■&/■ 1..-^; Blanche F. Gile k" ''> ■■'. ^^.^^ :? "h.r/X.. v-;v^^ Songs of tne Glad Years By Blanche Finkle Gile Autltor of Echoes of the Great ^S^ THE TUTTLE COMPANY RUTLAND, VERMONT 1922 Copyright 1922 The Tuttle Company Butland, Vermont SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. Acknowledgment for * permission to reprint these verses is made to the following piiblications : The New York TimeSf The New York Sun, McCall's, Jwdge, Today's Housewife, Springfield Bepuhlican, Christian Cruardian, Christian Eegister, American Messenger, Social Progress, New England Homestead, Granite Monthly, Beacon Press, Fun Book, Snappy Stories, FordowncTf The Vermonter, C1A692422 TO (gwrg^ Sana ^mttlf Librarian of tke Fletclier Free Library, W^kose symt)atlietic at)t)reciation is a source of insf)iration to all Vermont writers, tkis book IS inscrited. CONTENTS Little Things 7 Disillusionment 8 Coal-Fire 9 Yards 10 The Mariner 11 Treasures 12 Bitter-Sweet 13 A Brown Study 14 Much Fine Gold 15 October Skies 16 His Lambs 17 The Fairy Laundry 18 Pixie Cradles 19 Memory 20 Ghosts of Regrets ... 20 Revenge 21 A Mid-Summer Parable 22 On the Death of Caruso 23 The Profiteer 24 The Riddle 25 Champlain Sunset 26 Stags-at-B'ay 27 A Busy Day in a Future Court 28 Triolet 29 Premature 30 Housewife's Mania 31 Come into the Garden 32 The Flivver Psalm 33 Good-Bye, Summer Girl 34 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS LITTLOE THINGS How I love the little things That every daily cycle brings. The morning song of the coffee pot; The sizzle of bacon smoking hot. The half hour spent with the daily press Before the children awake and dress. The washing of faces and restless hands; Tying ribbons and buttoning bands. The gleam of silver, the shimmer of delf ; A cup of tea from the pantry shelf. The busy music of dish and spoon; The hurry and flurry of odorous noon. A neighbor's greeting across the fence; A dollar saved on the week's expense. A merry call and a slamming door, And '^Mother, I'm home, it's half past four." A snowy table and berries red; The evening lamp lit over head Some boisterous kisses at eight o'clock; A quiet hour with book or sock. The ''Good night, dear," of the one loved best; The long sweet hours of well earned rest. And when Lord Death has loosed my bond, And I slip into the great beyond. My hope is not for crown and wings, But just for homely, little things. SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS DISILLUSIONMENT All the kids in our street are in an awful funk, They've got the story all around that Santa Glaus is bunk, But Mother said that he was real as solemn as could be, And somehow I don't like to feel that Mother's fooling me. So last night, when my dad came home, I took him to one side. And asked hinx just as man to man who was it that had lied, And dad he talked so serious and tried with all his might To make me understand how both the boys and Ma were right. He told me what a Symbol is, how Santa and his toys Stand for the love that parents give to little girls and boys. But by and by, alone in bed, I'm 'fraid I shed a tear. For somehow Christmas ain't the same as Christmas was last year. 8 SONGS OF THE GLAD TEARS OOAL-FIRE Our love is not the love that's told in story, That leaps, flame-born, from ont the tingling dark. And often, like such things as flaunting glory, Soon dwindles, fails, nor leaves a kindling spark. Our love is just a quiet, steady burning, A glow that ever deepens, ever lives. All showy flares and pyrotechnics spurning. But oh, the comfort, oh, the warmth it gives ! SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS YAEiDS I have a friend across the street Whose yard's a mass of blossoms sweet; Heliotrope and mignonette, Scarlet runners, Bouncing Bet, Sweet Alyssum, four o 'clocks, Columbine and hollyhocks: Her blossoms are her joy and pride. My neighbor on the other side. But in my yard are blossoms, too. The strangest flowers that ever grew; A hoe and rake of puppet size, A pile of sand, some fat mud pies, A spade, a spoon, a wee red pail, A rabbit with a stumpy tail. And brownish spots where children's boots Have worn the grass down to its roots. The people passing to and fro Can't see I've flowers at all, you know, But I'm so queer I think they're fine, I would not take her yard for mine. 10 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS THE MAEINER My little Boy Blue is sailing his ship Over a bathtub sea, While, hovering near lest the small sailor slip, I join in my laddie's glee. But into the world he will pilot his ship Away from its port in my heart, God make me wise that I build for his trip A true and enduring chart. 