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Poetry

A Magazine of Verse

GAUNT-BUILT woman and her son-in-law— A broad-faced fellow, with such flesh as shows Nothing but easy nature—and his wife, The woman's daughter, who spills all her talk Out of a wide mouth, but who has eyes as gray As Connemara, where the mountain-ash Shows berries red indeed: the enter now— Our country singers!

"Sing, my good woman, sing us some romance That has been round your chimney-nooks so long 'Tis nearly native; something blown here And since made racy—like yon tree, I might say, Native by influence if not by species, Shaped by our winds. You understand, I think?"