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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
143
The
printed
regulations
forbade
us
to
bring
books
into
the
mill,
so
I
made
my
window-seat
into
a
small
library
of
poetry,
pasting
its
side
all
over
with
newspaper
clippings.
In
those
days
we
had
only
weekly
papers,
and
they
had
always
a
"poet's
corner,"
where
standard
writers
were
well
represented,
with
anonymous
ones,
also.
I
was
not,
of
course,
much
of
a
critic.
I
chose
my
verses
for
their
sentiment,
and
because
I
wanted
to
commit
them
to
memory;
sometimes
it
was
a
long
poem,
sometimes
a
hymn,
sometimes
only
a
stray
verse.
Mrs.
Hemans
sang
with
me,--
"Far
away,
o'er
the
blue
hills
far
away;"
and
I
learned
and
loved
her
"Better
Land,"
and
"If
thou
hast
crushed
a
flower,"
and
"Kindred
Hearts."
I
wonder
if
Miss
Landon
really
did
write
that
fine
poem
to
Mont
Blanc
which
was
printed
in
her
volume,
but
which
sounds
so
entirely
unlike
everything
else
she
wrote!
This
was
one
of
my
window-gems.
It
ended
with
the
appeal,--
"Alas
for
thy
past
mystery!
For
thine
untrodden
snow!
Nurse
of
the
tempest!
hast
thou
none
To
guard
thine
outraged
brow?"
and
it
contained
a
stanza
that
I
often
now
repeat
to
myself:--
"We
know
too
much:
scroll
after
scroll
Weighs
down
our
weary
shelves:
Our
only
point
of
ignorance
Is
centred
in
ourselves."
There
was
one
anonymous
waif
in
my
collection
that
I
was
very
fond
of.
I
have
never
seen
it
since,
nor
ever
had
the
least
clue
to
its
authorship.
It
stirred
me
and
haunted
me;
and
it
often
comes
back
to
me
now,
in
snatches
like
these:--
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