11 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS TKEASURES The teddy-bear lies on the table, Two dollies sprawl flat on the floor, And the hobby-horse claims for his stable The jog by the dining room door; My chair holds a calico bunny, A jnmping-jack swings from above, And each is a treasure to Sonny, Miss Muffett, and wee Lady Love. Innumerable times have I told them That scattering toys makes me vexed, Half-dismayed and half -laughing I scold them, ''What will you be leaving 'round next?'' But I pick up the battered clown, Funny, As I'd nestle a wing-weary dove. For he is a treasure to Sonny, Miss Muffett, and wee Lady Love. With nerves that are tired and a- jangle From childish confusion and noise, I hasten to straighten the tangle. But gently I handle their toys. Lest I, by my heedlessly grieving A worshipful small devotee, Should break some fine thread that is weaving My treasures to home and to me. 12 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS BITTER-SWEET IVe struggled with him many years To make him wash his hands, To clean his teeth and nails and ears Have been hard-worked commands. And though IVe labored long and much, It's just of late IVe seen That mothers lack the magic touch To make a boy wash clean. These days he lives before the glass, His neckties lead the fad, His polished teeth would safely pass For someone's dental ad. His hair is sleek, his nail tips shine. He takes my heart by storm, All told, that careless boy of mine Is quite the mold of form. Somehow the fingers of dull pain Around my heart-strings curl; He'll never be all mine again — My boy has got a girl! 13 SONGS OF THE GLAD TEARS A BROWN STUDY I walk with small John when the woodlot is bare "^ And shivery with November cold, We poke the brown leaves and we find here and there Choice nuggets of real Brownies' gold. In his little brown sweater and brown knitted cap He looks like a stray woodland elf, And I think as I follow the spry little chap That he's kin to the Brownies himself. Among the brown bushes with devious twists He dances from basket to tree, But back to my basket with nuts in his fists He darts like a homeward bound bee. Delightfully dear is the brown of the year. Gray-shadowed by late autumn skies. But Mother Earth's gown can flaunt no shade of brown That compares with my Lover-Boy's eyes. 14 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS MUCH FINE GOLD My Lady has slippers of gold for her feet, And dishes of gold when she wishes to eat, My Lady has circlets of gold for her wrist But there's much fine gold that My Lady has missed. For I've yellow paint on my clean kitchen floor. The sun makes gold bars through the glass in the door, There's half ripe tomatoes a-gleam on the sill, And a bobbing wee head that I never see still. My golden-curled baby I nuzzle and kiss And wish for My Lady a treasure like this. 15 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS OCTOBER SKIES That big white cloud I think is a sheep, A beautiful, fleecy ewe, With three soft lambkins fast asleep On a quilt of forget-me-not blue. Oh, how I wish that I were Bo-Peep Afloat with them up there, too! 16 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS HIS LAMBS Do you think the holy light Scared the lambs that Christmas night, In the field there fast asleep Nestled in a fleecy heap? Do you think they felt a doubt When God's glory shone about, Even though less trustful masters Were ^* sore afraid" of great disasters? Don't you think each wooly breast Sensed that they might safely rest; That naught of harm could come to them With the Babe at Bethlehem? 17 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS THE FAIRY LAUNDRY In the meadows there bide at the blue ocean's side Some fairies who 're having such fun, They launder their clothes in the bowl of a rose And hang them to dry in the sun. Their soapsuds they dip from a foaming wave's tip, They blue in the chicory's cup, They starch each wee thing with a butterfly's wing Then on the tall grass hang them up. Some folks say I'm wrong that the clothes of my song Are only the field spider's tents. But I know without doubt what I'm talking about. Some folks show such ignorance! 18 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS PIXIE CKADLES Although no breeze stirs overhead, There's movement in the tulip bed; Swinging gently to and fro, Nodding sleepily and slow. The velvet blo^oms sway and rock. While evening bells chime eight o'clock In tulip cradles, soft and deep, Pixie babes are rocked to sleep. Although no sound floats on the air. There's haunting music, thin and rare, Where the piebald tulips grow; For, crooning mistily and low Like moonlight striking silver streams Or murmurings of long lost dreams, Pixie mothers watches keep And sing the Pixie babes to sleep. 19 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS MEMORY I pluck its roses when I will, Dark night or hazy morn, For Father Time, the Gardener, Has blunted every thorn. GHOSTS OF KEGRETS You told me of a little road one day And said that son^etime we would down it stray. We never did — and then you went away. Years came and went. You sent no word, but then Wise Father Time is kinder than most men. And even spring can bring me no regret. No troubled memories haunt me now. And yet When May enfolds me in its fragrant weather I wish we had gone down that road together. 20 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS REVENGE My mind is proud, resentful, And sternly through the day. It drives the haunting thoughts of you Determinedly away. At night they swoop upon me And mad possession take. For while my mind is fast asleep My heart is wide awake. 