The year 1868 was an important one to her, for in it her first volume of verse was printed. Influenced by the wishes of her friends for a keepsake, and feeling that, if she published, it would be a record of work done, and from it, as a mile-stone, she would be encouraged to do better verse-making in the future, she launched upon the literary market her book, entitled simply “Poems.” It contained many of the lyrics upon which her fame as a poet will always be based. “Hannah,” and “Skipper Ben,” and “Hilary” have a place in it. “Hand in Hand with Angels” keeps before one the thought of unseen spiritual presences. “A Year in Heaven” reminds one of the life beyond, while “At the Beautiful Gate” expresses the longing of the soul for greater truth:-- “Lord, open the door, for I falter, I faint in this stifled air.” The sweet quietude of “The Chamber called Peace” surrounds the reader, for it merited Mr. Whittier’s remark that “it is really one of the sweetest poems of Christian consolation I have read.” The rich, full notes of “A Thanksgiving” are heard, as a human soul pours forth its earnest gratitude:-- “For the world’s exhaustless beauty, I thank thee, O my God!” About this poem, Rev. J. W. Chadwick said to her, “Your ‘Thanksgiving’ has become ritual in my church. If the people did not hear it every year, they would think the times were out of joint.” Miss Ingelow wrote her that she liked best “A White Sunday,” with its hopeful lines, expressing “the earnest expectation of the creature:”-- “The World we live in wholly is redeemed; Not man alone, but all that man holds dear: His orchards and his maize; forget-me-not And heart’s-ease, in his garden; and the wild Aerial blossoms of the untrained wood, That makes its savagery so home-like; all Have felt Christ’s sweet Love watering their roots His Sacrifice has won both Earth and Heaven.” The “Poems” were well received everywhere, and the reviewers were generally most complimentary. It was seen at once that a real poet, of true inspiration, had taken a permanent place in American literature. The musical modulations of the verse, with its tender lyrical quality, its local New England coloring, and its strong moral sentiment, soon gained her the affections of the people. The name “Lucy Larcom” was now well known; but, curiously enough, it was not associated with her personality, for it was thought to be a fictitious name, with “Apt alliteration’s artful aid.” A habit common among certain authors of the day was to have such euphonious _noms de plume_ as “Minnie Myrtle,” “Fanny Forrester,” “Grace Greenwood;” and it was natural that “Lucy Larcom” should be classed with them. She often had amusing encounters with strangers about her identity. On the cars one day, a woman changed her seat for one in front of Miss Larcom, and, turning round, put the question, “Are you really Lucy Larcom, the poet? Some one said you were.” “Yes, that is my name.”