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to some business and sat an hour with me. First he looked at all the little pictures, then I showed him my Academy picture and after that we talked. He told me a great deal about his family and what a trial his brother Joe is to him from his careless slovenly habits and his lack of ambition. He would like to have a place in the country and have all his people around or near him, if as he said they were like other people. I told him every one had trials of this nature. Booth is naturally very affectionate and domestic in his feelings and this side of his nature is always a pleasant one to me.

Thursday Feb. 22. 1877. We dined at Eastman Johnsons last night. I have been reading "Madcap Violet" by Wm. Black and am much interested by his descriptions of the north coast of Scotland as I was in his "Princess of Thule" I think if I could afford it I would go there this summer for two or three months Have finished a small picture 12 x 20 which I began as a study for my larger one and laid by. Just now am waiting for a canvas 30 x 36 on which I am going to paint a picture based on one of my Kaatskill bush studies. Called on the Weeks' this evening.

[[clipping]] FOUR DAYS.

I.

Now are the moments brief and rare,
When nature warms with subtle bliss,
Like some chaste maiden, shy of air,
Who gives her lover the first kiss!

The willows o'er the flashing brook
Bow lissom, with fresh-mantled stem,
Like graceful ladies when they look
To find their mirrors praising them.

The orchard-aisles, that blooms array
In odorous mimicry of snow,
Are thrilled through every happy spray
With song's mellifluous overflow!

And all the world, with greens that shine,
With breaking buds and wings that flit,
Seems one expectancy divine
Of something God has promised it!

II.

White fleeces load the deep-blue day;
Long fitful breezes haunt its calm,
Like sweet thieves flying in dismay
From far Hesperides of balm!

The giddy bee, with murmur keen,
Reels o'er the garden's brightest reach;
The sly wasp hovers, black and lean,
Above the pink luxurious peach!

No gaudy currants drape their bough,
Erewhile with luscious crimson twined,
But here large velvet leaves o'erbrow
The yellowing melon's figured rind.

And here a pumpkin's lazy gold
Has slowly greatened more and more,
Till now its heart might almost hold
Cinderella's fairy couch-and-four!

III.

This ample wood, in whose brown ways,
Damp with late frost, I stroll and muse,
To winds of rapid vigor sways,
One halcyon tanglement of hues!

Yet I can never walk an hour
Where all these hollow grandeurs gleam,
And watch the land's great passion-flower
Of beauteous anguish, but I dream

How lofty lives have played their parts,
Feigning in splendor false content;
How gorgeous robes o'er broken hearts
Have made despair magnificent!

Or how, at Borgia's feast, long since,
Where lavish pomp spread costly signs,
Death, the dark slave of priest and prince,
Waited in those voluptuous wines!

IV.

Last night the air was dense for sleet,
And now I watch, with smothered sigh,
The pale blank meadows lapse to meet
A leaden monotone of sky.

Oh, colorless and glacial gloom!
Oh, earthly torpor, bleak and stern!
Have the blithe charms of bird or bloom
Gone forth to nevermore return?

What dreary mood has fancy found?
Heal up, dear love, and break the spell!—
Her lightsome footsteps faintly sound—
You come, dear love, and all is well! 

For now your blushes look to me
Like June's first roses, freshly gay,
And in your deep eyes one can see 
The violets tarrying till May!

EDGAR FAWCETT. [[/clipping]]

Transcription Notes:
. pretty poetry