Sargent's Portrait Of Edwin Booth At "The Players"

That face which no man ever saw
And from his memory banished quite,
With eyes in which are Hamlet's awe
And Cardinal Richelieu's subtle light,
Looks from this frame. A master's hand
Has set the master-player here,
In the fair temple that he planned
Not for himself. To us most dear
This image of him! "It was thus
He looked; such pallor touched his cheek;
With that same grace he greeted us--
Nay, 'tis the man, could it but speak!"
Sad words that shall be said some day--
Far fall the day! O cruel Time,
Whose breath sweeps mortal things away,
Spare long this image of his prime,
That others standing in the place
Where, save as ghosts, we come no more,
May know what sweet majestic face
The gentle Prince of Players wore!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Thomas Bailey Aldrich was an American writer, poet, critic, and editor. He is notable for his long editorship of The Atlantic Monthly. Born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, much of his writing was inspired by his experiences in the city. He wrote volumes of poetry, novels, and short stories. Aldrich's semi-autobiographical book, "The Story of a Bad Boy," is considered an early example of the "bad boy" genre in American literature.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

At The Funeral Of A Minor Poet

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Simple Poetry

Sestet - Sent To A Friend With A Volume Of Tennyson

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Simple Poetry

Guilielmus Rex

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Simple Poetry

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Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Simple Poetry

English

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Epitaphs for Two Players

    I. Edwin Booth

An old actor at the Player's Club told me that Edwin Booth first impersonated Hamlet when a barnstormer in California. There were few theatres, but the hotels were provided with crude assembly rooms for strolling players.


The youth played in the blear hotel.
The rafters gleamed with glories strange.
And winds of mourning Elsinore
Howling at chance and fate and change;
Voices of old Europe's dead
Disturbed the new-built cattle-shed,
The street, the high and solemn range.

The while the coyote barked afar
All shadowy was the battlement.
The ranch-boys huddled and grew pale,
Youths who had come on riot bent.
Forgot were pranks well-planned to sting.
Behold there rose a ghostly king,
And veils of smoking Hell were rent.

Vachel Lindsay

Recollection Of The Portrait Of King Henry Eighth, Trinity Lodge, Cambridge

The imperial Stature, the colossal stride,
Are yet before me; yet do I behold
The broad full visage, chest of amplest mould,
The vestments 'broidered with barbaric pride:
And lo! a poniard, at the Monarch's side,
Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy
With the keen threatenings of that fulgent eye,
Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far-descried,
Who trembles now at thy capricious mood?
'Mid those surrounding Worthies, haughty King,
We rather think, with grateful mind sedate,
How Providence educeth, from the spring
Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good,
Which neither force shall check nor time abate!

William Wordsworth

Guilielmus Rex

The folk who lived in Shakespeare's day
And saw that gentle figure pass
By London Bridge, his frequent way--
They little knew what man he was.

The pointed beard, the courteous mien,
The equal port to high and low,
All this they saw or might have seen--
But not the light behind the brow!

The doublet's modest gray or brown,
The slender sword-hilt's plain device,
What sign had these for prince or clown?
Few turned, or none, to scan him twice.

Yet 'twas the king of England's kings!
The rest with all their pomps and trains
Are mouldered, half-remembered things--
'Tis he alone that lives and reigns!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

An Unfortunate Likeness.

I've painted Shakespeare all my life -
"An infant" (even then at "play"!)
"A boy," with stage-ambition rife,
Then "Married to Ann Hathaway."

"The bard's first ticket night" (or "ben."),
His "First appearance on the stage,"
His "Call before the curtain" then
"Rejoicings when he came of age."

The bard play-writing in his room,
The bard a humble lawyer's clerk.
The bard a lawyer ^{1} parson ^{2} groom ^{3} -
The bard deer-stealing, after dark.

The bard a tradesman ^{4} and a Jew ^{5} -
The bard a botanist ^{6} a beak ^{7} -
The bard a skilled musician ^{8} too -
A sheriff ^{9} and a surgeon ^{10} eke!

Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
...

William Schwenck Gilbert

To The Portrait Of "A Gentleman" In The Athenieum Gallery

It may be so, - perhaps thou hast
A warm and loving heart;
I will not blame thee for thy face,
Poor devil as thou art.

That thing thou fondly deem'st a nose,
Unsightly though it be, -
In spite of all the cold world's scorn,
It may be much to thee.

Those eyes, - among thine elder friends
Perhaps they pass for blue, -
No matter, - if a man can see,
What more have eyes to do?

Thy mouth, - that fissure in thy face,
By something like a chin, -
May be a very useful place
To put thy victual in.

I know thou hast a wife at home,
I know thou hast a child,
By that subdued, domestic smile
Upon thy features mild.

That wife sits fearless by thy side,
That cherub on thy knee;
They do not shudder at thy looks,
T...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Enemy's Portrait

He saw the portrait of his enemy, offered
At auction in a street he journeyed nigh,
That enemy, now late dead, who in his life-time
Had injured deeply him the passer-by.
"To get that picture, pleased be God, I'll try,
And utterly destroy it; and no more
Shall be inflicted on man's mortal eye
A countenance so sinister and sore!"

And so he bought the painting. Driving homeward,
"The frame will come in useful," he declared,
"The rest is fuel." On his arrival, weary,
Asked what he bore with him, and how he fared,
He said he had bid for a picture, though he cared
For the frame only: on the morrow he
Would burn the canvas, which could well be spared,
Seeing that it portrayed his enemy.

Next day some other duty found him busy;
The foe was laid his fa...

Thomas Hardy