ii pi 
 i ij ill 
 
 |i| lljl 
 
 iii! 
 
 nil! 
 
 Iliil! 
 W 
 
 iii 
 
 i ™ 
 
 ,ji|j]||!||j|l|||j||||t| Ij III 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 Oliap. Copyright No. 
 
 i ^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
MATTIE HOLLAND SWANN, 
 KATIK AND THE ''BIT O' STRING" BOY 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 ....POEMS.... 
 
 BY 
 
 Mattie HolIar)d Swaoo. 
 
 i9co; 
 
 THE EDITOR PUBLfSHING ^CO 
 
 OIKCINNATI 
 
90769 
 
 Library of Congre»« 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 DEC 19 1900 
 
 ^ Copyftehtertry 
 
 No 
 
 SECOND COPY 
 
 ORDER DIVISION 
 JAN 8 19Q1 I 
 
 
 Copyrighted by 
 
 MATTIE HOLLAND SWANN 
 
 1900 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 To the blessed little mother who has always 
 represented to me, all the best of life, sun- 
 shine, music and love. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Losted Things - - - - 1 
 
 Please Make it Brown - - - . l 
 
 The Business Woman - - - - 2 
 
 Ephraim's Legacy . - . . 2 
 
 A Bit o' String - - - - - 3 
 
 Mre. K ----- - 4 
 
 Our Jack - - - - - - 4 
 
 The Vacant House - - - - 5 
 
 The Coat and the Man - - - - 5 
 
 The Two Soldiers . - . . (•> 
 
 The Woman Dead - - - - - T 
 
 Alleine Connell - - - - - 8 
 
 Wylie - .... 8 
 
 Starry Eyes ..... 9 
 
 Helen ..----- 9 
 
 First Love _ - . . . K) 
 
 Her Youth - - - - - - 10 
 
 Eleanor - . - . - - 10 
 
 To General W. L. Cabell - - - - 10 
 
 Roberta - - - - - - 11 
 
 How to Succeed - - - - - 11 
 
 The Baddest Boy - - - - 11 
 
 A Bad Dream " - - - - - 12 
 
 A Texas Wind - - . - - 13 
 
 The End - - - - - - 13 
 
 When Katy's Home From School - - 14 
 
 Reward - - - - - - 15 
 
 Lost: A Piece of Advice - - - 15 
 
 That Child - - - - - - J6 
 
 Love Versus Charity - - - - 17 
 
 Goin' Home to Mother - - - - 18 
 
 Margaret . ... - 19 
 
 A Song - - - - - - 19 
 
 Stand Fast - . - - - 20 
 
iv CONTENTS 
 
 Seed Time and Blossoming - - - - 21 
 
 Barred ... - - - 21 
 
 High Tide - - - - - - 22 
 
 To the Daughters of the Confederacy - - 23 
 
 Muv'ver, Are you There*? - - - - 24 
 
 Children of the Wind ... - 25 
 
 Afterward - - - - - - 26 
 
 Remembrance - .... 26 
 
 Missing - - .- . - 27 
 
 Found: A Heart .... 28 
 
 The Reason Why - - - - 28 
 
 Mrs. Jim - - - - - - 29 
 
 The Heights - - - - - - 30 
 
 A Day and a Smile . ... 30 
 
 Leisure Land - - - - - - 31 
 
 Let it Be - - - - - - 33 
 
 Barriers - - - - - - 34 
 
 Returned - - - - - - 35 
 
 A Smile - - - - - - 36 
 
 Three Degrees . - - - - 37 
 
 Ghosts - - - - - - 37 
 
 Gathering up his Toys - - - - 38 
 
 In Memoriam . _ . . . 39 
 
 In Memoriam .... - 40 
 
 A Sunbeam - - - - - - 41 
 
 Just a Little Daily Fret - - - 41 
 
 Rest - - - - - - - 42 
 
 Lost! A Heart - - - - - 43 
 
 Life's Garment - - - - - 44' 
 
 A Creed -..--- 45 
 
 Finished - - - - - - 46 
 
 A Parting ..... 4T 
 
 No Hurryland - - - - - 48< 
 
 Soon ...... 49 
 
 Despair - - - - - - 49 
 
 Two Wishes - - - - - 50 
 
 Fruition - - - - - .51 
 
 Poverty ...... 52 
 
 Joys - - - - - - - 53 
 
 Grandmother ..... 53 
 
 Nature's Voices - - - - - 54 
 
 A Dead Hope ..... 5^5 
 
 In Memoriam - - - - - 56- 
 
 In Memoriam ----- 57 
 
CONTENTS V 
 
 Epitaph - - - - - - 58 
 
 In Memoriam - - - - - 58 
 
 An Old Letter - - - - - 58 
 
 Two Pictures ----- 59 
 
 Ran's Story - - - - - - 61 
 
 Friends ------ 62 
 
 Good-bye - - - - - 63 
 
 That Day - . ... 64 
 
 Her Last Letter - . - - - 65 
 
 In Memoriam ----- 66 
 
 From the Car Window - - - - 67 
 
 One Heart .... - 68 
 
 Living and Loving - - - - - 69 
 
 Slumber .-...- 70 
 
 That Same Jo - - - - - 71 
 
 Guardian Angels - - - - 72 
 
 Over the Border - - - - - 72 
 
 Sweet Words ..... 73 
 
 Broken, A Promise! - - ^ - - 74 
 
 Good-bye _ ... - 75 
 
 How to Measure a Man - - - - 75 
 
 Land o' the Leal _ ... 76 
 
 A Dead Summer - - - - - 77 
 
 Fire Pictures ----- 78 
 
 Reply - - - - - - 79 
 
 His Last Letter ----- 80 
 
 Last Days - - - - - - 81 
 
 Bon Soldat ----- 82 
 
 Two Sunsets - - - - - 83 
 
 May Time - . . - - 85 
 
 To-morrow - - - - - - 86 
 
 Query ... - - - 87 
 
 Waking Dreams - - - - - 88 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
Between Whiles. 
 
 LOSTED THINGS. 
 
 A lot of things are losted 
 
 That never get found at all, 
 But there's no use to cry about it; 
 
 If it's dolly, or top, or ball. 
 But will somebody rise an' 'splain it, 
 
 Why the losted tempers don't stay, 
 But come sneakin' around the corner. 
 
 And are home that very same day. 
 
 PLEASE MAKE IT BROWN. 
 
 Long years ago ; so many now, 
 
 I do not care to tell ; 
 For soon enough old Time will weave 
 
 O'er us, his dreary spell, 
 When we were children all at home 
 
 And breakfast time came 'round, 
 Our mother gave us what she thought, 
 
 Would keep us well and sound. 
 
 When pouring coffee, she put in, 
 
 Of milk, a generous share; 
 So much, indeed, we children thought 
 
 She hardly played us fair ; 
 And "Buddie boy," who stammered so, 
 
 (He since has won renown,) 
 Would view his cup and softly ask 
 
 Her, "Please to — m — make it broivn.^^ 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 I have been much about since then, 
 
 In many a state and town ; 
 And though I've met the smile of fate, 
 
 More often than her frown, 
 Yet oftentimes when life has been 
 
 Not quite a bed of down ; 
 I think I hear a child's voice say, 
 
 "Please m — make it hroxony 
 
 When things don't have the proper ring, 
 
 And sentiments don't rhyme 
 With acts — I always turn 
 
 Me back to childhood's time, 
 And wish for undiluted truth. 
 
 Intense and well boiled down. 
 Or, just to use the dear old words, 
 
 "Please make it hrowyi.'' 
 
 THE BUSINESS WOMAN. 
 
 Business sir, from head to toe, 
 Plenty o' what you call "go," 
 Yet quiet like, as any mouse, 
 Never'd know she's in the house. 
 Smart as any trap o' steel, 
 With a heart sir, 'at can feel, 
 Doin' jus' the work o' two. 
 ("Paid for o??e," yes that's all true.) 
 Here's to her steady liand an' brain. 
 An' all life's blessin's in her train. 
 
 EPHRAIM'S LEGACY. 
 
 My son, dis po' ole head o' mine 
 '111 soon be hot no mo.' 
 
 Dere's sumpin' I mus' say ter yo' 
 Befo' its time ter go. 
 
 Spread yore finanshul butter on, 
 If spread it thin yer mus'. 
 
 As ebenly as possible — 
 An' some lef fur de crus'. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Don' heap it up in spots, my boy, 
 An' some spots chokin' dry, 
 
 But spread it wid a keerful ban' 
 An' wid a study eye. 
 
 Don' wear good clo'se an' go widout 
 A good squar' meal ter eat. 
 
 Don' sport a cane when yo' ain' got 
 A whole shoe ter yo' feet. 
 
 Remember w'ot de ole man say — 
 
 To git along, yo' mus' 
 Spread yore finanshul butter smooth 
 An' leave some fur de crus'. 
 
