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 OUT OF DOORS 
 
 By- 
 
 JOHN RUSSELL McCARTHY 
 
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OUT-OF-DOORS 
 
OUT-OF-DOORS 
 
 By 
 JOHN RUSSELL MoCARTHY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JAMES T. WHITE & CO.. 
 
 1918 
 
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 COPYRIGHTED leiB BY 
 JAMES T. WHITE ft CO 
 
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CONTENTS 
 JUNE 8 
 
 WILD ROSE 9 
 
 PINE lO 
 
 GOLDENROD II 
 
 ARBUTUS 12 
 
 THE LITTLE BROOK I3 
 
 DAISIES 13 
 
 SILKWEED 14 
 
 MOSS PINK 16 
 
 DANDELION 17 
 
 BLOODROOT 18 
 
 POISON-IVY 19 
 
 BEECH 20 
 
 THE MAPLE IN WINTER 22 
 
 HO, DANCERS ! 24 
 
 THE FROZEN RIVER 25 
 
 BURGEONINGS 27 
 
 THE BRIDE 28 
 
CONTENTS— (Continued) 
 
 MAIDENS TWELVE 29 
 
 LAUREL BLOOM AND LEAF 3I 
 
 SUNFLOWER 32 
 
 COLUMBINE , 33 
 
 VIOLET 34 
 
 TRUMPET-CREEPER 34 
 
 YELLOW WATER LILY 35 
 
 TO THE HONEY-BEE 36 
 
 SNAKE 37 
 
 LILY OF THE VALLEY 38 
 
 COME, DREAMERS 39 
 
 THE MASTER TOUCH 40 
 
 PAGAN 41 
 
 YOUTH 43 
 
 WHAT LOVE CAN DO? 44 
 
 WHEN DAISY DANCED 46 
 
 JEWEL WEED 47 
 
 THE PROUD FAREWELL 48 
 
OUT-OF-DOORS 
 
JUNE 
 
 Yon dragonfly is friends ivith me, 
 And by my dingle goes 
 The solemn, priestly bumble-hee, 
 That marries rose to rose. 
 
 My book? In sooth I'm using it 
 To pilloiv up my head; 
 This day-lay is a brighter bit 
 Than any I have read. 
 
 My pipe and I are company. 
 {The cat-bird thinks it queer 
 That I should burn so carelessly — 
 Note noiv his call and leer.) 
 
 All morning-time, from dawn till noon, 
 I fished and mused and fished; 
 One luee-est bite had I for boon; 
 'Tiuas all the boon I wished. 
 
 I roam in eye-reach many a mile. 
 In fancy further roam; 
 The hours like fairy smiles beguile 
 My heart to my heart's home. 
 
 Yon <veery is great friends with me. 
 And by my hollow goes 
 The grumbling, mumbling bumble-bee, 
 That weds red rose to rose. 
 
 8 
 
WILD ROSE 
 
 WHEN she is just sixteen, and you and she 
 Have had your swim at dawn, and then to- 
 gether 
 Have walked an hour over open fields, 
 Chattering like the blue-birds at their breakfast, 
 And then have stopped before the little door. 
 That talks to you of eggs and good crisp bacon — 
 Have stopped before the door, and glanced again 
 Back over the smiling lake and over the fields — 
 And then when you half turn, and see her eyes — 
 You have the mood then, when you see her eyes — 
 And see her firm cheeks with their morning pink — 
 The wild rose has no secret from you then. 
 
PINE 
 
 YOU must have dreamed a little every year 
 For fifty years; you must have been a child, 
 Shy and diffident with the violets, 
 School-girlish with the daisies, or perhaps 
 A youthful Indian with the hickory tree; 
 You must have been a lover with the beech, 
 A wise young father walking with your sons 
 Beneath the maple; then have battled long 
 Grim and defiant with the oak — all these 
 You must have been for fifty dreaming years 
 Before you may hold converse with the pine. 
 
