A souvenir of the enjoyment Lowell had in his visit to Baltimore is in a sonnet which he wrote to a young daughter of President Gilman of the university. “I shall assume,” he wrote her from Elmwood, 7 April, 1877, “for my own convenience that there were just fourteen roses in the lovely sheaf I found in my room when I came in for shelter from the ill-humor of that February day, so unlike the temperature, both outward and inward, to which Baltimore had accustomed us. I repay them in fourteen verses, and I wish it were as easy to match the sweetness of your sonnet as its numbers. However, I promised you that I would send it and have not forgotten, but have had so many things to do that I have delayed paying my debt till you have half forgotten your debtor. The two quatrains with which my sonnet gets well under way were written on the spot with your roses comforting two of my benumbed senses. Luckily I wrote them on the back of an invitation which certifies to the date--‘Saturday, 24 February.’ The concluding triplets I had partly written down when I was interrupted, and I finished them this morning. I wish it were better, but at least the gratitude will last, if not the sonnet.” TO MISS ALICE GILMAN, WHO SENT ME ROSES, 24TH FEBY., 1877. A handful of ripe rosebuds in my room I found when all heaven’s mercy seemed shut out By clouds morose that dallied with a doubt ’Tween rain and snow: meanwhile mine eyes with bloom Were comforted, and over Summer’s tomb, Out of your gift rose nightingales to flout With Easter prophecies the chill without And sing the mind clear of the season’s gloom. So may your innocent fancy be rarest Ever with impulses to timely deeds Generous of sunshine, and your life be blest With flower and fruit immortal, sprung of seeds Sown by those singing birds that make their nest In natures thoughtful of another’s needs!