UP IN THE BLUE RIDGE.
Constance Fenimore Woolson “Every rose, you sang, has its thorn; But this has none, I…
THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH
BY CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON I IT was a street in Rome—narrow, winding, not over-clean. Two…
THE SOUTH DEVIL.
Constance Fenimore Woolson The trees that lean’d in their love unto trees, That lock’d in…
THE FRONT YARD
By Constance Fenımore Woolson “WELL, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, and Bepper…
SISTER ST. LUKE.
Constance Fenimore Woolson She lived shut in by flowers and trees, And shade of gentle…
RODMAN THE KEEPER.
Constance Fenimore Woolson The long years come and go, And the Past, The sorrowful, splendid…
OLD GARDISTON.
Constance Fenimore Woolson One by one they died— Last of all their race; Nothing left…
NEPTUNE’S SHORE
By Constance Fenimore Woolson I OLD Mrs. Preston had not been able to endure the…
MISS ELISABETHA.
Constance Fenimore Woolson In yonder homestead, wreathed with bounteous vines, A lonely woman dwells, whose…
KING DAVID.
Constance Fenimore Woolson I met a traveler on the road; His face was wan, his…