mnis'.i^mi-^r^' ^%-'^M. W^' r»- W Class TS^g /g" Book A^ - ^ B 5 Copyright}!^ IM^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm A BAR OF SONG BY Hen ry E. H a r m a n AUTHOR OF IN TBACEFT L VALLEY AT THE GATE OF DREAMS IN love's domain GATES OF TWILIGHT DREAMS OF YESTERDAY Si>6 The State Company pih'.lishers and booksellers columbia, s. c. I Copyrighted^ 191 Jf by H. E, Harman ^ DEC -9 1914 ©CI.a;J87881 i: APOLOGIA From the passionate mouth Of my mother, The South, I heard these songs I bring to you ; But her flute-like tone Alas! is gone, So I've had to sing them over anew : Yet fortunate notes have come to me If I sing one song in the mother key. TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE A Bar of Song 9 A Human Creed 99 A Song 15 A Prayer 18 A ^yish 32 April Rain 50 Aynl Clouds 112 April. Dawn 115 Brook, The 42 Bitter Fate 72 Beyond the Congaree 58 Broken Idols 119 Crimson Poppy 15 Denial, The 19 Deserts Harvest, The 117 Dreams of Childhood 78 Earth's Saddest Night 103 Fear 33 FrieTidly Shores 82 For You . 112 Grecian Vignettes 51 God Has Been Good 59 Guilt 70 Hagar''s Farewell 67 Inheritance 30 Love'^s Dawn 75 Love'^s Little World 81 Lore\s Captivity 80 Life 32 Land of Silence 64 Lonesome Pine 70 Love's Song, A 110 Love of Gold, The 116 Mockery 33 Morning 56 Memories 41 Master Painter 74 Novice, The 63 One Who Loves Life 94 Old South Farm 54 PAGE Primrose 20 Point of the Cape 76 Pioneers^ The 46 Path, The 65 Prayer 108 Road to Enoree 11 Rose of My Garden 40 Rosdbelle 113 Richard Henry Wilde Ill ^heha . _ 66 Sea Mysteries 105 Sand Dunes 35 Song of the Sea 23 Summer Clouds 68 Silent Gods 53 Sight of You, The 60 Spirit of Revenge, The 115 Twilight Hymn 57 To-morrow's Task 96 Time'^s Dateless Years 39 Thrush 39 Twilight on the Marsh 89 Tyranny of Law 87 Timrod, Henry Ill Twilight Lure 116 To Harriet Shelly 73 To One Sixteen 93 Unfinished 61 War 56 Who Plants a Tree 38 Where Love is A-Flanie 18 Womun 21 Winter Wind 31 Wisdom and Love 88 WJien Love Departed 17 Yule tide and You 13 A BAR OF SONG — "Platjed an olden tunc From Youtlis forgotten June.'- A BAR OF SONG Her wistful glances swept the golden west, Where Day had laid to rest His sweet faced dreams, entrusting to the Night These children of the light. She turned about, within the dim lit room. Holy with twilight bloom ; Then in the stillness played an olden tune From Youth's forgotten June. Without I listened to the sounds that fell Like magic-woven spell; And some one opened wide the palace gates Where Love, the Master, waits. LIFE I've heard the blue-bird sing: I've walked life's rosy path of spring — The golden wealth of summer's sheen My wistful eyes have seen : — And now the autumn's tint and glow Completes the page. Ah ! friend, I know Life is a blessed thing. "Lifce a ribbon by the sea Is the road to Enorce." THE ROAD TO ENOREE Oh ! the road to Enoree Like a ribbon by the sea ! Far along the beaches stretching Like some faithful master's etching; Winding, twisting Onward listing To some far-off land of story Full of hope and human glory ; Like a ribbon by the sea Is the road to Enoree ! Ah ! the road to Enoree, Like some olden dream to me, Hurries past the forest yonder Where each mile seems fond and fonder And each turning- Brings me yearning For the days now long departed W^hen my darling, golden-hearted. Walked the golden sands with me On the road to Enoree. 11 Oh ! the road to Enoree Where she tohl her love to me, "When the cherry trees were sifting Sno\yy petals — and the drifting May winds dreaming Saw the gleaming Of the words of loye nnspoken — Heard the yows, as yet unbroken ! Ah ! the road to Enoree Like an Eden is to me. Oh ! the road to Enoree Like a ribbon by the sea! Haye you heard young loye a-calling Felt new glory round you falling: Maiden glances Waking fancies Of a new land, full of glory? Then you know the old s\yeet story Of the road to Enoree Like a ribbon by the sea! 12 YULETIDE AND YOU I A winter's sky and stars without, Pale moon and memories calling Encompass all my world about ; God's blessing on me falling. A scent of lilacs through the room, Like holy incense burning Awakens through the twilight gloom A lover's ardent yearning. Out there the wind sweeps o'er the plain ; Within, the glowing embers ; Love weaves about his golden chain The Yuletide yet remembers! Twilight and gloom till all the room, Time's prosy things receding. While Dreams along the hallway bloom And faces smile in pleading. As daylight dies from out the skies And night bestows his blessing I catch a gleam from Love's sweet eyes And feel his soft caressing. 13 Ill Somehow an angel's touch is laid Upon the brow of Sorrow, And every debt of sin is paid With dawning of tomorrow. So hang the mistletoe above The hallway and the landing That one may kiss the brow of Love Beside the hallway standing. IV Yuletide and yon ! a sky of blue, Though winter's blasts are blowing, Old love remembers and is true As yonder embers glowing. Yuletide and you ! the sirens sing- As in the Grecian story And to the Christmas hearth I cling With you and all its glory; For wintry sky and stars without Pale moon and memories calling Encompass all my world about, God's blessinii' on me fallina'. 14 CRIMSON POPPY Crimson poppy, bending idly in my garden by the wall, When I see you maiden footsteps from the orient softly fall And low whispers from a latticed casement seem to call ! Crimson poppy from the desert, all the East in you is bred ; Warmer suns have given colors to your jealous, queenly head ; All the passion of the tropics in your lazy smile is wed. Exiled blossom, memory-haunted, one whose soul can never err, You have taught me tenser passion, like some Eastern sorcerer And to worship, Arab-hearted, poppy crimsoned lips of her. A SONG No Siren call across a Scythian sea, No Circe note upon a rustic flute, Nor wine of Proserpine can 'ere dispute With Love's soft voice the range of mystery That keeps the soul in thraldom absolute And to the door of glory holds the key. 15 I never knew the joy his presence meant — about this ingle nook/^ WHEN LOVE DEPARTED When Love went out and softly closed the door, Then paused to look with pathos in his eye, For me the noon-day sun went from the sky Alas, and I, Who had been rich — was desolate and poor ! He kissed his hand from down the narrow lane That wound unto our cottage of content, Then slowly turned about and outward went, Onward intent. Never to cross this little path again. I never knew the joy his presence meant About this ingle nook and down the hall, AVhere I so often heard his merry call, Until this pall Of his farewell brought me my punishment. 17 A PRAYER Dear God, when day riiiis swiftly in its might, With all its glitter and its gaudy haze, Its mockish pretense and o'er crowded ways. My baser self stalks proudly up the height, And I forget Thy constant, watchful sight, That, like a sentry, ever with me stays : But when the night draws close its ebon veil. To hush the laughter and the noisy shout, iVnd silence fills the empty street without, I see Thy stars beyond the tumult sail, Lo ! then I turn repentant, sad and pale To plead Thy blessing ere the light go out! WHERE LOVE IS AFLAME The days fly fast as the years grow older And tasks, unfinished, are many the while : The winds each Winter seem cold and colder And longer the measure of each new mile. Yet every Spring sees the hawthorn whiter, The daffodils burn with a deeper gold ; The sun on the hill and meadow is brighter. As the years creep on and the heart grows old. Ah ! the years may change and the road seem weary, Our dreams may pass, beyond reclaim. But there are no days that are sad and dreary In hearts like those where Love is aflame. 