 And then, maybe, if you have dreamed enough, 
 If there are strange old terrors in your eyes 
 And wild new fancies singing prophecies, 
 You may bring tribute to the king of dreams; 
 And he will read your eyes' weird mysteries. 
 And give you stranger terrors for your own. 
 And chant you wilder fancies — 'till j^ou know 
 The vague old magic of the haunted wood. 
 
 10 
 
GOLDENROD 
 
 HEIGH-HO! the proud battalions 
 That tread the gleaming hill; 
 That muster for the Sun, their king, 
 To do his flaming will. 
 
 With golden pennants streaming, 
 With myriad brazen spears. 
 They drive the fleeing summer 
 Over the fallen years. 
 
 11 
 
ARBUTUS 
 
 YOU do forgive your enemies — 
 At times — 
 Just for an hour, perhaps, 
 Upon the hills 
 In the day's forenoon, 
 In the year's waking-time. 
 Your eyes are like wood-things 
 Loving life; 
 
 Your body is singing a song, 
 The song of forgiveness; 
 Your soul raises her hands 
 In benediction; 
 Just for an hour, perhaps. 
 You do forgive your enemies. 
 Your heart, if you ask it, will tell you why. 
 In the waking-time of the year 
 The Mother dreams one little last dream, 
 And smiles — 
 And her smile is 
 Arbutus. 
 
 12 
 
DAISIES 
 
 A HAPPY summer picnic; 
 A hundred little girls, 
 White frocks and yellow sashes 
 Making gay the fields. 
 
 THE LITTLE BROOK 
 
 'ipHE little brook is calling now 
 •*- Like love, when love is gay, 
 And she has clad her as a bride 
 Is clad in merry May. 
 Oh! every bush a bridesmaid is 
 With radiant cheek today. 
 
 And she has found a choir rare 
 That sings the livelong day; 
 And every song's a wedding song 
 In all her winding way. 
 The little brook is calling now 
 Like love, when love is gay. 
 
 / 
 
 13 
 
SILKWEED 
 
 YOU hold your head so very high 
 There must be something you dislike; 
 And even when you die you try 
 To spear that something with a spike. 
 
 Perhaps it is the thistle-plant 
 That grows beside you on the hill; 
 Perhaps you hate the vulgar ant 
 Who labors where you stand so still. 
 
 But, Silkweed, though you hate the place 
 Where you are growing in your pride, 
 The fault I think is in your race, 
 And not in those that you deride. 
 
 For look you how at mating-time 
 You smile and flirt with every breeze, 
 And hold your mating-favors forth 
 For any little wind to seize. 
 
 And every little gust that blows 
 May tarry for his will of you — 
 He drops your favors where he goes 
 As passing lovers always do. 
 
 14 
 
For anyone who has a bride 
 Must have her for himself alone; 
 No man nor wind has any pride 
 In what is not his very own. 
 
 15 
 
MOSS PINK 
 
 MY love shall dance in satins 
 And silks and laces rare; 
 My love shall ride in velvets 
 And furs of fox and vair; 
 But when my love is sleeping 
 (Who is so sweet asleep) 
 Then you, Moss Pink, shall cover hei, 
 A fairy band who creep, 
 (A flower-raiment meet for her) 
 From her wee silken toes 
 To her fair head — and covering 
 Such beauties as God knows. 
 
 16 
 
DANDELION 
 
 A LITTLE yellow poet 
 With just one book of songs- 
 White songs, airy things 
 That float upon the wind. 
 
 O, little yellow poet, 
 How is it you can dream 
 A thousand fairy lyrics, 
 And sing them as you die? 
 
 M 
 
BLOODROOT 
 
 PRIM little maiden, oiT to bed 
 Before the day is over, 
 Have you a fear in your fair head 
 Of some gay midnight rover? 
 
 Ho! little virgin, stay awake 
 Tonight — the stars are calling; 
 Be gay with us for pleasure's sake, 
 Nor fear of ill befalling. 
 
