أنت هنا

قراءة كتاب The Spinners' Book of Fiction

تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

‏اللغة: English
The Spinners' Book of Fiction

The Spinners' Book of Fiction

تقييمك:
0
لا توجد اصوات
المؤلف:
دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 1


The Devil Sit In Filon's Eyes And Laugh
"the devil sit in filon's eyes
and laugh—laugh—some time he go away like
a man at a window, but he come again.
M'siu, he live there!"


From a Painting by E. Almond Withrow


THE

SPINNERS' BOOK OF
FICTION

BY

Gertrude Atherton, Mary Austin
Geraldine Bonner, Mary Halleck Foote
Eleanor Gates, James Hopper, Jack London
Bailey Millard, Miriam Michelson, W. C. Morrow
Frank Norris, Henry Milner Rideout
Charles Warren Stoddard, Isobel Strong
Richard Walton Tully and
Herman Whitaker

With a dedicatory poem by
George Sterling

COLLECTED BY THE
BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE
SPINNERS' CLUB

Illustrated by
Lillie V. O'Ryan, Maynard Dixon
Albertine Randall Wheelan, Merle Johnson
E. Almond Withrow and Gordon Ross
Initials and decorations by
Spencer Wright

PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK

Published in behalf
of The Spinners' Benefit Fund
Ina D. Coolbrith
First Beneficiary
———
Copyright, 1907
by Paul Elder and Company


TO INA D. COOLBRITH

With wilder sighing in the pine
The wind went by, and so I dreamed;
And in that dusk of sleep it seemed
A city by the sea was mine.
To statelier sprang the walls of Tyre
From seaward cliff or stable hill;
And light and music met to fill
The splendid courts of her desire—
(Extolling chords that cried her praise,
And golden reeds whose mellow moan
Was like an ocean's undertone
Dying and lost on forest ways).
But sweeter far than any sound
That rang or rippled in her halls,
Was one beyond her eastern walls,
By summer gardens girdled round.
Twas from a nightingale, and oh!
The song it sang hath never word!
Sweeter it seemed than Love's, first-heard,
Or lutes in Aidenn murmuring low.
Faint, as when drowsy winds awake
A sisterhood of faery bells,
It won reply from hidden dells,
Loyal to Echo for its sake....
I dreamt I slept, but cannot say
How many dreamland seasons fled,
Nor what horizon of the dead
Gave back my dream's uncertain day.
But still beside the toiling sea
I lay, and saw—for walls o'ergrown—
The city that was mine had known
Time's sure and ancient treachery.
Above her ramparts, broad as Tyre's,
The grasses' mounting army broke;
The shadow of the sprawling oak
Usurpt the splendor of her fires.
But o'er the fallen marbles pale
I heard, like elfin melodies
Blown over from enchanted seas,
The music of the nightingale.

George Sterling.


THE STORIES

Concha Argüello, Sister Dominica
by Gertrude Atherton
The Ford of Crèvecœur
by Mary Austin
A Californian
by Geraldine Bonner
Gideon's Knock
by Mary Halleck Foote
A Yellow Man and a White
by Eleanor Gates
The Judgment of Man
by James Hopper
The League of the Old Men
by Jack London
Down the Flume with the Sneath Piano
by Bailey Millard
The Contumacy of Sarah L. Walker
by Miriam Michelson
Breaking Through
by W. C. Morrow
A Lost Story
by Frank Norris
Hantu
by Henry Milner Rideout

الصفحات