 A BIT O' STRING. 
 
 There ain't a single blessed chair, 
 
 Nor washstand knob, nor door, 
 But has got a bit o' string, sir, 
 
 A hangin' to it sure. 
 You may cast your eagle peepers, 
 
 All round, 'pon everything, 
 And never fail to find it; 
 
 A ragged bit o' string. 
 
 He ain't much bigger'n sixpence; 
 
 The boy as ties 'em there. 
 He's playin' horsey now, it*. 
 
 With a bit o' striLg an' chair. 
 You can't untie a bundle, 
 
 But he's round, that teency mite, 
 Complainin' that he ''needs a string'' 
 
 To fly his little kite. 
 
 It's a dreadfuPsight o' work to go 
 
 Untyin' after him. 
 His mama says she never can 
 
 Keep things a lookin' trim. 
 Beats all 'at ever I did see. 
 
 He's thes so pesky smart, 
 I've even found them strings o' his 
 
 A hangin' to my heart. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 MRS. K. 
 
 Thought a sight o' Mrs. K — 
 
 Wish't she hadn't gone away, 
 
 Thought we'd got her here to stay. 
 
 Just a kind o' way she had, 
 
 Had to be piracious bad 
 
 Not to like the way of her ; 
 
 Tell you what my gentle sir — 
 
 Things got worse an' lonesomer. 
 
 Wonder if that neighborhood, 
 
 She'll reach some time (for she's that good) 
 
 Is needin' her as mnch as we, 
 
 'At give her all our love so free. 
 
 OUR JACK. 
 
 It's hard for you to b'lieve the things 
 
 That our dog Jack has done. 
 But mama 'll tell you it's the truth 
 
 'Bout every single one. 
 He goes with Rose, the Jersey cow, 
 
 When she's put out to graze — 
 And takes the greatest care of her 
 
 On bright and rainy days. 
 
 And when she gets her tail all full 
 
 Of those bad sticker burs, 
 Jack knows she hasn't sense enough, 
 
 In that old head of hers. 
 To get them out, so there he sits, 
 
 And pulls them one by one, 
 With his sharp teeth, and never stops 
 
 Till all the job is doi^. 
 
 And sometimes, in the dead of night. 
 
 He gives a funny bark, 
 That mama knows means "something wrong 
 
 Out here in the dark." 
 And sure enough, when they go out. 
 
 The calf's got to the cow, 
 Or Rose has pulled the hay all down ; 
 
 "I told you so — bow wow!" 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 He's such a very loving thing — 
 
 His heart's so big and kind, 
 That mama says she likes to think 
 
 He has a soul and mind. 
 I can't begin to tell you now 
 
 Quite all of his smart ways, 
 "None know him but to love him. 
 
 None name him but to praise." 
 
 THE VACANT HOUSE. 
 
 The tenant of the house has gone to parts unknown, 
 The heavy curtains — fringed with brown and gold, 
 Are close, close drawn and fastened down. 
 With not one ray of light to cheer the lone. 
 
 Ah well — the house was, after all, but clay. 
 Not made to last — it crumbled day by day. 
 When life — the tenant — left, God took the key. 
 He only knows the house's secret mystery. 
 
 THE COAT AND THE MAN. 
 
 There is much in the coat, besides the man, 
 (And I'm telling what I know) 
 Whatever its cloth, if spick and span, 
 Or if it has seen the roses blow 
 Many a spring — so much depends 
 Upon its birthdays — whether it counts 
 A very few or a score of friends. 
 
 Keener than any divining rod 
 In search of a hidden stream — 
 The coat of a man might tell a tale 
 Of things you would hardly dream. 
 Of a man who grasped you by the hand 
 (When the coat was new and fine) 
 Whose cordial grip and genial smile, 
 Thrilled thro' the heart like wine. 
 
BET WE EX WHILES 
 
 Of how he passed on the other side, 
 
 (When the coat had older grown) 
 
 Though the same man did within abide, 
 
 Save with some illusions flown. 
 
 Of a woman who laid her sunny head 
 
 'Gainst the poor old faded thing. 
 
 And loved you as well, though you had not bread. 
 
 As though you were crowned and King. 
 
 Why shouldn't a heart that's warm and true 
 
 And full as a heart can hold 
 
 Of manliness, (and men are few) 
 
 Be the same in a coat that's old? 
 
 God grant the time be coming near. 
 
 And that miracle yet may be. 
 
 When w^hatever coat a man may wear. 
 
 His soul's royal raiment we'll see. 
 
 THE TWO SOLDIERS. 
 
 One was a chapeau father wore, 
 With gory stains, and crown all rent. 
 Where bullets ploughed ; and written dim, 
 "Battle of Franklin— Sixty Four." 
 
 Close to the relic of grim old w^ar, 
 Down in the old trunk's dark recess, 
 The baby's w^hite lace hood I saw% 
 Its every fold a soft caress. 
 
 To the ancient hat with its tale of woe 
 And strife and suffering all in vain. 
 Its wearer dead long years ago. 
 Forgot the anguish and the pain. 
 
 But the little white hood adown the road 
 Of life, abreist with the rank and file. 
 Has still his good broad sword to wield, 
 And the march of many a weary mile. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 THE WOMAN DEAD. 
 
 Much good they said of the woman dead, 
 
 (Oh rare was the smile of her lips) 
 
 And they decked her as though for a bridal train^ 
 
 As though it were all of it not in vain ; 
 
 Now she had done with life's long pain, 
 
 And the careless clasp of her finger tips, 
 
 Held a rose, as for a bride just wed. 
 
 When she was living they did not say 
 A word they thought, for she had no need 
 (Or so they said) for a breath of praise; 
 And so she walked life's devious ways, 
 Threading its puzzling intricate maze; 
 And what if her heart did often bleed, 
 And hold grim old despair at bay. 
 
 If she but knew" ! do you suppose 
 
 She could not have understood 
 
 All the honor they meant to bring, 
 
 The generous words — all free from sting, 
 
 The blossoms fit for a Queen or King? 
 
 And not to know" ! Oh if she could! 
 
 And she lightly held her rose. 
 
 Closed are the eyes of the woman dead, 
 
 Weary from life's hot glare. 
 
 Sweetly cold in the smile that sealed 
 
 The firm lips that no word revealed. 
 
 Of all that the close shut eyes concealed, 
 
 Of all that a strong brave heart may bear. 
 
 By a word of praise unfed. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 ALLEINE CONNELL. 
 
 A mother here on this sad old earth, 
 
 Grieved for her darling far away. 
 
 Ever and ever thro' toil by day, 
 
 And bitter lonely tears by night, 
 
 Barely the tiniest rift of light, 
 
 Brightened the desolate path she trod 
 
 Though she knew her treasure safe with God. 
 
 A little white angel near the gate 
 
 Of Heaven — inside, with a listening face 
 
 Seemed to be waiting. She sadly said, 
 
 "My mother on earth grieves for me, dead. 
 
 O won't you send her a ladder of love. 
 
 That will reach as high as our heaven above?" 
 
 Strange peace the mother felt that day. 
 She knew there must be a time and way 
 To find the face of her little maid. 
 So staff in hand and unafraid. 
 Pushing aside the shades of sin 
 That we poor earthlings are walking in, 
 She came to the shining ladder of love. 
 That leaned on the walls of the courte above. 
 
 WYLIE. 
 
 For years the grass has waved above 
 
 His quiet breast. 
 The pines sung softly — lulling 
 
 Him to rest. 
 
 For years the house has heard no tone 
 
 Of his dear speech. 
 His hand has slipped the clasp of ours, 
 
 And out of reach 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Lies folded with its mate 
 
 In soft repose 
 Over his still heart, where the wild 
 
 Sad night wind blows. 
 
 And yet he still is with us, 
 True hearted ever. 
 
 Such lives as his move on and on, 
 Death ends them never. 
 
 STARRY EYES. 
 
 Starry eyes — you've been long away, 
 (Such a wee boy to be missed so much.) 
 Your tiny feet in strange paths stray. 
 We think of you, long for you day by day. 
 The stars at night with dumb surprise. 
 Fancy us not so overwise 
 To gaze so long with tear-wet eyes — 
 But pushing the dogmas and creeds aside 
 And marching with faces toward the east, 
 He who has told us "that one of the least" 
 Will safely to you our footsteps guide. 
 
 HELEN. 
 
 She ain't so big, sir — just 
 A weency thing 'at can 
 Reach up an' touch your heart, 
 Got little lovin' ways, 
 'At fill the daj^s with grace, 
 An' makes our weather fair. 
 With the sunshine of her face. 
 
10 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 It is a bud that rarely blooms 
 To fullest flower — its perfume 
 Lingers in the heart and brings 
 A breath of spring — long after the frost 
 Of life's cold winter settles 
 Thick upon us. 
 
 HER YOUTH. 
 
