Biography of Trumbull Stickney
Joseph Trumbull Stickney was born in Geneva on June 20, 1874, and grew up in many cities and countries as his parents travelled widely ... Wiesbaden, Florence, Nice, London, and New York.
He was educated by his father, Austin at home in both Latin and Greek, and then entered Harvard University in 1891. He graduated magna cum laude in June 1895. The following eight years were spent studying for the degree of Doctorat ès Lettres at the Sorbonne in Paris. For this he wrote two theses, one on the letters of Ermolao Barbaro, a 15th-century ambassador to Rome, and the other on aphorisms in Greek verse. His Dramatic Verses was published in Boston in 1902, dedicated from Paris to his friend "Bay" (George) Lodge, who would co-edit Stickney's collected poems in 1905.
In 1903 his second thesis was published as Les Sentences dans la Poésie Grècque this won him the first Sorbonne Doctorat awarded to an American. Stickney then took on a position as instructor in Greek at Harvard in 1903 and travelled abroad in Greece from April to June that year. A brain tumor caused headaches and partial blindness from early in 1904 and led to his death in Boston on October 11th 1904.
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Trumbull Stickney Poems
These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown, The sward with shrivelled foliage strown, The shrubs and trees By weary wings of sunshine overflown
Sir, Say No More
It 's autumn in the country I remember. How warm a wind blew here about the ways! And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
The Melancholy Year Is Dead With Rain
The melancholy year is dead with rain. Drop after drop on every branch pursues. From far away beyond the drizzled flues A twilight saddens to the window pane.
Now burst above the city's cold twilight The piercing whistles and the tower-clocks: For day is done. Along the frozen docks The workmen set their ragged shirts aright.
By such an all-embalming summer day As sweetens now among the mountain pines Down to the cornland yonder and the vines, To where the sky and sea are mixed in gray,
Live blindly and upon the hour. The Lord, Who was the Future, died full long ago. Knowledge which is the Past is folly. Go, Poor child, and be not to thyself abhorred.
I Used To Think
I used to think The mind essential in the body, even As stood the body essential in the mind: Two inseparable things, by nature equal
Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream That over Persian roses flew to kiss The curlèd lashes of Semiramis. Troy never was, nor green Skamander stream.
In The Past
There lies a somnolent lake Under a noiseless sky, Where never the mornings break Nor the evenings die.
And, The Last Day Being Come
And, the last day being come, Man stood alone Ere sunrise on the world's dismantled verge, Awaiting how from everywhere should urge The Coming of the Lord. And, behold, none
I Hear A River Thro' The Valley Wander
Alone on Lykaion since man hath been Stand on the height two columns, where at rest Two eagles hewn of gold sit looking East Forever; and the sun goes down between.
On Some Shells Found Inland
These are my murmur-laden shells that keep A fresh voice tho' the years be very gray. The wave that washed their lips and tuned their lay Is gone, gone with the faded ocean sweep,
In A City Garden
How strange that here is nothing as it was!
The sward is young and new,
The sod there shapes a different mass,
The random trees stand other than I knew.
No, here the Past has left no residue,
By a new path
The workmen homeward in the city twilight pass.