- King, A. Robert (music) ; MacDonald, Ballard (lyric).
Shapiro, Bernstein & Co., New York, 1919, Wraps, , , Very Good
3 pp. 9 X 12 inches. A bump to one corner and a spot of foxing, very good. ''Once in a while there's a fragrance rare, Bringing a lingering vision fair, . . .'' Voice and piano.
The Society for the History of Authorship, Reading and Publishing was founded to create a global network for book historians working in a broad range of scholarly disciplines. Research addresses the composition, mediation, reception, survival, and transformation of written communication in material forms from marks on stone to new media. Perspectives range from the individual reader to the transnational communication network. With more than a thousand members in over forty countries, SHARP works in concert with affiliated academic organizations around the world to support the study of book history in all its forms.
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On a Honey Bee
Thou born to sip the lake or spring, Or quaff the waters of the stream, Why hither come on vagrant wing?— Does Bacchus tempting seem— Did he, for you, the glass prepare?— Will I admit you to a share? Did storms harrass or foes perplex, Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay— Did wars distress, or labours vex, Or did you miss your way?— A better seat you could not take Than on the margin of this lake. Welcome!—I hail you to my glass: All welcome, here, you find; Here let the cloud of trouble pass, Here, be all care resigned.— This fluid never fails to please, And drown the griefs of men or bees. What forced you here, we cannot know, And you will scarcely tell— But cheery we would have you go And bid a glad farewell: On lighter wings we bid you fly, Your dart will now all foes defy. Yet take not oh! too deep a drink, And in the ocean die; Here bigger bees than you might sink, Even bees full six feet high. Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said To perish in a sea of red. Do as you please, your will is mine; Enjoy it without fear— And your grave will be this glass of wine, Your epitaph—a tear— Go, take your seat in Charon’s boat, We’ll tell the hive, you died afloat.Philip Freneau [1752-1832]