Uncloistered

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  “She gazed ahead through a long reach of future days strung together like pearls in a rosary, every one like the others, and all smooth and flawless and innocent, and her heart went up in thankfulness. Outside was the fervid summer afternoon; the air was filled with the sounds of the busy harvest of men and birds and bees; there were halloos, metallic clatterings, sweet calls, and long hummings. Louisa sat, prayerfully numbering her days, like an uncloistered nun.” A New England Nun By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (1852–1930)

Welcome, July

 “. . . Rosy Summer next advancing,

Rush'd into her sire's embrace—

Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep

For ever nearest to his smiles,

On Calpe's olive-shaded steep

Or India's citron-cover'd isles.

More remote and buxom-brown,

The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne;

A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown,

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. . . “


From “Ode To Winter” by Thomas Campbell (July 27, 1777 - June 15, 1844)



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