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THE GREAT RIVER 
 
THE 
 GREAT RIVER 
 
 POEMS AND 
 PICTURES 
 
 lAHTHOq 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK OAKES 
 SYLVESTER 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 1 9 n 
 
THE 
 GREAT RIVER 
 
 POEMS AND 
 PICTURES 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK OAKES 
 SYLVESTER 
 
 CHICAGO 
 1911 
 
•ps 
 
 COPYRIGHTED. 1911 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK OAKES SYLVESTER 
 
 ^CI.A3052U4 
 
 A- 
 
 k^ 
 
 V 
 
O river, river, never yet 
 Was half your glory sung; 
 And never skill of painter's brush 
 Nor praise of poet's tongue 
 Shall half reveal the majesty, 
 The charm, the primal grace 
 That clothe you and attend your ways 
 And shine from out your face. 
 
THE GREAT RIVER 
 
H3VIH TA3HO 3HT 
 
THE GREAT RIVER 
 
 Y the red man's grave and the 
 
 ancient trail, 
 By cabin and camp I glide. 
 Dark pines o'er which the eagles 
 
 sail 
 Stand guardians at my side. 
 
 In a cradle of gentle hills I wake, 
 
 I nurse and sleep on the breast of a lake — 
 
 And when my first full leap I take, 
 
 I tremble in my pride. 
 
 By the fields of wheat and the fields of com, 
 
 By forest and isles I flow. 
 
 Now shadowed by dusk, now mirror of mom, 
 
 Far down to the sea I go. 
 
 I join the mirth of a thousand rills 
 
 That laugh in the meadows and dance on the 
 
 hills, 
 My song the path of the springtime thrills 
 And the tide of the pathless snow. 
 
By the great gray cliffs and the prairies wide, 
 
 By valley and farm I speed. 
 
 Fair Heaven I clasp, a willing bride. 
 
 To my ocean home to lead; 
 
 Her garments of gold and azure light 
 
 I fashion anew in our onward flight, 
 
 I double the jewels she wears at night. 
 
 Her every mood I heed. 
 
 By the fiery kilns and the noisy marts, 
 
 By city and town I race, 
 
 The smiles and tears of a million hearts 
 
 Are mirrored in my face; 
 
 The kiss and the curse, the sob and the song, 
 
 The cry of the weak and the shout of the 
 
 strong — 
 I gather them all as I hurry along. 
 And scatter them all apace. 
 
 By the deep bayou and the broad lagoon, 
 By the ranch and the range I roll; 
 
The silver sheen of the southern moon 
 
 I offer the sea as toll. 
 
 I throw the delta gateways wide 
 
 In my rush to the deep, and, side by side 
 
 And hand in hand with the welcoming tide 
 
 I reach my journey's goal. 
 
s 
 
 THE FATHER'S SMILE 
 
 
aJIM2 a'HaHTAT sht 
 
THE FATHER'S SMILE 
 
 HE river, they claim, is turbid 
 
 and dark, 
 The river is grimed and gray, 
 But I have seen a crown of 
 
 gold 
 On its head at close of day. 
 
 And I have seen a silver seal 
 Aglow upon its breast, 
 A silver seal with the grace of Him 
 Who clothes the East and West. 
 
 And I have seen a royal robe 
 Agleam from hem to hem 
 With all the crystal loveliness 
 Of jewel and of gem. 
 
 And I have heard a secret sound 
 As the river flows along. 
 That seems above the twilight hills, 
 The river's evening song. 
 
And I have caught a wondrous light- 
 Methinks I see it yet, 
 A wonder-light whose wistfulness 
 One never can forget. 
 
 For it is filled with mystery, 
 Yet full of joy the while, 
 And I have loved to think of it 
 As the mighty Father's smile. 
 
THE FATHER OF WATERS 
 
 vm^FT" 
 
 mSSSSSSmE,S, I have painted you 
 
 Yin every mood — 
 When sunshine woo'd 
 Your smile and filtered through 
 Your being; when 
 The world of men, 
 Within the hive, nor knew 
 Nor understood. 
 Feigning brotherhood, 
 How into love our friendship grew. 
 
 We know each other well; 
 
 We laughed and sang 
 
 Together; pang 
 
 Of passion felt ; the spell 
 
 Of languor, rage; 
 
 The open page 
 
 Of peace have known, and swell 
 
 Of life when Spring's 
 
 Warm flood-tide brings 
 
 The roses back to hill and dell. 
 
Childhood and youth in me 
 And strength of years, 
 Sunshine and tears, 
 With these in you agree. 
 Something each feels 
 In each reveals 
 Oneness with Infinity; 
 Yet each, intact, 
 Owns power to act. 
 Free being and identity. 
 
? 
 
 THEN. IP EVER, COME PERFECT ^J^YS 
 
3YAa TDa^Hsq amod ,Jiava ^i ,vt3HT 
 
HAVE come back, my river, 
 I have returned to you. 
 In my journeys, far and near, 
 I have found no stream your peer, 
 Nor found your equal in the whole 
 worid through. 
 
 I have come back, my river, 
 I have delayed too long; 
 But the notes of other streams, 
 That have murmured in my dreams, 
 Have hushed their voices in your great home 
 song. 
 
 I have come back, my river. 
 
 No more we two shall part, 
 
 For I love the length of you — 
 
 And the breadth and strength of you — 
 
 And all your wealth of wonder fills my heart. 
 
ELSAH 
 
 NOW ye the hills of Elsah 
 That range by the river's side, 
 Where quaint, old-fashioned 
 
 houses 
 Behind the fir trees hide? 
 
 Know ye the vales of Elsah 
 That run from the water's edge, 
 With shady pathways leading 
 Upward to cliff and ledge? 
 
 Know ye the life of Elsah, 
 Elsah asleep by the stream. 
 With trembling lips that murmur 
 The World's name in her dream? 
 
 Time was — when the years were younger — 
 That Elsah was half a bride, 
 And the Worid, that is ever a bridegroom. 
 Lingered and sang at her side. 
 
But the song that thrilled her bosom 
 And the rose that graced her hair 
 Are things of the past, forgotten 
 By the singer who placed them there. 
 
.rJ 
 
aaa hasuh io 83Yh 3HT tahw 
 
THE GLORY OF THE HILLS 
 
 HERE is a glory of the Elsah hills 
 That shall forever win my songs of 
 
 praise. 
 Have I not felt it countless nights 
 
 and days? 
 Is it a little thing when wonder 
 fills 
 The soul and one's whole being wakes and 
 
 thrills 
 To beauty? 'Tis my wont to gaze and gaze, 
 Spellbound, above the three great waterways 
 That gladden the eyes of Elsah as she wills. 
 Adown the sun-bathed slopes and through the 
 
 trees 
 As far as vision goes the mighty streams 
 Mirror the sky, while field and grove and 
 
 space 
 Mingle and merge in tender harmonies 
 That change the life of Elsah into dreams 
 And radiate a glory round her face. 
 
