ON THE 
 ROMANY ROAD 
 
 RCNA GARY SHEmELD 
 
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ON THE ROMANY ROAD 
 
 By 
 RENA CART SHEFFIELD 
 
 Copyright 1915 
 by 
 Rena Gary bheffleld 
 
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 >CI.A401500 
 
To 
 
 Friends WKo Endure 
 Through Verses and Reverses 
 
 My idle dreams the shadow-lace 
 Upon the looms of day, 
 
 That fairies du5t with datfodils 
 While shuftles play. 
 
STACCATO 
 
n 
 
 The Romany Road 
 
 Ho ! for tfie road — the Romany road ; 
 Tne road that lures away 
 
 From heart o* town 
 
 To copse of brown 
 Atoss with laurel spray. 
 Bleak Winter wooes the Springtime ; 
 December weds with May, 
 When appleblossom drifts lie white 
 Upon a gold-spun day. 
 
 Will o* the wisp the Romany road 
 That bids my footsteps stray 
 
 From heart o* town 
 
 Up hill and down 
 Three thousand miles away 
 Where poppy fields are flaming 
 As April melts to May, 
 And Giant redwoods guard the road 
 That leads to Frisco Bay ! 
 
12 
 In Nicotina 
 
 Oh ! she was a gay little cigarette. 
 
 And be was a fat cigar, 
 And side by side on a tabouret, 
 
 Tbey £tood in a ginger jar. 
 
 Tbo' nary a word could I understand, 
 ( For tbey cba'fted in A^obac, ) 
 
 Yet wonderful tbings I am sure tbey planned; 
 Like loyers all do alack ! 
 
 To-day sbe 's a sad litile cigare'de. 
 For gone is ber braye cigar. 
 
 And all alone on tbe tabouret 
 Sbe ^ands in tbe ginger jar. 
 
 * :t: 4= * * 
 
 Now love is a marvelous tbing, 'tis true, 
 And many a fault 'twill cloak 
 
 But often it ends, as tbe dream of tbese two. 
 In notbing at all but smoke. 
 
 My Truant Heart And I 
 
 My truant beart and I went out 
 
 Upon a bigbroad fair. 
 Tbe a,$ters curtsied as we passed, 
 
 Tbe We5t wind tossed my bair. 
 Tbe world looked sweet and bouri-eyed, 
 
 Wbicbever way I trod. 
 And every beggar seemed a prince 
 
 And every knave a god. 
 
 My truant beart and I went borne 
 
 Along tbe bigbway tbere. 
 Tbe asters curtsied as we passed, 
 
 Tbe West wind tossed my bair. 
 But life tbat looked so bouri-eyed 
 
 Had proved beyond an odd 
 Tbat beggars were not princes— no ! 
 
 Nor every knave a— god ! 
 
13 
 
 A Miniature 
 
 A bit of old iyory— a frame of dall gold» 
 
 And Dolly most faintly arrayed. 
 
 Her hair all apoudre, becomingly rolled, 
 
 A govrn of soft lilac brocade. 
 
 There are pearls at her throat 
 
 And a rose at her brea.st, 
 
 And the shimmer of 5tars in her eyes, 
 
 Yet I see her again in an old Army coat 
 
 On the trail where The Lonesome Road lies. 
 
 Where The Lonesome Road lies, 
 Back of Might-Have-Been Town, 
 Where one's memory flies 
 As the daylight dips down. 
 And it *s odd how my heart 
 Quickens now when I hold 
 This frail bit of ivory 
 
 Encircled in gold. 
 
 The Rain Pool 
 
 Once a little, doubting duckling 
 Stood beside a puddle-pond ; 
 Dipped one webbed foot in the water. 
 Cocked an eye and looked beyond. 
 
 Said I to him as he stood there 
 Half afraid to venture in. 
 While his wee pin-feathers trembled 
 All along his prickly skin. 
 
 "Prith thee art thou a Balboa 
 And thy pond a mighty ocean ? 
 Or a little flutfy Psyche 
 With thy downy wings in motion? 
 
 Paddle in thon Ducky Daddies, 
 Far be it from me to say 
 Whether Love 's a great adventure. 
 Or a rain-pool by the way." 
 
14 
 
 Peggy 
 
 Ny heart goes dreaming back again 
 
 To other days I knew. 
 To the only girl I can't forget 
 
 With eyes of haunting blue. 
 Again I see the dim old charch, 
 
 Again the high-backed pew. 
 And Peggy si'6:ing sweet and prim 
 
 The way she used to do. 
 
 Oh ! Peggy wore a bonnet. 
 
 With nodding plumes upon it, 
 And a ribbon bow tied underneath her chin, 
 
 And a silver chain and locket, 
 
 And a little brocade pocket 
 That she kept her Sunday kerchief tucked within. 
 
 I see the high-backed pew again, 
 
 The choir a singisig there. 
 And a lingering scent of lilacs 
 
 Comes stealing thro' the air. 
 Again her li^le hand seeks mine 
 
 The way it used to dare. 
 And Peggy's ?oice is whispering low. 
 
 An old remembered prayer. 
 
 Oh ! Peggy wears a bonnet 
 
 With nodding plumes upon it. 
 Oar Peggy with her eyes of tender blue. 
 
 And a silver chain and locket. 
 
 And a jtri^ly tailored pocket 
 Ob a 5tri^ly tailored gown of modern hue ! 
 
J5 
 Kyanomi 
 
 I can see the cherry blossoms 
 As they bloom in old Japan, 
 Falling pink and white aboat her, 
 Li'ftle maid of Yokosan. 
 I can see the gold of sunrise, 
 And the silver of the moon. 
 Hanging like an arch of Eros 
 
 'er the dask of the lagoon. 
 
 1 can feel the warmth of summer. 
 And the drowsy ^ir of air ; 
 
 And the slender li^le fingers 
 Strumming softly to me there. 
 And the world's a flood of sweetness. 
 When you play your samisen. 
 
 Kyanomi — Kyanomi 
 
 I dream of you again. 
 
 I can see you as I used to, 
 With the lotus in your hair 
 Piled up smooth and dark and shining 
 And the robes you used to wear. 
 Gay like wings of birds and beetles. 
 Sweet perfumed ard flowing free. 
 And the long, light sliding windows 
 Where we leaned and watched the sea. 
 I can feel your soft caresses. 
 Blossoms of the Ea^ they seemed, 
 Flu'ft'ring down so warm and gentle 
 Like dream kisses I have dreamed. 
 And the world's a flood of sweetnest 
 When you play your samisen. 
 
 Kyanomi — Kyanomi 
 
 I think of you again. 
 
16 
 
 Sannder's Gel 
 
 Oh the moon is risin' yeller 
 
 Like it always ased to do. 
 An' the corn is throajjh the huskin' 
 
 An' the Pippins barreled too. 
 I kin recoiled them other days ; 
 
 Kin recoiled 'em well. 
 When the threshin' was ior^often 
 
 While I courted Saander's gel. 
 
 O her eyes were like the troat stream 
 
 An' her hair like ripenin' grain; 
 An' her smile was always flash n' 
 
 Like the sanshine after rain; 
 An' her teeth was white as fro^in' 
 
 Or the milk within the corn. 
 An' her little hands was helpin' 
 
 From the day that she was born. 
 
 the kettle's song's a singin' 
 
 In the old farm house to-night; 
 Come the haryesters a swingin' 
 
 Down the road to get a bite. 
 An' the corn-itacks lay a gleamin' 
 
 Where the mowin' sickles fell 
 An' I lo^ my heart an' found it 
 
 When I courted Saunder's gel. 
 
17 
 
 The Other Won't Be TKere 
 
 Old chap, we'll call this UrSt good-night, 
 
 Scotch high balls seem yonr fad. 
 Go home and bromoselzerize— 
 
 I tnow your head feels bad. 
 If motor lights razdazzle yoa 
 
 With microscopic glare, 
 Ayoid the one that's neare.$t, for 
 
 The other won't be there ! 
 
 If when before the house you stop, 
 
 Two doors rise up,— beware ! 
 Unlock the fir^st one silently — 
 
 The other won't be there. 
 And should two ma-in-laws appear 
 
 Upon the topmo^ stair. 
 Speak to the cross one kindly, for 
 
 The other won't be there ! 
 
 She'll hold a candle that will seem 
 Like X-rays on full tilt. 
 
 Sardonically you'll smile and think 
 She's sizing up your guilt— 
 
 Tou'U feel a dunce, my boy, for once- 
 Enraged you'll tear your hair! 
 
 When two jaws wag and neyer flag. 
 The other won't be there ! 
 
18 
 An Easter Offering 
 
 Miss Nancy MacFancy 
 
 She always felt dancy. 
 
 But sometimes she 
 
 Sobered down too. 
 
 She was tired of cotillions. 
 
 Pink teas and Brazilians, 
 
 And frivolous things 
 
 That she knew. 
 
 She had read at her ease 
 
 Of the poor Refugees, 
 
 And decided that something 
 
 She'd do : 
 oo she got out a bandhox 
 Of pale Alice blue 
 And pasted it o?er 
 And all the way through 
 With daffydowndillies 
 And lilies and glue. 
 
 A gold spangle dollar, 
 A Brussels Net collar. 
 She threw in the box 
 When 'twas done ; 
 Silk stockings of grey 
 And a gay negligee''; 
 A bodkin with ribbons to 
 
 run. 
 Gowns of satin and lace. 
 Of rare texture and grace. 
 She gave with abandon 
 
 Each one. 
 She gathered up armfuls 
 And happily threw 
 In foible-sweet things 
 Such as sachets and rings 
 And a powder pu£ 
 Downy — and new. 
 
19 
 
 Miss Nancy Mac Fancy 
 
 She always was prancy. 
 
 But now grayer thoughts 
 
 Filled her mind. 
 
 In went Barnaby Rudge 
 
 With the bonbons and fudge 
 
 And all the cute things 
 
 She could find. 
 
 Then a label she made 
 
 FOR THE BELGIAN AID, 
 On a card of pale 
 
 Alice blue ; 
 
 Tucked it in with the lilies \ 
 
 And daffydowndillies \ 
 
 And ribbons and wrappings 
 
 And glue. ; 
 
 The Burning Of Valhalla 
 
 When the brown and gold of Autumn 
 Hang aloft their ruddy signs. 
 And the scarlet of the sumac comes again. 
 When the grapes in purple clusters 
 Heary droop on arbor vines. 
 Take ye measure by the gods 
 That triumph then. 
 
 Oh ! the gold flare of O^ober 
 And the heaven's hazy blue 
 Like the smoke of distant fires a 
 
 smouldering yet, 
 Pay mute tribute in the blazing 
 Of their ever changing hue. 
 To Valhalla — lest the gods 
 
 Should dare forget ! 
 
20 
 A Husking Song 
 
 TKe barn is arevel — 
 The flicker of moonlight 
 
 Steals up to the wide open door, 
 Oatriyaled by mocking 
 Of weird Jack o* Lanterns, 
 
 The yellowing corn on the floor ! 
 A snap for the cold 
 And the frost of O^ober ! 
 
 And warmth of good cheer is within. 
 And the haskers are camping 
 Aroand in a circle ; 
 
 The music's about to begin. 
 
 Gome dance down the middle 
 In time to the fiddle, 
 
 A spinning a reel as you go. 
 The buskers are singing; 
 Their Toices are ringing ; 
 
 The lanterns swing high in a row. 
 The crowd 'round the cider 
 Grows joyously wider. 
 