18 THE DENIAL The night was cold and Peter's heart beat fast with new emotion, His lips were white and thin : The little court was noisy with to-morrow's strange commotion That stirred the hearts of men. "You know the man", a maiden spoke, "alas you are forgetting," As Peter turned away ; Then like one riven by some dread, brought on by old regretting. He heard the call of day ! Down in his soul the Master's words came like the knell of sorrow And smote with sudden dread ; "Ye will deny me thrice before the dawning of the morrow." Then lo ! the East was red ! 19 PRIMROSE Heart of the Primrose, how I have waited Eager, expectant, voiir coming each Spring; How every tint of yonr blossoms, so mated, Rhymed with the garden's most delicate thing. Mocking-bird, thrnsh and robin together Waited your coming, as eager as I ; Singing a welcome, as soft as the weather. Wooing yon back with song and a sigh. Heart of the Primrose, over and over I've told you my love as a lover should tell And yet you look shy at the rose and the clover And choose all alone in my garden to dwell. Welcome my messenger, bringing me glory. Linked with the blossoms that cluster in June, You come with the warmth and breath of a story. That lilts with the notes of a lover's old tune. 20 WOMAN The Master, in an idle, dreaming hour. Flushed with creation's power ; Pleased with the work His skilful hands had done. Pleased with the sea, the land, the burning sun Which through the ages, at His word must run. Looked for some task his fancy to beguile, Just for a little while. Of ponderous things : the earth, the sun, the sea Full weary-souled was He. The storms were taught to guard the trackless main. The stars to rise, to shine and set again. The clouds to fill and weep the April rain : All things complete, the Master paused to play, Just for a little day. Out of the soft, responding clay He made A toy, with beauty laid ; A woman's form, soft tinted and complete, In which all lines of glory seemed to meet : And when, within, a heart began to beat The Master smiled. His playful task was best ; Fairer than all the rest. 21 "/ lo7ig for the magical mist of the sea." nght and the A SONG OF THE SEA I I long for the magical sight and the mist of the sea ; For the smell of the wind-swept brine And the deep, where the breakers shine, With the pleading grief of a lost soul's mystery. I long for the smooth-woven, silvery sands of the shore, With woods to the West, and the main Going far to the East, like a chain, Whose links run on to the latch of a dreamer's door. I long for the sheen of the afternoon sun on the sand. Smooth, white, when the tide is low, And the West with its gold a-glow ; When the blessing of rest comes down, 'twixt the sea and the land. The marsh stretches far to the West with its sad mystery, Where the sentinel pines rise high To mark where its endings lie ; To the East is the mist and the gloom of thy end- less leagues, O sea ! 23 II I long for a sight of the sea, when the daylight breaks ; When the gulls, like mystery things, Fly seaward to try their wings; When the marsh and the wood arouse and the dream of a new day wakes. From the far off beach, where shore is broken and torn, And the adamant rocks abide, That embitter the restless tide, Comes an endless cry, like a soul that is weary an- the shore line bare. 36 Here read the wish of a human soul, Uneasy, restless, never still. Paying to Fate the utmost toll Of wants the world can never fill : Where the sand dunes rise in the sun today To-morrow the waves will play. 37 WHO PLANTS A TREE Who plants a tree beside the road Where man may rest his tired feet, Amid the Summer's sullen heat And ease his shoulder of its load, Well loved is he! God-blest is he! Who plants a tree. He may have passed beyond recall When weary pilgrim by the way Its shade may find, at noon of day ; Yet blessings on his soul will fall And yon can see, how blest is he Who plants a tre(\ So long as Spring shall wake the green Of fluttering leaves upon its limb, A deeper hue will burn for him. And passing years that lie between Will blessings be, for such as he AVho plants a tree. 88 THE THRUSH I Fair beyond words to describe, in their soft, lilting measnre Of rhythmical song, and tilled with some unknown pleasure Must be that shore Which sleeps in peace, low bent by a tropical sea, Going far to the South, like the path of one who is free. Whence now you come once more. II Earth has no other land than that which feels eternal spring In bloom, that yet could teach your raptured throat to sing The songs you've learned: Just as an exile, wandering far to the East or West, Found, after seeing all the world, love's holy birth- place best And for it sadly yearned. Ill Your silver note gives to the early dawn of Spring its tone Of waking joy. And when the dream of loitering day is gone. Your good-night song Smoothes from the wrinkled soul all scars that toil has wrought, And pays the heavy toll where Sin has stoutly fought To do my conscience wrong. 39 With Yon, dear bird, the whole world sings. And where the sloping hill Touches the vale, ten thousand daisies lift their heads and thrill, Because of you. The rose is redder, poppies burn, each breeze that passes by Is perfume-laden, and, al)0ve, the May-time sky Turns to a deeper blue! V Sometimes I think in the mystical tomes of story A singer was lost and, forever debarred from the glory That once she knew, Wandered to earth, with no art but her marvelous tune, And now sings for the comfort of men, in the still- ness of June ! Dear Thrush, is it you? ROSE OF MY GARDEN Out in the glow of a summer morn, Out whei-e the mists of the gray dawn lay, A rose in my beautiful garden was born And lived its life through one sweet day: The fair dawn passed with no one to see This beautiful rose of the morn, save me. Into my life, when the youth-spell kept Its mystery dreams of the untried years The passionate love of a woman swept And held me fast, as (me who hears A siren's call, yet no one knew The joy she brought to my soul, save you. 40 MEMORIES There are wild sweet songs for the soul to sing- In the hnman heart, as yet nnsnng, As the timid bird who trains her young To higher flights on the untried wing; But the songs someday will bud and bloom Like an April meadow thing. Among the leaves of the Winter pine Where the wild winds blow in the afternoon One hears the notes of a far off June; And through the Jasmine's leafless vine Notes sway above the still lagoon No mortal can define. And when you speak, in your old, sweet way As the Autumn shadows fill the room, Somehow the smell of the Summer hay Floats in, and the April daisies bloom; And the light of other days come back, While the lutes of Springtime play. 41 THE BROOK I met tlie brook in lonesome valley, Sinoiiig- its way tlii-ongli the snn-lit meadcnys, Ey(M-y ri])ple a spray of silver And each carrying- its W{dcome burden of May blossoms. AVhere it tarried in the eddies forget-me-nots bent down To kiss and caress the cooling surface. The brook Inirricd down, down, down Through the green vale of the woods, Then out aci-oss the corn-gnarded tields. Where tall grasses waved above its bos(nn And smiled a Summer's welcome To every ])assing ri]»]>le. 42 The meadow seemed to calm the eager soul Of the restless brook, for it slowed a little Under the alders and the willow trees, As if to rest and think. Reaching the wood, it hurried away again. Heedless of my pleading to linger for a while In the welcome shade of the maple and birch trees. "The sea is waiting for me, the great Open, majestic and mighty sea,'' the brook replied. "I long to be a part of it — to merge myself Into yon waiting ocean, even to l)e more Than a nameless brook in the highlands. 