Montara, Naples of my West!
Montara, Italy to me!
Montara, newest, truest, best
Of all brave cities by this sea!
I'd rather one wee bungalow
Where I mid-March may sit me down
And watch thy warm waves come and go,
Than two whole blocks of Boston town.

The lips of the Christ-child are like to twin leaves;
They let roses fall when he smiles tenderly.
The tears of the Christ-child are pearls when he grieves;
The eyes of the Christ-child are deep as the sea.
Like pomegranate grains are the dimples he hath,
And clustering lilies spring up in his path.

AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR .

I'll not sell Uncle Noll, Charles Surface cries; —
I'll not sell Charley Fox, John Bull replies:
Sell him, indeed! who'll find me such another; —
Fox is above all price; so hold your bother.

Women are books, and men the readers be,
In whom oft times they great Errata see;
Here sometimes we a blot there we espy
A leaf misplac'd, at least a line awry;
If they are books, I wish that my wife were
An almanack, to change her every year.

Bury me with clenched hands
And eyes open wide,
For in storm and struggle I lived,
And in struggle and storm I died

" TIME is! Time was! " Thy clangor triumphs o'er
My baffled will. Even so thy summons rude
Shall spell thy doom with " Time shall be no more! "
When I have passed where Time did ne'er intrude.

Barbaric in stains of yellow and red,
The leaves o'ersprinkle the frosty pave;
They rustle beneath and around my tread;
And lo! a world three centuries dead
Leaps into life, and overhead
Miantonomi's forests wave.

What good, you ask of noon and afternoon,
With all the winds of inspiration stilled?
Why, then 't is our high joy, by Heaven's boon,
The mighty plans of morning to upbuild.

How filmy, faint, elusive, glows
The Old Moon in the New! It shows
What light the Earth from sunshine lent
Rays back upon the firmament.
So 'tis the Old Moon's hidden worth
To hold a mirror up to earth,
Which reads: " In me beside the New
Thine earthlight matched with sunlight view! "

Yea , Lethe current durst I ford with thee;
For, though it washed all memory away
Of what we are and were, seeing each other,
We should but rush together open-armed,
Doubly imparadised in our love's renewal.
As health from sleep, so should our wedded love
From Lethe rise new-born to ardor new.