 And firkins of pumpkin and mince 
 Inyite your inspe^ion. 
 Bid timely election 
 
 Against apple bu'fter and quince. 
 
 So here is to feasting! 
 And here is to plenty ! 
 
 And here is a toa^ to good cheer ! 
 And here is to three score ! 
 And here is to twenty ! 
 
 And garnering is for the year. 
 Then dance down the middle 
 In time to the fiddle, 
 
 And twang of the duity banjo — 
 The buskers are singing, 
 Their yoices are ringing. 
 
 While lanterns swing high in a row ! 
 
21 
 
 Girl In Green 
 
 Girl In Green, — as fair as DapKne, 
 Like a handmaid of the dawn. 
 
 With your yellow carls caaf^ht lij^htly 
 Where a rose is fastened on. 
 
 Low-cat is yoar silken hodice. 
 
 And yoar breast of ivory white 
 
 Holds a hint of sammer sanrise 
 
 Where 'tis closest to the li^^ht. 
 
 And your face, — the face of Daphne, 
 Has the haatear of a ^een. 
 
 Who — I ask myself — who are yoa, 
 
 Girl In Green — yoa Girl In Green t 
 
 Bat a model thas imprisoned 
 
 In a gilded picture frame ? 
 Bat a memory forj^otten 
 
 Now to ateliers and fame ? 
 
 By the gods no ! yoa have triumphed ; 
 
 Laurel crowned — whate'er your fate. 
 For by stepping in that picture 
 
 ¥ou haye made a canvass great ! 
 
22 
 By VoIIon 
 A bit of still-life there by ToUon, 
 A table, spread after the feast. 
 The candles are spaftering tapers. 
 The soand of the mnsic has ceased. 
 The roses are sere at the edges, — 
 The glasses are drained to the lees — 
 The feast of the night is forgotton 
 For else that hath charms beside these. 
 
 And what of my lady in chiton 
 
 With the roses crushed close to her breast. 
 
 Is she too forgoti:en I wonder — 
 
 Forgo'ften and left like the rest ? 
 
 Feast ye, while of feasting there's plenty. 
 
 Nor come back when once it is o'er 
 
 To pat out the spu^ering candles 
 
 That mock at the banquet no more. 
 
 Arabella Jones 
 
 Twenty thousand for a canvas ! 
 
 Arabella Jones, aged three, 
 Si'fting by a study table. 
 
 Looking faintly out at me. 
 Just a child of just somebody. 
 
 Hair coal-black and straight of line,. 
 Tender, curving mouth — the sweetness 
 
 Something you cannot define. 
 Is it then the master's brush work. 
 
 Big with genius, makes us care ? 
 Or the winsome Arabella 
 
 Sitting in the half-light there ? 
 Just the charm ; the wonder of it — 
 
 Of the pliant color tones. 
 Twenty thousand ! Well you're worth It^ 
 
 Little Arabella Jones ! 
 
23 
 
 The New Hired Girl 
 
 ISaid the new Hired girl 
 
 To the young housewife, 
 " Sure Fm not going to stay ; 
 
 Vm used to getting up at ten 
 And haying squab each day. 
 
 I'm used to haying the wash done out 
 And the dishes rinsed and dried, 
 
 And being helped in a general way 
 
 To keep me satisfied/' 
 
 Said the young housewife 
 
 To the new hired girl, 
 **If you won't go away, 
 
 I'll let you use my motor car. 
 My pianola play. 
 
 I'll let you haye my French masseuse ; 
 I'll double up your pay 
 
 And giye you eyery eyening oat 
 
 And eyery other day." 
 
 Said the new hired girl 
 To the young housewife 
 "And thank ye mum, I'll 
 stay ! " 
 
24 
 
 The City of Yet To Be 
 
 Did yon ever go to tfie city — 
 
 THe City of Yet To Be ? 
 Where opera seats are thirty cents 
 
 And taxi-cabs are free. 
 Where bills are paid upon the first 
 
 And rents before they're due ; 
 Where papers score somebody else 
 
 Sometimes instead of yon. 
 
 There money grows on family trees ; 
 
 And juleps made of mint 
 Remake themselves when once they're gone 
 
 And hearts are never flint. 
 There books are always clever ; 
 
 And meals are always hot 
 And diamonds grow along the edge 
 
 Of every vacant lot. 
 
 There office seekers are just right. 
 
 And the lid is always on ; 
 And the ticker ticks the day before 
 
 The Stock has caved and gone ; 
 There everybody's happy ; 
 
 It's catch as catch best can. 
 And politicians buy up votes 
 
 To help the Other Man ! 
 
25 
 
 The River 
 
 Tfie sdips that lie at anchor 
 
 Are my comrades bold. Yeo Ho ! 
 
 The cities skirted all along my way ; 
 
 The rugged mountains towering 
 
 Where my restless waters flow. 
 
 The cornfields of a fleeting summer's day. 
 
 My Breast's a magic mirror, 
 
 I reflect the world. Yeo Ho ! 
 
 The color and the glory of the skies. 
 
 The tawny harks a-quiver 
 
 In the sundown's vagrant glow 
 
 That heralds night, — when all my magic flies. 
 
 There's magic still, ye river. 
 When the moon comes up, Yeo Ho ! 
 And the firefly lanterns flash a signal light ; 
 When the shadows of the shore-line 
 Ever deeper, deeper grow. 
 And the banjo's strings twang faintly 
 thro' the night. 
 
26 
 
 Wirel 
 
 ess 
 
 No ! don't answer— ni forgi?e it. 
 
 Just because you are a man. 
 And a man hates writing} le'fters ; 
 
 I suppose Because he can ! 
 Let me be a signal station 
 
 Where the mem'ry of an hoar 
 May fly outward unimpeded 
 
 Sure of a receiving tower. 
 To a man just writing letters, 
 
 As most any woman knows. 
 Is the pricking of the fingers 
 
 In the plucking of a rose. 
 
 Keep Along A Hopin' Honey 
 
 Keep along a hopin', honey. 
 Don't you fret or care ; 
 
 Life's a bit of Chopin, honey. 
 
 When you've learned the air. 
 
 Keep along a smilin', honey, 
 
 If things aren't just right ; 
 
 Life is like a Rembrant, honey. 
 Shadow 'gainst the light. 
 
 Keep along a dreamin,' honey. 
 While you work away ; 
 
 Statues wrought in marble, honey. 
 First were cast in clay ! 
 
27 
 
 Where The PatK Turns In 
 
 Oh ! the night was dusky, the night was 5till, 
 
 And the scent of the flowers I knew 
 Cilung close, while the note of a whlppoorwill 
 
 Arose as I nearer drew — 
 I lingered anon ere I hurried on, 
 
 A quiyer that life could be 
 Vibrant and sweet as the pulsing dark 
 
 Enshrouding the world and me. 
 
 Oh ! the night was misty, the moon was hid. 
 
 And I paused for a bit to wait. 
 While my heart ran on to the silhouede 
 
 Where the bars let down at the gate. 
 And beyond, the white of the orchard's bloom. 
 
 And the hill by the cedars topped. 
 While a field of rye lay silent by 
 
 Where the phantom roadway .stopped. 
 
 Oh ! to be again on the roadway when 
 
 The dusk of the night crowds 'round. 
 The tread of our feet, and our heart's quick beat. 
 
 With neyer another sound. 
 Where the path turns in by the old stone wall 
 
 The wait-a-bit briar climbs. 
 And Lo?e in willful errancy 
 
 Keeps try^ o' summer times ! 
 
28 
 
 The Mill Stream 
 
 OH ! tKe mill .stream 
 
 And the hill stream 
 
 And the stream that wir.ds away 
 Among the reeds and rushes 
 
 Where the silver mianows stray. 
 How gaily with my rod and reel 
 
 I tramped there day by day 
 While the old wheel paddled 
 
 Tarn on turn 
 
 Its spinning roundelay. 
 
 Oh ! the mill stream 
 
 Never-still stream, 
 
 And the stream where sunlight played 
 Where eddies whirled and ripples swirled 
 
 Beneath the willow's shade. 
 There often as a boy Vd go 
 
 A swimmirsg day by day 
 While the old wheel paddled 
 
 Turn on turn 
 
 Its splashing roundelay. 
 
 Blind Man's Bud 
 
 Blind Man's BufF ! 
 
 Now You're it, Sallie, 
 There ! look out for that chair ! 
 
 Dodging and darting and romping, 
 Sallie, 
 Ne?er a care— a care. 
 
 Blind Man's Bud ! 
 
 Ah ! Life's it, Sallie, 
 Always beware !— beware ! 
 
 So many things to look out for, 
 Sallie, 
 More than a chair— a chair ! 
 
29 
 
 Lucy Ann Melinda 
 
 Wfcen tfie starlings southward fly 
 
 And the summer days are yone. 
 Like a cloud they blot the sky. 
 
 Speeding swiftly on and on ; 
 Skimmir.y now above the river 
 Where they pause, and dip, and ^iyer» 
 
 Drifting by; 
 Flying ever to the southward, 
 
 Where the old plantations lie. 
 
 They are flying back to Dixie, 
 
 Where the cotton is a-growing ; 
 They are going where 
 
 The pickaninines play ; 
 Where my mammy's old log cabin 
 
 Feels the Southern winds a-blowing. 
 As the kitchen door swings open 
 
 At the parting of the day. 
 
 And I hear her voice a-calling 
 
 As the twilight keeps a-falling. 
 To Lucy Ann Melinda, 
 In the same old crooning way ; 
 
 It echoes back to me. 
 A cadent melody, 
 
 "Lucy Ann Melinda, 
 
 The daylight is a-flyin*; 
 Lucy Ann Melinda, 
 
 Come set de bacon fryin'. 
 De corn-pone's in de oben, 
 
 An* yo* pickaninny's cryin' 
 Lucy Ann Melinda, 
 
 Put de kettle on fo* tea ! " 
 
30 
 
 The Hunt 
 
 The hunt is on, the hounds at dawn 
 
 Spring hot upon the trail— 
 And ju^ beyond the bullfrog pond 
 
 A fox afrights a quail— 
 At break of morn the huntsman's horn 
 
 Resounds to itir your blood— 
 And the joy of life is riot rife. 
 
 And madness at its flood. 
 
 Away, away o'er fields that lay 
 
 Athwart the country side 
 A fence looms near, you take it clear, 
 
 And faster— faster ride. 
 The redcoats catch their scarlet patch 
 
 From flaming of the sun. 
 And a flash of bui^ is blutf enough 
 
 Until the chase is done- 
 Hold high the brush, the hounds onrush. 
 
 Crowd in and yelp and goad. 
 The redcoats flare, now here now there, 
 
 Ahalting down the road. 
 The goldenrod and ragweed nod 
 
 As foam flecked hunters pass. 
 And a third's a thirst — the last or first. 
 
 So fill the julep glass ! 
 
31 
 
 My Honeysuckle Girl 
 
 Sue, Sue, Fin tdinkin' o* you 
 Down in ma Georgia dome. 
 I can see two eyes a gleamin' 
 Wfiere tfie honeysuckle grew 
 Down in ma Georgia dome. 
 It grips around tfie railin' 
 Or tne ole pine fence 
 Wfiere tfie swamp flag's growin' 
 An* tfie wood is dense 
 Down in my Georgia fiome. 
 I can hear the crickets cfiirpin' 
 An* the Brook a Babhiin* low ; 
 An* ma yaller girl was waitin* 
 Where the honeysuckles grow. 
 Sue, Sue, I*m thinkin* o* you 
 Down in ma Georgia home. 
 