43 "Here I am nothing, there I'll be great. I cannot linger in the low-lying meadows, I cannot loiter in the shade of alder and willow. I love the rocky ledges that drive me forward. Onward and outward to the goal of my dreams. "I am nothing here — there I shall be great. I will be a part of the vast, unknown sea. I shall glory in the splendor of storms ; I shall leap skyward in breaking waves ; I shall toss great ships uj^on my bosom, And men shall walk along the beach And wonder at my greatness and power. 44 Men shall pray to me for peace and mercy Just as they pray to a god. No, I cannot wait, the sea is calling me." And the brook went on and on, to find its way Into a stagnant lake — alas ! from which Its waters were drawn up by tlie sunbeams And sent back to the friendly clouds, To bless the fields, in dew and rain And put new lustre in the hillside daisies. 45 THE PIONEERS The great Middle-West, witli its wonderful aecomplishments. has left one task undone. It owes to the early pioneers a monu- ment that will surpass anything of its kind in this country. The subject is so rich in Iiistoric and artistic material that such a memorial can be made one of the world wonders. It is time for the West to awake to this task and the following lines are suggested as a stimulus to this undertaking. Loud went the call from tlie West through the leagues intervening, And far went its echoing sound to the East, that was leaning, With listening ear, to the sound. All the multi- tudes teeming The cities and lands of the Dutch, the Pilgrim and Swede Were eager to seek and to lind l»y the ti-ails that leiid Across the line of the Blue Ridge hills A home secure from the taunting ills Of cavil and cant and the aimless claims of creed. II From the witchcraft hind of stern New England's making- Men turned their face to the West, whose hearts were aching For the broader life on the wild, unti-animeled plains. 46 From the Hudson vale, far South, tlivonoh the land Avas planted That liberty-love, Avliich lirew and urged and panted For that wider sphere, where the soul could grow Unbound b_v a false creed's chains. Ill So, up from the peopled East, up from the colder shores Gathered the yeomen hearts, with their scanty, hard-earned stores; Valorous, strong and free, the pride of God and man. These turned their faces Westward in many a caravan. And as they went, leaving behind the safety of easier living. Each knew, for a God-like cause, the best of his life was giving; For the wild, wide sweep of the West, with its forests of unfelled trees Called for the strongest In^arts and the valor of Hercules. IV White trails through the roadless woods, they moved with the moving sun. The frontier guard of pioneers, whose task was just begun ; White trails o'er the monntain height and into the valleys dim They went with the step of melody in Freedom's unsung hymn. V In far Kentucky's valley, along Ohio's stream, And yon beside the Wabash, where Nature's glories dream, The fertile land is sleeping, but dangers are awake While all the world is waiting to see a new dawn break : For out of this unclaimed region, upon this deeper soil Must grow a tribe of yeomen, whose bravery and whose toil Will yield a race of broader men, broader in all things best — As the land of the East is narrow and wider the virgin West ! Above the untouched forest curled many a cloud of smoke. In many a lonesome valley was heard the wood- man's stroke. But ah! the tears, and ah! the fears and ah! the weary wait And ah! the aims that slowly died, hopeless and desolate ! 48 VI We praise onr gilded cities, we love onr fields of clover, We mark the glory of onr West, with many a thrill of pride, But not until fair History's page is full and flow- ing over Shall we recount how many souls for this great end have died. Their lowly graves are scattered beside each lonely hill,' Their manly hopes were shattered before they felt the thrill That comes with vict'ry's blessing ; and we are left to tell The story of their valor and the task they did so well. VII Arouse, ye sons of yeomen, by hero sires begotten ! Arouse, to honor mothers, whose glory, unfor- gotten. Spreads like a Summer flood of light o'er all the West to-day. Come ye with willing hearts and hands one debt of love to pay ! Like as their hopes were skyward bent, Like as their aim to God was lent. Like as their lives for ye were spent. Come now and l)uild their monument. 49 APRIL RAIN The Master, listening from the skies, Where warmth and light forever please the eyes, Heard, far away, sad, uncomplaining sighs Of children, wearied with the pain Where Winter crucifies With Frost and Cold before he dies. The Master listened once again Then sent the April rain. And lo ! from meadow-ways of white, Be-clovered, sweet and clean, There came the laughter, full and strong, Of Children in delight Whose sighs were turned to song. Because the Master felt their pain And sent the April rain. 50 GRECIAN VIGNETTES I Cradle of song, of legend, myth and art! Garden of dreams, where man first saw the light Of Dawn upon his ancient wall of night. That long obscnred his vision ; thou, the mart Where men first bartered gold for mental sight And learned to balance tenderness with might; Thou, first to grow the blossoms of the heart ! II In that young age, which lies behind the hill Of fast receding time, there lived a race Blessed of the gods with heavenly featured grace : Men great in stature and of sturdy will. Women, whose pictured charm, ah! yet can thrill The poet's soul, so much that he may trace Through misty years, a Helen's matchless face. Ill Looking beyond the half beclouded seas Of yesterday, to where Ulysses went, Like pilgrim, with a soul on conquest bent, In that far land the dreaming poet sees Those mystic forms that all his longings please: While on these shores he listens all intent And hears the footsteps of an Hercules. 51 IV When twilight weaves its mist-eutangled veil Along the searr'd and rock-indented shore, An unseen hand reopens wide the door Of ancient Romance : then, with faces pale And pleading hands go forth to weep and wail Thy phantom ghosts, O Greece! forevermore, Finding new joy along this olden trail. V Lives there one Circe in the world today. Luring with beck and smile the feet of men To outer halls of wonderment ; and then To inner tortures, where the Furies play ; Know that she looks far down this traveled way. Bestrewn with all the waifs and wrecks of sin And counts the price each willing slave must pay. VI No roar of Neptune, when his storms lift high Upon thy rocky shores with fury bent. And weary sails, in terror, are bespent. Can hush the voices that forever cry From out thy golden past and glorify All men and time. For these are still content To dwell where gods, alone, can satisfv. 