THE RIVAL OF THE RHINE 
 
 
 ^iimx^si^ixm^ 
 
3HIHH aHT ^O JAVIH SHT 
 
ELSAH 
 
 ^y^f. 
 
 HE sits between the hills to East 
 
 SI and West 
 I And bends her graceful arms along 
 the stream; 
 Her eyes are focused far, as eyes 
 
 that seem 
 
 To look beyond, yet glow with vague unrest ; 
 Her hair falls gently round her virgin breast 
 And through its folds her snowy bosoms 
 
 gleam — 
 From outward beauty one would surely deem 
 That she with all the river's gifts was blessed. 
 And so she was and is, and yet, alas! 
 A fatal thing she nourishes, for lo! 
 She gives an alien child her breasts to nurse, 
 Whose lips are iron and whose heart is brass, 
 And, dreaming, does not realize nor know 
 Its very touch a menace is and curse. 
 
ND art thou smiling, Elsah, 
 And dost thou sing a song, 
 Nor know the World — ^that woo'd 
 
 thee once — 
 Now worketh thee a wrong? 
 
 Thy gifts and garlands gladly 
 Thou gavest years ago, 
 The fruits of thy goodly harvesting, 
 The wine of thy heart's deep glow; 
 
 But the World was restless and roving 
 And lightly valued thy gifts. 
 For the will of the World is wayward grown, 
 And often its fancy drifts ; 
 
 Drifts and forever wanders, 
 
 Seeking the strange and new. 
 
 For never a time in the life of the World 
 
 Has the love of the World proved true. 
 
And the voice that sounds as music, 
 And the touch that seems caress, 
 Will crash as lightning through thy heart 
 And mock thy nakedness. 
 
 Yea, naught of thy virgin glory 
 The lust of the World will spare — 
 Till thou shalt hide thy breast for shame 
 In the folds of thy matted hair. 
 
 O spirit of living beauty, 
 
 Ere this be Elsah's fate, 
 
 May the tide of the mighty stream of streams 
 
 Unbar its ancient gate 
 
 And bear the form of Elsah 
 
 To its home within the deep. 
 
 To the arms of the ocean and lap of the sea 
 
 In one eternal sleep! 
 
THE TEMPLED HILLS 
 
 irH 
 
3JJIH aaj^NiaT sht 
 
THE SONG OF THE HILLS 
 
 AVE I not lived at Elsah, 
 
 HAnd climbed the Elsah hills 
 And stood aloft on Elsah 's cliffs 
 And felt, with heart-deep thrills, 
 The glory of the sunset. 
 The purple Grafton heights, 
 The Mississippi's burnished gold 
 Aglow with a million lights? 
 
 Have I not watched the twilight 
 Cradle the land in dreams, 
 And seen the shadows lull to sleep 
 The eyes of the wakeful streams? 
 The earth-red chief, Missouri, 
 Restless, unfettered and wild, 
 The Illinois, a maiden fair, 
 Half woman and half child? 
 
 Have I not oft kept vigil 
 
 With star and moon and mom, 
 
 And heard the Father's chantings join 
 
In the sunrise chant of the com; 
 
 Or caught the song the wheatfields 
 
 Sing to the summer skies; 
 
 Known Spring's young touch and Autumn's 
 
 charm 
 When the haze o'er the lowland lies? 
 
 Have I not felt the vastness 
 
 And primal sense of things 
 
 Stir my whole being into deep 
 
 Eternal questionings; 
 
 Yea, thrilled with joy and wonder, 
 
 As thought to vision grew, 
 
 And found a beauty more complete 
 
 Than the outward senses view? 
 
 Then speak not of the cities 
 Where men with men contend, 
 And man, God-like, divinely made, 
 Men do not comprehend; 
 
Where sense views sense-inventions 
 And credits itself alone, 
 Where man-made men beget in belief 
 Children they call their own. 
 
 But speak, if you can, of a city 
 
 Which cherishes Nature's gifts. 
 
 And the chaff of envy and hatred and strife 
 
 From the wheat of holiness sifts; 
 
 Where thought sees deeper than seeming, 
 
 Seeking an infinite Cause; 
 
 Where self blocks none of the streets with 
 
 greed. 
 And fear forms none of the laws. 
 
ND do you love my river, 
 My stream of the tawny tones, 
 And do you find its world, indeed, 
 The rarest beauty owns? 
 
 Oh, I have seen it waken 
 To welcome home the dawn. 
 And I have seen its eyelids close 
 When the veil of night is drawn ! 
 
 Yea, I have heard its laughter, 
 Have seen its glorious smile, 
 And I have felt it leap for joy 
 And shout for joy the while. 
 
 What speed on wind-swept courses. 
 What races 'gainst the breeze ! 
 What secret pauses, songs and dreams 
 Under the brooding trees ! 
 
 The hills clasp hands by its borders, 
 The forests sing by its side. 
 
While the prairies that rival the ocean's realm 
 Surge round it far and wide. 
 
 It is blood of the vales and the valleys, 
 
 It is wine for flower and tree, 
 
 It is pulse of the plains, the meadows' veins 
 
 And the land's great artery. 
 
 I know you love my river — 
 God grant you know its worth; 
 For He made it fair beyond compare, 
 The king of the rivers of earth. 
 
THE MIRROR 
 
 ./KHSfMMft).^ 
 
 -.-2 
 
HOHHIM aHT 
 
REFLECTION 
 
 MIRROR, immense and perfect 
 
 A and grand, 
 
 Is the river to-day with its frame 
 
 of land. 
 The lowlands of grain give a fillet 
 of gold 
 
 And the cliffs' steady rise, majestic and bold, 
 Makes a moulding to harmonize, crown and 
 
 enclose, 
 This sunny, reflecting, great stream as it flows. 
 
 The breath of the wind no dimness hath made 
 On the clear, lucent surface, no fingers have 
 
 laid 
 In wave touch to shadow or ripple the deep, 
 And even the current seems fallen asleep, 
 But out of its depth, in beauty and grace, 
 Beams the image of heaven's dear, wonderful 
 
 face. 
 