 Beamin* moon— dreamin* moon. 
 
 Hush a bye low. 
 Don't yo wake befo yo take me 
 
 To the long ago. 
 Beamin* moon— dreamin* moon, 
 
 I wonder do yo know 
 Is ma yaller girl still waitin* 
 Where the honeysuckles grow? 
 
32 
 
 Marjory's Ju5t Eighteen 
 
 With her g^aint, fetching togs 
 And a maid— and mamjioa, 
 
 And a chaperon always on hand. 
 She enters society ; greets with propriety 
 
 MaideKs and men of the land. 
 
 She's bewitchiRg : her glance 
 
 Is enoagh to entrance 
 And keep you in maddening doubt. 
 
 Oh, her heart is her own, 
 
 We must leave it alor.e. 
 For Marjory's just come out. 
 
 Dainty, winning, she's a li^le g(ueen 
 Who treads on the hearts of her subje^s. 
 
 Oh, Marjory's ju5t eighteen! 
 And I wonder, when years have passed over 
 
 And she is mo5t fifty and stout. 
 
 If our love we'll confess 
 
 And still plead for her yes. 
 As when Marjory first came out. 
 
 With adorers on hand 
 To control and command. 
 
 She dances through life like an elf. 
 Her laugh is so ringing it cannot help bringing 
 
 Our hesrts to her dear liftle self. 
 
 She enchants us and Beams 
 
 On Gs all till it seems 
 Delightful to have her about. 
 
 Life's Eo longer the same. 
 
 And Dars Cupid's to blame, 
 For Marjory's just come out. 
 
 When the season is o'er 
 And her triumph's assured 
 
 She will hold out her hand with a smile 
 To some one or other, approved by her mother. 
 
 With fame and a fortune worth while. 
 
 She's a debutante now. 
 
 And enslaves us somehow. 
 Co<g@etiing with smile or pout. 
 
 Till the club we'd desert 
 
 For the sad li^le flirt. 
 Though Marjory's just come out. 
 
33 
 
 Cupid an Itinerant 
 
 Oil ! Vm a bold itinerant 
 
 I roam tlie world right tl. rough, 
 I'm a tinker, a tailor, a judge and a jailer, 
 A lot more too ! 
 
 I mend my hearts lite a broken plate ; 
 I fix them crooked— I fix them straight. 
 And everybody comes to me soon or late. 
 Heigh 0! 
 
 Yes, I'm a gay itinerant, 
 A clever advocate. 
 Deciding love cases in thousands of places ; 
 A judge of state ! 
 It's versus that, and versus this, 
 I always make the fine a kiss ; 
 And never a case like that I miss— 
 Heigh ! 
 
 For I'm a bold iterant. 
 
 Detective work's my forte. 
 I can break any latch with a very strong catch 
 And think it's sport. 
 And any heart that's asleep I wake ; 
 And any heart that I want I take. 
 To hold as prisoner for someone's sake, 
 Heigh ! 
 
 So I'm a gay itinerant, 
 
 I roam o'er land and sea ; 
 I m a bother, a joy, and a love of a boy— 
 You can't beat me ! 
 
 I mend my hearts like a broken plate ; 
 I fix them crooked— I fix them straight. 
 And everybody comes to me soon or late. 
 Heigh ! 
 
34 
 
 The Old Wfiat-Not 
 
 It stood in the corner of the big, best room 
 Tbat was dark and chilly and filled with gloom. 
 
 And belonged to Eliza Ann. 
 There were f i?e black shelves with a high caryed top 
 From Singapore in a teakwood shop. 
 
 Bought by a sailor man. 
 On the gay flowered carpet it shone with wealth 
 Thought the Porcelain Cat on the mantle shelf; 
 At the ?ery tip top was a small Chinee, 
 And he was as pale as pale could be, — 
 
 Of a sort of ivory tan. 
 And his teeth he ground in a doleful sound 
 As he rolled his eyes and looked around 
 
 The room of Eliza Ann. 
 
 "Me no likee— velly ^gieer ; ! 
 
 Lights in the Bund now winkie, blinkie. i 
 
 Me no likee here— no can! " ! 
 
 Said the little Chinee of ivory ^ 
 
 From a dusty spot 
 
 On the old what-not 
 
 That belonged to 
 
 Eliza Ann. 
 
 The clock struck eleven in the parlor when 
 All the things came sudden to life again 
 
 In the room of Eliza Ann. 
 The Porcelain Cat and a stn£ed Blue Jay ; 
 A red wax rose and an album gay 
 
 All started a great can-can. 
 But the grave Chinee on the tip top shelf 
 Drew further and further within himself 
 
 In back of a peacock fan. 
 Where he laughed and laughed till his sides grew fat 
 At the antimacassars hanging flat 
 
 In the room of Eliza Ann. 
 
35 
 
 "Me keep tKinkee heap Hong KoniJ. 
 Lights in the Bund now winkie, blinkie. 
 
 Me no likee Mellican Man !" 
 Said the litile Chinee of iyory 
 From his du^y spot 
 On the old what-not 
 That belonged to 
 Eliza Ann. 
 
 Little Old New York ] 
 
 3 
 
 Strike ! strike ! steel upon steel ] 
 
 As the buildings rise. \ 
 
 Strike ! strike ! steel upon steel, ; 
 
 Till they pierce the skies. 
 
 And you can see far, far below, I 
 
 The boats go shuttling to and fro ; \ 
 
 The life that teems away ! i 
 While the German band booms out the^tune 
 
 The hurdy gurdys play. 1 
 
 Strike ! strike ! steel upon steel 
 
 As the buildings rise* 
 Grind ! grind ! wheel upon wheel 
 
 Till the daylight dies. 
 And necklace bridges twinkle high. 
 Like jeweled strands against the sky ; 
 
 While work is held at bay. ^ 
 
 And the town's alight to hail the night ] 
 
 That blazons up Broadway ! ! 
 
36 
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 Her canoe's like gray silver 
 
 Agleam in the night ; 
 As it rides on tKe river 
 
 And catches the light ; 
 And Polly is paddling ; 
 
 I watch from afar 
 As she drifts to the North 
 
 Where the harbor lights are. 
 
 Like a phantom canoe 
 
 It dips gaily to sea 
 With the girl that I love 
 
 And the wind blowing free ; 
 And Cupid's the bo'sn, 
 
 A reckless one he ! 
 For I'm not with Polly 
 
 And she's not with me. 
 
 Polly, madcap Polly 
 
 As you're floating out to sea'; 
 Don't you think it's folly ? 
 
 Won't you think of me? 
 Quarreling time is over ; 
 
 Kissing time is when 
 You forgive and I forgive and 
 
 We mflte up again! 
 
37 
 
 A Valentine 
 
 I'm dancing tonight at the Bal Pes Heares, 
 Where life is a masked parade ; 
 And my vis-a-vis is a Spanish monk. 
 While I am in old brocade, 
 With a skirt as full as a petaled rose, 
 And a bodice low-cut, with pearls. 
 My hair done high, as in days gone by. 
 All powder and putfs and curls. 
 
 I'm dancing, Mon Cher, at the Ba[ Des Heures, 
 But my thoughts are with you, with you. 
 And I see tonight, tho' the lights flare bright, 
 A church and a high-backed pew. 
 And the stained glass saints in a row above 
 Look down from tneir windows high. 
 Outlined by radiant gleams thereof 
 As the sun drifts westward by. 
 
 I'm dancing tonight at the Bal Pes Heures, 
 
 But my fancy is far away. 
 
 And the band is playing a gay chaBSOK 
 
 With reveling illt and sway. 
 
 Tho' I smile the while, truant thoughts beguile 
 
 My heart to soaie cloistered place. 
 
 So I'm sending a kiss, Mon Cher , with this. 
 
 In ribbons and rose-point lace. 
 
38 
 Batiiery Park 
 
 The flagstones lie warm 
 
 Where the son shimmers thro' 
 A throb's in the air 
 
 And a sky glimmers blae. 
 There Vagabond princes 
 
 Are loitering— hark ! 
 For April is singing 
 
 In Bakery Park. 
 
 The foam of the blackberry 
 
 Brambles' white spray 
 Breaks in on my thoughts 
 
 With the froth of the bay. 
 Pan's piping is merry, 
 
 As flate-throated lark, 
 When April goes singing 
 
 Thro' Battery Park. 
 
 A spell of enchantment 
 
 The Pagan god throws ; 
 There's star-duft and hope 
 
 In the wind where it blows 
 The air of a min^rel 
 
 From sunrise till dark. 
 When April is straying 
 
 Thro' Battery Park. 
 
 Court Jester 
 
 For simple things are sweetest. 
 And life that knows not care. 
 And riches make us beggars 
 For ig^ietude— or prayer. 
 
 I'd rather be Court Jester, 
 At the footstool of a king. 
 Than pontiff or archdeacon 
 With bonds such honors bring. 
 
39 
 
 Brown oi Nevada 
 
 From the Portrait 
 
 Aeons may come, and aeons jjo— 
 And tidal waves rtill ebb and flow. 
 Bat one staancb heart the West will know-- 
 Brown of Nevada. 
 
 Brown as the desert sands that be ; 
 Brown as an eagle soaring free ; 
 Into a sun-swept world stept he ! 
 Brown of Nevada. 
 
 Born of a race with sinews strong ; 
 Sprang from a love that bideth long ; 
 Man among men who spare no wrong- 
 Brown of Nevada. 
 
 Westward the ?^iet valleys lie 
 Where rampart mountains guard the sky. 
 Westward the world goes surging by 
 Brown of Nevada. 
 
 And at the last cross-desert ride. 
 When empires cease and moon and tide. 
 Charging ! — he'll take the Great Divide, 
 Brown of Nevada. 
 
40 
 
 La Cfiambre In The Air 
 
 Fve but to close my eyes to see 
 La chambre in tbe air, 
 And Bobbet sitting close to me 
 Within a deep arm chair. 
 Her li^le hand, you understand, 
 Held fast in mine the while. 
 And flashir^g logs light up anon 
 The sweetness of her smile. 
 
 I've but to close my eyes to see 
 La chambre in the air ; 
 
 The big old room that knows no gloom 
 
 Whenever she is there. 
 
 No roses climb to peep within 
 
 The window-casemeiits,---true ! 
 
 For this is up, up higher far 
 
 Than ever roses grew. 
 
 I see the dovetailed boards that lie 
 So brown along the floor ; 
 The chimney corner that we love. 
 The handle of the door. 
 Tve often watched it turning 
 When I fcnew whom I should see— 
 My Bobbet standing in the door 
 And smiling there at me. 
 
 Fve but to close my eyes to see 
 La chambre in the air. 
 The big four-po.$ter bed that stands 
 Between the wis«Gows there. 
 And valences of blue and white 
 Run all around about ; 
 And form a canopy above. 
 And where we clamber out. 
 
 I see the pillows fresh and white 
 Like heaps of drifted snow. 
 I see a pu£ of blue delight. 
 And slippers in a row. 
 
A soft peignoir of lace ard frills 
 Upon a neav-hy cFiair ; 
 And somehow tliere's a fiauntiKg liint 
 Of roses in tfce air. 
 
 It's juiSt a .star at evening, 
 
 Or a murmer of tfie sea 
 
 That brings it rusftiKg to my heart 
 
 How sweet such things can be. 
 
 Our dest,— the book-case swinging there. 
 
 The stories we both know. 
 
