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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Yes, there's one beginning: "'Sweet as the wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned to sing, And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing." "It sounds familiar," Mrs. Mortimer said, pondering. "And there was another I remember that began: "'I've stolen away from the crowd in the groves, Where the nude statues stand, and the leaves point and shiver,
The writing was delicate and curled, with the quaint fineness of half a century before. She read a stanza to herself: "Sweet as a wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned to sing, And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing."
She recalled and repeated aloud one of her mother's stanzas: "'Sweet as a wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned to sing And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing." She sighed happily and dried her eyes. Perhaps the hard times were past.
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