THE AWAKENING 
 
 «r!^£Sii 
 
 HIS mom I saw the eastern sky 
 
 aflame 
 With sunrise colors, rose and blue 
 
 and gold. 
 The mighty river heaven seemed to 
 
 hold 
 
 By just a thread-like breeze, till it became 
 E'en as a steed whose spirit is made tame 
 From very force of tenderness. The bold 
 Dark cliffs were modelled in heroic mold 
 Against the depths from whence the glory came, 
 Lavender toned and purple were the hills. 
 The river waves like opal rose leaves lay, 
 All scattered by the breeze, until the stream 
 Grew dappled with the petals' splendor. Thrills 
 Of joy surged through my heart, and I no day 
 Shall see to dim the sweetness of this dream. 
 
" 
 
 'HE EDGE OF THE ANCIENT FOREST 
 
 -J 
 
TsaHOH TwaiDHA aHT HO aoaa aHT 
 
FATE 
 
 LITTLE while, and thou shalt say 
 
 adieu 
 And leave this sheltered spot that 
 
 gave thee birth. 
 A little while, fair tree, and that 
 dear earth. 
 
 So tightly held, shall slip like quicksand through 
 Thy grasp, and thou no more the kiss of dew 
 Shalt feel; no more the stars thy form shall 
 
 girth; 
 Nor shall thy leaves, all radiant with mirth, 
 Sport in the heavens far within the blue. 
 The river tempts thee daily with its glass 
 Of magic and its borrowed gems. It mocks 
 The very heavens, yea, insidious, late 
 Or soon, will steal thy last gold grains and pass 
 With thy weak form into the night. The locks 
 Of its great den will turn and seal thy fate. 
 
THE FLOOD 
 
 4?** 
 
 ITH tawny colored mane and jaws 
 
 W blood red, 
 
 Down from the northern mountains 
 
 bare and cold, 
 The hungry river comes. A lion 
 bold 
 
 And famished now it seems, and swiftly tread 
 Its cruel feet to crush the grain. Its head 
 Swings far from side to side as if 'twould hold 
 Earth's fairest treasure in its maw. Eyes rolled 
 To heaven in rage, it roareth o'er the dead. 
 Many a fertile garden, many a home 
 In seeming shelter hidden from its sight, 
 With mothers, fathers, children, safe for years 
 Far from the thickets where its young cubs roam, 
 It strikes in fury, plunges into night. 
 And leaves a wilderness dim with stranger's 
 tears. 
 
PORTAL OF TREES 
 
aaaHT ao JATaoq sht 
 
HMHMl O see these lilac bushes all abloom* 
 
 TO Nature, is enough of joy to fill 
 The soul — and yet you give, be- 
 
 ■■■■pi sides, this hill, 
 
 ^^^ So temple like, with great fair trees 
 
 MMiJI that plume 
 Themselves incessantly. Ah, scarcely room 
 Have I within my heart for this — this still 
 More lovely thing that doth my being thrill: 
 The mighty river where the gray cliffs loom!' 
 What pride, great Nature, tempted me to boast 
 That I had song or color, gifts of art 
 To speak your glory or to sing your praise? 
 Yet will you not forgive, since I have most 
 Of all wished touch of mine might some lone 
 
 heart 
 Awake to see your grace and hear your lays? 
 
OON in the western sky, 
 
 MLow hills, and then the great wide 
 stream, 
 And tall, dark trees against the gleam 
 Of star and lighted cloud and even- 
 ing's gold — 
 
 Oh, what, I ask, does the gift of heaven hold 
 More wonderful, more fair? 
 And yet, your waving hair, 
 Catching the glint and glow of burnished rays 
 That color and illumine with a maze 
 Of loveliness your brow, your eyes, your lips. 
 Your throat's deep curve, your hands, your 
 
 finger tips — 
 Gives to my picture life and wealth of grace 
 That lifeless seems without your happy face. 
 
v-mfiiBja: 
 
 "m 
 
 MY SYMPHOHY 
 
YMOHqMY8 YM 
 
A 
 
 h; 
 
 W 
 
 
 T thought of you, my river, 
 The tears are in my eyes, 
 And all the restless world is gray 
 And gray the narrow skies. 
 
 I miss the great wide prairies, 
 The range of sky and space. 
 And Oh ! I miss, far more than all, 
 The sunlight of your face 
 
 That comes as comes the morning, 
 A glory and delight; 
 That leads the evening down the worid 
 And haunts the ways of night. 
 
 O river, though I tarry 
 Within the crowded mart, 
 You have my spirit, river mine, 
 Your smile has all my heart. 
 
I 
 
 V^:^ 
 
 GIVE you, O River, my sheaf of song 
 To bear on your breast away; 
 It is half of it broken, and half un- 
 spoken, 
 And all of it thin and gray — 
 But take it, my River, and bear it 
 along 
 For a year and a night and a day. 
 
 I give you, O River, my wreath of art 
 
 To bear on your breast afar; 
 
 It is half of it faded, and half unshaded, 
 
 And many the faults that mar — 
 
 But take it, my River, to hold in your heart 
 
 As you hold the Evening star. 
 
 I give you, O River, my crown of years 
 
 To bear on your breast for aye; 
 
 It is half of it real and half ideal 
 
 And all of it passing away — 
 
 But take it, my River, though wet with my tears, 
 
 A joy at the end of the day. 
 
SONNET is a poet's orchestra 
 
 And he the leader, with his wand of 
 rhyme; 
 
 Fair words, sweet sounds his great 
 musicians are 
 
 And faultlessly they follow him in 
 time; 
 Now faint and tremulous as breath of Spring 
 When Winter's frozen tears dissolve in dew — 
 Now thrilled with soft melodic strains that bring 
 Visions of happiness and joy; and through 
 This harmony a deeper chord of love 
 Gathers and swells from far off worids unknown, 
 Rising in great triumphant waves above, 
 And culminates in one grand, throbbing tone — 
 Then dies away, as Summer's blooms depart, 
 Leaving the Autumn richness in the heart. 
 
A 
 
 SENSE of Time and Space and 
 
 Worlds afar, 
 Of friendliness of sea and sunlit 
 
 dome, 
 Of childhood ripples wandering 
 from home, 
 Yet never deep enough the scene to mar; 
 Anon a wave above some hidden bar 
 Buries in tears the heart that loved to roam, 
 Then billows headlong plunge into the foam, 
 Battling to win a gleam of Fame's white star — 
 Thus, from the ocean of its birth, the soul 
 Follows the flood-tide's flow and breasts the 
 
 worid. 
 A moment's rainbow wreath is held by some, 
 Yet the ebb-tide claims them all in backward 
 
 roll; 
 Then one last gleam upon a sail unfurled — 
 A sense of Time and Space and Worids to come. 
 
