Incipit
To Mr. Hoag Upon His Ninety-second Birthday, February 10, 1923 On the cold air with brighter ray Dionondawa gleams today, To give a bard his due; For Scriba, last of all the line In whom our ancient glories shine, Is turning ninety-two! As o’er the hills strange echoes rise From bards who gaze with alien eyes Upon a changing land, You, SCRIBA, who have known the past, Will keep it living till the last, For those who understand. ‘Tis yours a happier day to sing, That spread too soon its golden wing; A day of hope and worth, When young Columbia, proud and free, Exulted in simplicit …
297 mots · Poésie · texte intégral sur Wikisource.
Ce que ce texte contient
Entourage — Jonathan E. Hoag (1)