 What matter if a wintry rime 
 Is in her hair, when her dear eyes 
 Are full of youth's sweet summer time, 
 And in her mind's bright garden spot, 
 There is a wealth of tropic bloom 
 That folds one in its blest perfume. 
 
 ELEANOR. 
 
 There are a few sweet souls who never know, 
 Life's winter time — they always bring 
 Sunshine and a breath of spring 
 Along their train. The flowers blow 
 For them forever. They keep pace 
 Always with youth and love and grace. 
 
 TO GENERAL W. L. CABELL. 
 
 There is no age save of the heart, 
 And he who letteth not the frost 
 And rime of the cold world encrust, 
 His spirit — hath not lost 
 The sweetest thing life holds in trust, 
 His love and fellowship with man. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 11 
 
 ROBERTA. 
 
 Can you ever fancy her tall and stately, 
 With queenly walk of languid grace? 
 The little maid, will she talk sedately? 
 Miss laughing eyes with the dimpled face! 
 
 She is only about as tall as your heart is. 
 Answering its every loving throb. 
 Roberta sounds like an Ave Maria, 
 But the song to reach our hearts — is Bob. 
 
 HOW TO SUCCEED. 
 
 If you've a bad temper, don't lose it I pray, 
 Temper and wine improve with the keeping ; 
 Hold it in leash or some fine day 
 It will rise like a mad thing all barriers leaping. 
 
 Remember poor Job, and of him take a lesson 
 In patience. 'Tis a plant with a bitter seed. 
 But it bears rich fruit, sweet and refreshing, 
 That will ripen in time of need. 
 
 Human nature's your lesson ; study its pages. 
 That is the key note to all the rest ; 
 You'll arrive at the fact, after easy stages, 
 That square pegs fit into square holes best. 
 
 THE BADDEST BOY. 
 
 I wonder if there ever was 
 A boy so natshall mean, 
 That Santy didn't call on him, 
 An' he didn't care a bean! 
 
 I did hear my ma tellin' once 
 Of how a fellow played 
 Hookey, 'way from school all day, 
 An' then just stayed and stayed 
 
12 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 A minnow fisbin' — till 'twas time 
 For all the rest to come — 
 An' then he brought his books along 
 As innercent, to home. 
 
 But his ma found him out, 
 (All' say, Old Santy heard it too,) 
 An' what you spect was in his sock? 
 Why switches, not a few. 
 
 He didn't 'tickler mind the ones 
 His ma used up so free, 
 But switches stead o' goodies — 
 Was hard as X. Y. Z. 
 
 A BAD DREAM. 
 
 I had a dream the other night. 
 An' I fairly shook with fright. 
 Dreampt of stockin's everywhere 
 In the houses, here and there. 
 An' I felt so sorter sad 
 'At my heart ached awful bad, 
 Seein' of 'em danglin' there. 
 Jus' as empty — in the air. 
 
 Yes sir, empty ! not a one 
 
 Had been fxiled — 'twant no fun 
 
 To think about them babies' eyes 
 
 Lookin' red an' teary wise. 
 
 Then somebody up an' said: 
 
 ''Why Old Santy— he's gone dead — " 
 
 An' with that I cried an' cried 
 
 Cos' he'd been an' gone an' died; 
 
 Then the breakfast bell from down below. 
 
 Said, "Come down stairs, you lazy Joe," 
 
 An' I was glad my dream wan't so. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 13 
 
 A TEXAS WIND. 
 
 Sometimes he's quiet as a lamb 
 
 All day long, 
 Or else a-takin' small cat naps 
 
 'Tween hum an' song. 
 
 An' then jus' when all decent folks 
 
 Is safe abed 
 He's up an' tearin' round like mad 
 
 Upon his head. 
 
 Pokes his sharp nose in every place 
 
 Where he's no biz. 
 An' some one rises to remark, "The wind 
 
 Has riz." 
 
 Takes the clothes clear off the line, 
 
 O, my! 
 An' leaves 'em in another county 
 
 Not close by. 
 
 He's got a searchin' warrant for 
 
 Your very bones. 
 Finds 'em too, an' leaves you 
 
 Cold as stones. 
 
 Wish he'd go away an' stay? 
 
 Nope, not I. 
 Cause I need to be friends with him 
 
 'Bout next Julv. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Living — they dwelt as far apart 
 
 As might be ; when either heard 
 
 Good of the other — every gracious word 
 
 Was molten lead upon the other grudging heart. 
 
 Dead! Oh, strange sad fate, 
 
 They lie together — side by side, 
 
 They, whose paths could never verge too wide, 
 
 Ifet passed together thro' death's narrow gate. 
 
14 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 And humbled lie there — nothing loath, 
 Together. Oh, bitterness — if they but know. 
 Yet, green impartial grass on both graves grow, 
 And murmuring pines sing lullabies to both. 
 
 WHEN KATY'S HOME FROM SCHOOL. 
 
 I haven't had so much as just 
 The slightest glimpse, it's true, sir, 
 ■ But I am sure she's home and trust 
 To make it clear to you, sir. 
 
 Let's go into the dining room, 
 
 The safe door's open wide, 
 
 And things there look all upside down. 
 
 None in their place abide. 
 
 There's crumbs upon the table too, 
 And many on the floor. 
 Her gossamer, 1 grieve to say, 
 Is hanging on the door. 
 
 Her bonnet, that would if it could 
 Keep her fair face freckle free, 
 Looks just as though it tried to make 
 Apologies to me. 
 
 There's no use asking how I know 
 That Katy's home from school, 
 'Tis plain to all, save those ''who sit 
 'Pon a three legged stool." 
 
 A book, a slate, and pencil box, 
 Untidy sprawling there. 
 Just where they hadn't ought to be, 
 Upon a parlor chair. 
 
 I guess you're willin' to admit, 
 That worked by well-known rule, 
 And the evidence all in, will prove 
 That Katy's home from school. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 1^ 
 
 REWARD. 
 
 When he the hero died — men said 
 "He could not be replaced — his like 
 There never was;" and thousands came 
 To look upon him and to call his name 
 With bated breath, he who lay — 
 Pale and laurel crowned that mournful day, 
 The idol of the nation, cold and dead. 
 ***** 
 
 A woman's face, old, worn and thin, 
 
 Was in a coffin. Few were there; 
 
 Her children wept — the neighbors tried 
 
 To give such comfort as they might. Aside, 
 
 They said: "She is so weary it is best," 
 
 And they were glad she was at rest ; 
 
 To wish her back were almost sin. 
 
 In heaven that day the gates came wide. 
 
 The man of fame on earth and she who left 
 
 Few to mourn her, both passed through 
 
 The jewelled portals. Strangely told. 
 
 The sweetest welcome and the crown of gold 
 
 Went to the humble mother, worn and old. 
 
 The honors to a nation's love on earth 
 
 Had been his own — and he had had their worth. 
 
 LOST: A PIECE OF ADVICE. 
 
 "Get us a bank book!" and what for, pray? 
 
 To jot down the last comments of 
 
 An irate baker? or to set forth at length 
 
 Our urgent landlord's last oration? 
 
 'Tis true, we might write up the eloquence 
 
 Of that patient and long suffering man, 
 
 The butcher. But what's the use? 
 
 Suppose for sake of argument. 
 
 We tried your bank book, as a means 
 
 Of unraveling the tangled state 
 
 Of our finances. 
 
16 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Methinks the credit side would soon 
 
 Develop an alarming case of dropsy, 
 
 And the debit, with lean starved visage earn 
 
 Our heartiest sympathy. 
 
 This too in such short order as to down 
 
 Even the soaring eagle courage 
 
 Of an S. M. agent. 
 
 Your idea's good — go plant it then 
 
 In fertile ground, w^her'^; it may bravely grow — 
 
 And thrive, nor drop it in such sterile soil as this^ 
 
 Where nothing lives save stern necessities, 
 
 That choke and sap the life of such hot-house 
 
 Plants — as bank book. 
 
 THAT CHILD. 
 
 That child is mighty sleepv, 
 
 So he says. 
 His ma she don't believe him. 
 
 Knows his ways. 
 She bathes him though, and with 
 
 A kiss o' two 
 Tucks him in bed as warm — 
 
 Thinks she's through ! 
 
 Oh no, indeed — she's just begun. 
 
 For now. 
 He says he's sleepy not a bit. 
 
 I vow, 
 I never saw a child stay 'wake 
 
 So long. 
 He turns an' tw^ists about an' sings 
 
 His favorite song. 
 
 All 'bout a little skylark 
 
 Up in the sky, 
 Over and over again until 
 
 We're nigh 
 Distracted. Six times an' more 
 
 His ma would place 
 The cover back upon that child 
 
 Up to his face. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 17 
 
 Then 'fore she can sit down 
 
 It's off again, 
 Until she talks of switches and he says 
 
 He's got a pain. 
 His ma she rubs that child, an' then 
 
 He's well. 
 Then there's "a piece 'bout Jack 
 
 He wants to tell." 
 