52 VII Embowered shores, where every clinging vine Seeks in its embrace some be-godded tree, And where was born that child of liberty Which thy fair bonnds were helpless to confine; The world has long imliibed the purple wine Of fadeless song, throngh thy great Odyssey. And even yet the sting of thy salt brine Is felt npon the poet's brow, as when The world was young and dreamy Proserpine Wove Love and Romance in the hearts of men. SILENT GODS I How many pray to Gods who have no ears ! How many bow, within the cloister gate To forms, without the pulse of love or hate. Or souls to feel the burn of grief-arisen tears ! II Be it the Isis of the lazy Nile, Be it the Jove of Greece's olive plain, Or Mammon's face, beloved of modern Cain: These silent Gods refuse to hear or smile. 53 THE OLD SOUTH FARM I The tninnlt of the city shuts out the stars o'erhead, And ne'er a wayside blossom glows Along the paths men tread : But way down home, where the whip-poor-will Enchants the woods of June, With a lover's plaintive tune, ght is soft and sweet ai Under the silver moon. 54 II Beneath the lii-hts of the city, I see within its glare Sad hearts that throb beneath a smile: I see men drink the sparkling wine and swear Their joy. But after while Behold ! within the diml^'-lighted room The haggard face and stare : Where glowed the phantom smile, is gloom : Where Joy was god, now rnles the ghost Despair ! Ill Bnt on the old Sonth Farm in Caroline There are few lights that shine Within this night, save yonder stars and moon : And where the cohimbine Trails np its dainty vine Aronnd the poplar's height, A dreaming Thrnsh's tnne Softens the perfumed night Of June, of matchless Jnne. Lo ! when the dawn shall break, Down there in Caroline, No saddened hearts will wake : For on each vale and meadow-way and hill The light of peace will shine And wild, sweet notes the wooded heights will shake And every valley thrill. For dawn brings no regrets for thee and thine. Dear Old Sonth Farm, Way down in Caroline. 55 MORNING All through my woe I called to Thee : Out of the depths I cried But never a word from yonder shoreless sea To my lone prayer replied. Yet when the night, like me was spent, With grief and old despair, The gray of dawn brought joy and sweet content My answer waited there. WAR War thunders down the ages Like some wild storm that rages, Leaving on historj^'s pages The red stains of despair : List ye, where men are dying And orphaned ones are crying, List ye, to woman's sighing And find the war-god there ! II Where one hero's head is lifted Through the hands of Death are sifted A thousand trembling hearts, less gifted. And stilled forever more : Where there shines one deed of glory. There ten thousand hands are gory, And few are left to tell the story And these are sorrow-sore. 56 A TWILIGHT HYMN I A Summer twilight, glory-wronght and still. Dim shadows on the hill ; The meadow brnsh, full bloom with scented things A-whir with weary wings ! Beneath a sky, low-bent with silent stars, One stands beside the bars And lifts a song, fnll-tiowing to the brim In penitential hymn. II The distant hills caught np the sweet old song, In echoes swift along, ■Till notes, like those from some celestial lyre, Came down and set on fire The singer's soul. And when the last note died Across the meadow's side Night folded all, in sleep, beneath her wing, Dreaming of those who sinu'. 57 BEYOND THE CONGAREE The roadway wound along the river's side For miles beyond the town ; Dirge-singing pines stood high in silent pride And looked in wonder down On boy and girl, who, clasping hand in hand. Went schoolward, all alone : Somehow the pine trees seemed to understand The light that round them shone. The laurel trees were blooming at their best, Along the Congaree, Where wound the road, and jasmine vines caressVl Each over-hanging tree. The river sung its happy course along Twixt willowed banks of green. Life to the boy was like some magic song : No shadow on its sheen. Across the river stretched the distant hills; Beyond, were wooded heights. Ah, who has felt the mystic dream that thrills A boy's first lofty flights Where Love plays part, and new ambitions wake Within his soul the fire That burns and rouses, for another's sake, Youth's first, unnamed desire. No matter what gold heavy laden ships Mav sail across the main 58 And anchor in your port; the trembling lips Of Love will sigh again For youth's first kiss, and flashing wistful eye Of maiden modesty : For you the hills will lift toward the sky Beyond your Conga ree. GOD HAS BEEN GOOD God has been good in what He has not given The things from me withheld By His all-knowing hand Leave me far more content Than had He all these gifts most lavish sent. Large wealth, exultant power and fame His will denies; And yet, in somehow-wise, His bounty unto me has freely given And sweet content to walk along my path. With these, dear friend, what joy one mortal hath ! 59 THE SIGHT OF YOU Come sit with me, love, while the shades grow longer Out here in the glow of the afternoon sun ; The touch of your hand makes my heart grow fonder Of all that is good when the day is done ! Theory of the street, with its tumult and laughter — These deaden the soul when the noon runs high ; While the noise of Gain and Mammon, the master, Shut out from the heart what love would buy. In the world's swift mart, where Profit is calling. No heartsease blooms by the hardened road, But on each head new grief is falling And each must bear his heavier load. But here, where the magical twilight lingers And star-craft sail in the far-off blue, I feel the clasp of your fairy fingers And find my peace at the sight of you. 00 UNFINISHED O ! Master Day, behold you setting sun Emblazons all the tinted west with gold, In whose rich glow thy ending is foretold While I am helpless, with my tasks undone ! These weary hands have labored soon and late, But, Master, thou hast sped on fleetest wing; There was so little time to pray and sing, So much undone, wilt thou not for me wait? Here is my flute untouched, but in my heart The melody awaits, which I must try: Hold yonder sun, within the gold-set sky That I may sing this song before we part. 61 ^The world is full of passional things- Youth and Love have called to me J' -both THE NOVICE I How much of penance must I pay to earn my place in Paradise ! How far fi-om duty's road may stray, yet find my welcome in the skies: The world is full of passion'd things ; both Youth and Love have called to me, Oh ! how the mortal round me clings, while I would seek eternitv! I wonder if the stern wlooms of richer colors grow Because the passion VI kisses of tlie sun caress them so : As the tropic nights are darker, and the days are long and brighter So the maiden lips are redder and their cheeks witli blnshes glow. II Thus to Sheba's matchless beauty all the East and South had paipier, silver thrill Before the sun rays yet had touched her nest below the hill ; Know ye that while she slept and dreamed of summer days ahead The painter touched the maple buds and turned them deeper red. 74 days, N^ot a vine along the hedgerow that scents the wooded ways, Not a rose that blesses summer, nor a tulip's crimson blush But knows the master's colors and is painted by his brush. LOVE'S DAWN As one, who through some haunted night has slept, Frenzied by dreams, all clothed in hideous shapes, Slowly awakes and from the spell escapes Into the light, where dawn's soft peace is kept, Feels like a soul from jail to freedom swept; So, when Love came into your life and bent Your every mood unto his own sweet will A new world's light fell round you with its thrill And changed unrest into a heart's content. And as you walked that new and friendly shore With Love beside you, smiling as you went. Far off you heard the stormy breakers roar Like echoes of the old life's punishment. 