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"THE DEVIL SIT IN FILON'S EYES AND LAUGH--LAUGH--SOMETIME HE GO AWAY LIKE A MAN AT A WINDOW, BUT HE COME AGAIN.M'siu, he live there!" From a Painting by E. Almond Withrow.]
THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION
BY
GERTRUDE ATHERTON, MARY AUSTIN GERALDINE BONNER, MARY HALLECK FOOTE ELEANOR GATES, JAMES HOPPER, JACK LONDON BAILEY MILLARD, MIRIAM MICHELSON, W. C. MORROW FRANK NORRIS, HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT CHARLES WARREN STODDARD, ISOBEL STRONG RICHARD WALTON TULLY AND HERMAN WHITAKER
WITH A DEDICATORY POEM BY GEORGE STERLING
COLLECTED BY THE BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE SPINNERS' CLUB
ILLUSTRATED BY LILLIE V. O'RYAN, MAYNARD DIXON ALBERTINE RANDALL WHEELAN, MERLE JOHNSON E. ALMOND WITHROW AND GORDON ROSS INITIALS AND DECORATIONS BY SPENCER WRIGHT
PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK
_Published in behalf_ _of The Spinners' Benefit Fund_ _Ina D. Coolbrith_ _First Beneficiary_ _Copyright_, 1907 _by_ PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
* * * * *
TO INA D. COOLBRITH
WITH WILDER SIGHING IN THE PINE THE WIND WENT BY, AND SO I DREAMED; AND IN THAT DUSK OF SLEEP IT SEEMED A CITY BY THE SEA WAS MINE.
TO STATELIER SPRANG THE WALLS OF TYRE FROM SEAWARD CLIFF OR STABLE HILL; AND LIGHT AND MUSIC MET TO FILL THE SPLENDID COURTS OF HER DESIRE--
(EXTOLLING CHORDS THAT CRIED HER PRAISE, AND GOLDEN REEDS WHOSE MELLOW MOAN WAS LIKE AN OCEAN'S UNDERTONE DYING AND LOST ON FOREST WAYS).
BUT SWEETER FAR THAN ANY SOUND THAT RANG OR RIPPLED IN HER HALLS, WAS ONE BEYOND HER EASTERN WALLS, BY SUMMER GARDENS GIRDLED ROUND.
TWAS FROM A NIGHTINGALE, AND OH! THE SONG IT SANG HATH NEVER WORD! SWEETER IT SEEMED THAN LOVE'S, FIRST-HEARD, OR LUTES IN AIDENN MURMURING LOW.
FAINT, AS WHEN DROWSY WINDS AWAKE A SISTERHOOD OF FAERY BELLS, IT WON REPLY FROM HIDDEN DELLS, LOYAL TO ECHO FOR ITS SAKE....
I DREAMT I SLEPT, BUT CANNOT SAY HOW MANY DREAMLAND SEASONS FLED, NOR WHAT HORIZON OF THE DEAD GAVE BACK MY DREAM'S UNCERTAIN DAY.
BUT STILL BESIDE THE TOILING SEA I LAY, AND SAW--FOR WALLS O'ERGROWN-- THE CITY THAT WAS MINE HAD KNOWN TIME'S SURE AND ANCIENT TREACHERY.
ABOVE HER RAMPARTS, BROAD AS TYRE'S, THE GRASSES' MOUNTING ARMY BROKE; THE SHADOW OF THE SPRAWLING OAK USURPT THE SPLENDOR OF HER FIRES.
BUT O'ER THE FALLEN MARBLES PALE I HEARD, LIKE ELFIN MELODIES BLOWN OVER FROM ENCHANTED SEAS, THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHTINGALE.