Download as pdf or txt
Download as pdf or txt
You are on page 1of 2

The Garden of Genius

Author(s): Nixon Waterman


Source: Bradley, His Book, Vol. 1, No. 1 (May, 1896)
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20443124
Accessed: 10-12-2017 11:04 UTC

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide
range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and
facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at
http://about.jstor.org/terms

is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Bradley, His Book

This content downloaded from 151.52.41.94 on Sun, 10 Dec 2017 11:04:25 UTC
All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms
BRADLEY, HIS BOOK
Volume One MAY, M DCCC XC VI Nutmber One

NIXON WATERMAN, * THE GARDEN OF GENIUS


I knew a dingy attic where
A poor, wan child in sorrow lay.
Hid in a narrowwindow, there,
A rosebush struggled toward the day;
And tears, like dew, at night and morn,
Sank down to warm the root entombed,
And from that prisoned plant was born
The sweetest rose that ever bloomed.
O garden of the sould Iknew
Ah me II knew a little 'den'
Where hungry, high-borm Genius grew
The children of her brush and pens
Amid the gloom there burned a gleam,
And patient hand was taught to draw,
And patient soul was taught to dream
The fairest lines I ever saw.
The fortune-favored fields may bring,
To those who toil, their meed of grain;
But Genius stifl her wealth wil fling
Amid the thony wastes of pain.
The rose that b I trough the tears
An that high Soul of Art, these two,
Have brought to met through all the years,
The dearest hope I ever knew.

BOOKS - Books are the voices of the dumb, the tongues of brush
and pen; the ever-living kernels from the passing husks of men.

RICHARD HARDING DAVIS * AT THE OPERA AND


A VETIEAN v THE SAME BEING TWO SKETCHES
HE voice of the great prima don
na had almost reached the scale
which led to that triumphant
note evrbody had come to
hear. Even the mui ians in
the orchestra looked up at her
aikance with something of won
der and much of awe, as at an
acrobat who might fall at any
moment from his trapeze. And
the ladies in the boxes ceased
talking and waited with grace
fu patience until it was done
and over with, when they
mght be ere they had left off.
!=iiy young music teacherwith her handsclasped
In her lap, and in the of peceqt rapture, hung over the rail
of the higest balcony and d iran the music that seemed meant
for her alone and to lift her whole soul and bodywith it as it rose
Down below her a broker eaned back heaviy in his cushioned
chair and stred blanky at the stage. He had a cris before him
on the morrow,and a crisis which meant ruin or a greater fortune.
Copyright, M8i6, by Will H. Bradley.

This content downloaded from 151.52.41.94 on Sun, 10 Dec 2017 11:04:25 UTC
All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms

You might also like