75 AT THE POINT OF THE CAPE Dawn at the point of the cape, where the land runs evenly down To the narrowest slip and is lost in the arms of the main ; A white beach, dimmed by the mantle of night, with never a spot or a stain, Stretches away, like a ribbon of light, to the distant edae of the town. 76 II High noon at the cape, Avith the loitering clouds all mixed and tangled With the intricate tints of the sky's own blue; East and West the stretch of the vision bespangled With colors and shades of a nameless hne. Day seems a-panse, with a passionate sense of leaving This mystery beach, with its clean swept sands of gold ; The wild trees lean, with arms to the seaward, grieving For the tale of wrecks that remain forever nntold. Ill Night off the point of the cape — full moon a cloud and the sea : Just these and that unsolved mystery Of darkness and silence, that storms through the soul in its plight When alone with itself and the nio-ht. 77 DREAMS OF CHILDHOOD Somewhere I've read in an olden book This legend, gray with the moss of age; That a traveler, weary in step and look, Went forth on his last long pilgrimage. At the golden gate, all deftly wrought, He paused, in awe, at its beauty rare. For in his hands no gift he brought That would pass him in through the portals fair, Save this : that he carried within his soul The blessed love of a childish face. The only thing in the scanty toll Of an empty life that he could trace. But seeing the gift St. Peter said : ^'No richer thing can a mortal bring; Behold the gates wide open swing For one, whom a little child has led." 78 ''The blessed love of a childish face. LOVE'S CAPTIVITY Ah ! Since you came and took your place within The garden of my soul, new flow'rs have grown In wild luxuriance there; and these have blown Their perfume all about. Your smile has been, Dear one, like olden wine, and life to me Instead, with freedom sown. Is hedged al)out with Love's captivity. Though I be slave I love my serfdom well. The stronger chains you forge about my will Are welcome, for they hold me close and still, Near to the holy place where you must dwell. Take all my dream of other years than this And these upon the restless waters strew : I want but this : my servitude for you. Behold my lips are passioned for your kiss. I have known freedom, but how dull now seem Those years of liberty, before you came. I even knew the petted touch of fame. But these dissolve, like some forgotten dream Before the glory which your love has brought. And these strong chains your little hands have wrought. 80 LOVE'S LITTLE WORLD Where the hearthstone embers smoulder Love's own voice is softly calling; On her face the lights are falling As the vears aroAv old and older. Love's domain is small, but luring, One sweet face, content and smilin< But its force is all beguiling And its strength is all enduring. It is she, who reads the story By the fireside, still and lonely That can make this ingle only All my wide, sweet world of glory. Just one little face so tender, Just these hands, so white and slender. And one heart that still remembers Makes my bliss, where glow the embers Where the hearthstone dreamings smoulder As the years grow old and older. Ah ! but such a tiny thing Makes the heart forever sing: Life is small, I do aver. Just this room, ohl love and her. 81 FRIENDLY SHORES Passionate sands that learned from your mother, the Sea, The spirit nnrest, you call both the storm and the breeze And the waves, with a penitent plea, Like a sonl that never has learned the blessing of ease. The wonder of sea in its endless sweep. The wonder of storm in its anger pace And the tireless winds that never sleep. Are the gods that love and hannt this place. 82 Clean-swept each morn, as the face of a cloudless sky Is this wave- washed beach, with never a stain nor taint Upon its sands : clean-swept as the radient eye That looks from the pardoned sonl of a saint ! The endless stretch of the moaning sea, The rounding curve of the bending sky, Are myteries all in their breadth to me As the shoreless space where the sea-gulls fly. 83 Wonder of water and wonder of sky, Wonder of dnsk, when a storm portends; Wonderful shores that contented lie And almost meet where the river ends ! If man could wash his soul of sin as clean As these white shores of Neptune's vast estate No barrier then could lift its wall between His radiant path from earth to heaven's gate. 84 Ye winds that blow across the mighty deep, Driviug the mist, like snowy-crested fleece, Here on this beach a tryst of faith yon keep, That men may know yonr handy-work of peace. Whose faith has watched life's storm clonds roll away. And feels the ease that follows mortal pain May here behold Love's vesper-closing day, And see the stars of hope shine out again. 85 Lull of the sea-winds, easing of waves, West-moving- shadows, the passing of light, Uplifted spar, like a sonl that craves, Ringing of vesper, the day's "good-night." THE TYRANNY OF LAW I sometimes hate the tyranny of law Because my love of freedom is so wide. The very thought of locks and chains is awe To one who has no guilty act to hide. I watch the birds about my cottage gate And envy all the freedom they possess ; I see the clouds that swiftly go or wait, And wonder why man's freedom should be less ! There are no prisons for the daffodils That bless each day when blooming Spring abides, There are no chains to lock the rose that thrills With June's awaking, save the clasp of brides. Ah ! stupid man that he should be beset By hindrance which the things of Nature scorn ; Why should his sturdy race, alas ! beget An offspring, of its widest freedom shorn? And thus I hate the tyranny of laws. The sight of prison wall, the clank of chain. All things that rob of liberty, because These bring to man his heritage of pain. 87 WISDOM AND LOVE Old Wisdom said to Love : "Now come along with me today, Come, let us glean from history's storied page The greater deeds of warrior and sage ; Glean from these musty tomes the wealth of man By barter, trade and caravan And when we've garnered all the knowledge that we can If there be time, perhaps, a little play." But Love, the wise Looking from wistful eyes. Said thus: "Oh! Wisdom, I would roam about