 A basket with her Keedlework, 
 
 The lamplight's even glow. 
 
 Fve but to close my eyes to see 
 
 The bureau g(uaiKt arc! high ; 
 
 The dainty, dear, bewildering things. 
 
 And Bobbet 5tandir.g by. 
 
 Her powder-puff, the chiton rutf ; 
 
 The circlet for her hair. 
 
 A thousand other foolish things 
 
 That I might thii:k her fair. 
 
 She wears silk socks with drawn-work clocks 
 
 Roseti;es and ribbojis too. 
 
 Wee satin slippers oa her toes 
 
 With saucy bows of blue. 
 
 She smiles at me across her tea. 
 
 Or flaunts a big lace fan. 
 
 She is a moonbeam strayed, maybe. 
 
 From far away Japan. 
 
 And there's a cupboard that I know ; 
 
 It has a bent-up key. 
 
 And old blue china in a row. 
 
 That she gets dov^n for me. 
 
 There is a silver chafing-dish 
 
 Stirred by a silver spoon. 
 
 And Bobbet ! serving cakes and tea 
 
 A winter's afternoon ! 
 
42 
 
 The Stoker 
 
 Do you Fiear tfcat sound— Ofi ! my Comrade, 
 
 The snarling and snapping by night ? 
 
 'Tis a pack of wolves on the dark wood's edge 
 
 Crying aloud in fright. 
 
 Their fangs are wet with the fleck of blood ; 
 
 And sayage their howls ring wide. 
 
 They're the wolves of my soul, my Comrade, 
 
 That are starved and unsatisfied. 
 
 Stoke ! .stoke ! 'mid the grime and smoke, 
 
 As the ship goes plunging on. 
 
 Stoke ! 5toke ! while the hot flames choke 
 
 My soul from dusk to dawn. 
 
 Oh ! God for the breath of the clean fresh day ! 
 
 Oh ! God for the chill of the cold, salt-spray ! 
 
 Stoke ! 5toke ! till my spirit's broke 
 
 For, Comrade— I've lost my way ! 
 
 Do you hear that sound— Oh ! my Comrade, 
 
 The sobs of the childer that pray ? 
 
 Creak a the stair, and my woman's there 
 
 Toiling and toiling away. 
 
 It's grind and strife for the curse of life. 
 
 What makers it all— you say— 
 
 If the souls of them— and the soul of me 
 
 Rise free at the Judgment Day ! 
 
 Stoke ! stoke ! 'mid the grime and smoke. 
 
 As the ship goes plunging on. 
 
 Stoke ! stoke ! while the hot flames choke 
 
 My soul from dusk to dawn. 
 
 Oh ! God for the breath of the clean, fresh day ! 
 
 Oh ! God for the chill of the cold, salt spray ! 
 
 Stoke ! stoke ! till my spirit's broke. 
 
 But, Comrade— I've found my way ! 
 
43 
 I Am A Dreamer In The Hills 
 
 I am a sKepherd of the hills ; 
 The fleece-white clouds my flock. 
 A willow wand the crook I wave 
 Above the high spire clock. 
 Blow, blow ye winds, Heigh 
 Catch my magic if you can ! 
 A plaintive lay, the tune I play 
 Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 
 
 I am a warrior of the hills; 
 No anvil welds my sword 
 Of Yolsung ^eel— no magic cap 
 Have I, nor golden horde. 
 Blow, blow ye winds, Heigh 
 Waft my music if you can ! 
 A reveille the tune I play 
 Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 
 
 I am a godchild of the hills: 
 
 Song bubbles do I blow. 
 
 They float down on a world that lies 
 
 Unheeding far below. 
 
 Go, go ye winds. Heigh 
 
 Break my bubbles if you can ! 
 
 The while I'll play a chanson gai 
 
 Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 
 
 I am a spinner in the hills ; 
 My distal is the day ; 
 My flax the sun whose sheen I've span- 
 Glint of the woof its ray. 
 Blow, blow ye winds. Heigh 
 Guard my cloud sheep if you can! 
 A shepherd's lay, the tune I play 
 Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 
 
LIFE AND I 
 
49 
 
 In Persian lore, Jan Ibn Jan was the Genie King who built the pyramidr 
 before the time of Adam. 
 
 Jan Ibn Jan 
 
 Gome back and build my pyramids ! 
 
 Jan Ibn Jan. 
 Hear tbou my call ! —the sundown call 
 
 Of mortal man. 
 A Muezzin at dusk of day 
 I cry my need aloud— I pray 
 Lay tbou for me tbe corner-stone 
 If build I mu<$t ; -—and build alone ! 
 Bend from tKy Turret of the Dead 
 Where thou canst see for leagues ahead 
 The monuments we each mu5t raise 
 For mocfcery or sneer or praise. 
 I am of puny strength ; my hands are weak ; 
 I cannot 5tir the stones— so great they seem. 
 I can but raise them dream on dream. 
 Come back and build my pyramids^for me, 
 
 Jan Ibn Jan. 
 Ah ! build them as in ages gone. 
 Of might and power ; —and yet more strong 
 
 And high, 
 Till Egypt's Nile itself's a thread of beads. 
 And scorching sands blur up against the sky 
 When nightfall flings its cowl of black 
 Upon a century that bleeds 
 
 And struggles by. 
 The god lacchus calleth "Is thy task not done?" 
 My torch flares out. I answer "Nay ! 
 
 'Tis but begun ! " 
 Hear thou my prayer ! —the duskdown prayer 
 
 Of mortal man. 
 Come back and build my pyramids ! 
 
 Jan Ibn Jan. 
 
50 
 
 Tde Things Tliat Be. 
 
 I hear in my soal the ba^Ie's roll. 
 
 And the sound of the mailed drums ; 
 
 And my heart beats high, as they're drayring nigh 
 
 For I know who it is that comes. 
 
 There's the sound of the bugle calling ; 
 
 ! God of The Things That Be, 
 It's all the dreams I used to dream 
 A marching home to me. 
 
 My answered prayer. In the great fanfare 
 Of trumpets and tramping feet ; 
 
 1 fling back the door of my soul tonight 
 And gaze down the silent 5treet. 
 
 Away in the distance I see them ; 
 The ho.st of The Things That Be ; 
 The hopes and fears of bygone years 
 A marching on past me. 
 
 Oh ! ye who are saints and sages, 
 Shall I follow the batile's roll? 
 Shall I ride down the tragic ages 
 And trample the dreams in my soul ? 
 No ! I'll wait for my own batialion, 
 In the dawn of The Yet To Be, 
 For the hopes and fears of future years 
 Are marching on towards me ! 
 
n 
 
 Litile Brown House 
 
 Dear little brown house in your forest, 
 Of pine-trees that murmur and sigh; 
 Outdrowned by the boom of the ocean 
 Where hound-lifce the crouching rocks lie. 
 A cypress rears up its spread branches, 
 Gale-brea5ted and eerie and old, 
 And the beach where it bows from my pathway 
 Bends o£ to the North and the cold. 
 
 Oh ! little brown house with your windows 
 
 That brood on a vision-dreamed sea ; 
 
 Hearth-lit floorsand your doors that swing open 
 
 In sheltering welcome to me. 
 
 I smile as the sun flings its challenge 
 
 Along the worn boards of your sill ; 
 
 Or the moonlight steals up thro your rafters 
 
 Low-hanging and sleeping and still. 
 
 Oh! little brown house in your fore^ 
 
 Where the wind comes at night time to play. 
 
 And sings to the lone, gnarled cypress 
 
 Of storms it has bent to obey. 
 
 I sift the warm sands thro my fingers. 
 
 Cloud-white in the dusk or the dawn. 
 
 r?e a little brown house in a sturdy old wood 
 
 Where I dream while the world thunders on ! 
 
52 
 
 The Seared-Light 
 
 I /Stand upon Life's 
 
 Wave-torn shore. 
 And sweep with burning eyes 
 
 The wandering breeze. 
 I turn the search-light 
 
 Of my sou! each night. 
 And scan the far 
 
 Horizon of the seas. 
 
 Go ! bring him back, 
 
 l""- My li"6:Ie Lad who's lost. 
 
 The babe I rocked to sleep 
 
 Upon my breast, 
 Whose heart beat warm 
 
 Against the heart of me 
 Throughout the long Night 
 
 Watches, lulled to rest. 
 
 Flash ! search-light flash ! 
 
 And bring him safely home 
 To mother arms that ache 
 
 For touch of him. 
 And whisper of my 
 
 Tender anxious thoughts ; 
 Of blurring tears that 
 
 Make my eyes grow dim. 
 
 Stay ! flash no more ! 
 
 Upon the stricken Past, 
 Nor send thy gleam 
 
 Along yon distant shore. 
 The angels found you. 
 
 Little Lad o' Mine, 
 And brought you back 
 
 To me forevermore ! 
 
53 
 
 Life's Lite A Panther In^TIie NigEit 
 
 Life's like a panther in the night— 
 
 And I'm afraid. 
 All, all aboat me it is dark, 
 
 And I'm dismayed. 
 The loneliness, the wilderness. 
 The moorlands reaching far 
 That itretch away so lean and grey 
 
 To yonder 5tar. 
 And barbed thorns as I brush by 
 
 Leave deep their scar. 
 The parching of the desert sand^ 
 The starving in a hungry land ; 
 The panther crouching nigh. 
 I'll light my campfire e'er the dawn 
 
 Once more drifts by. 
 Kindle ye spirits of the dark. 
 
 My old desire. 
 Kindle ye fagots of my love. 
 
 To blaze the fire ! 
 And one by one are kisses gone. 
 
 And one by one are dreams cait on 
 
 The desert pyre. 
 Grief that my silence knows. 
 
 Forge into flame 
 
 Ye wind that blows ! 
 Fear's panther tread that stalks the night: 
 Holds no more dread nor doth afright, 
 Is but the wanton shadow-light 
 My campfire throws ! 
 
54 
 
 Tfie Tayern of Dreams 
 
 **0h I wJiere— Ofi ! where is tlie Tavern of Dreams ? 
 
 For I would re5t awfiile'*— 
 Joy looked at me in wide surprise. 
 "The Tavern of Dreams," he answered, "lies 
 Where the roadway tarns and the daylight flies. 
 
 Another weary mile." 
 
 "Oh ! where. Oh ! where is the Tavern of Dreams ^ 
 
 For I would re5t awhile.'* 
 Life flung aside its black disguise. 
 "The tavern of Dreams," he answered, "lies 
 Where the Sorrows live and the La5t Good-byes— 
 Where the roadway turns, and the daylight flies. 
 
 Another dreary mile." 
 
 "Oh ! where. Oh ! where is the Tavern of Dreams ? 
 
 For I would rert awhile." 
 Love looked at me with passioned eyes, 
 "The Tavern of Dreams," he answered, "lies 
 Where the world's aflame with the sunset skies. 
 Where the roadway turns, and the mirts arise. 
 
 Beyond the kissing ,stile ! " 
 
55 
 
 Karma 
 
 I loye yoa so— what makers, dear. 
 
 That we have never met ? 
 For now there's naught to be forgot. 
 
 There's naught to bring regret. 
 
 It is the spirit part of me 
 
 That wings its way to you. 
 It is the truant heart of me 
 
 And ghosts of things I knew. 
 
 Sometime, someway, somewhere agone 
 
 You once belonged to me. 
 I know not how or why apart 
 
 My soul is seeking thee. 
 
 And often when Night's silent ho,$t 
 Of .stars is marching through. 
 
