Guest Poet:

Frederick Goddard Tuckerman

Thin little leaves of wood fern, ribbed and toothed

Long curved sail needles of the green pitch pine,

With common sandgrass, skirt the horizon line,

And over these the incorruptible blue!

Here let me gently lie and softly view

All world asperities, lightly touched and smoothed

As by his gracious hand, the great Bestower.

What though the year be late? some colors run

Yet through the dry, some links of melody

Still let me be, by such, assuaged and soothed

And happier made, as when, our schoolday done,

We hunted on from flower to frosty flower,

Tattered and dim, the last red butterfly,

Or the old grasshopper molasses-mouthed.