 'Bout then he thinks he'd like 
 
 Another bed. 
 An' sure the thing is done as quick 
 
 As said. 
 He gets what he's been needin' long,. 
 
 That grew 
 On the peach tree in the garden. 
 
 When he's through 
 
 Snifflin' — an' snuggles down 
 
 By an' by, 
 Says he '"just loves his ma 
 
 High as the sky." 
 'Taint but a minute more at we 
 
 Look an' see, 
 Him sleep — an' lookin' angel like 
 
 That child— he be. 
 
 LOVE vs. CHARITY. 
 
 'Twas just a simple song of home. 
 
 Sung in a childish treble, 
 That somehow touches hearts that roam^ 
 
 And — like a common pebble 
 
 Cast on the water's surface smooth. 
 E'en makes a great commotion, 
 
 As tiny things oft will, forsooth, 
 In our hearts' turbid ocean. 
 
 The little trembling hand outheld, 
 
 Was filled to overflowing. 
 The hurried donor's steps compelled 
 
 Another way were going. 
 
18 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 But one passed not, and pausing there, 
 Clasped close the little fingers, 
 
 Speaking words as soft as song, 
 To heart of that poor singer. 
 
 Upon the child's wan cheek she left 
 A soft kiss — and another 
 
 On the forehead all bereft 
 Of kisses from a mother. 
 
 In counting o'er her treasures bright, 
 In cold and dreary garret. 
 
 The childish eyes grew dim that night; 
 She weighed not gifts by carat. 
 
 A slip of paper with a name. 
 
 And *'come to me in trouble," 
 
 The memory of two kisses came 
 
 And outweighed the silver double. 
 
 GOIN' HOME TO MOTHER. 
 
 I'm goin' home to w^here I used to be. 
 Before I'd counted up so many years. 
 Or dimmed my eyes with such hot tears ; 
 Goin' to once more be young an' free. 
 And lay my tired head on mother's knee. 
 
 Strange how it takes a feller back so fast, 
 To them other days so long time past; 
 There's somethin' in that hand o' hers. 
 That young thoughts and young fancies stirs 
 From out the mouldy heap where they've been cast 
 
 By gray old time. I just want 
 To say my prayers like I did 
 When she would say 'em first and bid 
 Me foller her. No sweeter voice 
 Ever made another heart rejoice. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 19 
 
 I'm goin' to lie abed and sleep late, 
 Just to feel how good it is to hear 
 Her say— "Going to sleep all day, my dear?" 
 An' then lie still an' wait 
 Until I feel her kiss. Hard, hard fate- 
 To cheat me of her kisses all these years. 
 Kind Heaven, let me drift no more 
 Beyond the safe an' happy shore. 
 Of home. No aching eyes, nor heart, but rather 
 Likest heaven— goin' home to mother. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 summer breeze that wanders 
 In and out, high and low, 
 
 1 listen for the echo of her laughter. 
 But hear you only in the tree tops blow. 
 
 sunshine, as 1 watch you flitting 
 Past the shadows here and there, 
 
 1 miss the glory and the brightness. 
 Of her sweet face everywhere. 
 Breeze and flowers — you too, sunshine, 
 Do you miss her? Past the blue 
 
 Of the far off sky— we'll find her, 
 
 The little maid; ours the rue. 
 
 Hers the flowers— and God's smile shining through, 
 
 A SONG 
 
 However poor the place, I'd never know 
 
 If her dear face were there. 
 
 If in a torrid land or 'mid the snow ; 
 
 To be with her, my prayer ; 
 
 O sweet the simplest crust 
 
 She shared with me. 
 
 Alone, but ashes, dust. 
 
 All else would be. 
 
20 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 No chords can ever charm 
 
 Like her soft speech, 
 
 Blest past all future harm, 
 
 If in its reach. 
 
 O if she were but near, 
 
 And I could bow 
 
 To feel her blessed touch 
 
 Upon my brow. 
 
 Drifting on Life's restless ocean 
 From friends and from countt-y afar, 
 A mother's unfaltering devotion 
 Will shine thro' the gloom like a star. 
 
 STAND FAST. 
 
 O heart, 'gainst whom the wind and wave 
 Of fate whirls fast and cruel. 
 Didst never see old ocean beat 
 And lash himself in rage complete, 
 The while made ready many a grave, 
 For ship, for man and jewel. 
 
 Didst thou not see a rock-bound coast. 
 Its outlines stern, unsmiling 
 Against the sky, whence they have stood, 
 Those firm old rocks, 'gainst time and flood 
 And mocked the angry sea's wild boast, 
 Its idle hours beguiling. 
 
 Let come what may — the cruel sea 
 
 Of circumstance come surging 
 
 As if tb swallow thee and thine — 
 
 But stand thou firm, O heart of mine. 
 
 Not flinching or diverging 
 
 From out thy path and thou shalt be 
 
 As those gray rocks. And Fate, who knows 
 When she has met defeat, will call 
 The hungry waves that soon are calm 
 And mild as any timid lamb 
 Back to their lairs. So doth fall 
 The swollen seas of human woes. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 21 
 
 Stand thou but fast, O heart of gold, 
 Prepared for aught that doom may send, 
 The worst can be no more than worst, 
 And if thou steel thee from the first 
 Thy stronghold thou wilt sure defend. 
 And hold thy own serene and bold. 
 
 SEED TIME AND BLOSSOMING. 
 
 Suppose thou hadst a gift 
 
 Of magic seedlings — that where e'er 
 
 Thy footsteps strayed, thy hand. 
 
 Should scatter tiny things that sprung 
 
 Into a beauteous wealth of bloom, and bland, 
 
 Soft, fragrant breath that flung 
 
 Its sweetness far and near. 
 
 Greater your magic gift I trow, 
 
 For as you pass along your way 
 
 Many a little, tender word of cheer, 
 
 A hand clasp or a sunny smile. 
 
 Will scatter blossoms in some pathway drear. 
 
 And shorten life's rough journey many a mile. 
 
 Then give them without stint each day. 
 
 BARRED. 
 
 Closed is thy gate, O year, and barred. 
 
 All our puny strength is unavailing. 
 
 And the woe of our weak human wailing 
 
 Will not bring back thy pathways daisy starred. 
 
 Only through those bars adamantine 
 Shall we catch bright glimpses here and there 
 Of our own pleasant places, dazzling fair. 
 As wreaths of blossoms amaranthine. 
 
 We are shut out — and yet — and yet — 
 
 I fear your strongest bolts will never keep 
 
 The frowning wraiths of deeds I pray may sleep, 
 
 Nor wake to smite us with regret. 
 
22 BET WE EX WHILES 
 
 But if your iron bars should futile be 
 
 And those dark things arise their graves above, 
 
 I pray you, let some angel deed of love 
 
 That once was mine, come too, to comfort me. 
 
 HIGH TIDE. 
 
 Oh, the bliss of it! just to lie 
 With grass for a pillow, the world aloof, 
 The rhythmic wash of the tireless sea 
 That brings rich freight of dreams to me, 
 And the endless length and breadth of sky 
 For a sunny roof. 
 
 No stern old Thought, with his wretched train 
 
 Of weary fancies sick and sad 
 
 That move in the same old beaten track. 
 
 Backward and forward — forward and back, 
 
 With never a turn to the long old lane 
 
 And nothing sweet or glad. 
 
 Strange how the years go backward, too, 
 Dropping behind by fives and tens 
 So fast that wrinkles are smoothed away 
 And brown the hair that had grown gray; 
 Lips thrill warm with youth's own hue. 
 And life's blurred lens 
 
 Grows clear again with the roseate light 
 That comes with the place and the time. 
 With the soft salt air, the sea and the sky, 
 The gleam of sail boats wafted by. 
 And great ships seeking a far-oif clime 
 Fading away from sight. 
 
 All things harsh and sad and wrong 
 Take to them wings and fly away, 
 While life grows young and blest and true 
 As God's own heaven of shining blue; 
 Sea and heart sing a deep sweet song 
 The livelong day. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 2S 
 
 TO THE DAUGHTERS OF THE CONFEDERACY. 
 
 No lack is there of poets and of sages 
 Who dipped their vibrant pens in fire and tears, 
 To chronicle thro' all the coming ages 
 Deeds that the whole wide world reveres. 
 Whether his rank was of the high or lowest, 
 Fair garlands deck his last long, narrow home, 
 Whether a slab of pine or costly marble 
 Rises above his head in stately dome. 
 
 Many a marble shaft shines — whitely gleaming 
 
 O'er our broad South — in grassy spot. 
 
 And many an eye with saddest tears is streaming 
 
 For the dear dead that still are unforgot. 
 
 The passing years but add a brighter halo 
 
 To crown the memory of those lost and dear. 
 