 Ah ! that's the time I love you most. 
 Dear Love I never knew. 
 
 I signal then toward North— toward South, 
 Toward seas— toward lands afar. 
 
 And I salute each rising sun 
 
 And you— where e're you are. 
 
 I could not if I would forget 
 
 Should I but touch your hand. 
 
 Still I had rather far— regret 
 Than never understand! 
 
56 
 Tfie Gypsy Heart Of Me 
 
 The Gypsy heart of me 
 
 Goes singing on its way ; 
 The spirit part of me 
 
 That wanders thro* the day. 
 The hours are caravans 
 
 That take me thither on. 
 The night's a camping ground 
 
 Where I may rest anon. 
 
 My fancy's in the tree tops 
 
 When the wind is blowing free ; 
 Or chasing after moonlight 
 
 To find its witchery. 
 The sun-bars down at even ; 
 
 The warmth the south wind brings; 
 A star on high against the sky. 
 
 All these my treasure things. 
 
 The bare brown earth beneath my feet. 
 
 The road that leads to Yon. 
 The sweetness of the world around 
 
 And sorrow strangely gone. 
 And when my steps grow weary 
 
 As the fleeting day is done. 
 My fancy journeys onward 
 
 To the rising of the sun. 
 
 The gypsy heart of me 
 
 Goes singing on its way ; 
 The spirit part of me 
 
 That wanders thro* the day. 
 The hours are caravans 
 
 That take me thither on ; 
 The night's a camping ground 
 
 Where I may rest anon. 
 
57 
 
 Mi 
 
 ine 
 
 I lyould not be the lyric voice 
 That ^irs the thronging multitude ; 
 But rather this, my humble choice, 
 A deep chord in the interlude 
 That finds its way into some heart 
 Beneath the warm, sweet surge of life, 
 And lingers till the pulses .start. 
 And smouldering fires burn riot-rife. 
 
 I would not be the mighty sea 
 
 That triumphs forth in mountain waves. 
 
 But I would be a rivulet 
 
 The force's thirsting laves. 
 
 Mine not to be the clarion note 
 
 That sways the clamor of the throng. 
 
 But the brave word that finds its way 
 
 Where life is grim and creeds are wrong. 
 
 Mine not to be the fresco rare, 
 Upon the wall for laud or fame. 
 But mine a sketch of hope or prayer 
 For some lost soul, unsigned by name. 
 Mine not to be the blade of steel 
 That parries armies thrust on thrust, 
 But mine the turning of the wheel 
 When hands grow numb, and turn it must. 
 
 Mine not to be the banket spread. 
 
 Or censers of the revel feast ; 
 
 Mine but the crust of broken bread. 
 
 The cool, bright stars, the golden East. 
 
 Mine not to be a garden fair 
 
 With cherished fragrance of delight. 
 
 But mine the wayside altar's flare 
 
 And rising incense of the night. 
 
 Mine the vast plains and spire-tipped hills. 
 Cathedrals of the mighty God ; 
 Mine the forgotten trails and rills 
 That human lives have crossed and trod ; 
 And mine the solitude and hush 
 Of silences that speak more plain 
 Than ever voice of Wotan spoke— 
 And joy that bears the scar of pain. 
 
58 
 
 Life and I 
 
 Loye, bring tdy candles ere the night grows dart. 
 And spread a bang^et forth within their blaze. 
 
 That I may ponder in the years to come, 
 Upon the feaiSt of bygone days. 
 
 The brimming bowl entwine with roses red. 
 That dip their petals in the golden lees. 
 
 And breathe a haunting perfume, sweeter far 
 Than ne^ar of the sentient bees. 
 
 Love, had I power to choose whom I would ask 
 To be toa5tma;Ster at that halcyon spread. 
 
 Then life itself would I unhand— unmask! 
 And memory quicken at a rose— blood-red. 
 
 My W 
 
 arrior 
 
 My loyer is no laggard,— no ! 
 As paltry lovers be. 
 He is a prince with plume and cloak 
 And sword with edges three. 
 And when he rides away to war, 
 I watch him proudly from afar ; 
 An armor strong wears he. 
 But neyer helmet, shield nor spear 
 At home with me ! 
 
59 
 
 Loye Has Come. 
 
 Love das come 
 So silently I hardly knoYf ju,$t how-— 
 Yet all the world seems di^erent now. 
 The sun shines on as tho' 'twoald never stop. 
 
 And dissipates the gloom. 
 The summer's here, and in the garden 
 Of my heart — the roses bloom. 
 
 The Sfcy Rocket 
 
 I sent a rocket through the night, 
 
 It sped along. 
 
 And then it broke 
 Into a thousand flames of song. 
 
 I sent a rocket through the night. 
 
 It flashed on high. 
 
 And left a trail 
 Of blazing red that seared the sky. 
 
 I sent a rocket through the night. 
 Of pulsing black— 
 I could not see 
 
 How far it went. It left no track. 
 
60 
 
 Joy 
 
 Joy is the crest of the curhng wa?e ; 
 The swallow that skims the sky. 
 Joy is the tree tops bending free 
 And the wind as it hurries by. 
 Joy is the paise and the heart of things 
 The love-light within your eyes. 
 Joy is glorious colorings 
 Like a swirl of bu^erflies. 
 
 Grief 
 
 Grief is alone and desolate, 
 A prairie ashroud with snow. 
 Grief is the lowering clouds that loom 
 Over the waste below. 
 Grief is silent and sombre and black. 
 Ebon against the white. 
 Grief is groping and chill and drear- 
 Like a flight of bats by night. 
 
 The Phantom Ship 
 
 There is a phantom ship I know 
 
 Beyond the harbor bar. 
 
 Its skirts along uncharted shores 
 
 That I have seen afar. 
 
 The sails are tipped with amber, 
 
 The searchlight is a star. 
 
 And all the dreams that I have dreamed 
 
 The phantom sailors are ! 
 
61 
 
 I'm Tired of Being Grown Up ToNigtt. 
 
 I'm tired of being grown up tonight, 
 
 I want to go back again 
 
 To the old dear days, and tbe childisfi plays 
 
 That I loyed when I was ten. 
 
 To the old tin kitchen and blue tea-set ; 
 
 To the old rag doll that I can't forget ; 
 
 To the apple tree ander which I played 
 
 With li^le toy soldiers on Dress Parade. 
 
 I'm tired of being grown ap tonight, 
 
 I want to go back again 
 
 To the old white house at the turn of the roMi 
 
 Where I lived when I was ten. 
 
 To the broad-beamed porch where the rinca grew« 
 
 Where the jasmine trailed and clambered throagb; 
 
 To my own wee room and the comfy bed 
 
 That I tumbled into when my prayers were said. 
 
 I'm tired of being grown up tonight, 
 
 I want to go back again 
 
 To the torn sunbonnet and pinafore 
 
 That I wore when I was ten. 
 
 And I want to climb in the apple tree, 
 
 To feel the thrill as the wind sweeps free. 
 
 Of a beckoning joy in the far away. 
 
 Like the light on the hills at the break of day. 
 
 I'm tired of being grown up tonight, 
 
 I want to go back again 
 
 To the sleds and swings and the dolls and thiags 
 
 That I had when I was ten. 
 
 To the high walled garden aslant the hill ; 
 
 To the crooning call of the whippoorwill. 
 
 To the scent of the lilacs stealing thro'. 
 
 And the hush of the night over all I knew. 
 
62 
 The Gifts 
 
 Love halted at my door. 
 
 "My burden's great and I'm footsore/' 
 
 Said he. 
 "Then come thou in ! " I cried. 
 "WhateTer's mine is also thine." 
 Loye put his burden down and iStepped inside> 
 And parting gare a gift to me 
 The magic gift that none can see. 
 
 Grief halted at my door. 
 
 "My burden's great and I'm footsore," 
 
 Said he. 
 "Then come thou in ! " I cried. 
 "The fire's alight to cheer the night." 
 Grief put his burden down and stepped inside. 
 And parting left a gift with me, 
 The world-wise gift of Sympathy. 
 
 Life halted at my door. 
 
 "My burden's great and I'm footsore." 
 
 Said he. 
 "Then come thou in ! " I cried, 
 "The cloth is spread, the sweet rye bread." 
 Life put his burden down and stepped inside. 
 And parting left me ere he went 
 The rare^ gift of his— Content. 
 
 Christ halted at my door. 
 
 "My burden's great and I'm footsore." 
 
 Said He. 
 "Then come Thou in ! " I cried. 
 "The dusk is nigh and lonely I." 
 Christ put His burden down and Stepped inside. 
 And gave a wondrous gift to me. 
 The gift of— Immortality. 
 
63 
 
 Tbe Inyisible Cross j 
 
 Long, long ago when but a child \ 
 
 Your shadow fell upon me 
 
 As I played. 
 It taught me all the sweeter ] 
 
 Things I knew, j 
 
 And left me one with God, 
 
 And — unafraid. j 
 
 The years passed by, a comrade itill ] 
 
 It followed till I grew 
 A laughing maid. 
 It told to me the meaning ] 
 
 Of each flower ; ' 
 
 It was as moonshine— and as 
 
 Light to shade. 
 
 It showed me where the wood-birds nest. 
 
 And amber honey the wild ] 
 
 Bee distills, ] 
 
 And in the night we dreamed the 
 
 Sky-lit stars | 
 
 Were heaven's arch of golden I 
 
 Da£odils. 
 And when I learned to see and know 
 With wide up-lifted eyes— \ 
 
 Why gently then ] 
 
 Tour shadow passed, but first ! 
 
 Safeguarded me 
 With vision of the God , 
 
 In mortal men. \ 
 
 One day again I saw its shape | 
 
 Of haunting substance,— yea I 
 
 A man who smiled, I 
 
 Who took my hand within a ] 
 
 Comrade's clasp j 
 
 And let me be his friend as ] 
 
 When a child. 1 
 
 Ah ! then I knew the heart of you, : 
 
 And that another's gain j 
 
 Was not my loss. 
 Your outstretched arms were raised 
 
 To welcome me j 
 When lo ! — there was a shadow 
 
 Of the Cross ! 
 
64 
 
 Because You Game 
 
 The world is not the same to me 
 
 Since you (laye come ; 
 A thousand yoices cry to be 
 
 Tbat long were dumb. 
 And something sings witbin my breast 
 Of benedi^ion and oi re.$t ; 
 Of undertone and overcre.$t 
 
 Since you baye come. 
 
 Tbe tbings of make-belieye are past. 
 
 Now I baye you. 
 My life bas, ay, a nobler la^ 
 
 Soul-fast and true. 
 And otber tbings tbat I baye known 
 Are put away like toys outgrown, 
 For I no more need play alone 
 
 Now I baye you. 
 
 I tbougbt tbat jealousy would sting 
 
 Tbis loye of mine, 
 Tbat doubt its own unrest would bring 
 
 To stale loye's wine. 
 But wbence loye came its well-spring rose 
 To bubble as a torrent flows. 
 As sword to sbeatb it fits and knows— 
 
 Tbis loye of mine. 
 
 So is tbe world, dear, changed to me 
 
 Because you came. 
 Ai prairie fires, in molten sea 
 
 Sweep into flame. 
 So do my loye-razed ramparts fall 
 That there be no diyiding wall. 
 Into loye's fire I cast my all 
 
 Because you came. 
 
65 
 
 In That Garden Where I Played 
 
 Will you come with me to the Pa5t may-be. 
 
 And I'll lead yoa through the ({ate. 
 In the fragrance there of a garden fair. 
 
