Finally sense, rhyme and meter were attuned:
--afar,
A dastard she met, their sweet idyl to mar.
He won her away with his glitter and plume
And citified ways, while the lover did fume.
O, fair dawned the Wedding Day, pink in the East,
And folk from all quarters did come for the feast;
Gay banners from turrets--
"Missy!"
The poet, head bent, absorbed in creation, did not hear.
"Missy! Where are you? Me-lis-sa!"
This time the voice cleaved into the mood of inspiration. With a
sigh Missy put the pad and pencil in the Anthology, laid the whole
on the bench, and obediently went to mind the Baby. But, as she
wheeled the perambulator up and down the front walk, her mind
liltingly repeated the words she had written, and she stepped along
in time to the rhythm. It was a fine rhythm. And, as soon as she was
relieved from duty, she rushed back to the temporary shrine of the
Muse. The words, now, flowed much more easily than at the beginning-
-one of the first lessons learned by all creative artists.
Gay banners from turrets streamed out in the air
And all Maple, Avenue turned out for the pair.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91