 The dauntless ones who faced grim death serenely 
 
 And answered to the angel roll call — "Here!" 
 
 No need of praise, 'twill come unstinted 
 Thro' all the centuries of gray old time ; 
 'Twill come in song, in history and story. 
 Of how they yielded up their life's sweet prime. 
 There is one theme on which the pen should linger^ 
 Strange hitherto to those of brightest fame. 
 That creeps not into song of one sweet singer, 
 And I must speak, if yet in measure lame, 
 
 Of him who in the pride of youth exulting 
 
 Left her — with her piteous eyes and aching heart — 
 
 A weak, frail thing who yet has sent him from her. 
 
 Knowing, feeling life itself depart. 
 
 He, to stir and action — she, returning 
 
 To the beaten track of trivial things 
 
 That thralling body, left the soul impatient 
 
 Seeking its absent mate on tireless wings. 
 
 When stern want thrust in his haggard visage 
 The heart that ached grew cold and wild with fear. 
 Oh, slight the barrier of her small white fingers, 
 And the little fair-haired ones — how dear! 
 
24 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 He, the absent one, may now be lying 
 With sightless eyes turned toward heaven's blue 
 Never to meet hers again with love undying, 
 Or bless her with their light so strong and true. 
 
 Some mother gave perhaps her only treasure, 
 Her one brave boy, whom yet she may not keep ; 
 Her little lad — the babe that oft has rested 
 His bright head on her breast in sweetest sleep. 
 Alas! the boyish head will reach no more 
 The blessed haven that its childhood knew. 
 Low, low^ it lies when past the battle's roar. 
 Dabbled with blood and damp with death's cold dew 
 
 Oh, bride that was to be — and widowed 
 Ere bridal wreath could grace thy shining hair, 
 Thou hast, indeed, a crown of sharp thorns pressing 
 Its cruel weight into thy forehead fair. 
 Many a hero maimed and scarred, yet living, 
 Came back to tell of struggles past and done : 
 Many a woman's heart lay dead within her 
 To wake no more w4th any rising sun. 
 
 Our pens may rust and leave to cold oblivion 
 Their angel courage and unfaltering trust. 
 When life and hope and all indeed but honor 
 Lay prone and broken down there in the dust. 
 They need no marble shaft to tell their story — 
 Nay — I mistake when I would take their part, 
 They long ago found their full meed of glory — 
 In God — and a woman's faithful heart. 
 
 MUV'VER, ARE YOU THERE? 
 
 I hear a small voice singing all day long 
 
 Just the merest snatches of a song, 
 
 Building a house of blocks or digging wells. 
 
 And then a sudden silent pause that tells 
 
 He's thought of something — next I hear 
 
 An anxious quavering — "Muv'ver are you there?" 
 
 And never ceasing, still at intervals 
 
 All through the empty rooms the query rings, 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 25 
 
 The lonely little voice that no more sings, 
 
 But filled with poignant notes of vague alarm 
 
 Loses the smoothness of its childish calm, 
 
 And vibrant through the house, almost a prayer, 
 
 A trembling, frequent, "Muv'ver are you there?" 
 
 Some day, alas ! shall mother sit and wait 
 
 Alone in empty rooms, or by the gate 
 
 Look up and down, expecting it may be, 
 
 The little lad who answered Fate's decree! 
 
 Oh empty homes — where rosy faces grown 
 
 To bearded men — past whom the years have flown — 
 
 Though many claims may draw them other where, 
 
 Back in the old place, "Mother still is there!" 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE WIND. 
 
 You say it is only my eerie fancy. 
 
 And you think 'tis the old gray oak tree sighing 
 
 When the cold wind lashes its poor bare branches. 
 
 And sends them shuddering and flying. 
 
 Nay, listen again, outside the window, 
 
 Down the desolate length of its icy pane 
 
 I can hear the soft trailing of ghostly fingers, 
 
 A hand that falteringly pauses and lingers. 
 
 Pleading to be let in out of the rain. 
 
 It must be the night wind's wayward children; 
 
 They surely grow weary when wandering far; 
 
 May even lose sight of the trail they followed, 
 
 Forgetting the place of their guiding star. 
 
 But when in despair I raise the window 
 
 To take them in, they have wandered away. 
 
 To carry the music of their soft wailing 
 
 And the uncertain Round of something trailing, 
 
 The sound of their ghostly little fingers 
 
 And their minor chords, among other singers. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 AFTERWARD. 
 
 Oh the piteous depths of silence 
 When beloved voices cease, 
 And leave us a bitter patience 
 For their heritage of peace. 
 
 Life's duties, stern, insistent. 
 Move on in ceaseless round, 
 Cold hearted — never missing 
 The one beloved sound. 
 
 Only time, who is kinder, 
 Leads us gently away. 
 Toward the eastward country 
 Where the light of a brighter day 
 
 Flushes the sky, and nearer, 
 As life's worn garment falls 
 We shall hear the voices dearer 
 Than all in memory's halls. 
 
 'Twill not seem long — the waiting — 
 Forgotten the pain and the scars 
 In the thrill of delight at the meeting. 
 Past the limit and lis:ht of the stars. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Some night when you shall softly say she is asleep. 
 And know that you will need no more your vigil keep. 
 And when you've pressed upon the eyes that will not 
 
 wake 
 One kiss, all warm with life — for dear love's sake 
 
 Leave all my faults — just how many God will know — 
 There with the poor clay 'neath where the grasses blow. 
 But carry with you this one thought I pray, 
 Through waking night and weary careworn day : 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 27 
 
 "She loved so well" — just that and nothing more, 
 And I shall feel it to my dead heart's core. 
 Loved so well, that once to call her "friend" 
 Was still to know its truth to life's far end. 
 
 MISSING. 
 
 I owned a number of swift winged hours, 
 
 Bright winged, beloved, beauteous things, 
 
 Willing, true hearted messengers of ours, 
 
 With heaven's light upon their restless wings. 
 
 I held them as hostages to Father Time. 
 
 One burden I had planned each wing should bear; 
 
 Some sweet, bright deed, some pure and noble thought, 
 
 A holy dream, perhaps, an earnest prayer, 
 
 I knew their pinions were so strong and sure, 
 Straight and unerring they would find their way ; 
 The instinct of the homing bird is truer 
 Than blossoms to the call of early May. 
 I heard a gentle whispering sound about me, 
 A rustle like the whirr of tiny wings. 
 And then I felt a sense of loss and silence. 
 Like the passing of a loved voice brings. 
 
 Lo! far upward in the leagues of space. 
 In the loving last rays of the setting sun, 
 That glorifies the humblest and the poorest place, 
 Flew fast my truant hours, one by one. 
 Around them little midgets quick of wing, 
 The robber moments that had set them free. 
 My messengers that whatever Time may bring, 
 Can never, in the world, come back to me. 
 
28 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 FOUND: A HEART. 
 
 Found: a heart of virgin gold ; 
 
 Thougii fashioned quaintly, 
 'Twas cast in a long since vanished mould, 
 And the chasing shows, of this trinket old, 
 
 Upon it faintly. 
 
 Long years ago 1 passed it by. 
 
 Unseen, uncaring. 
 Strange, other hands have let it lie, 
 Nor ever come to it anigh. 
 
 Its charm unsharing. 
 
 It is not polished over fine, 
 
 I tell you plainly, 
 The graver's hands left little sign, 
 Upon this rugged heart of mine. 
 
 Or touched it vainly. 
 
 I am content — for I am sure, 
 
 Past unbelieving, 
 That furnace fires have made it pure, 
 All life's rough wear it will endure; 
 
 I am not grieving 
 
 That all the world may never know, 
 
 It's true refining, 
 Beyond the mere fine polished show. 
 The gleam and meretricious glow. 
 
 Of surface shining. 
 
 THE REASON WHY. 
 
 I dinna understand the reason why, 
 Tho' we toil all the day — my Jock and I — 
 Yet poverty sits still within our cottage door, 
 And each day wears the look that yester' wore. 
 My Jock hath brawn an' muscle — aye an' brain. 
 Yet duller men in chariots pass him by. 
 
 The reason why 
 I canna* say, but this I know, 
 No nobler heart than Jock's could God bestow. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 29 
 
 We eat our simple fare in thankfu'ness 
 
 Nor crave the dainties spread before the high, 
 
 My Jock and I. 
 They quaff life's wine, an' we the lees, 
 An' wha can tell the reason why. 
 
 Ah weel — a little while an' we shall ken 
 Where cowslips grow an' green grass waves 
 
 Upon our humble graves , 
 It will be well for my dear Jock an' I, 
 We both shall ken life's reason why. 
 
 MRS. JIM. 
 
 She had a soul, had Mrs. Jim, 
 
 Too big for her body lithe and slim. 
 
