There are even some who push their way briskly
through the aimless bodies of men,--but then there must be an
occasional anomaly to break the monotony, if nothing more.
It is so unlike the ordinary world, this bit of Bohemia, that one feels
a personal grievance when the marble entrance and great, green dome
become positive, solid, architectural facts, standing in all the grim
solemnity of the main entrance of the Hotel Royal on St. Louis Street,
ending, with a sudden return to aristocracy, this stamping ground for
anarchy.
IMPRESSIONS.
THOUGHT.
A swift, successive chain of things,
That flash, kaleidoscope-like, now in, now out,
Now straight, now eddying in wild rings,
No order, neither law, compels their moves,
But endless, constant, always swiftly roves.
HOPE.
Wild seas of tossing, writhing waves,
A wreck half-sinking in the tortuous gloom;
One man clings desperately, while Boreas raves,
And helps to blot the rays of moon and star,
Then comes a sudden flash of light, which gleams on shores afar.
LOVE.
A bed of roses, pleasing to the eye,
Flowers of heaven, passionate and pure,
Upon this bed the youthful often lie,
And pressing hard upon its sweet delight,
The cruel thorns pierce soul and heart, and cause a woeful blight.
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