THE ACROPOLIS 
 
 j^^mm 
 
 i! 
 
 ii 
 1 
 
 
 
aiJOqOHDA 3HT 
 
LAS, I cannot paint that wondrous 
 
 A green 
 
 Of sun-kissed trees against the dis- 
 tant blue, 
 Though it has haunted me the sum- 
 mer through ! 
 Each evening, when its glory I have seen 
 Beyond the veil of space which floats between 
 Its loveliness and me, I've felt each hue 
 Stir all my heart; yet, though I constant woo, 
 It holds its royal reign, a vestal queen. 
 So beautiful, so subtile and so fair, 
 So all-sufficient and so calm, shall skill 
 Or love of mine ne'er lead thee to reveal 
 The secret of that loveliness? I'll dare 
 Ten thousand tints, if I at last may thrill 
 To find my brush speaks all I see and feel ! 
 
THE CLOUDS' ARENA 
 
 :.a!ft®i?C]?: Sr*;*»i*»»3)" 
 
AVI3HA 'aaUOJD 3HT 
 
OW good it is to watch the wind at 
 
 Hpiay, 
 High in the heavens and the fields 
 
 of space ! 
 Now as a runner, eager for the race, 
 It speeds exultant down the sunlit way ; 
 Or, like a shepherd, seeks the clouds that stray, 
 The fleecy flocks of clouds that know its face, 
 And Oh, with what idyllic charm and grace 
 They sport and frolic, questioning its sway ! 
 Sometimes, a mountaineer, it leaps the crest 
 Of more than mountain heights of clouds and hurls 
 An avalanche adown the canyon sky. 
 At night, perchance, its giant pinions rest — 
 Or do they cleave their way to other worlds 
 That in such great profusion crowd the eye? 
 
O brush could ever paint this winter 
 
 N scene — 
 
 These twilight trees against the 
 
 sombre sky, 
 Lifting their naked branches far on 
 
 high. 
 
 The faded face of Heaven looks between 
 The leafless limbs through frozen tears, the keen 
 Wild wind of night that fiercely rushes by 
 Furrows her brow, while boughs, like wrinkles, lie 
 Over the cheeks where roses once were seen. 
 Some mighty etcher, gifted with a line 
 Swift as the wind, clear cut, and more than sure, 
 Could here behold a motive strangely grand, 
 Here feel an impulse born of power divine 
 Inspire his stroke with something to endure 
 Beyond the transient labor of the hand ! 
 
ERE hath the Word of God an epic 
 
 Hmade — 
 Here grouped these stately mount- 
 ains, range on range. 
 The prologue is to yonder canyon 
 laid, 
 Which makes a pause of grandeur, wild and 
 
 strange. 
 From crest to crest heroic measures run, 
 Sired of that Source of rhythm, deep and strong, 
 Which formed the rhythmic radiance of the sun — 
 Then break into a thousand peaks of song. 
 Thought is not born, as yet, that comprehends 
 The Mind that mouldeth mountains into lines 
 So grand, so beautiful — that gently bends 
 The lilies and so kingly rears the pines. 
 And, when the sunbeams kiss the mountain's 
 
 brow, 
 I pause, and deep in admiration bow. 
 
GLIDES THE STREAM 
 
MAaHT8 aHT aaaijo jjit8 
 
NATURE'S SYMPHONY 
 
 H 
 
 :.i^.Ll 
 
 OW much of Earth the heavens 
 
 hold in tune! 
 How much of Earth reflects what 
 
 Heaven owns! 
 The wind's mere breath hath many 
 million tones, 
 A glance of light from sun or star or moon 
 Wins every blade of grass. The hills are hewn 
 Into a thousand shapes that Heaven loans 
 But for a moment. From its color zones 
 Infinitudes of tints and shades are strewn. 
 I hear the lyric of the leaves, the seas* 
 Wild chan tings and the prairies' peaceful song. 
 The miracle of dawn floods stream and foam 
 With rose, and paints with wondrous harmonies 
 Each plume of tree and pearl of spray. Be 
 
 strong 
 O heart, and sing that Earth is Heaven and 
 Home! 
 
HAVE contentedly sat hours and 
 
 I hours 
 
 Among the roadside grasses, dumb 
 
 with praise. 
 Contentedly, said I? Yea, if to 
 gaze 
 
 In rapture at a wealth of wild wood flowers 
 Makes one content. In all this world of ours 
 A vague unrest disturbs the stream of days, 
 And no peace lingers in the crowded ways 
 Drunk with the mad supremacy of powers. 
 
 But there is satisfaction and a large 
 
 Contentment down among the grasses — kneel 
 
 One little moment there, if poet's heart 
 
 Be thine, and thou shalt then have secret charge 
 
 Of loveliness, and in thy bosom feel 
 
 The living springs that feed the founts of art. 
 
p^ 
 
 LlVfe KA^, MVE STRONG, ANOTHER JUNE IS HEP I 
 
 % 
 
 ^ 
 
 -Jl 
 
3»3H 21 aHUl «3HTOMA ,OMOHT2 3VIJ .MAM SiviJ 
 
HIS is the perfect night of perfect 
 June! 
 The universal harmony sublime 
 Is audible. The mighty spheres that 
 
 climb 
 The templed heavens and the full- 
 orbed moon 
 Lead on the starry chorus. Fancy-strewn 
 With orchestras, the galaxy keeps time, 
 And rolls, in unison and rhythmic rhyme, 
 One grand, triumphant, million-chorded tune — 
 It is Creation's own Messiah, sung 
 By nature's countless choristers. The notes 
 Of Mars and of the plaintive Pleiades, 
 Now low, and now voluminous, are flung 
 World wide. The music o'er the mountains 
 
 floats, 
 And thrills the bosom of the trembling seas. 
 
OD speaks, and lo, a new bom world 
 
 G appears! 
 
 Fair on the bosom of the universe 
 Nestles the orbit of its circling years. 
 Its form, in light both sun and moon 
 immerse 
 
 And gently doth it slumber and grow strong. 
 Oft have I seen a star that seemed a child, 
 Merry and twinkling with a silvery song; 
 Oft seen stars maiden-sweet and shy, and wild 
 Stars bold as youth; then great deep orbs that 
 
 thrilled 
 Me with their power. All these to God's least 
 
 Word 
 Obedient, move in peace; but man, self-willed, 
 Forgetting Love doth still his being gird. 
 Hears but the echo of his shoutings, hurled 
 Back from the ramparts of his fortressed world. 
 