 And when you've sipped the wine of night, 
 And flirted with Orion, 
 
 And known the temptress moon's delight, 
 And kissed the mighty Lion, 
 
 Then, knowing well your maiden lure, 
 You'll live your whole life over. 
 The white delightful paramour 
 Of some gay midnight rover. 
 
 18 
 
POISON-IVY 
 
 MISS IVY, in your gown of green, 
 Disdain and prettiness you mix; 
 But still you shouldn't teach your tricks 
 To little girls of seventeen. 
 
 You lure a man to fondle you, 
 And then you cut him, till it stings. 
 I wish you wouldn't teach these things 
 To little girls of twenty-two. 
 
 But if this teaching must be done, 
 Why don't you wait a little while. 
 And teach your fascinating wile 
 To little girls of thirty-one? 
 
 19 
 
BEECK 
 
 YOU had a thought then that it was your knife 
 The old beech welcomed, when he beckoned you? 
 
 You thought the beech's memory lay between 
 
 The weather-layer and the cambium? 
 
 You thought (come, let's be frank now, I thought 
 too) 
 
 That four initials and a heart were all, 
 
 Carved with vast care and small white hands assist- 
 ing — 
 
 Were all the old recorder of vows could wish. 
 
 Well, some day, when your girl is at a tea, 
 
 Or getting her hope-chest full of useful things. 
 
 Try walking out to where the old beech is. 
 
 And lie there near him, say from four to six. 
 
 And hear him telling stories to the wind — 
 
 Fine healthy stories, with red blood running through, 
 
 With what our wise reporters call a "punch," 
 
 Of how he lured, in the old unharried days. 
 
 The swift shy maid that feared the hunter's tread, 
 
 The dark wild maid that feared a youth, but feared 
 
 Her own heart more, that longed and dreamed, yet 
 
 fled; 
 Of how he lured the maid beneath his boughs. 
 And stilled her heart with wonderful new dreams. 
 And spun the web of love about her eyes — 
 
 20 
 
The web that blurs with brightness — so that she, 
 Waking and finding the hunter at her feet, 
 Smiled with high understanding, and reached forth 
 Two slim brown arms. (Why does the whisper 
 cease?) 
 
 Ah! but the beech is cautious, you will find, 
 And is an artist knowing the certain line 
 Between too little telling, and too much. 
 
 The old recorder of vows has memory, 
 In far recesses the knife will never reach; 
 And he and the wind, that fickle troubadour, 
 Will tell your own tale to some undreamed race. 
 
 21 
 
THE MAPLE IN WINTER 
 
 HOW you are frowning, Student, how you stare 
 With cold unseeing look upon the worldJ 
 A man would think you delving in debased 
 Forgotten lore, a cosmic heretic, 
 Who seeks new sins and old rejected lusts — 
 So sullen and forbidding there you stand, 
 With no fine secret for the passing sage, 
 With no soft voice of music for the maid, 
 Who walks unnoticed over your silent roots. 
 
 Would you deceive us, Student, with your grey 
 
 And wrinkled frown, and strange unseeing stare? 
 
 But no, it is the little joke you have 
 
 For every winter — every study time. 
 
 A few more weeks, and all the lore you stored, 
 
 And all the dreams you dreamed through the cold 
 
 nights — 
 The glowing fantasies that wrought themselves 
 Out of the red sun and the ghostly snow, 
 All curious things that you have studied long — 
 You'll publish in your April page of green. 
 And many's the bird will sing the lyric song 
 That you are weaving, in your own bright tune. 
 
 22 
 
And, Student, like the artist that you are, 
 After your months of toil apart, alone, 
 You'll publish all your April page of green. 
 And hold it forth for all the world to see, 
 Nor care if the world should read it or pass by. 
 
 Z'6 
 
HO, DANCERS! 
 
