooked lane! In Huntingdon, in Huntingdon! I swear, by high and low, That you will find their lovely like None other place you go. The Old York Road looks rare indeed; A saint's way is it now; In white to east, in white to west, With many a jeweled bough. A way for Peter, James and John, All gravely down to pass; Or Thomas Kempen with a book Across the bright young grass. Or austere kings in withered gold, As down a castle-yard, With clanking reins that make the air A music clear and hard. The Thorn-Trees of Huntingdon Or else my mother, coming soft, Her skirts held from the wet, To pluck an apronful of bloom In her old house to set. For the green bowl a sprig or two To deck some window shelf; And a great handful for the jug; Of blue and ancient delf. I run out to the Old York Road; I count them one by one; Five in the west, four in the east, Nine thorn-trees in the sun. So shall I run when I am dead, And wrapped in dust away, To count the...« less