First Lines of Frank Dempster Sherman
A Girl to love, a pipe to smoke,A Rose on a spray where a brown bird sang,Above the glowing embersAt Naishápúr his ashes lieBeneath the trees whose lisping broodBlooms in the east when darkness goesBlossom, little stars, and fillDay to my heartDivinely shapen cup, thy lipFriend, stay your steps awhile beforeFrom Paradise what soul with wingsFrom the marble of his thoughtFrom the minster's organ-loft,From what mystery of spaceGhosts of departed winged things,Give me my happy poet's bookGive me the room whose every nookGo, Heliotrope,Go, little book with heart of rhyme,Go, Rose, and in her golden hairGood Winter, hear this wish I writeI Heard a sweet voice singing in the nightIn her dark hair a lustrous jewel gleams,In Nature's open bookIn the hush of the night he heardIn the pasture's clover deepIn the soft wind that blows,Let a song be softly sung;Let Us go forth and meet herLonely once, my love away,Long time she sat, yet never touched a string, --Long years within its sepulchreLove, at your door young Cupid standsLove, throw thy lattice open to the night,Love, when we parted, you and I,Lying beside the margin of the deep,No leaf is stirring in the tree,Of books I sing, but not of thoseOftentimes there come to meOnly a whispering galeOver the convent wallSee, yonder, the belfry towerSeraglio of the Sultan Bee!Song like a rose should be;Sweetheart, when rhymes I makeThe air is keen, the sky is clear;The days come,The fence on either side is down,The sun sank red in the dull gray westThis is a naiad's drinking cupUnto his parching lips a cupUp in her balcony whereUp, slender vine, your love is mine;Upon a mountain-summit high,When Summer comes and brings the rose,Where heedless winds around him blow,Within the meadow of Time's bookWithin this silent palace of the Night,You who at my elbow sit,