 Beauty? I aint no call to note 
 
 The color of the nightingale's coat; 
 
 Only listen and wander back 
 
 Over memory's world wide track, 
 
 Thinkin' the old thoughts, sad an' sweet, 
 
 Follerin' mem'ry's flyin' feet 
 
 Back to the days that used to be. 
 
 When life was glad as glad could be. 
 
 What great deed did she ever do? 
 
 Don't know's that w^ould intrust you ; 
 
 Only a trifle here an' there, 
 
 Aliftin' up somebody's care, 
 
 Leavin' a smile where a sigh had been, 
 
 Makin' you feel like she w^as kin, 
 
 Makin' your heart feel good an' warm 
 
 When it had been in a beatin' storm; 
 
 Can't tell much what she did do, 
 
 Just playin' the angel through an' through. 
 
30 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Because you see me plodding day by day 
 Down here in the valley 'tween the hills, 
 
 Seemingly content as any simple shepherd 
 Who tends his flocks and listens to the rills, 
 
 O do not doubt that I am slowly, surely tending 
 Toward the summit up there near the blue, 
 
 Where tint of hills and far off sky seem blending 
 Into the calm where we shall find the clue 
 
 Of our lost selves. The way is tangled, hidden, 
 But surely there's a footpath somewhere near. 
 
 'Mid rugged cliffs and boulders tempest ridden, 
 I yet shall find all that I hold most dear. 
 
 The way seems long, at times my feet grow weary, 
 The heart grows faint — the goal so long deferred. 
 
 From those who've reached the summit no kind zephyr 
 Brings back to our lone hearts one tender word. 
 
 Yet I plod on, tho' weak, and sometimes failing 
 To keep the path — I may not wander far, 
 
 For hope, whose beauty knows no age, no paling. 
 Shines just ahead, a bright and guiding star. 
 
 A DAY AND A SMILE. 
 
 day to be glad in, so full of shine. 
 And balmy with hints of later Spring, 
 Dropped down from the glow of the sky as fine 
 As any my lady May will bring. 
 
 You make me think of a certain smile, 
 
 1 cannot choose but remember well, 
 A smile so dear, so free from guile, 
 That speech is weak and poor to tell. 
 
 How it makes all things seem more true, 
 How nothing could go astray or wrong. 
 In the light of the spring clear eyes of blue, 
 And awakes in one's heart the sweetest song. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 31 
 
 O day so balmy, so full of }/OUth, 
 
 Thy burden of care cast to the winds ; 
 
 O smile so perfect, so full of truth, 
 
 Can you tell me what is the tie that binds ; 
 
 You two together on memory's wall, 
 
 Where hang the pictures that I love best. 
 
 O smile whose sweetness will never pall, 
 
 O day far brighter than all the rest. 
 
 You are not forgot when the sun goes down. 
 
 And the skies fade gray and the stars come out ; 
 
 O smile, ye will live, say years to come. 
 
 Through times of anguish, pain and doubt. 
 
 LEISURE LAND. 
 
 If all the strained despairing tension, 
 
 Of life could be relaxed. 
 The tight-drawn heart strings loosed awhile. 
 
 That were so long o'ertaxed. 
 The weary brain that daily thought 
 
 And hoped and schemed and planned, 
 Nerving itself anew to meet 
 
 Life's fresh demand, 
 
 Could rest from effort, only wandering o'er 
 
 The field of happy thought. 
 Living but for the day of love. 
 
 By hope and pleasure sought; 
 With never the very faintest sting 
 
 Of unkind memory, 
 And ne'er a sigh or breath of pain. 
 
 For the misty -yet to be. 
 
 Do you think that we could fold our hands 
 
 And ever be satisfied? 
 We have grown so used to the striving. 
 
 And the stern demands of pride. 
 Could the heartstrings loose without breaking? 
 
 They are strained so tight you see. 
 And the brain has been plotting and planning 
 
 So long — it would not be free. 
 
32 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 So lon^ it would not be bounded, 
 
 By the walls of leisure land — 
 It would weary of calm and quiet 
 
 And soft waves lapping sand. 
 It would yearn for its ancient kingdom. 
 
 Its storm tossed foamy crest, 
 The sweet wild joy of freedom. 
 
 The days devoid of rest. 
 
 No — I think we shall keej) on plodding 
 
 As long as the light shall last, 
 With our eyes on the land of leisure. 
 
 That is nearing us so fast. 
 For the forces pent up within us. 
 
 Of heart and hand and brain, 
 Would fain tread even measure 
 
 In spite of the prick of pain. 
 
 We shall only leave off our striving 
 
 And take a breath of ease 
 When we sight the land of promise. 
 
 That only in dreams one sees. 
 It may not be long, for 1 fancy 
 
 That just between sunset and dark^ 
 O'er the blue outline of mountains 
 
 And past even the song of the lark 
 
 I see just the faintest reflection 
 
 Of its glory and beauty and calm, 
 That changes the discord of living. 
 
 Into music that sounds like a psalm. 
 And I wait, for my soul can be patient^ 
 
 And we shall be glad of a rest, 
 I think — nay I'm sure that it lieth 
 
 Over there somewhere in the west. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 LET IT BE. 
 
 "Let it be coffee" — the children said, 
 When Mama poured kettle tea instead, 
 And Mama smiled at the "let it be;" 
 If they played it was coffee so would she. 
 May be the taste seemed better so 
 And they were content — so to let it go. 
 
 Why cannot we grown up children, too, 
 "Let it be" rosemary instead of rue? 
 What is the harm in a make believe 
 If it gives us ever so short reprieve 
 From the g^rinding cares of a prosy life. 
 Wearing away in ceaseless strife. 
 
 Nobody's harmed if my wormwood draught 
 
 In the light and grace of a smile is quaffed. 
 
 Does it matter too — if I eat my crust 
 
 So that it <!eems not dry as dust? 
 
 Not all may drink from the chalice sweet, 
 
 Not all of life's white bread may eat. 
 
 "Let it be" wine; who is to know 
 It never has been where the wine grapes grow. 
 This draught we drink with a sparkling eye, 
 As though it were golden Chartreuse — why 
 What does it matter? Let's make believe. 
 And lull our hearts with the sweet reprieve! 
 
34 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 BARRIERS. 
 
 What does it matter if love should meet 
 
 Scorn, indifference — hate, at last, 
 
 If it but once has had its past, 
 
 If it but tasted the chalice sweet. 
 
 When well nigh perished with thirst and fast. 
 
 Only the memory of God above. 
 With its infinite hold on the tiniest things 
 Can equal the deathless mind of love, 
 No matter how far it may choose to rove. 
 Nor how it may try its strength of wings. 
 
 Sometimes indeed it may seem to sleep. 
 
 And many a time appeareth dead, 
 
 A stone at the foot, a cross at the head. 
 
 And they who have stayed to watch and weep. 
 
 Have left it alone in its quiet bed. 
 
 But after the stone is rolled away. 
 The pallid thing we have fancied cold, 
 Secure and still in its deathly mould. 
 Sometimes comes in the twilight gray 
 To wake our hearts with the thrill of old. 
 
 What does it matter that you and I 
 Never may know where the other be? 
 Between us the waves of a boundless sea. 
 No world wide distance can signify. 
 Like the wall of silence 'tween you and me. 
 
 And yet sometimes I feel you near ; 
 Distance is nothing — no space can mar, 
 Nor time — nor cold indifference bar 
 Your heart from mine — I have no fear 
 That even Heaven would be too far 
 
 If you were there and I left here. 
 For our souls to visit. 'Tis sweet to know 
 Sometime, somewhere, when the sun is low. 
 And the rush of day is departed, dear, 
 I'll come to you there in the afterglow. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 35 
 
 RETURNED. 
 
 She hath been long away, 
 
 A whole sad year, 
 And now, O blest to-day, 
 
 I feel her near. 
 
 I catch the scent of violets 
 That only she doth wear, 
 
 Caught and prisoned, like my heart. 
 In the sunshine of her hair. 
 
 Many a tear hath dimmed mine eye 
 
 Since she was here, 
 Many a heart ache have I known. 
 
 And many a fear. 
 
 While she — no shadows mar, 
 
 Her beauteous face. 
 Her smiling heaven blue eyes. 
 
 Her witching grace. 
 
 But no less dear is she because 
 
 My grief's my own. 
 She is so fair — (tho' seen thro' tears) 
 
 To look upon. 
 
 I bid her welcome — then who knows. 
 What change a day may bring, 
 
 If only for her winsome looks, 
 She is so dear — O Spring! 
 
36 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 A SMILE. 
 
 Somebody gave me a smile last night — 
 
 Who was the giver — I do not know, 
 
 Only the smile was so sweet — so bright — 
 
 It was born in her eyes and reached its height, 
 
 Then swift as the swiftest breezes blow — 
 
 Flashing down to the sweet red mouth, 
 
 Died in her dimples. Winds of the South, 
 
 Ye never beheld just such a smile, 
 
 In all your wanderings of many a mile. 
 
