Space forbids any delay upon George Henry Boker (1823-1890), diplomat and dramatist, and his metrical drama, “Francesca da Rimini” (1856); or Francis Miles Finch (1827-1907), professor in Cornell University, and his celebrated poem “The Blue and the Gray” (in _The Atlantic Monthly_, 1867), a gift of healing from the North to the South; or John Hay (1838-1905), whose manifold services to his country were roofed and crowned with an abiding interest in literature (“Pike County Ballads,” published in _The New York Tribune_); or Richard Watson Gilder (born 1844), editor of _The Century Magazine_, social reformer, and author of several volumes of finished verse; or Stephen Collins Foster (1836-1864), composer, whose songs, “The Old Folks at Home,” “The Suwanee River,” “My Old Kentucky Home,” familiar the country over, are significant of the influence which the negroes have exerted on the language and art of the whites; or Will H. Thompson (born 1848), and “The High Tide at Gettysburg”; or John Townsend Trowbridge (born 1827), one of the original contributors to _The Atlantic Monthly_, author of “The Vagabonds” (1863), and steeped in the spirit of New England; or John Boyle O’Reilly (1844-1890), the Fenian, who escaped from imprisonment in Australia, and became a journalist in Boston (“Songs, Legends, and Ballads,” “Songs of the Southern Seas,” etc.); or Eugene Field (1850-1895), witty, eccentric, friend and student of children; or Richard Hovey (1864-1900), cut off in the flower of his promise (“Taliesin: a Masque,” 1899); or Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906), the negro poet, dead before his time, who wrote good and stirring English as well as pathetic dialect; or William Vaughn Moody, professor in the University of Chicago (“The Masque of Judgment,” 1900); or Bliss Carman (born 1861) and Clinton Scollard (born 1860). All these and many more must pass with insufficient notice or none; otherwise the page would contain only a meaningless enumeration of names and dates. As was implied at the beginning, very few American writers who have won distinction in other ways have refrained from publishing a volume of lyrics “and other poems.” Also, in spite of the slender encouragement from publishers to new authors of original verse, the occasional volume from the hitherto and hereafter unknown poetaster, who foots the bill for printing, continues to emerge and sink again at the present day.