 Where small gho^t-shadows wait. 
 They are wraiths of things like white moth wi>gs 
 
 And the flowers can neyer fade. 
 Will yoa come with me to the Past may-be 
 
 In the garden where I played ? 
 
 There are columbines and trumpet Tinei 
 
 A climbing o'er the wall. 
 And the hollyhocks andfthe nodding phlox 
 
 Are standing straight and tall. 
 There's a drowsy hum when the wild bees come 
 
 To the apple blossoms' shade. 
 Oh ! the flowers and things, and the cloyer ringa^ 
 
 In that garden where I played ! 
 
 Will you climb with me in the apple tree 
 
 While the blossoms fall about, 
 Up in the air with sunbeams there. 
 
 And the whole wide world without ? 
 Oh, the sky is blue as the larkspur's hue. 
 
 And my heart is unafraid ! 
 Will yon swing with me 'neath the apple tree 
 
 In that garden where I played ? 
 
66 
 
 A Pagan Thoa 
 
 A pagan thou ! 
 Unhampered by the clash of creeds. 
 A ma<ster- builder in thy work 
 Of great and silent deeds. 
 
 A pagan thou ! 
 Recorder of a tear, a smile; 
 Thy tent pitched on the sun-parched road 
 That I may rejt awhile. 
 
 Driftwood 
 
 I would not ask that life 
 
 Should be all sunlight. No ! 
 The shadows come, and make 
 
 The day more perfect so. 
 The minor chord that wanders 
 
 Through a song, is sweeter far ; 
 The mi,$t that for a moment 
 
 Hides the glamour of a 5tar. 
 I would not ask that life 
 
 Should be all sunlight. No ! 
 When driftwood holds within 
 
 Its flames a wonder-glow ! 
 
67 
 
 The Mate Call 
 
 ABoye the pulsin(2 city 
 
 And the clamor of the mart, 
 I hear the mate note offyoar yoice 
 
 As heart calls hack to^heart. 
 The white lijjht of the\ity"night 
 
 Burns down to flaming hlae, 
 As my ({ypsy sonl sends answer 
 
 To the nomad sool of yon. 
 
 I hear yon calling, calling. 
 
 And the world is mine^today. 
 Thoagh love may make me beggared 
 
 V\\ give my all away 
 To wander like a minstrel 
 
 The changing seasons through. 
 My vagrant spirit following 
 
 The nomad soal of yoa. 
 
68 
 
 Sometimes 
 
 Sometimes, dear, when I wake and think 
 
 Of every liftle task 
 That other hands may do for yoa. 
 
 It hurts me, — why yoa ask? 
 I'm jealous of the sli(2htest thing 
 
 That all those others do. 
 And yet their only hold on me 
 
 Is beinj2 good to you. 
 
 Sometimes, dear, when the lights burn dim. 
 
 And dreams seem somehow true, 
 I see your chair drawn near to mine. 
 
 The table set for two. 
 The supper spread, the broken'^bread ; 
 
 Some simple wine you knew— 
 Ah ! this would be a fea.st to me 
 
 If only I had you. 
 
 Sometimes to draw the curtains down 
 
 And kneel beside your chair ; 
 My head close pressed against your^breast. 
 
 My love a tender prayer. 
 My \ift\e wandering soul at last 
 
 At home with things it knew; 
 Dear, this would be all Life to me 
 
 If only I had you. 
 
69 
 
 I Hare Passed On 
 
 Nay, do not chide that I can smile. 
 Tears ({liiSten, though yon cannot see. 
 Because the way is dark between 
 
 Yoar path and me. 
 When once I paused beside your (S^te 
 There in the early light of dawn 
 Tour hand touched mine ; 
 No more they clasp. 
 
 I ha?e passed on. 
 
 Nay, do not say I have forgot. 
 
 My memory cradles thoughts of you. 
 
 And tenderest lullabies I sing 
 
 That once you knew. 
 But now their echo does not reach. 
 Somehow their haunting timbre's gone. 
 The pipes of Pan to-day are mute. 
 
 I haye passed on. 
 
 Nay, tell me not that love has changed 
 For ;Still its wonder fills me dear. 
 Intangible and far it seems 
 
 That once was near. 
 Now in a foreiSt dark I roam. 
 Thro* chilling miits wind-swept and wan 
 I wave to you a lait farewell. 
 
 I haye passed on. 
 
70 
 
 Father Of All 
 
 Father of all, I do not plead 
 For selfish things to make me glad. 
 Bat that I may make someone else 
 More grieved than I less sad. 
 
 Father of all, I do not ask 
 Thee for contentment when I pray, 
 But that I may bring peace onto 
 Another's lonely way. 
 
 Father of all, I do not seek 
 Thy watchful care to guerdon me, 
 Bnt only this, some other heart 
 To raise 'twixt me and Thee. 
 
 Father of all, I do not fear 
 However dark the way may be, 
 For in the gloom was borne the cross. 
 And crown of Calvary. 
 
71 
 
 At Tbe Top Of The Hill 
 
 There's a glimmer of snoir in the moonlight. 
 
 And the cu'fter slips silently on— 
 
 There's a trail we don't know, in the moonlight. 
 
 So we follow where others have gone— 
 
 And the drifts pile ap high, in the moonlight. 
 
 While the forest is sleeping and iStill, 
 
 And you are close by, in the moonlight. 
 
 That shimmers atop of the hill. 
 
 I have climbed to the top of the hill, lore. 
 
 The dizzying height I know. 
 
 I can see afar all the things that are. 
 
 In the Talleys that lie below. 
 
 There is never a cloud in the distance. 
 
 Where the mist of the moon breaks thro' 
 
 At the top of the hill ! And my heart grows still 
 
 With the mad, sweet thrill of yon ! 
 
72 
 
 The Grapes of EsEicol 
 
 Oh ! God of tempest thanders 
 And blighted wilderness ! 
 I press my parched lips to Thy earth. 
 Beseeching} Thee to bless 
 My lonely soal that wanders 
 Athir^ neath naked sky. 
 Lord God of Hoits, oat of the depths 
 To Thee I cry. 
 
 Mira(2ed is Hebron's hillside 
 Where milk and honey flow ; 
 Where fa'fted kine are lowing. 
 And rip'ning grain fields grow ; 
 Where vineyards barn to parple. 
 And fraiting, heavy lie. 
 And grapes of Eshcol ripen fall 
 For lips parched dry. 
 
 The grapes of Eshcol shimmer 
 Beneath a magic son ; 
 The wind springs ap o'er Hebron ; 
 The drowsing day is done. 
 And scarlet-tipped is lance-leaf 
 Of wild pomegranate flowers 
 That cool their flaming sweetness 
 In rain-drop showers. 
 
 Oh ! God of tempest thanders 
 And desert wilderness! 
 I strain my eyes toward Hebron, 
 Age-old, that Thoa didst bless. 
 Lead me beside still waters 
 Where vineyards parpling be ; 
 And grapes of Eshcol ripen sweet 
 For me— for me ! 
 
73 
 
 All Hail The Dawn? 
 Chanticleer 
 
 A toa.st to thee! 
 
 Guest of mine. 
 
 Why tarried thou 
 
 So long upon the way ? 
 
 A signal flame 
 
 Has kept my hearth alight 
 
 From dusk to dusk 
 
 Each waiting day. 
 
 A toa5t to thee! 
 
 Guest of mine. 
 
 Who sifteth at 
 
 My board tonight with nce 
 
 Pour thou thy wine 
 
 Into mine own 
 
 That I may g^aff 
 
 Its mingled ecstacy. 
 
 A toast to thee ! 
 Love of Mine, 
 Within whose goblet 
 Lies the Morning Star. 
 "0 Sun, without whose 
 Golden magic 
 Things would be no more 
 Than what they are ! " 
 
74 
 
 Shadows On The Wall 
 
 When the shadow-time is nearing. 
 And the sunset rays are gone. 
 There come two forms appearing 
 With ^eer clown-like garments on» 
 The wee bare toes creep softly 
 To the rocker where I sit, 
 And loving arms steal 'round me 
 While the lamp is still unlit. 
 
 And it's "Tell us now a story, 
 For it*s beddy time, you know. 
 All about a witch's castle 
 Where the bad hobgobblins go." 
 They smother me with kisses. 
 And clamber on my knee 
 To hear of ancient galleys 
 Upon an unknown sea. 
 
 'Tis then we play the twilight game 
 At dusk of every night ; 
 The fireplace is a magic forge 
 That flashes forth its light. 
 We make come true our wishes 
 Where the shadows dimly fall. 
 And watch them all go marching by 
 Upon the cabin wall. 
 
 There's a king who wears a helmet. 
 
 And a ^een all dressed in silk ; 
 
 There's a giant and a forest, 
 
 And a palfrey white as milk ; 
 
 A windmill that goes round and round ; 
 
 An eagle on the wing ; 
 
 An Indian Brave with arching bow, 
 
 A fairy garden ring. 
 
 It is twilight in the valley 
 That lies so still below 
 Beneath the rush and rally 
 Of the mountain winds that blow. 
 
75 
 
 Bat in the firelight's flashing 
 
 No childish footsteps fall 
 
 Tho' shadow shapes are playing itill 
 
 Upon the cabin wall. 
 
 There's a ting who wears a helmet. 
 
 And a ^een all dressed in silk ; 
 
 There's a giant and a forest 
 
 And a palfrey white as milk ; 
 
 A windmill that goes 'roand and 'round ; 
 
 A ship that sails to sea 
 
 With shadows of remembered things 
 
 A waving back to me. 
 
 The Last Good-by 
 
 They told me she was dead 
 And bade me come. 
 I could not go — 
 My grief was damb. 
 I could not bear 
 To see her so 
 So diiSerent there. 
 I turned and fled— - 
 They thought I did not care. 
 She is not dead to me, 
 For always I shall see 
 The smile that lies 
 Within her eyes- 
 Brown eyes of witchery. 
 That slender form of hers, 
 Wrapped in the winter furs. 
 
 The yiolets. 
 
 I hear again 
 
 Today as then 
 
 The fond regrets. 
 
 Her last reply. 
 
 Her last good-by, — 
 
 And as I wait, 
 
 I see her waving there to me 
 
 Beside the gate. 
 
CANDLE TIME 
 
81 
 
 The Fortress Of The Soul 
 
 AH ! little son of mine. 
 
 The scoldings,— if you knew, 
 
 Are but to build a fortress great 
 
 Within that soul of you. 
 
 Dear \ift\e son of mine. 
 
 It mu5t be rock, not sand ; 
 
 And every word's a batilement 
 
 To make it stronger .stand. 
 
 We'll call this citadel we build 
 
 The Fortress Of The Soul ; 
 
 The general is Courage : 
 
 The captain is Control : 
 
 The raw recruits are all your deeds 
 
 Awaiting to enroll. 
 
 Come, get your blocks, 
 
 A wall we'll make 
 
 About the mimic sg^are, 
 
 A toy ba^alion we will use 
 
 In painted jackets there. 
 
 The countersign will be a smile. 
 
 And Taps will be a prayer. 
 
 The sentry brave is Steadfast Truth, 
 
 The gateman Constant Care, 
 
 And every soldier must be picked 
 
 To guard that fortress fair. 
 
 Begin today to form each s^ad ; 
 
 The troops are in your hand. 
 
 And show yourself and o£Ficer 
 
 That's worthy a command ! 
 