 HO, dancers! in your silken hose 
 And evening dress and all, 
 So deftly stepping on the toes 
 Of others at the ball, 
 How can you heed Terpsichore, 
 When sounds the skaters' call? 
 How can you grin and enter in 
 The glaring perfumed hall, 
 When on the lake the skaters make 
 Such rythmic music sweet, 
 That all the stars and moons and things 
 Go wishing they had feet? 
 
 The swallows fain would hock their wings 
 
 To purchase gliders neat. 
 
 And even boats go sailing on 
 
 A set of skates complete. 
 
 Ho, dancers! drop your silks, and don 
 
 The swift and gleaming skate. 
 
 And roll to music that the winds 
 
 Are singing soon and late; 
 
 Go forth in graceful curlicues, 
 
 Or glide in haughty state — 
 
 Ho, dancers! doff the satin shoes, 
 
 And do the "figure eight"! 
 
 24 
 
THE FROZEN RIVER 
 
 HiML! vanquished river, grey and silent and bound! 
 So you are chained at last, and all is over. 
 You dare not murmer under the victor's lash; 
 And I, at whom you laughed so ruggedly 
 A few months since, go gliding over you 
 On glimmering steel, King Winter's sign and symbol 
 Of victory. 
 
 What Ho! defeated stream! 
 A rumble comes like thunder down your bed. 
 As lightning rips an oak so drives your bolt 
 In mighty fissures through the binding ice. 
 
 What thunder-laugh is this? What splendid jest? 
 A giant waking hugely from a dream? 
 
 But no, my River! Shall we tell the tale? 
 
 'Tis summer's waking heart that welcomes March. 
 
 And you, remembering April's green and May's 
 
 Purple and white and pink, and June's delight, 
 
 Break forth again in battle. You shall drive. 
 
 With March at your right flank, through winter's 
 
 hordes, 
 And tearing, shattering, drive your enemy 
 Broken and routed down into the sea, 
 Until, a victor, worthy at last of peace, 
 
 25 
 
The merry music of your summer laugh 
 Will play in tune with April's green and May's 
 Purple and white and pink, and June's delight, 
 Till August find you reigning on your throne. 
 With southern winds for fans upon your waves 
 And flower-censors making sweet the air. 
 
 26 
 
BURGEONINGS 
 
 YOUNG April wove a filmy veil 
 Of little clouds God gave to her, 
 Till her sweet breasts, that were so fair, 
 Life half remembered dream-things were. 
 
 One day (and bold and proud was he) 
 
 The sun looked down where April lay, 
 
 And saw the vague sweet dream-things there. 
 
 And tore the filmy veil away. 
 
 The little clouds God gave to hef 
 To make her veil, he tore away; 
 And, startled, April blushed, and fled — 
 She fled into the arms of May. 
 
 21 
 
THE BRIDE 
 
 VEILED with the lace of April, 
 Clad in the silks of May, 
 The bride is led with fairy tread 
 To meet the Lord of Day. 
 
 Out of the south she dances, 
 Wind-maidens at her side — 
 'Tis good to see how merrily 
 The}^ bring the fairy bride. 
 
 Now with a smile and curtsey 
 
 She greets her Lord, the Sun — 
 
 And none shall know the waj^s they go 
 
 Until their night is done. 
 
 28 
 
MAIDENS TWELVE 
 
 IN a merry little vale — 
 Gathered by a sunny brook 
 Where the willows make a nook 
 Fairer than the fabled dale, 
 Where high Jove and Venus strayed — 
 Gathered by a sunny stream 
 (As I saw it in my dream) 
 Twelve fair maidens laughed and played. 
 
 Twelve fair maids, and never one 
 But had beauty all her own — 
 But was decked to grace a throne, 
 
 High or low beneath the sun; 
 
 Each a new rare ripple threw 
 
 From her lips in laughter sweet, 
 When her winsome mirth would greet 
 
 Airy sallies strange and new. 
 