 Not a coquettish smile at all, 
 
 But it gave me the fairest of all fair dreams; 
 
 If she's dark or blonde I cannot recall, 
 
 O'er my senses there rests the thrall 
 
 Of the canny smile — that somehow seems 
 
 Some other less happy soul has lost. 
 
 And it fell to my share — the tempest tossed — 
 
 She did not think it worth her while, 
 
 To measure the distance she sent a smile. 
 
 Who was the blest — I'd like to know 
 Who sees that look in her beautiful eyes, 
 Who — happy — may wander to and fro, 
 And never too far for their love-lit glow — 
 Gentle as radiance from Paradise? 
 No old time Knight would do or dare 
 More than I — what would I care, 
 Should all the tempters of earth beguile. 
 If mine the talisman of her smile? 
 
 I know it came to me not by right, 
 Mistakenly floated past my way, 
 But if one clasp a star in darkest night. 
 To gladden the gloom and shed its light, 
 Who could blame me — would you, pray? 
 'Tis no harm to keep it — a smile astray 
 From its rightful owner — and some sweet day 
 Haply somebody — with eyes as true — 
 Will give me a smile, and mean it, too. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 37 
 
 THREE DEGREES. 
 
 A hurrying and rushing with the throng 
 
 Thrusting and being thrust aside in turn, 
 A striving and fighting against wrong, 
 To always with an endless fever burn, 
 Envy and strife, 
 This is — Life. 
 
 A blissful quiet and a happy rest, 
 
 A closing weary eyelids over sightless eyes, 
 Folding work-marred hands on marble breast, 
 Lying 'neath God's sunny skies. 
 Near daisies' breath — 
 This is— Death. 
 
 But some unhappy souls do find 
 
 A most unhappy medium 'twixt the two. 
 And always thro' the fret and tangle wind 
 Their anguished way — and die a thousand 
 Deaths — while few 
 
 Can see the strife. 
 
 And this is — Death in Life. 
 
 GHOSTS. 
 
 There were tears in the voice of the wind last night, 
 
 As I heard him come hurrying by. 
 Just lingering a moment among the pines, 
 
 With a sound like a human sigh. 
 He slept for a little while — and then 
 
 Awoke with a cry of pain. 
 So full of despair that I could not turn 
 
 Back to my book again. 
 
 I was reading the tale of an old romance 
 
 While my fire burned redly low. 
 And fancied I saw in its roseate light 
 
 These actors of long ago. 
 
38 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 But the cold night wind with ghostly strength 
 
 Rattled my window pane, 
 Rhyming my dreamy firelight thoughts 
 
 With its sorrowful refrain. 
 
 There must have been many a ghost abroad, 
 
 They are doomed to be still, poor things, 
 Till a friendly wind like that last night 
 
 Lends them a voice — and wings. 
 There was one like the voice of a little child 
 
 Wailing in grief and fright, 
 Away from its mother's sheltering arms, 
 
 Lost in the gloom and the night. 
 
 And one was the cry of a broken heart, 
 
 (For hearts do break — they say,) 
 That may not rest in its quiet grave 
 
 Where the rank green grasses sway. 
 One was the voice of a sin-tossed soul 
 
 Bearing the mark of Cain, 
 Seeking the grace it may not find, 
 
 Till the dead shall rise again. 
 
 Young dawn is near, and each pallid ghost 
 
 Creeps back to its lonely grave; 
 The night is theirs but the palest ray 
 
 Of daylight they may not rave. 
 My romance lies unfinished yet. 
 
 For its actors of long ago 
 Cannot speak to my soul like the ghostly things 
 
 That roam when the night winds blow. 
 
 GATHERING UP HIS TOYS. 
 
 He has fallen asleep — has baby, 
 
 Tired of so many toys. 
 That each in its turn delighted 
 
 This king of all restless boys. 
 
 They are scattered from parlor to kitchen. 
 And mother goes, gathering up 
 
 A ball, a horse and an engine. 
 Some blocks and a wee tin cup. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 And smiling bestows on the sleeper 
 A thistledown kiss for his cheek, 
 
 And one for the sweet lips, parted 
 As if but ready to speak. 
 
 Asleep at last — God giveth 
 
 Sleep to the tired brain. 
 And the heavy eye that looketh 
 
 Too long — till the light doth wane. 
 
 A stern face, worn and weary 
 With the marble white of death, 
 
 And the hands crossed on the bosom, 
 That shows no pulse of breath. 
 
 There are lines that w^ere writ by passion, 
 
 And many more by pain. 
 And some that tell how useless 
 
 His best hopes, and how vain. 
 
 His broken toys — where are they? 
 
 Love — ambition — pride ? 
 They failed him here, so place them. 
 
 In death — there by his side. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 She was not old — age cannot dim 
 
 A heart that keeps in touch with nature's own, 
 
 Whose tender love went out and centred close 
 
 'Pon things as small and simple as a rose. 
 
 Following with the young zest of a child. 
 
 Some path of beauty that her thoughts beguiled. 
 
 And while she oft hath scattered here and there 
 
 Some bloom in pathways that were bleak and bare, 
 
 I pray that flowers may glow with added grace, 
 
 For her in that blest land near Christ's dear face. 
 
40 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 I think God lets us keep the hearts that love us, 
 These hearts of gold that show no base alloy, 
 
 Until He needs them in His plan of mercy. 
 To draw us onward, where some better joy 
 
 Than earthly love — albeit so sweet and tender, 
 That fills so long a space in heart and life, 
 
 Awaits our coming — past the pain and doubting. 
 Past chance of loss, and bitter tears and strife. 
 
 We are not robbed of all. When twilight shadows 
 Begin to lengthen and the duy is done. 
 
 When soft pale tints come in the west horizon, 
 And tiny stars show shyly, one by one. 
 
 Almost we feel the warmth of soft hands stealing 
 
 Into the eager loving clasp of ours ; 
 Hands that we kissed one day, and laid with weeping 
 
 All unresponsive 'neath the grass and flowers. 
 
 Almost we hear the clear low accents falling 
 In cadence sweet upon the listening air, 
 
 Or something 'gainst one's cheek 'tis sweet to fancy — 
 A floating perfumed tress of her dear hair. 
 
 The blessed comfort of her presence blending 
 With every breath Ave drew in that dear past. 
 
 Is ours again — if but one precious hour 
 O bitter grief — it may not, cannot last. 
 
 But on we plod — refreshed and helped and strength- 
 ened. 
 
 With yearning deeper, stronger than before — 
 Seeking to trace the path she trod, and groping 
 
 With longing hands, to find the open door. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 41 
 
 A SUNBEAM. 
 
 God sent a sunbeam down to earth, 
 
 A little smiling baby girl. 
 
 A bit of heaven resting still in her blue eyes 
 
 Full of vague and questioning surprise, 
 
 Beneath the long dark lashes furled. 
 
 We ask for blossoms and our meed is rue, 
 Haply Heaven may have held a place, 
 Expecting her — nay who can tell? 
 We can but hope — we know that it is well. 
 The angels might have need of her sweet face, 
 To help the anthems ring more pure and true. 
 
 Our earthly sunbeams shine but one short day — 
 How brief a day our little sunbeam shed 
 Her light into our lives — then swiftly fled 
 To happier climes beyond our wild recall. 
 The shadows when she left — engulfing all, 
 Unlighted even by one faint small ray. 
 
 Nay not so — for the dear God hears 
 
 Our anguished prayer — he feels the ache 
 
 Of our weak human hearts that well nigh break. 
 
 If we but keep our face toward the light 
 
 We'll come to her at last — there is no night 
 
 Up there — and God shall wipe away all tears. 
 
 JUST THE LITTLE DAILY FRETS. 
 
 'Tis tiny cares that prick and goad 
 
 Our hearts, well nigh past healing 
 The little cruel word that stings, 
 
 To anguish past revealing. 
 Grief lifts us to her skyward perch 
 
 Beyond these frets and flurries. 
 There is no room on those lone heights 
 
 For trivial things or worries. 
 
42 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 A little thing — a smile may make 
 
 May weather in December, 
 A hand clasp may, when dark days come, 
 
 Be something to remember. 
 The wicked gnomes whose tiny feet 
 
 Leave lines on hearts and faces, 
 Claim grim old Poverty for king 
 
 And bask in his good graces. 
 
 If we could only hold in leash 
 
 The small cares that torment us. 
 Our hearts could brave the wind and wave 
 
 Of stormier sorrows sent us. 
 These tiny things — inch at a time. 
 
 Tear down our soul's defences. 
 Till it is left, weak and bereft, 
 
 When Time's warfare commences. 
 
 Great sorrows steel our human hearts 
 
 'Gainst all less worthy foeman. 
 Put us upon our guard and make 
 
 Us better men and women. 
 'Tis just the little daily frets 
 
 That spoil life's bread and leaven. 
 And dull our senses to the taste 
 
 Of manna — sent from heaven ! 
 