AJESTIC hill, that bravest every 
 gale, 
 The courage of a perfect love is 
 
 thine. 
 Under thy friendly lea the fright- 
 ened sail 
 
 Watches the storm-girt, wild horizon line 
 Where hosts of thunder clouds are marshalling. 
 They hurl the tumult of a world's unrest 
 Upon thy solitude, in fury fling 
 The leaping billows round thy ancient breast. 
 But thou, with steadfast and with noble calm, 
 Lifting thy head above the mists of fears, 
 Beholdest flood on flood without alarm. 
 Heedless thou art of them, as of the years 
 That wash the footprints of each race from sight 
 Yet leave thee firm and fearless in thy might. 
 
STOOD beside a pool of clearest 
 
 I calm, 
 
 Wherein there was reflected earth 
 
 and sky; 
 A picture in the water seemed to 
 lie: 
 
 And playfully, not meaning any harm, 
 I threw a pebble there. In swift alarm 
 The deep, blue tones repeated from on high 
 All disappeared, and soon the place where I 
 Had seen the heavens imaged lost its charm. 
 In tears I waited there, desiring all 
 The vanished glory to return again. 
 It could not be my thoughtlessness would mar 
 Its beauty and its grace beyond recall ; 
 And even as I waited, even then, 
 The waters caught and held the first faint star. 
 
APPRECIATION 
 
 ORE beautiful to me than any dream 
 Is this great universe that is my 
 
 home. 
 The art of Athens and the craft of 
 
 Rome, 
 With all the vast varieties of beam 
 And arch, of statue, dance and song, I deem 
 Less wondrous than the charm of heaven's dome, 
 The ocean's music, traceries of foam, 
 And shy, wild blossoms by the woodland stream. 
 Praise be to Him who set the poet's thought 
 Of rhythm in the soul, and gave to me 
 The painter's sense of art and loveliness! 
 Yet oft I feel my very being brought 
 In touch with some transcendent harmony 
 That is too fair and holy to express. 
 
«*'i, 1 
 
 THE UPPER MISSISSIPPI 
 
 I :i 
 
iqqi88I88IM HaqqU 3HT 
 
HOLD that Life hath beauty every- 
 where, 
 
 Awaiting but some faithful heart to 
 thrill. 
 
 The play of sunshine round the dis- 
 tant hill, 
 
 The folding tender reaches of the air 
 That harbors every sailing cloud, the fair 
 Bosom of Earth that nestles close and still 
 Creature and tree and blossom — these all fill 
 The soul with joy that nothing can impair. 
 When light first wreathed the universe, to span 
 Mountain and main and star-dim depths of space, 
 Life hallowed it with beauty and with song 
 To quicken and sustain the hope of man. 
 Sweeten his faith and give him power to face 
 The claims of imperfection and be strong. 
 
AN IDEAL 
 
 HERE is a voice, alas! too often 
 
 heard 
 Among the crowded ways of men, 
 
 that makes 
 A discord with eternal things, and 
 
 breaks 
 
 Upon Life's harmony with jarring word. 
 What answer know we for the song of bird 
 Or birth of Spring, when lust of riches takes 
 The light and music from the soul, nor wakes 
 One chord of joy by which the heart is stirred? 
 Oh, give me less of wealth, of fame, of skill, 
 If but the rhythm of the seas and streams 
 May move me into song; if speech of mine 
 May win an echo from the wooded hill, 
 Or tune with stars and mountains — if in dreams 
 I see a kingdom real and divine ! 
 

 H, let it not be said of me, dear 
 
 friends, 
 
 That to my heart the outward view 
 
 of things 
 Is profitless; that no emotion 
 springs 
 
 From Nature's open founts and daily sends 
 Its rivulets of joy to me — yea, wends 
 A clear, enchanting, happy stream that sings 
 Of sights and sounds and secret wonderings, 
 And in a sea of sweet contentment ends. 
 
 I love the worid for every ray of light. 
 For all the gifts and mysteries of air. 
 For what I feel and fancy forth in dreams; 
 But, most, I love that inner, deathless sight, 
 That vision which reveals a sure and fair 
 Reality, transcending all that seems. 
 
AS ■"HE SOWING THE « J Ai 'NG 
 
oniqAaH aHT omwoa hht aA 
 
IMMANUEL 
 
 Tm 
 
 CANNOT bear to think the little 
 
 1 child 
 
 Who walks beside me with the 
 
 trustful eyes 
 May sometime be less loving and 
 more wise; 
 
 And yet, I know the rosy face that smiled 
 To-day, and yester-mom amid the wild 
 Spring grasses laughed in glee, to-morrow's skies 
 Will cloud, and doubt and shadows will arise 
 To which his trust cannot be reconciled. 
 
 Then pity for the heart in armor clad, 
 Forced by the world to shield its happiness 
 Beneath a breast-plate of reserve and pride; 
 But praise unending if the growing lad. 
 Spuming hate's helmet, Love's sweet nakedness 
 Shall choose — and feel God ever by his side ! 
 
LIKE the man who has deep faith 
 
 I in men, 
 
 Who has abiding trust in each 
 
 and all, 
 Who doubts not one, nor hesitates 
 
 to call 
 
 The least or lowliest his brother. Ten, 
 Yea, and a hundred times he pardons, when. 
 Forgetful of their higher selves, they fall; 
 Who leads them, as did David hapless Saul, 
 Back to the thought of healing Good again. 
 But, more than this, I like the man who goes 
 Not songless to the common tasks of life, 
 But twines a flower round his tools of trade ; 
 Who boasts not what he does nor what he knows; 
 Who brings no sword but Love to conquer strife, 
 And, king of self, of nothing is afraid. 
 
r 
 
 THE HOME ROAD 
 
 '■'■fiS.^}U-.^:<-i^'" 
 
QAOH aWOH HHT 
 
RIEVE not, dear heart, because thy 
 
 G pathway leads 
 
 Along the common hedgerows of the 
 
 earth, 
 And simple tasks have been thy lot 
 
 since birth; 
 
 There are strange beauties in the roadside weeds 
 That wait discovery, and none but needs 
 Interpreting. 'Tis rash to measure worth 
 On borrowed scales, for 'mid a seeming dearth 
 Of opportunities may rise great deeds. 
 There is no work too small to merit praise, 
 No gift of love the Infinite disdains; 
 And oft amid life's simple happenings. 
 Its humble walks, and half forgotten ways. 
 The worth of manly effort well sustains 
 The soul to greatness in God's highest things. 
 
HE sonnet came as comes the honey 
 
 Tcomb, 
 A wondrous wealth of nectar-laden 
 
 cells, 
 Wherein both Art and Nature's spirit 
 
 dwells. 
 