 Do you ask the maidens' names? — 
 
 How they came to gather there? 
 
 Why a dozen maidens fair 
 Laughed and sang at girlish games? 
 Never mortal maids were they; 
 
 Each a goddess fine and free, 
 
 Spirit of a month that we, 
 Happy mortals, while away. 
 
 29 
 
There they gathered but to choose 
 
 Which should be their sceptered queen, 
 Which should sit with laughing mien, 
 
 Clad in iridescent dews, 
 
 On the high throne of the year. 
 Holding in her fairy hand — 
 Symbol of the merry band — 
 
 Golden wand and crystal sphere. 
 
 Gracefully and blithe they rose — 
 All save one who sang apart; 
 Like a song from out the heart 
 
 Came their voices as they chose — 
 
 Chose to rule the sun and moon 
 
 From the high throne of the year, 
 Holding fair the wand and sphere — 
 
 Chose for queen the bright-eyed June. 
 
 30 
 
LAUREL BLOOM AND LEAF 
 
 THE Sultan very likely is away, 
 And all the harem's smiling and at play. 
 Bewitching laurel ladies, are you ^ay 
 For freedom's sake, upon this happy day? 
 
 And now the Sultan's gone, would you refuse 
 A stranger knight, however sweet he woos? 
 But see! fair ladies, you can never choose 
 Your lover, or your lover you will lose. 
 
 The Sultan (bless him) is too very wise 
 
 To leave unguarded such delightful eyes. 
 
 A hundred guards about the palace rise — 
 
 Five score damned eunuchs in their green disguise. 
 
 31 
 
SUNFLOWER 
 
 HOW now, proud flaming woman! 
 Again you go to woo 
 The mighty sun-god that you love 
 And seek the whole day through. 
 
 How by your love unholy 
 (Who know not how to hide) 
 You make the sun-god flee from you 
 And from your flaunting pride! 
 
 You seek him while another 
 (Perchance anemone) 
 Is sought beneath her robe of leaves 
 The sun-god's bride to be. 
 
 ?>2 
 
COLUMBINE 
 
 TO fight a thousand thousand years, 
 And then be stricken and broken and old, 
 And fear the winds with bitter fears^ 
 And hide from frost and rain and mould — 
 This is the old rock's history. 
 
 To find a nurse with maid-red lips 
 And gentle touch and girlish laugh, 
 Holding the chalice while he sips 
 The cool clear wine the victors quafif — 
 This is the old rock's mystery. 
 
 33 
 
VIOLET \ 
 
 A LITTLE maid of three 
 Is thanking you 
 For her first party. 
 She has had so good a time, 
 She could cry or laugh 
 On the instant — 
 Such a strange little smile, 
 Such an odd little curtsey, 
 Such a quaint little maid. 
 
 TRUMPET-CREEPER 
 
 BE bold! Be bold! My scarlet King, 
 Invade and rob and slay! 
 And to Pan's high smooth altar bring 
 Your blood-red torch today. 
 
 34 
 
YELLOW WATER LILY 
 
 GOLDENHEAD, 
 Did you beckon to me? 
 Is there anything sad 
 Or happy or gay 
 That you wanted to say? 
 Did you whisper just then? 
 Please say it again. 
 A little bit louder — 
 Please shout it, my dear, 
 For I cannot come near; 
 You smell a bit bad, 
 Goldenhead. 
 
 35 
 
TO THE HONEY-BEE 
 
 POOR desolate betrayer of Pan's trust, 
 Who turned from mating and the sweets thereof, 
 To make of labor an eternal lust, 
 And with pale thrift destroy the red of love, 
 The curse of Pan has sworn your destiny. 
 Unloving, unbeloved, you go your way 
 Toiling forever, and unwittingly 
 You bear love's precious burden every day 
 From flower to flower (for your blasphemy) 
 Poor eunuch, making flower lovers gay. 
 