21 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS A MID-SUMMER PARABLE A stout stone wall stands high between The dirty road and the garden green; Inside, the flowers dance, gay and glad; Out in the dust, the world runs mad. Playing at ''Ladies" the blossoms fair Cursty and nod in the censered air, While the stout stone wall stands high to screen The wicked world from the garden green. Velvet phlox with tutored grace Sway in this sheltered scented place, And heliotrope and mignonette Thread through a puppet minuet. Graciously, carefully, lest, perchance. Too abandoned become their dance. Silken, imperial hollyhocks Tread a measure with four o 'clocks. And all the while the wall stands guard Lest wanton winds should blow too hard. # # # Out by the highroad, with eyes askance, A daisy is doing the shimmy dance. 22 SONGS OF THE GLAD TEARS ON THE DEATH OF CARUSO I dreamed last night I stood upon a mountain That reached so far it pierced the higher plane, I saw beside me there a crystal fountain, Above it glistened beads of silver rain. Seraphic music set the air a-tingle, Methought a precious boon to me was given, That I was let with angel-folk to mingle, In this the radiant vestibule of Heaven. Then suddenly above the angel singing There came a note so piercing, blinding, sweet, And yet it thrilled like deep fog bells a-ringing From rocky shore where sea and river meet. The angel music hushed. The crystal fountain Bestilled itself to catch the moment's thrall, And poised above the holy shining mountain The drops of silver rain refused to fall. The singing soul came nearer, ever nearer, In shame the strings of golden harps hung free, I saw the singer's face as in a mirror. And lo, our own Caruso smiled at me ! 23 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS THE PROFITEER (Twenty years hence.) A little girl climbed on her granddaddy's knee, And pleaded, ''Oh, tell a true story to me!" She wheedled and teased as a little girl can To hear him live over the war days again. So he told her of gallant and glorious fight. Of the Nation's response to the call of the right. Of brave mothers and sisters and sweethearts and wives, Of the flower of young manhood who poured out their lives, That the world might be safe when the conflict was done. And men keep the freedom their fathers had won. Then she wistfully queried, ''And what did you do? I think that the man who was bravest was you." The grandfather gazed 'round the beautiful room,, And its luxury seemed like a symbol of doom. He regretted the past, for he felt he was old, And the fire of desire was expiring and cold. He thought of his end in a deep narrow hole, Too small for his body, too large for his soul. And he made no reply, as he stifled a sigh, But he lowered his head at the look in her eye, For he knew in his heart that the arrow had hit, He had done the poor people instead of his bit ! 24 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS THE RIDDLE The whole world is striking from cops to the clock, And the gallant ship Progress has struck on a rock, Nobody wants work, everybody wants -pay. And '* Something for naught" is the text of the day, But the first law of nature is working hard yet, ''If nothing you 11 give, it's nothing you'll get!" *'If things will not travel our own little way^ We'll get mad and starve, we'll go home and won't play, If we can't be on top and pasture in clover. We'll get us a gun and turn the world over." So instead of each giving his best little bit. The whole of creation is bound to be ''it." By your leave I will offer this ancient solution, The basic commandment of man's evolution, It's hackneyed and trite and long since forgot, However, methinks, it would go to the spot. The Golden Rule, "Live and let others live — Not how much you can get but how much yoti can give." If all these mad factions would join in a truce And give it a try out — but, oh, what's the use? 25 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS CHAMPLAIN SUNSET At eventide, when toil is done, Mine eyes delight to gaze Across the lake where sinking sun Has set the west ablaze With trailing robes of glory spun Of gold and purple haze. Where the sun and mountains tryst A molten flame leaps high. Cerise and gold-flecked amethyst Too vivid for the eye, Then fading, sheds a rosy mist That veils the lake and sky. # « « Any picture painter who would try to paint it right. They'd brand a nature faker who was *^ seeing things at night." But I feel sure that Paradise which we all hope to gain Has nothing on a clear sunset across old Lake Champlain ! 26 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS STAGS-AT-BAY There was a time the barber shop was sacred to the sex that wears moustaches on its lips and whiskers on its necks, but nowadays when man- kind wants a shampoo and a shave, a haircut and a scalp massage, a singe and marcel wave, he hies him to a barber shop and finds to his chagrin a half a gross assorted kids and women folks within. The hour or two he used to spend in pleasant manly chat is lurid with the weeps and wails of some unruly brat. And so when half distracted pop puts on his hat to roam, he finds that at the barber shop are all the joys of home. The humid bar has gone the pace of this sad sinful earth, now where 's a man to find a place of peace, goodwill and mirth? Oh, masculine supremacy has proved a farce and hoax, for not a spot is left where he can dodge his women folks ! 