 Beyond the mountains dim the bee may roam, 
 Far over seas, above the crested foam, 
 Or down amid the meadows or the dells; 
 Yea, through the crowded gates of citadels 
 May bring the stores of golden sunshine home. 
 The universe is but a poet's flower, 
 And 'mid its starry petals manifold 
 He seeks eternal treasure for his song. 
 The heritage of one transcendent hour, 
 The sonnet doth the hoards of ages hold. 
 While worlds of busy workers round it throng. 
 
VENEZIA 
 
 
 ECKLACE of coral and mosaic, hung 
 Upon the breast of sweet Italia, 
 Is sea-born, ocean-clasped Venezia. 
 Each palace is a pearl whose fame 
 
 is sung 
 By deathless bards; each bridge a 
 jewel strung 
 With liquid threads of gold; each church a star 
 Some artist crystallized and brought from far 
 Off worlds of light to glow yet more among 
 The myriad wonders of the strange lagoons. 
 Oh, church and bridge and palace, gems of Art 
 Unique, swift praise and true I give, yet feel 
 More keenly deep the twilight and the moon's 
 Caress change these to dreams that thrill my 
 
 heart, 
 As night's mysterious charms o'er Venice steal ! 
 
QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC 
 
 C 
 
 m^ 
 
 ITY of three-fold loveliness of night 
 Is Venice. Star and moon and depth 
 
 of space 
 She shares alike with all; yet mark 
 
 her grace, 
 As on her bosom fair, a heavenly 
 sight. 
 She clusters all their glory, matching height 
 With depth through liquid traceries of lace. 
 And, softly breathing, bathes her eyes and face 
 In silvery darkness colorful with light. 
 Wings of a thousand fancies speed along 
 The shadowy folds of draperies that hide. 
 Yet half reveal, her wondrous form; and low 
 And softly tuned to star and sea, her song 
 Ripples and rings adown the sleepless tide 
 With joy which only hearts that dream can know. 
 
AMALFI 
 
 ALL, towering cedar trees like an- 
 
 Tcient spears 
 Stand guard o'er Cappuccini's con- 
 vent cells — 
 Though now no priest within the 
 convent dwells 
 And, downward far, Amalfi's face appears 
 Sunlit, appealing, that at once endears 
 Itself forever. Color, soft as a shell's 
 Pearl lustre, in her bosom fair impels 
 Emotions only satisfied by tears. 
 And when the moon above the summer sea 
 Traces a path of glory o'er the deep. 
 Greeting Amalfi with a soft caress. 
 And flooding all the world with mystery. 
 Dead is the heart that shall not proudly weep 
 For joy, o'er filled with too great happiness. 
 
LAGO DI COMO 
 
 
 OVE-gray and blue and iridescent 
 
 D sheen 
 
 Of opal plumage circling neck and 
 
 breast 
 Of doves, where color is the 
 
 loveliest, 
 
 Is but a moment's mirror of the green 
 And sapphire, rose and olive, I have seen 
 Flooding the mountain range from base to crest 
 Above Bellagio, that kingliest 
 Great pearl of splendor, pendant-like between 
 The beautiful Italian lakes; for all 
 The notes of full, deep-chorded harmony 
 Focus their radiance there at sunset. Then, 
 As evening shadows over Como fall, 
 They fade into a dream-bom memory 
 Beyond the power of palette or of pen. 
 
ISCHIA 
 
 STOOD on Capri's rugged mountain 
 height 
 
 And gazed afar upon the azure sea 
 
 That charms the sky with its in- 
 tensity. 
 
 The fair Sorrento shore was bathed 
 in light, 
 And soft and silvery gray with tone that sight 
 Can scarce perceive, the coast of Napoli 
 Appeared, a circling arc I'd dimly see, 
 Then lose, then find again with wild delight. 
 Once, far beyond the utmost point of shade 
 That hinted of the headlands, leaving space 
 For sky and sea to mingle in what seemed 
 Caress, with form so beautiful it made 
 My soul rejoice, I saw pale Ischia's face, 
 Fair as the loveliest world of which I've dreamed. 
 
A NOCTURNE 
 
 HE sea in perfect unison of tone 
 
 TAnd value with the heavens seemed 
 to-night, 
 Both as one quiet shadowy depth 
 
 where light 
 Lay sleeping; where, revealed to 
 those alone 
 Who have for beauty pure affection known, 
 Soft color slumbered, dreaming with delight 
 Of sunrise planets gaining back their sight 
 And noontide worlds to fullest vision grown. 
 
 Below the Dipper's realm, in downward line 
 
 From high Orion, part in ocean, part 
 
 In heaven, sang three constellations — ^first, 
 
 Sorrento fair; then Castellemare, fine 
 
 As Taurus; then, a feast for mind and heart, 
 
 Great Napoli upon the vision burst. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 W 
 
 ■p 
 
 1^ 
 
 HAT joy it is to breathe the moun- 
 tain air! 
 Inhale the wondrous fragrance of the 
 
 pines, 
 Trace with the eye the rhythmic 
 sweeping Hnes 
 Of height that leads to height more nobly fair, 
 And on to crest and peak that proudly wear 
 The mantle of the stars. What beauty shines 
 Down in the valleys of the columbines, 
 In grace and loveliness beyond compare! 
 Oh, just to be is here supreme delight! 
 Just once to feel the sense of being fill 
 The heart with wonder; realize the strength 
 And majesty, the tenderness and might 
 Of that eternal Cause whose love man will 
 In gladness seek to understand at length ! 
 
COROT 
 
 wm 
 
 fmjgi^ 
 
 LL France is fairer since Corot's 
 
 A warm brush, 
 
 Rich with the coloring of twilight 
 
 time, 
 Or silvery with dawn, made bloom or 
 
 blush 
 
 Of these, poetic as a poet's rhyme. 
 He found a rhythm in the hills and trees, 
 A music in the depths of silent lakes, 
 A chann in cloud and space, and symphonies 
 In ever5rthing. It is his vision makes 
 France fairer since he lived, and on her breast 
 Proudly she wears his colors now. Her heart, 
 With love all nations well may manifest. 
 Burns vestal lamps before the shrine of Art 
 To honor him and cheer with welcoming light 
 Some new Corot up-struggling through the night. 
 
INNESS 
 
 
 UTUMN returns, but Inness is no 
 
 A more. 
 