To-day among the meadow-lands of Doubt Where l^end blue Summer skies : For on a day like this One's looking for a kiss And I, perchance, may see Some maid of mystery, Some maiden with a sigh, Lonesome of heart as I ; So, Wisdom, let me play Just for this little day: Perhaps, in school to-morrow, We two may studv sorrow." TWILIGHT ON THE MARSH It is twilight on the marsh, the dim ending Of a long sweet day, now weary of golden sunshine. And yellow spun dreams, all full of romance and love. From the early waking of the gray dawn, Out there, over the calm waters of the gulf. When the first hungry gull flew seaward. Until this wistful twilight hour, Each moment has been filled with the glory of perfection : A day with the thoughts of old, sweet memories in its eves. 89 Long before the gray line of morning crossed the East I walked on the beaches yonder and listened, Listened to the soft spoken words of the talking waves. Mingled with their echo was the scream of the fish-hawk, Then the wild call of a gray eagle to his mate; And later the silver note of the hermit tlirnsh, Securely hid among the myriad leaves of the live oak. What a blessed experience is a summer dawn by the sea ! Every moment is an idyl, every tree a poem, Every sound a symphony and Every mist like the drapery that covers a bride. I have listened to the sea in its wrath And in its voice was the anger of a god. I have listened to the sea in its moaning And every tone was full of human grief. I have listened to the waves in a still June dawn And their voice was like the whisper of lovers. The sea has its magical tinge of life, thought, feeling, Full of love, hate and anger, like a living thing. 90 But mystery above all else is the voice of the deep, Its anger expressed in storm, Its grief portrayed at ebb tide, And its peace, pictured in this golden twilight. Which extends from the marsh to the main. And in dim outline, mingles the two in one. The glory of a perfect day now fades upon the marsh, That like a king, weary of his pomp and power. Longs to share a cottage and wear no crown but flowers. The little stars, with their mystery, like that of the sea. Awaken and become sensuous, like living things. Each prints its image upon the water. And out here, among the marsh grass, is an inverted sky. More beautiful with its silver and blue and green Than any picture yet painted by a master. In every clump of grass is the love call of a bird to its mate. Wings are swift in the home coming flight, Fear quickens each belated pilgrim ; The thrush alone, is bold in the enveloping darkness. Daring to lift one more burst of song Before the dav closes. 91 And as his last note finds an echo In the heart of yonder live oak, Deep silence settles upon the marsh, Broken only by the complaining murmur Of the sea which never sleeps. And further, as the darkness envelopes all this world Of marsh and sea and shore I am left alone. The marsh birds are asleep. Not a leaf of the live oak, nor a frond of the palm tree moves. Even the west winds, that swept the meadows in the afternoon, Are aweary now. They also sleep. The sea alone is my companion and as I kneel to Pi'ay, There is comradeship in his presence. There is sympathy in his grief And our voices mingle in a word of devotion. Not of prayer, but of i)raise For this serene picture of twilight on the marsh. 92 TO ONE SIXTEEN I From the warm, white beach, where the Gulf of Aden lies Like a ruby waste, blue as a moslem's eyes ; From the Red Sea sands that wash a tentless shore, To the far, far East, where the desert closed the door To human trail ; and where the caravan Paused in despair at the last white hut of man, A fairy brought all colors, new and old, To work and weave into your hair of oold. From Egypt's gardens where the finest silk is spun And poppies catch all colors of the sun. Where desert waste distills in nightly dew, Her Crystals charged with every tropic hue, This fairy caught from underneath the skies The nameless charm and sparkle of your eyes. Ill Out of the South where blooms the scented Thyme, Where every sand is like a poet's rhyme ; From coasts where palms lean seaward in repose And every day dreams idly to its close Your goddess brought, within her dainty ships, The tempting langor of your girlish lips. 93 ONE WHO LOVES LIFE Shall I tell you of one who is in love with life, Whose whole soul is all aflame With the joy of living and its beantifnl things? Then listen! He may not be the petted son of fortune. She who lavishes gold into mortal hands May have silently passed him by. No trace of royal blood may flow in his veins, He may belong to that populous family of earth Whose birth was unheralded by some mysterious star. But fortune and royalty and blood play small parts In souls where the love of life and its beautiful things Is inherent and holds sway. This lover of life is master over theory and cir- cumstance. Conditions to him, no matter how deplorable. Never obscure the glory of heaven's sunshine, The light of stars, nor the perfume of violets. To him, the light of each day is the smile of divinity, The darkness of each night is the caress of peace. To him, the blast of every winter storm Foretells the wealth of a day in June, And the wilting of flowers at the touch of frost Means April's resurrection of life. Each dawn finds him glad at the birth of a new day. Eager for its untried tasks, even as vouth, 94 At life's threshold, longs to probe the mystery of living. Each dawn to him is like a new youth, Full of promise, full of hopes All beckoning, like sirens, to one eager for adventure. Twilight comes to him with its shadowy regret, Not unhappily, but with regret that one more day is gone. He has garnered from it his fill of joy And yet his love of life is such That he is jealous of every day that passes And this leaves him one day less to live. But as the night shadow falls about him It awakens in his soul that other emotion of joy, The laying aside of toil and conquest And a turning to the altar of prayer. Every star in the blue al)Ove is full of mystery. The very silence and darkness suggest devotion. The day's tasks induce surrender to sleep, Itself more mysterious than life. And ere his devotions are finished He sleeps, forgetful of the joy of living While through his dreams a thread of golden romance Wanders, until the light of dawn shall lay its hand Upon his eyelids and call him softly Into the gladness of another day. 95 TO-MORROW'S TASK Unsated wish means life. He who wants, has a work to do, The towering heights to climb And undiscovered lands yet to explore. Beyond lies the vale of realization, With its lotus perfume and lethean streams. But the dreams of the victor are not so sweet As the urging aspirations of him who climbs. It is the old, old legend of Alexander again, Reaching the uttermost bounds of conquest. And weeping, alone, for other tasks to do. The unpeopled wastes, that lay beyond. Offered no resistance to the pagan soldier; The glory of past victories paled sadly. Compared with the passion that urged unwon battles. "No worlds to conquer" was an Ultima Thule That meant despair to the warrior's heart. To the living soul there is no such thing as content. Every night brings dreams that must come true. The freshness of every dawn will awaken new ambitions. And every twilight will find tasks unfinished Which to-morrow must complete ! 