A. B. C. 
 Ob ! Miss Toftie ?on Lottie Det 
 Is not a highbrow — not yet ; 
 She can play the piano 
 And dab in soprano 
 And fix up a mess of spaghet. 
 She can dance like Genee Orchide 
 Like a nun she can fervently pray. 
 Bat the tari^ revision 
 She scorns with derision, 
 And topics that ^ray from Broadway. 
 
 She 
 can play 
 a g rand 
 piana. She can 
 daab in burntsienna, 
 
 she can teach you how 
 
 to paint a mackerel sky. But in book- 
 lor and in learning she is 
 
 not a bit discerning, and of 
 
 higher mathematics she 
 is shy. 
 
 She can cook 
 
 a grill- 
 
 ed to- 
 
 mato like a chef of old 
 Parie, or a 
 
 piq- uante 
 
 Sauce Diable 
 
 Fit for any 
 
 king, maisoui! Fve forgot- 
 
 ten ditferential ! 
 
 for some- 
 
 
 thing 
 
 
 
 
 more 
 
 
 
 
 poten- 
 
 
 
 
 tial. 
 
 
 
 
 the 
 
 
 
 
 lit- 
 
 
 
 
 tle 
 
 
 
 
 primer 
 
 
 
 
 lessons 
 
 that she 
 
 taught to 
 
 me! 
 
83 
 
 Lo^! 
 A Fairy GodmotKer 
 
 She's skipped to Calcutia 
 
 Or o^ to Bombay 
 With a raspberry cap 
 
 And a knapsack of hay. 
 In an old polonaise 
 
 And a prairie-dog chaise. 
 And pink rubber goloshes 
 
 For E^inox days ! 
 Neat herring-bone goggles 
 
 She wears on her nose» 
 And fireflies for earrings, 
 
 And open-work hose. 
 Now frankly, ^ite frankly 
 
 Dame Rumor has said 
 That pinwheels go buzzing 
 
 About in her head. 
 If you find such a one 
 
 In an ancient pelisse 
 Ru£led up to her waist 
 
 On a band of Cerise, 
 Suggest she comes back 
 
 To take care of her charge 
 Who eats pretzels and curds 
 
 While she's roaming at large. 
 For all of the good 
 
 She's to mine or to me, 
 A cave-dwelling Zulu 
 
 See might as well be ; 
 A bag-pipe, or carrots 
 
 Or plain axle-grease. 
 Or the kin of my grandmother's 
 
 Stepmother's niece ! 
 
84 
 
 Candle Time 
 
 Good-night, litile room, good-night, 
 When gone's the candle light 
 You're blotied out nor do I see 
 The toys that once belonged to me. 
 Do Dreamland fairies take away 
 The things with which I daily play 
 To some poor child who is forlorn 
 And bring them back again at morn ? 
 Or do they wander thro' my naps 
 And make me waken up perhaps ? 
 Good-night, li^le room, good-ni^ht. 
 
 Good-night, little room, good-night. 
 
 ni wait till bright moonlight. 
 
 Then from my bed FU tumble out 
 
 To see if they are 5till about 
 
 The trains and toys I put away 
 
 Before I go to sleep each day. 
 
 A cuddly lullaby Til hum 
 
 So dreams and dreams will trooping come. 
 
 ni be a white cocoon, tucked tight, 
 
 A bu^erfly by morning light. 
 
 Good-night, li^le room, good-night. 
 
85 
 
 Swinging On The Gate 
 
 With one foot o£ and one foot on, 
 
 Vm swinging on tfie gate ; 
 I come each night at supper time 
 
 And for my daddy wait ; 
 I see the people going by. 
 
 They stop and smile at me, 
 Nor know that I am Captain Kidd 
 
 Upon a pirate sea. 
 
 One foot od and one foot on. 
 
 So do I wait and swing, 
 Vye palled a lot of palings out— 
 
 But that aint anything— 
 My daddy says it's not the pales 
 
 That makes the place look right, 
 But me a swingin' on the gate 
 
 When he comes home at night. 
 
86 
 
 When I Was A Boy 
 
 I did a hundred thousand thinjjs 
 
 When I was a boy, 
 My pockets bulged with tops and brings 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 With marbles, grass and bits of glass. 
 With old root ends of sassafras ; 
 With fishing hooks and bait— alas ! 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 
 I played at army scouting then. 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 The pa.$ture bars are down again as 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 No one could go beyond the line 
 Until he gave the countersign. 
 Oh ! they were great, those days of mine 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 
 The h&ftle field lay o'er the fence 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 The corn jtalk stacks were army tents 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 And days and days Fve sentried there 
 When I could fight and do and dare 
 Without a sorrow or a care 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 
 Fd kites and knives and guns and things 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 And 5tubbed-out shoes and counselings. 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 There was no tree too high for me. 
 No boat that harrowed forth to sea. 
 But I— -I watched it from the quay 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 
87 
 
 I had a tiungry appetite 
 
 Wlien I was a boy. 
 For then things always tasted right, 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 The honey and the hot brown bread ; 
 The watfles with the grape jam spread ; 
 The cider from the big hogshead 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 
 They're gone, they're gone, those good old times 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 IVe millions now where I had dimes 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 And yet it somehow comes again 
 And hurts a bit, the memory when 
 I think of all the days of then 
 
 When I was a boy. 
 
 A Fish Story 
 
 A box tied up with ribbons ; 
 Two bundles neatly done, 
 A turtle and a gold fish ; 
 No name on either one. 
 
 The Xmas tree's forgo^en. 
 And there's an awful din- 
 Both children want the turtle, 
 A scrap to see who'll win ! 
 
 The box they break to pieces ; 
 The ribbons tear to bits. 
 The turtle is dismembered 
 By unintended hits. 
 
 It lies there shorn of glory. 
 The idol of a whim; 
 And the li^le gilded gold fish 
 Finds he's once more in the swim. 
 
88 
 
 On The Sand Dunes 
 
 Oh ! the sand dunes are warm 
 Where the sun's beaten down. 
 The cool winds blow sweet 
 After heat of the town. 
 The Kiddies are dear 
 And the world is in key. 
 For my arms are about them 
 And theirs about me, 
 While a gull dips down slowly 
 Far, far out to sea. 
 
 There are pebbles and shells. 
 There are tunnels and wells. 
 There's a town that is built 
 
 Out of sand. 
 Where the waves ripple in 
 And the breakers begin. 
 There's a toy ship of tin 
 
 To command. 
 Ho ! for hey day and play day ! 
 Then back to the town ; 
 Back to the garden once more. 
 While the Sand Pile Lady is 
 
 Left alone 
 To weep by the salt sea shore. 
 
89 
 
 Wlien Tfie Parson Game To Tea 
 
 A green and purple lady 
 
 Had a green and purple liMc 
 It flew across tfie green 
 
 And purple grass. 
 Alighted on Her coitfure 
 
 And then flew od again 
 With the lady's green 
 
 And purple wig— alas ! 
 
 That green and purple lady 
 
 In a green and purple fit 
 Went out to get some green 
 
 And purple eggs. 
 And the green and purple chicken? 
 
 Well, that was the last of it 
 And its green and purple 
 
 Neck and wings and legs. 
 
 From a green and purple kettle 
 
 In a green and purple 5tew 
 It was eaten at a green 
 
 And purple tea ; 
 And the green and purple parson 
 
 And the lady he would woo 
 Galled this tragic chicken 
 
 Dish— mere fricassee ! 
 
90 
 
 The Circle 
 
 Fin awful 
 tired of doing all the 
 things I have to do.1 Fd 
 like to sit awhile and twirl 
 my thumbs. I wish I were a 
 kitten that had nothing hot to 
 meWf or a foolish litiile robin peck- 
 ing crumbs. Fd like to be on horse- 
 back, riding .straight into the wind. 
 I'd like to be a sail upon the 
 sea. A tangent free, unbound, 
 no circle crowding round, 
 Is just the sort of 
 thing IM like 
 to be ! 
 
91 
 
 Ttie Es^imaux 
 
 Where North winds blow 
 An Es^imaux 
 
 Lives 'neath an Arctic 5tar, 
 An icy wa.$te his hunting ground 
 
 And white fields stretching'^far. 
 
 He has a hut, plum pudding shape. 
 Made out of solid snow. 
 
 He dresses like a polar bear 
 
 In rough fur skins, you know. 
 
 For sport he drives a pack of dogs 
 Hitched to a wooden sled, 
 
 And takes along a spear to hunt 
 The food that he is fed. 
 
 He dines on fish, a savory dish. 
 He sups on brown seal soup. 
 
 He gives his si<$ter walrus oil 
 Whenever she has croup. 
 
 He doesn't get a nice, warm tub 
 At beddy time o* nights. 
 
 But ju^ curls up and goes to sleep 
 Beneath the Northern Lights. 
 
92 
 
 Hannah Jane 
 
 Tfiey say my dolly's no niore"coant 
 Becanse her head's not on. 
 Because her che5t is ba'ftered in 
 And one poor leg is gone. 
 Dad's giyen me a new Dutch doll ; 
 From Holland I suppose. 
 She has the ^eereit wooden shoes. 
 The dearest kind a clothes. 
 
 But I— I like my old doll be5t. 
 
 My Hannah Jane's my pet. 
 
 What if she does look all smashed ]ap ! 
 
 The sawduiSt's in her yet. 
 
 I'm sure that if my head was gone, 
 
 Besides a leg or two. 
 
 My mother'd loye me ju^ the same 
 
 As when I was brand new. 
 
 Oh! Hannah Jane, 
 They say you're plain. 
 
 But I don't think it's fair. 
 
 You once had china eyes that dosed 
 And lots of yellow hair. 
 Oh ! Hannah Jane, 
 They say you're plain. 
 
 But you're not plain to me. 
 
 For lovely is as lovely does 
 And so how can you' be ! 
 
 I've ^acks and .stacks of other toys. 
 
 But none I like so well. 
 
 A woolly lamb that bleats and baas, 
 
 A worn-out dinner bell. 
 
 A shadow horse on which I ride 
 
 When goblins chase at night. 
 
 A patchwork bag and silver chain, 
 
 A Teddy bear that's white. 
 
93 
 
 And tben I ()a?e a row of jtones 
 
 All tnrning into gold. 
 
 Yon keep tliem in the sun you know, 
 
 Until they're one week old. 
 
 I haye a litiile rocking chair, 
 
 A track and lectric train ; 
 
 And when Vm tired of all the rest 
 
 I still hare — Hannah Jane ! 
 
 Bahefta 
 
 Bahetta lived in sanny France 
 
 Upon a garden slope. 
 
 Mid rows of purpling grapes she played 
 
 Or skipped her skipping rope. 
 
 She watched beyond 
 
 The yineclad hill 
 
 To where the ships lay white and still 
 
 Upon a sunswept sea ; 
 
 And learned her lessons well each day 
 
 The same as you and me. 
 
 At night she said a prayer in French. 
 
 Babe^a was deyout, 
 
 And after that she drew the blinds 
 
 And blew the candle out. 
 
94 
 
 Commandments For A Gbild 
 
 I 
 
 Tbon sKalt not touch, 
 Then be ttioa wise, 
 Loye tilings forbidden 
 Witb thine eyes. 
 
 II 
 
 Thou shalt not ta^le, 
 Else thou soon 
 Wilt be a song bird 
 Out of tune. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Thou must not frown 
 If thou wouldst please. 
 Thou shalt not whine, 
 Thou shalt not tease. 
 
 IV 
 
 Thou shalt be kind 
 Wouldst thou be king, 
 For lo?e hath power 
 O'er everything. 
 
