And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted NEVERMORE!

Pee-wees' singin', to express
My opinion's second class;
Yit you'll hear 'em more er less;
Sapsucks gettin' down to biz,
Weedin' out the lonesomeness;
Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass,

In them baseball clothes o' his,
Sportin' round the orchard jes'
Like he owned the premises!
Sun out there in the fields kin sizz,
But flat on your back, I guess,
In the shade 's where glory is!
That's jes' what I'd like to do
Stiddy fer a year er two!

VI

Plague if they ain't sompin' in
Work 'at kind o' goes agin
My convictions!-'long about
Here in June especially! -
Under some old apple-tree,
Jes' a-restin' through and through,
I could git along without
Nothin' else at all to do,
Only jes' a-wishin' you
Was a-gittin' there like me,

And June was eternity!

VII

Lay out there and try to see
Jes' how lazy you kin be!

Tumble round and souse your head
In the clover-bloom, er pull

Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes,

And peak through it at the skies,
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead,
Maybe, smilin' back at you

In betwixt the beautiful

Clouds o' gold and white and blue!

Month a man kin railly love—

June, you know, I'm talkin' of!

VIII

March ain't never nothin' new!

Aprile's altogether too

Brash fer me! and May-I jes'
'Bominate its promises,-
Little hints o' sunshine and
Green around the timber-land -
A few blossoms, and a few
Chip-birds, and a sprout or two
Drap asleep, and it turns in
'Fore daylight and snows agin!
But when June comes

- Clear my throat

With wild honey! Rench my hair

In the dew! and hold my coat!
Whoop out loud! and throw my hat! —
June wants me, and I'm to spare!
Spread them shadders anywhere,
I'll git down and waller there,

And obleeged to you at that!

- James Whitcomb Riley.

RING OUT, WILD BELLS!

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,-
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of paltry strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold,
Ring out the thousand wars of old;
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man, and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land;
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

-Lord Tennyson.

THE RESURRECTION

It was our Sabbath eve. By set of sun
Arimathean Joseph craved, and gained
The grace to lay Him in his sepulcher.
Then, while the first day of the week was dark,
Alone I wended to His sepulcher,

Bearing fair water, and the frankincense,
And linen, that my Lord's sweet body sleep
Well in the rock. And, while my woeful feet

Passed through the gate, and up the paved ascent
Along the Second Wall, over the Hill,

Into that Garden, hard by Golgotha,

The morning brightened over Moab's peaks,

Touched the great Temple's dome with crimson fires, Lit Ophel and Moriah rosy-red,

Made Olivet all gold, and, in the pools

In Hinnom, laid a sudden lance of flame;

And from the thorn-trees, brake the waking songs
Of little birds; and every palm-tree's top

Was full of doves that cooed, as knowing not
How Love was dead, and Life's dear glory gone,
And the World's hope lay in the tomb with Him;
Which now I spied - that hollow in the rock
Under the camphire leaves. Yet, no guards there
To help me roll the stone! Nay, and no stone!
It lay apart, leaving the door a-gape,
And through the door, as I might dimly see,