27 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS A BUSY DAY IN A FUTURE COURT A woman fair sits, Portia like, upon the Judge's seat. For each offender she prescribes a sentence pat and mete, At last one comes whose case would seem to get the Judge's goat, She halts, she powder-puffs her nose, she coughs to clear her throat, **To find a fitting punishment is difficult," says she, ''Slow death is much too quickly past for such a wretch as he. Transport him to a desert isle ten thousand miles from here, There shall he never speak again into a human ear. ' ' What direful deed has this man done to merit such a fate? Is he the Chieftain of the Hun whose sentence we relate? Is he the man who set the fire that claimed the orphans' lives? Is he a Saint of Latter Days with supernum- erous wives? Is he the man who stole the pence from out the blind man's cup? Is he a swinish profiteer who forced the prices up? What did this sad degenerate, this creature bad and bold? Let's know the worst! Ah, he's the man who kissed and went and told ! 28 J> SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS TKIOLET They have misnamed you Pegasus, They should have called you '*Maud. You balk, you low-browed blunder-buss ! They have misnamed you, Pegasus. You're such a measly stubborn cuss, I've found you out, you fraud! They have misnamed you ^'Pegasus," They should have called you **Maud. )? 29 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS PEEMATURE When I was ten with wabbling pen, some twenty years ago, I made a rhyme in school one time and called it '^Teacher's Beau,'' And in and out it passed about for all the class to see. It proved a hit, they laughed at it, and then they laughed at me, For down the aisle without a smile the wrathful lady came, And like a trap with sudden snap she seized my shrinking frame, She did not reel the moral spiel that moderns term ^'corrective," To turn the trick she used a stick where it was most effective. These favored days the critics praise such erst- while social blunders. And greet as art the efforts smart of wide-eyed infant wonders. With grim regret I work and sweat and try to play the game, For I have missed that simple twist that leads cross-lots to fame, I spent my toil on barren soil, it bore me no renown, But were it now upon my brow they'd place a laurel crown. 30 SONGS OF THE GLAD TEARS HOUSEWIFE'S MANIA The neighbors all around about have worked from morn till night, their domiciles inside and out they've cleaned with m;ain and might. They've hung their cellars in the sun, their attic shingles shine, they've greased their floors with three-in-one and lard and turpentine. Up- on the line their carpets droop, they beat and never tire, and I sit out upon my stoop and swat my trusty lyre. And while their curtains white and fair they hang from burnished hooks, I ornament an easy chair and read some twenty books. But many sob-producing woes from their hard toil have come, they limp around on crippled toes their spines are out of plumb. I would not hurt my useful feet nor break my well known back, I think the neighbors are too neat and they think I am slack. 31 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS COME INTO THE GAIIDEN Come into the garden, Maud, The morning breeze is blowing, Come into the garden, Maud, The early spuds need hoeing ; And where should be the useful pea The mullen stalks are growing. Come into the garden, Maud, And prune the lucious sasses; Anoint the bean with paris green And pull the greedy grasses; Besmear the smug potato bug With sulphur and molasses. Come into the garden, Maud, Reduce your figure weeding; Come into the garden, Maud, The whole wide world needs feeding ; Change falderals for overalls, Forget your bestest beau, And come into the garden, Maud, To juggle with the hoe. 32 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS THE FLIVVER PSALM My Ford is a bird ; I shall not walk. It beareth me unto green pastures : It carrieth me beside the still waters. It restoreth my roll: It heedeth the claims of reputation and runneth for its name 's sake. Yea, though I poke through the valley with the shadow of a breath, I will speed up the hill; for my cart climbs on high; its rod and its shift they comfort me. It provideth an able get-away from the presence of mine enemies ; I anointest its head with oil ; its tank runneth over. Surely to goodness it will last me all the days of my life ; and I will ride with my spouse in my Ford forever. 33 SONGS OF THE GLAD YEARS GOOD-BYE, SUMMER GIRL Lift up your eyes, sweet Summer Girl, Blue windows of your heart. Let me surmise, sweet Summer Girl, If you and I must part; Ah, mirrored in your soul ajar My countenance I ken, But quite as clear the phizes are Of twenty other men. And I have loved you, Summer Girl, For six weeks and a day, But now I'll kiss you. Summer Girl, And then — 1 11 ride away ; And may I meet a girl as sweet As you but not so wise, And my lone image may I greet When I look in her eyes. 34 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS IH 015 937 129 3 ^.»lmm--::^^L.'