 V 
 
 Thou shalt plod on. 
 Nor mind a fall, 
 For great men stumbled 
 Too when small. 
 
 VI 
 Thou shalt be happy 
 Smiles not tears 
 Are swords to fight 
 Life's battles, dears. 
 
95 
 
 VII 
 
 TIlou shaft keep clean 
 Thy heart's best room, 
 And make of deeds 
 Thy sweeping broom. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Thou shalt have ease 
 And eat with grace. 
 Nor spill thy milk, 
 Nor jell thy face. 
 
 IX 
 
 Thoa shalt abide 
 By what is said, 
 At work or play. 
 Or tucked in bed. 
 
 X 
 
 Then wilt thou grow 
 Up big sometime. 
 And teach another 
 Child this rhyme. 
 
 Katinka 
 
 Katinka was a Holland child 
 
 Soft yellow hair had she. 
 
 And wide Dutch caps atop. her curls 
 
 That bobbed bewitchingly. 
 
 A kerchief knotted round her throat 
 
 Was white as new skim milk ; 
 
 An outer pe^icoat she wore 
 
 Of rose pink poplin silk. 
 
 And bodice tightly laced. 
 
 Her wooden shoes were big and itout,- 
 
 And she was most a yard around 
 
 About her tubby waist. 
 
96 
 
 Tfie Li^Ie Mermaiden 
 
 A mermaiden sat on a foam-green irave, 
 And mended Fier sea-weed frocks. 
 Her needle was wrought from a fish's fin 
 And the thread was her own gold locks. 
 The bonnet she wore was a white sea sh«ll. 
 And under her chin it was tied as well. 
 
 Dainty and frail 
 
 In the summer gale, 
 
 She'd stitch and the hem she'd tarn ; 
 
 Or the sun's warm strands 
 
 She would catch in her hands 
 
 And put in a coral urn ; 
 
 For the sun's shining beams. 
 
 And its glimmers and gleams 
 
 Is the coal that the sea-folk burn. 
 
 A gull se'ftled lightly upon her arm. 
 And wonderful tales he told 
 Of cities and forests and fields afar. 
 And seas where the sun grows cold ; 
 But the 5tory of all that she thought most 
 
 sweet 
 Was that of the maidens who walk on feet. 
 
 Dainty and frail 
 
 In the summer gale 
 
 The lessons she'd try to learn 
 
 Of the far-a-way lands. 
 
 And she'd count on her hands. 
 
 Repeating them all in turn. 
 
 Then at close of the day. 
 
 When the gull flew away. 
 
 She sailed home on a green sea-fern. 
 
97 
 
 ososan 
 
 In a land across the sea, dear, 
 
 Where the dancing moonbeams be, dear. 
 
 Lives a liti;le brown-eyed maid of old Japaa. 
 There the sunshine spills o' day time. 
 And the lotas fills the May-time 
 
 With its bloom of sweet perfume for 
 Yososan. 
 Like a swaying flower she seems, dear. 
 In that garden land of dreams, dear. 
 
 And her skin is smooth and warm as 
 ivory glint. 
 There are gay fans in her tresses 
 And her li^le silken dresses 
 
 Are like bati:erflies of every lovely tint. 
 
 The Hotientot Child 
 
 Now what would you think 
 Of a Hodentot child 
 Who lived in the top 
 
 Of a tree. 
 And wore coral beads 
 And a girdle of leaves 
 IniStead of nice clothing 
 
 Like me. 
 
 Nurse says if I fuss 
 
 Or my pretty things muss 
 
 She'll take me to 
 
 Hottentot Land 
 And leave me, you know. 
 Where the cocoanuts grow. 
 In a desert that's made 
 
 Out of sand. 
 
98 
 
 The Noah's Ark 
 
 There once was a Noah's ark I knew 
 
 All fall of gingerhread toys, 
 
 Shem and Ham and Japeth too 
 
 Were nice liftle gingerbread boys. 
 
 When sapper time came, Fll 
 
 Tell you— hark ! 
 
 The animals all marched out of the ark 
 
 From the cat to the kangaroo 
 
 Sedately two by two 
 
 Into bowls of brown and we ate them down 
 
 With milk— that gingerbread crew. 
 
 Which was yery much be^er I think 
 
 Than that 
 
 They had all grown jtale on Ararat ! 
 
 The Circus 
 
 When the circus comes to town 
 Sifter and I go down, 
 And watch the animals all parade ; 
 We buy popcorn and lemonade. 
 And go inside, if our way is paid. 
 When the circus comes to town. 
 
 There are ponies and things 
 
 In the sawdu,st rings ; 
 
 Bare-back riders and whips. 
 
 There's a chariot, too. 
 
 All painted blue. 
 
 That races and neyer tips. 
 
 There's a swinging trapeze 
 
 That they jump and seize ; 
 
 A funny old Pierrot clown ! 
 
 And the brass band plays 
 
 On holidays 
 
 When the circus comes to town ! 
 
99 
 
 The Katydid's Song \ 
 
 Katydid 
 
 Katydidn't 
 
 She did \ 
 
 She didn't. j 
 
 ! 
 
 A katydid sat on a 5tone j 
 
 And san|2 in her merrie.$t tone. 1 
 
 Said a frog that was nigh, 
 
 Why bless me if I i 
 
 Shall let that young thing sing alone. j 
 
 So he joined in with such a loud croak j 
 
 That the world all about him awoke. I 
 
 Although it was night 
 The meadow was light 
 And mii$ty as wind-blown smoke. 
 
 The bu^erflies stretched out their wings ; I 
 
 The bees began sharpening their stings; j 
 
 And the birds with a cheep ] 
 
 Wakened up from their sleep ] 
 
 And got dressed in their everyday things. i 
 
 A cloud that was hurrying by 
 
 Got caught on a star in the sky, l 
 
 And darkness descended. 
 And morning was— when ? 
 
 So the birds and the bees \ 
 
 And the bu'fterflies then ] 
 
 Back into bed sprang 
 
 While a tiny voice sang ; 
 
 'Katydid— katydidn't" again ! 
 
100 
 
 THe Dance In June 
 
 !■ rows of well-kept garden beds 
 THere grew a wealth of flowers 
 
 Tbat wept and bent their litile heads 
 Unto the snmmer hours. 
 
 They sorrowed so, because one day 
 
 A bee had chanced to call 
 Aid gossip of the things that lay 
 
 Beyond their garden wall. 
 
 They'd turn their heads and sway and swing 
 
 Upon their stems and pout ; 
 TLey longed to go a-rollicking 
 
 Into the world without. 
 
 They begged the bee to come that way. 
 
 It was so dull, you know, 
 To sit still on their stalks all day 
 
 When neyer breeze did blow. 
 
 The wind oft sought the garden place 
 Because the flowers were there ; 
 
 He heard their woes, and kissed each face 
 And vowed he'd grant their prayer. 
 
 'I'll gire a dance, but do not tell," 
 Said he, **a place I know, 
 A shadowed dell where foxgloves dwell. 
 And thither we will go." 
 
 The flowers climbed down their tiresome ^alks 
 
 And gaily tripped along; 
 They frollicked o'er the garden walks. 
 
 Caught in the West Wind's song. 
 
101 
 
 They reached the woodland all too sooh^ 
 
 The outside world to see— 
 A band of birds struck up a tune 
 
 High in a white birch tree. 
 
 The fat brown leader flapped his winj} 
 
 To ^art a rainbow glide ; 
 It set the others caroling 
 
 With small beaks opened wide. 
 
 And while the notes were tuning forth^ 
 
 A phlox led out a rose. 
 The pretty thing was trembling 
 
 Within her petaled clothes. 
 
 A poppy danced with fevered vim 
 
 Beside a snowball ^out, 
 And slight and trim, a wall-flower prim 
 
 Was blushingly led out. 
 
 They danced and danced— -the sun went JoWB» 
 The band had ceased to play, 
 
 And each bird hid his head of brown 
 To wait till break of day. 
 
 'Neath twilight's cloak the flowers discrete 
 
 Back homeward swiftly sped, 
 Nor anyone they chanced to meet 
 As through the dusk they fled. 
 
 Inside the garden-gate anon 
 
 They two-5tepped up the walks. 
 
 Or tiptoed lightly o'er the lawn 
 
 And clambered up their istalks. 
 
102 
 
 TKe Everyday Time 
 
 Glick o' the gate, and no more I wait 
 For Babbie's come borne to me. 
 Every morning I say 
 Ere you batten away, 
 A good li^le daughter be. 
 Heed every rule 
 Wben you're going to school ; 
 Give and you'll get,— -you'll see. 
 Wc won't wait for the By and By Time 
 
 Next year 
 When the Everyday Time is here, right here 
 Babbie dear." 
 
 Whir o* the wheel as we sew and sew, 
 For Babbie is spinning it there. 
 I ^itch all the while 
 The warmth of your smile 
 And never I mind the tear. 
 A flash of the needle ; 
 A turn of the hem ; 
 Soon there'll be something to wear ! 
 We won't wait for the By and By Time 
 
 Next year 
 When the Everyday Time is here, right here,^ 
 Babbie dear. 
 
 Tick o' the key-board a tapping away. 
 For Babbie is learning to write. 
 What ma^er ? I say 
 If it breaks as you play. 
 You're trying with all your might. 
 You're learning to spell. 
 And you're doing it well, 
 And that is enough now— g^ite. 
 We won't wait for the By and By Time 
 
 Next year 
 When the Everyday Time is here, right here,. 
 Babbie dear. 
 
103 
 
 Flame o' tlie wick when the meal's Begun, 
 Now Babbie is turning it low. 
 As I beat up the whey 
 I teach you the way 
 And knead you a bit of dough. 
 And what if it's burned ! 
 A lesson youVe learned 
 That a litile housewife should know. 
 We won't wait for the By and By Time 
 
 Next year 
 When the Everyday Time is here, right here> 
 Babbie dear. 
 
 Light o' my heart when the nightfalls dark 
 For Babbie is siting with me. 
 Love's in your eyes. 
 And the lamplight lies 
 A pool where the task-books be. 
 And there in the glow 
 You are learning to know 
 Your primer of A. B. C. 
 We won't wait for the By and By Time 
 
 Next year 
 When the Everyday Time is here, right here. 
 Babbie dear. 
 
 Creak o' the rocker for bedtime's come ; 
 My Babbie is going to sleep. 
 So hush a by low 
 For over they go. 
 The flock of the dream grey sheep. 
 On to the end you're 
 My darling— my friend ! 
 Close to my heart. Love, keep. 
 We won't wait for the By and By Time 
 
 Next year 
 When the Everyday Time is here, right here^ 
 Babbie dear. 
 
104 
 
 Calico Town 
 
 Haye yoa ever been to Calico Town 
 
 Where all the houses tumble down 
 
 And the roads are paved with calico brown? 
 
 The cobblestones are calico ; 
 
 The horses and carts and the trees, yon know. 
 
 The Calico people live up there, 
 
 And trim \ift\e calico clothes they wear. 
 
 They've calico shoes and calico hats. 
 
 Calico dogs and calico cats, 
 
 Everything there is calico— 
 
 If you haven't been you must surely go. 
 
 calico Town, Calico Town 
 That is the place to go ; 
 Where all the houses tumble down 
 Whenever brisk winds blow. 
 Calico Town, Calico Town 
 It's ju5t beyond the rain ; 
 So when it comes a pouring down» 
 Let's take an aeroplane. 
 
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