Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from A Troop of the Guard: And Other Poems
How gently broods the Sabbath o'er the earth! The fervid west wind, driving o'er the sea His Champing stallions, hums With quiet mirth, Not pain, as yestermorn; not misery As yesternight, Whose pallid Child, the moon, In heaven's gold Chamber where the slow days die, Sobbed in her silver cradle. Soon, too soon, She sank to rest, but 10, the sea, the Wind, Sing with new voices and the bent reeds croon.
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