f the personality and the poetry of Grace Harvey Lane, who lived her all too short life in Medford, graduating from the Medford schools and Tufts College.
Her poetic translations won great praise.
Professor Shipman said she had mastered the technique of composition, but her own poems describing the things she saw from her window, The Swamp, The Redwing, The Veery, Evening Primroses, are the true expression of her life.
Suggested by Chantez!
La nuit sera breve, in Par le Glaive, by Jean Richepin: Lullaby, the sun is going— Comes an old man up the stairs, For a cap the night mists flowing, And a cloak of dreams he wears; Lullaby, the sun is going. Lullaby, the stars are shining— Like a shadow stealthily Through the nursery door he's creeping. Tiptoe—barefoot—peeping sly; Lullaby, the stars are shining. Lullaby, the moon is beaming— Gently smiling, soft he throws Golden sand of dream-land gleaming, On the lids that will not close. Lullaby, the moon is beaming. Lullaby, soft