 His widowed palette, bride of happy 
 
 years, 
 Hath laid aside her glorious dress, 
 and o'er 
 
 Her form like sackcloth lies the dust. Fall, tears 
 Of rain, and hide the purple hills in mist! 
 Weep, oh, ye clouds, and dim the golden trees ! 
 Stilled is the heart of our great colorist 
 And stilled the hand that caught your harmonies. 
 Yet, by the gift that speeds the sunbeams 
 
 through 
 The sudden storm, that makes the rainbow's 
 
 birth 
 A concord sweet of sun and rain till new 
 And fairer glory fills both heaven and earth, 
 The beauty Inness wrought shall live, a light 
 Of joy, through seeming loss to holier sight. 
 
IGHT broods o'er Bethlehem, and 
 
 faintly, far 
 Among the mountains, some lost 
 
 lamb's lone bleat 
 The silence breaks; and, save one 
 strange, deep star 
 That shines transcendent, darkness reigns 
 
 complete. 
 But look, some light illumines with its gleams 
 The trembling shepherds and their sheep; it fills 
 The fields with one vast flood of brilliant beams, 
 In grand, majestic glory gilds the hills! 
 Then high o'erhead the hosts of angels sing 
 Paeans of praise. From mount to mount the 
 
 waves 
 Of music roll, and all the heavens ring 
 With joy; earth echoes to its deepest caves. 
 All hail, all hail to Christ, the Lord, again! 
 All hail, and peace on earth, good will to men! 
 
THE ANNUNCIATION 
 
 AIR thoughts, more beautiful than 
 
 r flowers, filled 
 
 With fragrance Mary's girlhood. 
 
 Lovingly 
 She cherished them and felt them 
 grow, and stilled 
 The winds of earth about them, constantly 
 Watching and waiting for their promise. Fears 
 She met with faith, and listened for the Word; 
 Yet wept, with sun-lit glory through her tears. 
 When, soft within, the Christ-child song she 
 
 heard. 
 Sweet was the prelude of her motherhood, 
 A music rich with mystery and praise — 
 Ofttimes its notes she fully understood — 
 Until the concord of that day of days, 
 That perfect harmony of Christmas mom, 
 When unto all the world the King was bom. 
 
HE Inn is crowded now," the keeper 
 said — 
 And so, two thousand years ago to- 
 day, 
 They turned the mother of our Lord 
 away! 
 
 Within a manger near, a baby's bed 
 She made, and for the coming Christ-child's head 
 She formed a Uttle pillow of the hay. 
 At dawn she kissed the lips God taught to pray — 
 Whose prayers healed the sick and raised the 
 
 dead. 
 O crowded heart, with all thy worldly guests. 
 Hast thou a better gift for Christ this mom? 
 Is there in thee a room unoccupied, 
 Not filled with self or strife, where no greed rests. 
 Wherein the Child of Spirit may be bom? 
 Oh, then, rejoice, for God is glorified ! 
 
F I could paint and put on canvas 
 
 I all 
 
 My dreams of the Madonna's moth- 
 erhood, 
 I'd choose the deep, rich tones of 
 some old wood 
 Of leafy trees as background, like a wall 
 Of twilit evergreen, and then let fall 
 Great, golden beams of radiant light which 
 
 should 
 Illuminate the Christ-child's form. One could 
 But love His glorious mission to recall. 
 Tender as tinted cirrus clouds of rose 
 I'd touch the virgin's bended head, and gild 
 A halo round her holy brow. Her face, 
 In ecstasy, the rapture would disclose 
 Of love triumphant, and her eyes be filled 
 With God's sublime divinity and grace. 
 
HE MIGHTY STREAM 
 
 
MAHHTa YTHOIM SHT 
 
HE rivers of thought are broad and 
 
 deep, 
 The rivers of thought are long, 
 And the rivers of thought are fair, 
 
 indeed. 
 That flow from the springs of song 
 
 For the springs of song are the springs of life, 
 And right from the heart they rise, 
 They are crystal clear as the sunbeams are 
 That range the open skies. 
 
 They are crystal clear and flowing free 
 And filled with joy supreme, 
 And the only vessel to hold .their wine 
 Is the heart of a golden dream. 
 
 The heart of a golden dream will hold 
 The wonderful wine of song 
 That gives the soul of the singer strength 
 And makes the listeners strong. 
 
THE OPEN SECRET 
 
 ND would'st thou search, O 
 
 layman, 
 The secret springs of art — 
 Know what the hidden 
 
 motives are 
 That stir the artist's heart? 
 
 And would'st thou ask the singer 
 From what sequestered fount 
 His songs arise, that gird the world 
 And to the heavens mount? 
 
 Would'st know, as well, what power 
 Launches the poet's rhyme, 
 And speeds its course beyond the stars 
 And boundaries of time? 
 
 Then ask of the light what magic 
 It mixes with its beams. 
 Transforming sky and sea and sward 
 Into a world of dreams; 
 
Inquire of the wild wood flower 
 What bids it bend with grace 
 And perfume all the forest aisles 
 And clerestories of space ; 
 
 Implore of the bird what rapture 
 
 Pulses its priceless throat 
 
 Till its song becomes the herald of Spring, 
 
 And the world awakes to its note. 
 
 And, should these give thee answer, 
 Their voice shall seem thine own, 
 And leap within thee, pure and sweet 
 As a Word from God's great throne, 
 
 To tell thee every motive 
 That prompts the human heart 
 To do its best, for the best it feels 
 Is rife with the Truth of Art. 
 
HREE clouds there were, the story 
 goes, 
 Athwart the evening sky; 
 One was a barque of silver gray, 
 And one of gold that sailed away, 
 And one that lifted its sails on high 
 Was all of a wonderful rose. 
 
 Three artists saw, the story goes. 
 The clouds in the evening sky; 
 One of them painted the ship of gray. 
 And one the gold that sailed away. 
 And one the vision that lifted high 
 Its sails of wonderful rose. 
 
 Three hundred years, the story goes. 
 Count naught with the evening sky; 
 But one of the pictures lost its gray. 
 In one the gold all faded away — 
 But the one that lifted its sails on high 
 Is still of a wonderful rose. 
 
p^\ 
 
TaaHd TvimoviA 3ht mi jooq 3Ht 
 
HERE'S a pool in the ancient forest," 
 The painter-poet said, 
 "That is violet-blue and emerald 
 From the face of the sky o'erhead." 
 
 So, far in the ancient forest. 
 
 To the heart of the wood went I, 
 
 But found no pool of emerald, 
 
 No violet-blue for sky. 
 
 * 'There's a pool in the ancient forest,** 
 Said the painter-poet still, 
 "That is violet-blue and emerald. 
 Near the breast of a rose-green hill." 
 
 And the heart of the ancient forest 
 
 The painter-poet drew, 
 
 And painted a pool of emerald 
 
 That thrilled me through and through. 
 
