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قراءة كتاب Threads of Grey and Gold
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THREADS OF GREY
AND GOLD
BY
MYRTLE REED
Author of
Lavender and Old Lace
The Master’s Violin
Old Rose and Silver
A Weaver of Dreams
Flower of the Dusk
At the Sign of the Jack O’Lantern
The Shadow of Victory,
Etc.
New York
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers
Copyright, 1902
BY
MYRTLE REED
| By Myrtle Reed: | |
|
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| Myrtle Reed Year Book | |
This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers
G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London
GEORGE WASHINGTON AND MARTHA CURTIS.From a drawing by Clara M. Burd. (Page 34)
To the Readers of
THE ROMANCES OF MYRTLE REED.
—A world-wide circle comprising probably not less than two million sympathetic admirers—
This volume, which presents some of the writer’s most typical utterances—utterances characterised by the combination of wisdom, humour, and sentiment that belongs to all the writings of the gifted author,
IS DEDICATED BY
THE EDITOR.
Chicago,
January, 1913.
In Memory of
A WEAVER OF DREAMS.
A tribute to Myrtle Reed in recognition of her beautiful and valuable contributions to English literature.
As the spinner of silk weaves his sunbeams of gold,
Blending sunset and dawn in its silvery fold,
So she wove in the woof of her wonderful words
The soft shimmer of sunshine and music of birds.
With the radiance of moonlight and perfume of flowers,
She lent charm to the springtime and gladdened the hours.
She spoke cheer to the suffering, joy to the sad;
She gave rest to the weary, made the sorrowful glad.
The sweet touch of her sympathy soothed every pain,
And her words in the drouth were like showers of rain.
For she lovingly poured out her blessings in streams
As a fountain of waters—a weaver of dreams.
Her bright smiles were bejewelled, her tears were empearled,
And her thoughts were as stars giving light to the world;
Her fond dreams were the gems that were woven in gold,
And the fabric she wrought was of value untold.
Every colour of beauty was radiantly bright,
Blending faith, hope, and love in its opaline light.
And she wove in her woof the great wealth of her heart,
For the cord of her life gave the life to each part;
And the beauty she wrought, which gave life to the whole,
Was her spirit made real—she gave of her soul.
So the World built a temple—a glorious shrine—
A Taj Mahal of love to the woman divine.
ADDISON BLAKELY.
Editorial note
The Editor desires to make grateful acknowledgment to the editors and publishers of the several periodicals in which the papers contained in this volume were first brought into print, for their friendly courtesy in permitting the collection of these papers for preservation in book form.
Chicago,
January, 1913.