96 To the ardent soul a Heaven of absolnte rest Is beyond the idea of endnrance. An eternal Sal)batli is beyond onr comprehension. The millions of hope-wrought spirits the world has known, Wonld mutiny in a life of eternal ease And would plead for tasks, Such as the sweet old human world gave them. The unattained heights make life worth while. The God-given spirit to do is ever alive in the soul. Attainnu^nt only acts as a stimulus to do more. Every height reached gives zest for new effort. Always beyond lies a fairer country Toward whose shores the soul is ever turned. Herein is born nmn's greatest gift — The spirit of Hope, without whose aid All human effort would be impossible. Life unendurable And unawaking sleep tlie l»urden of our prayers. In this restlessness, this ever pressing forward To woo, to win, to conquer, Man linds his closest kinship to divinity. In this spirit is our claim to immortality. This is part of the great Master's soul in us. Creating new worlds through eternal ages himself, 97 God has given man this spirit of creation, Of conquest and of untold longings, Which even acconiplislnnent itself never satisfies. Happy is he who possesses this gift in abundance. His kinship to the divine is doubly close, Though the burden he must bear is heavy. To him there is no haven where sails are furled, No journey's end where the tent is pitched. His is the eternal, ceaseless wish to do. And even when his tired body Shall become brother to the dust, His soul shall start anew on its journey of conquest, The end of which The eternal vears alone shall mark. 98 A HUMAN CREED I am Adam, My home is the Garden of Eden, Just where my illustrious ancestor was placed When the world was in its Springtime. The pure blood of my father flows in these veins, Untainted and unchanged. The world and time may have changed, not I. My habitation is full of beautiful things. I live in a world of bliss, And yet every sweet must have its bitter, Every sun ray its shadow. And every sin its keen regret. I am to-day as the Creator made me. All the conflicting impulses remain the same. A longing for that forbidden fruit. Which grows in this beautiful garden, Is as strong in me as it was in my distant ancestor. To eat it is, perhaps, to sin. At any rate, disobedience brings regret. And yet, and yet! Who has not sinned has never lived. Who has not felt the pain of contrition Has never known the glory of forgiveness. Who has not human passions Knows not the pleasure of their gratification. 99 Yes, I am Adam — Full of the strange longings the Master gave me; Full of hope, desire and a reaching out for things Forltidden by what man calls law. These impnlses tight for mastery — The frnit hangs hiscions on the golden trees, Siren voices call from hidden places, Bewildering phantoms cross my pathway. Fame, Wealth, Passion, Desire and Love call softly, And I, full of my father's weakness, Unarmed, as he, against the power of human desire, Listen to the whisjters that avoo and win. I fall, as he fell, and am driven ; Driven with a fiery sword, from my Eden home. Out into a wihlerness where hissing sounds Smite my ear, where beady eyes stare at me, Where Fear and Awe, without my consent. Lay their clammy hands upon me. Darkness hangs about my road. Batty wings flit about my head. Dread falls ui)on my soul. I am undone. I reap the heritage of my father. I am punished for another's sin; Mjj sin, tis true, and yet not mine. I am a creature of circumstances and environment. 100 The imijulses given me have led me astray. Over these gifts I had no will or choice. They are mine by heritage, And yet they have led me into the wild. Where creeping things soil me with their slime. Shall I rebel against my fate? Shall I snlk in the Avilderness And make friends of bats and reptiles, ("hoosing the by-ways of grief Rather than the snnshine on the hill-top? Never. I am Adam. My ancestor's blood rnns pnre in my veins. Like him, I am master of my fate; I arise in the wilderness with resolnte sonl And tnrn my face to the garden. Repentance smites me sore. On the wayside I pray alone. I plead, not my weakness, bnt my misfortnne. I know my limitations. I know my strength and my environment. Contrition tills my sonl. And then A great light comes in, And when I awake the gates of Eden Are open wide to receive me l)ack again. 101 Yes, I am Adam — As brave as lie and as strong, And likewise as weak. I shall condone none of my weaknesses. They are all God-given And belong to me as a royal heritage. I shall not complain, I shall not shrink and beg When the lash is laid upon my bare shoulders. My soul is unafraid and unbowed. I look upwards where stars of hope shine. I leave in my soul no unrepented sin. I am Adam, God's own creation. And I bless the Master For the soul of courage He has given me. 102 EARTH'S SADDEST NIGHT The stars over Palestine were dim that night. Not because of any obscuring clouds, Or silvery mist, or plant-refreshing rain. It was the dry season and the atmosphere Was crystal-clear, without fleck or flaw. The stars were dim because of their own tears — Tears unbidden, which could not be restrained. The dew was heavy on the olive leaves And on the sj)arse grass were crystal beads of water. For the night wept, as well as the far away stars And the very darkness seemed to groan in agony. Down in a garden one lone figure bowed. The world has ever since loved the olive trees Because they shadowed His grief, in part only. From the far-dimmed stars and the night. No grief had ever touched a soul that was so keen, So all-powering, as that which reached the Master On that saddest night the world has ever known. Desertion by friends would be bearable — The shadow of to-morrow's cross could be endured; The cut of the nails and the thrust of spears Could all be borne — but beyond these, Alas! the Master felt a keener arief ! 103 Through long ages the woi-hl had sinned. Backward lay the savage cruelties Of unrecorded savage wars. The cry of innocent and nni)rotected children, Of lone murders in the silent night. Of sin-stained women in despair. Of a world's savagery and open guilt, All came to the Master in a single wail — Pleading for mercv and absolution. It was the total of a world's grief and its pain. The total of its crimes and atrocities. The acme of its secret murders And its flagrant, open abortions, Stretching backward through the ages. The suffering of forty centuries was laid upon one soul. That Avas the secret of the ^Master's plea : "If this cup may pass, O, Father." No wonder the stars were dim with tears, No wonder the tropic night wept heavily, No wonder the darkness groaned out its grief, As the Master's prayer was heard around a world. Earth's saddest night will always live In romance, story and song As the tenderest, sweetest memory The world has ever known. 104 SEA MYSTERIES Vast, unknown, un-understood, Eloquent, soul stirring sea! An epic, greater than all subjects combined, For tlie brain of man to reckon with. You know and reach every part of God's wide world. Where gorgeous flowers bloom in the tropics And plenteous fruit ripen, to make men indolent. And the sun and stars shine with unfailing brilliance, You are there, with your mysterious stillness, At times, and your turbulent storms at others. 