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His heart was so full of it, his throat Could scarce, at first, freeThe song, that took fire, climbed, note by note,Neared heaven, came short, turned sad, fell remote, Lay still. So with me.
Harper's MagazineBenjamin R. C. Low


THE HOUSE WITH THE MARBLE STEPS
He built the house to show his neighborsThat decent thrift could lead to this,A giddy reason for his labors,A bright brick apothesis.
He was not one to be bulldozedBy sentiment, and he had plannedPast whispered sneers when he foreclosedThe mortgage on this very land.
He'd forced his way with prudent greedWhile they at best remained the same.He gauged the folly of a creedWhich keeps a lame purse always lame.
Well, here it was, and in the roadHe stood and tallied beam and rafter.The cost would be a heavy loadHe'd tell you, twisting into laughter.
The window-edges were of stone,A soapy limestone smooth and fair.The floors were all hard wood and noneTailed off to pine beneath a stair.

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