 Then back to the ancient forest 
 I went with a strange, wild thrill. 
 And I found the pool of emerald, 
 Near the breast of the rose-green hill. 
 
HE gray dusk covers the moorlands 
 
 wide 
 To the sky's low rift of rose, 
 And tears in the dreams of the world 
 
 abide — 
 But my heart a sweet song knows, 
 My heart a sweet song knows. 
 
 The gray dusk covers the marsh and the stream 
 
 To the sky's low glint of gold. 
 
 And tears still flow from the world's mad dream — 
 
 But a song in my heart I hold, 
 
 A song in my heart I hold. 
 
SOFT TWILIGHT LINGERS 
 
aaaonij thoiji\a^t T-^oa 
 
STRETCH of darkening water, 
 And mountains far away, 
 And over the world the shadow 
 Of half departing day — 
 
 Save one soft cloud of coral, 
 And a group of sun-kissed trees, 
 
 And all of the rest a twilight 
 
 Of minor symphonies. 
 
 Yet, when the dusk shall deepen 
 And fill the wells of space, 
 The little cloud will linger 
 As the sweetness of a face. 
 
 And the sun-kissed trees be golden, 
 Like a smile within the heart. 
 As long as the world goes dreaming 
 And dreams are the life of Art. 
 
I 
 
 HEAR the wind in the pine trees 
 And the answering song of the 
 
 cones, 
 And the thousands of reed-like 
 
 needles 
 Scatter its silvery tones. 
 
 And the wind goes down the valley 
 And over the mountain leaps, 
 But my heart, my heart, forever 
 The song of the pine tree keeps. 
 
fE STREAM OF THE ANCl;ENT^ 
 ARROW MAKERS M 
 
THaiDMA JHT 10 MAaHT^ ilHT 
 
 anaxAM wohha 
 
ERE arrows names for all 
 the trees 
 That grow along the river, 
 A dozen shots would soon 
 
 exhaust 
 My modest little quiver. 
 
 The arrows are of common use, 
 Heavy and blunt and olden, 
 Cedar and oak and pine they are, 
 But each is winged and golden ; 
 
 For each doth bend a bow of praise, 
 Doth leap the stars and capture 
 The painter's vision of the world 
 And all the skies' sweet rapture. 
 
i; i^ 
 
 E MIRACLE OF SPRING 
 
OHIHqS "510 aJDAHIM aHT 
 
HE Southwind merrily passed my 
 home 
 On its way to the hills beyond — 
 I heard it call to the sleeping trees 
 And I heard the trees respond. 
 
 They had lain asleep for a month and a day, 
 
 For a day and a month and more, 
 
 But they caught the call of the Southwind's 
 
 voice 
 As it journeyed past my door. 
 
 And they answered each with a burst of bloom, 
 With a ripple of rose and green, 
 From the heart of the woods the answer came, 
 A song with a silvery sheen; 
 
 From the heart of the woods to the heart of the 
 stream, 
 
 A perfumed song and thrill, 
 
 As an ecstasy over the fields it went. 
 
 As a miracle over the hill. 
 
And the silver sheen was the silvery dress, 
 And the song was the voice of Spring, 
 But the wonderful thrill was the heart's delight , 
 A deep and a glorious thing. 
 
 And all of the world and all of its ways. 
 
 Its pomp and its ultimate goal, 
 
 Are small compared with the heart's great 
 
 Spring, 
 New bom in the human soul. 
 
i^..^j!t^ 
 
 O voice comes over the sea of sound 
 
 NBut the sigh of the surf-swept bar, 
 No beacon over the shores of sight 
 But the flickering gleam of a star ; 
 Yet soon Earth's brow will be laurel- 
 crowned 
 
 With the blossomed bough's delight, 
 And the welcome note from a bird's sweet throat 
 Throw the wealth of Spring afar. 
 
 No dawn comes over the shores of sight 
 
 But the face of one in tears, 
 
 No voice comes over the sea of sound 
 
 But the sorrowful cry of the years; 
 
 Yet still we dream of a primal right, 
 
 A balm for every wound, 
 
 And a glad heart song of a singer strong 
 
 To heal the great world's fears. 
 
N the heart of an ancient city— 
 I heard the wise men tell — 
 Is a stately hall of learning 
 Where the priests of knowledge 
 dwell ; 
 
 And the doors of the world of hearing 
 And the gates of the worid of sight 
 Are open to him that keepeth 
 Its altar fires alight. 
 
 So I went to the ancient city, 
 
 A child I journeyed there, 
 
 And the hall of the priests of learning 
 
 Was wonderful and fair; 
 
 And the gates of the world of seeing 
 And the doors of the worid of sound 
 Were opened with light and music — 
 But age in my heart I found. 
 
% 
 
 IE r^LISAl'ES JF THY Vl--;SISSIP- 
 
 4 II 
 
 i1 i! 
 
iqqi32I28IM 3HT HO g3aA3[JAq 3HT 
 
OU cannot turn the portals back, 
 Nor close the doors of Spring, 
 For I have felt the zephyr's touch 
 And down the vernal vistas 
 
 heard the north-bound blue-bird 
 
 sing! 
 
 You cannot Winter's flag unfurl 
 Above the storm king's towers, 
 For I have touched Spring's garment's hem 
 And o'er the trembling mountains 
 caught the perfume of the flowers ! 
 
THE RIVER'S EVENING SONG 
 
ovioz oviinava a'naviH hht 
 
HEN I shall cease to listen 
 And be alert to see 
 The miracle of Spring and 
 
 dawn, 
 The blossoming of tree, 
 
 And fail at eve to wonder 
 And watch the circling stars, 
 The little silver Pleiades, 
 The ruddy crest of Mars — 
 
 When I shall care no longer 
 To praise the mighty stream, 
 Or sail the great horizon's course 
 And linger there and dream — 
 
 Then let the thread be broken. 
 
 The little golden thread. 
 
 For, when no more these thrill my heart. 
 
 Myself might well be dead! 
 
21 llf 
 
GENERAL EDITION 
 
 THIS BOOK WAS PRINTED BY 
 THE PUBLISHERS' PRESS^ 
 CHICAGO, DURING THE FALL 
 OF 1911. THE EDITION IS LIMITED 
 TO FOUR HUNDRED COPIES. THE 
 FRONTISPIECE IS A PLATINUM 
 PHOTOGRAPH OF THE AUTHOR 
 BY MR. TAKUMA KAJIWARA. THE 
 HALFTONES WERE MADE FROM 
 THE ORIGINAL PAINTINGS BY 
 MR. SYLVESTER. 
 

 
 
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