<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<>
  <node>
    <title>Boyd134</title>
    <Collections>Boyd Letters</Collections>
    <Contributor>Boyd Estate</Contributor>
    <Coverage>19 Jan</Coverage>
    <Creator>Linen Hall Library</Creator>
    <Date>Wednesday, March 16, 2016</Date>
    <Format>TIFF</Format>
    <Identifier>Boyd134</Identifier>
    <ItemDescription>Letter</ItemDescription>
    <Keywords>Forrest Reid</Keywords>
    <Language>English</Language>
    <Path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/boyd134</Path>
    <Publisher>Linen Hall Library</Publisher>
    <Relation>Linen Hall Library</Relation>
    <Rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</Rights>
    <Scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Boyd134_1.jpg</Scannedimage>
    <Source>LHL Archive</Source>
    <Transcript>﻿counterpane of the still bed
on which her worn body lay
as lightly as when she came, a sleepless maid.

Hope you can decipher it - I mean the writing:
the thought is childs play. Don&#039;t be afraid
to criticize it to hell.

I&#039;m writing a couple of other lyrics, but will
keep &#039;em for a month before publishing - or
rather trying to publish - them.
Forrest Reid has read the part of my novel that&#039;s finished
it, + was quite encouraging. But i know it&#039;s slight -
+ my beginning.
I&#039;m after a future life in Queens, now!
</Transcript>
    <Type>Text</Type>
  </node>
</>
