The Enemy’s Portrait – Thomas Hardy (A Poem)

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!”
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The Violinist – Margaret Steele Anderson (A Poem)

But that one air for all that throng! And yet How wondrously the magic strain went through Those thousand hearts! I saw young eyes, that knew Only the fairest sights, grow dim and wet, While eyes long fed on visions of regret Beheld life’s rose, upspringing from its rue; For some, the night-wind in thy music blew, For some, the spring’s celestial clarinet!
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