The St. Louis Republic., 1901-02-24

such euphonious pen names as Minnie
Myrtle" Fanny Forester" Grace Green
wood Fanny Fern" and 1t was natural
that Lucy Larcon" should be eiassed
among them. She often had amusing en-
counters with strangers about her Identity
On the cars ore day. a woman changed her
seat for one in front of Miss Lareom. and.
turning round. put the question.
Are you really Lucy Larcom. the poet?
Some one said you were"
Yes. that is my name" 81:
Then 1t Is not a made up name? Wei.
We never thought it was real when we read
your pieces"
Again. a gentleman who had just been in
troduced to her. was discussing the subject
OF names. He asked the derivation Of her
name: she told him that it was originally
"Lark-Holme," the home of the larks; then
he said:
rs there not some one who takes your
name. and writes poetry. calling herself
Lucy LarcomT never read any of the
stuff"
She wrote a number OF religious poems.
Among the collection Is this:
Where does the snow go.
So white the ground?
Under Mays azure
No fake can be found.
Lock into the lily
Some sweet summer hour:
There blooms the Snow.
In the heart Of the flower.
Where does the love go.
Frozen to grief?
Along the hearts fbers
Its cold thrill IS brief
The snowfall of sorrow
Turns not to dry dust;
II lives IN white blossoms
OF patience and trust
One Of her best poems is this, called "A
Strip Of Blue:
do not own an inch Of land.
But all I see Is mine
The orchard and the moving zelda
The lawns and gardens hne.
The winds my tax collectors are.
They bring tithes divine
Wild scents and subtle essenceA
A tribute rare and free:
And more magnificent than al.
Ny window keeps for mo
glimpse Of blue immensity-
little strip Of sea-
Richer am than he who owns
Great fleets and argosies:
have a share IN every ship
Won by the inland breeze.
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple trees.
freight them with my untold dreamss
Each bears my own picked crew;
And nobier ca-goeS walt for them 4
Than ever India knew
Ny ships that sail into the East
Across that outlet blue.
Sometimes they seem like living shapes
The people of the sky
Guests in white raiment coming down
From heaven. which Is close by:
call them by familiar names.
As one by draws Nigh
So white. light. SO spirit-liks.
From violet mists they blocm!
The aching wastes Of the unknown
Are half reclaimed from gloom.
Since on iife's hospi;able sea
All souls fnd sailing room.
The ocean grows wearisoma
With nothing else in sight:
Its east and west. its north ard south.
Spread out from morn TN night: s--F,
We miss the warm caressng shcr%
Its breeding shade and light
A part IS greater than the whole;
By hints mysteries told
The frinees Of eternity-
Gods sweeping garment-foid.
In that bright shred Of glittertng -.
I reach out for and hold
The sails. like fakes of roseais pearl
Float IN upon the mist:
The waves are broken precious stones
Sapphire and amethyst.
Washed from celestial basement walls
Z BY suns unsetting kissed.
Out through the utmost gates Of spae~
Past where the gray stars drift-
To the widening In1nite my soul
Giides on. q vessel swfft.
Yet loses not her anchorage
In yonder azure rift
Here SIT I. as a little child:
The threshold Of Gods door
l. that clear band Of chrysophrass;
Now the vast temple floor.
The binding glory OF the dome
I bow my head before.
Thy universe. God. Is homs
In height or depth to me:
Yet here upon thy footstool green
Content am to be:
Glad when IL oped unto my need
Some sea-like glimpse Of Thee.