105 Where the shores offer you their Spring and Slimmer flowers And the even recurrence of seasons; Lifting man to his greatest achievements, You are there — There to bring his ships to port To bear his treasures and his pleasure craft upon your l)osom, To aid in his enterprise and his achievements — To help make him great — Because you know his greatness can never surpass your own. Where the cold of the North and the far South Holds the world in its arms, beyond the approach of man — Behold 3^ou are there; Not because you envy one foot of the land or the icy coast — Not because man may supplant you in your power, But you are there, like a God — omnipresent. Watching the very ends of the world For Him who created us both. And thus you go, even beyond the travels of man. You Avatch the polar seas as well as the desert coast. You are friend, at once, of Arab and Esquimo. 106 The jungles of the Amazon's ilf^lta Are as familiar to you as the coasts of Greenland. No beach of romantic beanty Is beyond yonr knowing and your loving embrace ; No beach so cold or desert laden That you do not patrol its desolate wilds And encourage its ice or sands with your kiss. And above all of this watchfulness, This world-wide greatness of poAver, This sympathy and tenderness, the tempest and calm You keep, untold, the secret of your crimes! Each sunken ship lies far below your placid surface. No gravestones rise above the trough of your waves. When you envy man his greatness And wish to destroy his craft You call the storms, that ever await your bidding; And these, with fog and cloud, make easy the task. Then unknown graves are opened And shrouds, which tell no tales, Are laid in your depths, where the sunshine never enters. 107 PRAYER I The Moslem on the bni-niiig sands of the desert, Retreating from some nameless crime, Or, in extremis from heat and thirst. Knelt beside a lone palm tree To bare his soul in prayer. He littered but few words, yet every line on his face Betokened contrition and the storm of feeling That had driven his sin-tossed soul Into the haven of supplication. He hides nothing, but tells his unseen god That he is more sin-spotted than any Moslem Who curses the desert with his presence. He bares his soul to the merciless sun. He strikes his uncovered breast And with head thrown back. With arms wide open, he faces the East To receive that unfailing pardon Of which he is unworthy. The Moslem prays ! II In the gray dawn of a tawdry room. Disheveled by the marks of debauch and revelry, A woman awakens from troubled sleep. The hand of dissixnition has touched her face 108 And laid the marks of keen regret Where the lines of beauty should be. She thinks long and tensely in the dim light. Recollections of girlhood and girlhood joys Come back to blight her awakening. Her breast heaves with emotion And nnbidden tears well into the beantifnl eyes. Slowly she rises and down beside the conch of disgrace She bows the head of black tresses In a Magdalene's prayer of repentance. Like the Moslem, there is no condoning her sin. All of her gnilt lies weighty npon her yonng sonl. She feels nnworthy, even to pray, And yet, in the dim light of her gaudy room. With its simple trinkets of her fallen life. There come the gentle words of the Master : "I condemn thee not, go, sin no more." The Magdalene prayed. Ill Within the splendor of God's temple. With its Bible, its altar and its sacramental feast, A man knelt on velvet cushions And read the cold lines of prayer Printed in a cold book : Reading in unison with a liveried minister Who stood by a uolden altar. 100 Rich hangings were about the windows And the smell of incense was in the air. But alas ! the cold Avords from the cold book, Uttered by self-loving Pharisee lips, Went no further than the door of the temple. The spirit of no tense feeling, or repentance was there To carry them further; for self-love and content Filled the man's soul. The prayer was a mockery And brought no answer. The Pharisee prayed in vain. A LOVE SONG Ah ! when your love came swift into my heart And mutely left its golden image there. Even the trodden street became as fair As blooming vales. Each roadway was a part Of nameless avenues leading afield, afar. To some fair palace underneath a star. Then all my yesterdays, bereft and l)are. Gave place to bright to-morrows ; and the art Of loving you made me an heir To all the glories that have been and are. 110 TO HENRY RICHARD WILDE Immortal thou ! By one immortal note Struck by thy genius on some magic lyre- One song that set a listening world on fire — Men pause to bless the trembling hand that wrote The ^^Summer Rose''. Thy tracks on Tampa's sand No tide has reached, for all men understand And sing thy song— full flowing with desire. Its phantom threads are held in every hand And every silken mesh leads far remote Unto the portals of Love's mystic land. HENRY TIMROD Perhaps the best poem left by the hmiented Henry Tlmrod is "Spring", a poem so full of tenderness and delicacy of thought, as to make his name immortal, even had he written nothing else. No faithful watch beside thy lowly grave By those for whom thy sweetest songs were sung : Nor polished marble, with its silent tongue, Though eloquent, can ever dare to save Half of the glory that in pity hung About thy path ; nor can these tell how brave Was thy young soul, consumed by heavenly crave. So sleep, bereft, though greater than a king. Thou singer ! in whose song Love's holiest thing Was woven fast and o'er whose grave is flung Echoes, in tune, to thy immortal "Spring." Ill FOR YOU Each Spring comes back with its brighter skies That shelter the vale with a deeper blue, But they bring not back your tender eyes, Nor the love of you. Noon walks the vale like a mystical king Where the wild, sweet blossoms plead and woo, But alas! I miss this one sweet thing — Just the sight of you. The white shore, sanded and wave-wrapped, lies Where once there echoed the steps of two : To-day but the phantoms of hope arise As I pray for you. The night bird calls to its nestling own From yonder fragrant pine and yew. While I stretch my arms in grief, alone. For the arms of you. APRIL CLOUDS. Ye idle gypsies of the April sky That wander in, your pathless world, and out. Aimless as they bereft of care and doubt ; Have ye no wish to wait and linger nigh The myrtle hedge that blooms, serene, about The meadow ways? Dear April clouds, I see Your ardent love of gypsy liberty Impells each mile you go, knowing not why, 112 ROSABELLE Where lies that vast, immeasiired height Whence you have gone, dear Rosabelle, Thi'ough which yon took yonr hist, long flight? Yon know the pathway well : — Was it beset with clonds of night, Or flooded with a golden light Which from Elysinm fell? II Was it alone yon ti'aveled there Throngh that nncharted realm of space? Or did some angel's presence care For all yonr needs, in that long i-ace From earth and love and heart-things fair And brnsh away the silent tear, That mnst have stained yonr holy face! Did yon not panse to look away P'rom those dim heights to earth again — - To where the mortal shadows lay All mixed with joy and love an