Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MOVING OF THE AUTHORS CLUB, by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MOVING OF THE AUTHORS CLUB, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: We have moved our tables and chairs
Last Line: Till the last of us pens his last line!
Subject(s): Authors - Conferences And Workshops; Writer's Conferences And Workshops


We have moved our tables and chairs,
And our multum-in-parvo desk,
Our clock with its delicate airs,
And our bits of the statuesque.

We have moved the pictures and books
And the catalogue's groaning weight,
The dishes dear to our cooks,
And lastly the tea-urn, in state.

We have said a quavered good-by
To the dear little noisy room,
And left it despairing to lie
In its dull and commercial doom.

And the lions of literature
Bid adieu to the lions of stone,
The big red lions demure
That now are sad and alone.

But much that the eye sees not
And only spirits divine
We move from that hallowed spot
To our new and acceptable shrine.

Presences dear in the past,
Memories precious for aye,
Fragrances ever to last,
These we move hither to-day.

Usher them into the car;
Softly! they come! they come!
Royally welcome they are
As they reach their latest home.

First of the entering line,
Our imperial Julia Ward Howe,
Womanly, strong, and benign,
With the nation's bays on her brow.

Walking there by her side,
Higginson courtly and keen,
Soldier of valor tried,
Scholar of gracious mien.

Bent but massively tall,
Hale, the prophet, appears;
He who was all things to all
Through all of his brotherly years.

And Mrs. Moulton the kind,
Poet and patron and friend;
Gilman, learned and refined;
Foss, with his sunshine to spend.

See them crowd in at the door!
Butterworth, ample of cheer,
Guild with his gracious four-score,
Lloyd, our knight without fear;

Richardson, teacher true-famed,
A spirit of steadiest flight;
Lilian Dreyfus, well-named,
Lily of sweetness and light;

Knowles, the Bostonian Keats;
Dolbear, in gentle old age;
And Alice Palmer, where meets
The glory of woman and sage.

See them still entering in,
Dedicating the door,
Throngs of our writer kin,
Throngs of our comrades of yore.

These are the treasures we move
Here to our newest abode,
Treasures of friendship and love,
Ah, an exuberant load!

Here we shall add to our wealth
Riches of fellowship rare, --
Friendship, stronger than health;
Friendship, fairest of fair.

Friendship, the writer's true gold,
Here let it gather and shine,
The new and the ever-new old,
Till the last of us pens his last line!





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