September 1: Eleanor Hibbert aka Jean Plaidy aka Victoria Holt aka Kathleen Kellow aka Philippa Carr aka Anna Percival aka Elbur Ford aka Eleanor Burford aka Ellalice Tate

One of the most prolific authors of all times, writer of over 200 novels, selling over 100 million copies & translated into over 20 languages.

I have been a fan of Jean Plaidy novels since I was a teen. I learned a great deal of history from these novels & from reading the history & biographical books she listed in her bibliographies. I also enjoyed Victoria Holt novels but I was never a great fan of gothic novels. Her other novels I have never read; some of those pen names are unknown to me. Perhaps they are published in Britain only. But if I ever happen to see one, I will certainly snap it up.

From The Lady in the Tower

Plaidy, Jean. The Lady in the Tower: The Story of Anne Boleyn. NY: Three Rivers Press, 1986. Excerpt found on page 148.

August 28: Rita Dove

Dove, Rita. “Geometry”. The Norton Anthology of Modern and Contemporary Poetry: Volume 2 Contemporary Poetry. Edited by Jahan Ramazani, Richard Ellmann & Robert O’Clair. NY: W.W. Norton & Company, 2003. poem found on page 976.

August 14: Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Revenge

Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair,
And gaze upon her smile;
Seem as you drank the very air
Her breath perfumed the while:

And wake for her the gifted line,
That wild and witching lay,
And swear your heart is as a shrine,
That only owns her sway.

‘Tis well: I am revenged at last,—
Mark you that scornful cheek,—
The eye averted as you pass’d,
Spoke more than words could speak.

Ay, now by all the bitter tears
That I have shed for thee,—
The racking doubts, the burning fears,—
Avenged they well may be—

By the nights pass’d in sleepless care,
The days of endless woe;
All that you taught my heart to bear,
All that yourself will know.

I would not wish to see you laid
Within an early tomb;
I should forget how you betray’d,
And only weep your doom:

But this is fitting punishment,
To live and love in vain,—
Oh my wrung heart, be thou content,
And feed upon his pain.

Go thou and watch her lightest sigh,—
Thine own it will not be;
And bask beneath her sunny eye,—
It will not turn on thee.

‘Tis well: the rack, the chain, the wheel,
Far better hadst thou proved;
Ev’n I could almost pity feel,
For thou art nor beloved.

poem found on PoemHunter.com

August 8: Sara Teasdale

page 25

Teasdale, Sara. “Hide and Seek”. from No More Masks!: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Poets. Edited with an Introduction by Florence Howe. NY: Harper Perennial, 1993.