 35 
 
SNAKE 
 
 T3OOR unpardonable length, 
 -*• All belly to the mouth, 
 Writhe then, and wriggle. 
 If there's joy in it! 
 
 My heel, at least, shall spare you. 
 
 A little sun on a stone, 
 
 A mouse or two, 
 
 And all that unreasonable belly 
 
 Is happy. 
 
 No wonder God wasn't satisfied — 
 And went on creating. 
 
 Zl 
 
LILY OF THE VALLEY 
 
 AND so you are hanging your head again, 
 A little ashamed, perhaps? 
 Embarrassed by all these passing men, 
 These loud-guffawing chaps? 
 
 I'll bet that it isn't shyness nor shame 
 That makes you hang your head; 
 You're all dressed up for a lady's game, 
 And you want to be young instead. 
 
 You're weary of white and white and white, 
 And long silk stockings of green. 
 You want to be dirty and happy tonight; 
 You're tired of being clean. 
 
 You want to go roll in the glorious mud. 
 
 You want to go play in the sand. 
 
 You want to go fighting and scratching for blood. 
 
 You poor little lily-white band! 
 
 38 
 
COME, DREAMERS 
 
 COME, dreamers, Elm and Beech and Pine, 
 That stand so saintly still — 
 Now very April flows in wine; 
 Come forth, my friends! to laugh and dine 
 Like gods upon the hill. 
 
 Now very April flows in wine 
 From out her snow-white flask; 
 The sun sets forth his sovereign sign, 
 And youth again is yours and mine— 
 (What more could mortal ask?) 
 
 Your dreams unto the dead resign — 
 
 'Tis spring's own winds that blow; 
 
 Come forth, my friends! to laugh and dine, 
 
 For very April flows in wine 
 
 From out her flask of snow. 
 
 39 
 
THE MASTER TOUCH 
 
 "OUT yesterday we trod a way, 
 -*--' A wee way, I with you; 
 No lover I, should I descry 
 Grey was the sky — not blue. 
 
 \ 
 And yet today, when sun-smiles play, 
 When sun-fays play o'er you, 
 No lover I, should I deny 
 Sun-genii their due! 
 
 4i) 
 
Y 
 
 PAGAN 
 ES" 
 
 There shall be a setting meet, beloved. 
 I know a place — a lake, as clear as dew 
 The fairies sip, with guardian mountains, bold 
 And beautiful as freedom, forest-mantled, 
 Every tree a lyre and every wind 
 A song. And there the peace of noonday seems 
 The peace of your strange eyes; and there the storms 
 Of noonday darken, threaten, drive and break. 
 And match the storms of j'-our strange eyes, my love; 
 And there the peace of midnight stills the soul, 
 And seems the very peace of your wild heart; 
 And there the storms of midnight drive men mad, 
 And match the pagan tumult of your heart. 
 
 Beloved, only such a place is meet! 
 
 And I shall know the wonder of you there. 
 
 There, hand in hand, against the misting dawn, 
 
 At Pan's own altar by the forest's edge. 
 
 We two will kneel together at the brim 
 
 And take the Great God's blessing — then the plunge — 
 
 Baptized by Pan himself in his own lake. 
 
 41 
 
And I will be too happy then, my love, 
 
 And climb for very joy upon the bank, 
 
 And lie and watch you gladden the waters all. 
 
 Then you will leave the envious blue, my love, 
 
 And with firm steps and naiad head held high. 
 
 Pan's daughter, proud, clean-limbed and slim and 
 
 white, 
 With round sweet breasts and red and waiting lips, 
 Will come to me beneath the old grey beach — 
 And I shall know the wonder of you there. 
 
 42 
 
T 
 
 YOUTH 
 
 ^HERE'S a spirit bends the maple, makes it 
 beckon like a hand, 
 Makes it murmur in a language that my heart can 
 
 understand; 
 They will sing their song together — April's spirit 
 
 and my heart — 
 Out beyond the merry foothills, v/here the giant 
 
 mountains start. 
 
