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Boise, Idaho, United States
On the hazy afternoons of Summer,
Under oaks glorious,
We play at chess, while the ﬂowing brooklet
In the thoughtful Winter evening hours,
Long, pleasant, quiet,
Delightsome the home-hallowed ﬁreside,
With the chess-board by it.
In good-humored moments chess is grateful,
With careless freedom then we adventure
The gambit’s daring.
Chess to heal the heart’s disappointment,
Chess in sadness;
Teaching life’s changes, how to-day is woe,
This game for youth when th’ unclouded brain,
With zeal united,
Penetrates each puzzling combination
With eye clear-sighted.
This game for age, whose lingering pains
It half assuages,
Gently smoothing the rough declivity
Of life’s last stages.
This poem was published in the January edition of The Chess Monthly in 1860. I could not find the name of the author.
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