 There's a yellow on the highroad that is gold enough 
 
 for me, 
 And the wine of April's showers is as clear as it is 
 
 free, 
 See it sparkle in the sunshine! And beyond the 
 
 breathing hills 
 Lies the prize of hope and striving — youth demands 
 
 and life fulfills. 
 
 43 
 
WHAT CAN LOVE DO? 
 
 THOUGH he be little in his hate 
 What can love do but make him great? 
 
 In seven years a man can do 
 
 A lot of hating; through and through 
 
 The acid eats into the bone. 
 
 (Can seven and seventy years atone?) 
 
 For I have hated seven years 
 With anger slow and bitter tears, 
 With hate that grew since it began 
 Until it ivas the hated man. 
 
 And I have housed it in my brain 
 And in my heart the hate has lain, 
 And in my bone and in my blood 
 Has lived and burned the angry flood. 
 
 Dead brain and heart and blood and bone! 
 (Could seven and seventy years atone?) 
 
 No hate so low, no man so mean 
 But love can purge his being clean. 
 
 For I have learned this very day 
 The blaze that burns all hate away; 
 And learned from two clear burning eyes: 
 'Tis love that lives and hate that dies. 
 
 44 
 
There is no room now in my brain, 
 Nor in my heart where it had lain, 
 Nor in my bone nor in my blood — 
 No room now for that angry flood. 
 
 And I can meet the morning sun 
 
 And know the day's small battles won; 
 
 Or see him flaming in the west. 
 
 With love and peace within my breast. 
 
 Though he be little in his hate 
 
 What can love do but make him great? 
 
 45 
 
WHEN DAISY DANCED 
 
 WHEN Daisy danced in April 
 My heart went dancing too, 
 For there's a lilt in April — 
 A stirring song in April, 
 Like sunlight on the dew. 
 When Daisy danced in April 
 My heart went dancing too. 
 
 The young thrush paused to listen 
 
 When Daisy sang in May. 
 
 The brooklet stayed to listen, 
 
 The wind leaned close to listen, 
 
 And lulled its sweetest lay. 
 
 The young thrush paused to listen 
 
 When Daisy sang in May. 
 
 And merrily laughed the roses 
 When Daisy wed in June, 
 For there's a soul in roses — 
 White roses and red roses, 
 Or under the sun or moon. 
 Oh! merrily laughed the roses 
 When Daisy wed in June. 
 
 46 
 
JEWEL WEED 
 
 SO you were there in hiding all the day 
 When maiden April, smiling through her tears, 
 Came clad for dancing in the gown of May. 
 
 You heard the singing that the bluebird hears, 
 And knew the tints that made the meadows gay, 
 And helped to weave the young dreams of the years. 
 
 You must have dozed a little, where you stood, 
 And dreamed new dreams of daintier golden hues, 
 Till now, when all your radiant sisterhood 
 Have danced away to fields the angels use. 
 Your dreams break forth to jewels through the wood, 
 And April smiles through tears of Autumn dews. 
 
 47 
 
THE PROUD FAREWELL 
 
 MY Summer, over wood and dell, 
 How fervent is your parting cry! 
 Ho! such a splendid, proud farewell! 
 Such radiant goodby! 
 You flare a triumph in your spell, 
 You sing a battle song — and die. 
 
 Your own right royal aster knows 
 A purple dreamed by little kings; 
 Your goldenrod is gay, and glows 
 Bright with the golden song she sings; 
 Your wanton sumac dares the snows — 
 A scarlet sacrifice she brings. 
 
 With death, my Summer, your hills are gay, 
 And bright with death your wood and mead; 
 With splendid pride you go your way. 
 The sun himself your battle-steed. 
 
 — Perhaps your glorious array 
 Is just the raiment that you need 
 Where you are going. Summer, say. 
 To what strange kingdom do you speed? 
 
 48 
 
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