 REST. 
 
 In the evening, just at sunset, 
 When all the business of the day is done. 
 The small cares and petty worries 
 Which attend thereon are flown, 
 Leaving me with worn and weary spirit, 
 Languid step and often failing breath, 
 Indifferent, craving only simple rest, 
 Nor caring whether that be sleep, or death, 
 
 There looms ahead of me in the distance. 
 Compelling weary eyelids up from misty eyes, 
 No grand sweep of wooded hills and valleys. 
 No castle walls, nor deep Italian skies; 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 4S 
 
 Only a gray old church spire rising 
 From the midst of dark green trees that nod 
 And nestle close around the dim old building, 
 Whose dumb finger ever points to God. 
 
 Not dumb, nor voiceless, for I listen 
 To the varied story — still the same, 
 Of the many it has pointed upward, 
 Till all my doubts are put to shame. 
 And as I gaze , the ruddy background 
 Fast fading, dies — and then there follows 
 A rare wide-spreading heaven of blue — 
 Against which fly the homeward swallows. 
 
 The blue growls bluer, and adown 
 The limitless space there gleams a star. 
 Just one alone, first shy and trembling — 
 As though afraid to venture down so far, 
 Then courage gains and slowly falters 
 Along the trackless waste, until at last 
 1 watch it seem to hang just over. 
 The pointing church spire — fading fast. 
 
 Those two always seem to me 
 
 Connecting links betw^een far heaven and earth, 
 
 The silent lesson they are teaching 
 
 Sinking deeper, gains an untold w^orth. 
 
 In my tired day dreams comes upon me 
 
 A hush and calm from all the world's alarms, 
 
 With the vision of the church spire pointing. 
 
 And the angel star outstretching tender arms. 
 
 LOST! A HEART. 
 
 Lost ! A heart ! in the hurry and whirl 
 
 Of living. I do not know when or how. 
 
 'Tw^as a heart of gold — though you might not think it. 
 
 It might seem to you like a common trinket, 
 
 Though 1 know its value — too late now. 
 
 Spite of its rough and rugged appearing. 
 Of all my treasures I loved it best, 
 Tho' I knew it not until I had missed it 
 Held its empty casket and sadly kissed it. 
 And searched for the lost heart east and west. 
 
44 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Strange how poor seem my other possessions, 
 How dull my jewels, how dim their shine. 
 Beside the mere memory of this one treasure 
 That I prize too late — beyond all measure — 
 This heart, that once was so wholly mine. 
 
 Do you think I migfht one day chance to find it? 
 
 The world is so wide — it is hard to say. 
 
 Even though it is wandering ever so far, 
 
 Surely my love is the beacon star 
 
 That will guide it homew^ard again some day. 
 
 Haply not until in the Hereafter 
 
 Where God's smile maketh all times day, 
 
 I shall find my lost heart, there safely treasured 
 
 Where thieves do not steal, and love is not measured, 
 
 And that we love best is our own alway. 
 
 LIFE'S GARMENT. 
 
 O garb of life, thou hast worn well. 
 
 And now thy listless drapery 
 
 Is falling from me. 
 
 'Tis well, old friend. I find 
 
 Many a threadbare place the years have left; 
 
 Much dust has settled deep upon thee — 
 
 Cast by the chariot wheels of happier mortals. 
 
 Thy hem once white as snows of Lebanon, 
 
 Hath not escaped a little touch of earth, 
 
 And so, because we two have borne 
 
 The heat and burden of the day together, 
 
 I'll fold thee tenderly, and place away. 
 
 Nor e'er forget thee in the whiter robe 
 
 Of immortality. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 45 
 
 A CREED. 
 
 Yes all are dying — and some are dead, 
 
 And we who are left are firmly bound, 
 
 Our very souls to theirs are wed, 
 
 The souls whose bodies are underground, 
 
 And the very flowers we find abloom, 
 
 Over their still insensate dust, 
 
 In the soft depths of their innocent eyes 
 
 Cradle a promise we can but trust. 
 
 Though we may watch with dumb surprise 
 
 And pallid lips and stricken heart, 
 
 The flitting of life from pain-dulled eyes, 
 
 The last pale ray of life depart — 
 
 And though from the depths of a great despair, 
 
 The blank left by one missing face — 
 
 We writhe and cry and can hardly bear, 
 
 Our cross's touch on the galled place. 
 
 Yet If we have truly loved and well, 
 We—after a little with quiet tears 
 And twilight in our thoughts, can tell 
 Our hearts to be glad that the cruel years 
 Hold no more chances of grief and pain 
 For our precious dead — no murky days 
 Nor lagging of weary feet again, 
 Now set in Ood's serenest ways. 
 
 In all the years that have been ours, 
 (If they were many or were few,) 
 We yet have sown some fair thought-flowers, 
 Or simple, kindly deeds and true. 
 These ne'er shall know complete decay — 
 But bear their fruit the ages through, 
 Till time and thought have passed away, 
 And bloom around God's throne anew. 
 
 Crowned with the glory of sunset's gold. 
 Facing the light from the glowing west, 
 A yearning deep and pain untold 
 Awake from their slumber in our breast ; 
 
46 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 We stretch out our hands, so near we feel, 
 To our dearly loved who have gone before 
 Who are safe within the land o' the leal, 
 And freed from earth stains ever more. 
 
 And all (.f the beauty of earth and sky 
 
 Perfume of flowers, and colors rare. 
 
 Glory of sunlight and moon's soft calm. 
 
 Myriad wonders of sea and air — 
 
 With subtle, intangible, yet mighty chain, 
 
 Link our souls with the great "to come," 
 
 And as surely we know we shall live again 
 
 As that all of Earth's homeless shall gather home. 
 
 FINISHED. 
 
 Fifty and five — all your letters. 
 Tidily bound and kept in place, 
 Just as they came and as I laid them 
 With friendly fingering — face to face. 
 Half — yes half of them came that summer, 
 After you first had said good-bye. 
 With your saddened eyes and face averted ; 
 You cared for me then — I wonder why! 
 
 Life was none too glad that summer 
 And your love was all too sweet a balm 
 For heartache — and I think it deadened 
 The pain of remembrance to seeming calm. 
 The daily message quite o'erllowing 
 With "love divine and love alway," 
 Voiced itself sweetly above life's discord 
 And banished the twilight, cold and gray. 
 
 After — how was it — I cannot remembe". 
 
 Was it you or I who was most to blame ; 
 
 Well I suppose it is not much matter, 
 
 And fifty years hence 'twill be all the same. 
 
 And so — the letters grew short and shorter, 
 
 And so we drifted a world apart, 
 
 Till now — I am sending you back your letters 
 
 Sending you letters and picture and heart. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 47 
 
 Rather a bore you'll find it, mon ami, 
 
 Rereading the cast of a midsummer dream ; 
 
 I hadn't the heart to stir up its ashes, 
 
 Of burned out love words. There isn't a gleam 
 
 Of warmth to be found in the chilly embers. 
 
 Once, but a breath would have fanned them ablaze. 
 
 It was so long ago — who quite remembers, 
 
 All one has felt in the bygone days? 
 
 These poor little scentless, faded posies 
 
 You gathered for me at Lover's Leap, 
 
 Look a mute reproach and crave indulgence ; 
 
 But nay — I must not, cannot keep 
 
 A single relic of what once was 
 
 And is no more. To help forget 
 
 I shall leave you out of my life — and you 
 
 Being a man — will be happy yet! 
 
 A PARTING. 
 
 Where are you hastening, dear old year, 
 Unto what land are you bound so fast — 
 Cannot you bide a bit — why should you care, 
 To fade into one of those shadows vast? 
 Where you are going, is it always night, 
 Misty and vague and full of wraiths 
 Whose heavy eyelids would shun the light, 
 These piteous ghosts of murdered faiths. 
 
 Do the voices we never again will hear, 
 
 Echo for you in that wonderful land. 
 
 If they send us a message, those loved and dear, 
 
 Do you think we will know and understand? 
 
 You are taking a part of ourselves with you 
 
 That none of us more may claim as ours, 
 
 And you for our rosemary give us rue, 
 
 A sere brown leaf — for flowers. 
 
 Have you a place in that land of yours 
 (O unkind year, how you haste to go!) 
 Where you may cherish and guard the stores 
 Of treasure you've watched and tended so? 
 
48 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Add then broken dreams unnumbered, 
 Beauteous loves now slain and cold, 
 Dead hopes, high aims, all dust encumbered^ 
 And fair ambitions damp with mould. 
 
 You may keep them for us until hereafter. 
 Sometime, somewhere we shall want our own^ 
 When sad lips learn the way to laughter, 
 And grieved wet eyes shall be unknown. 
 We shall claim these broken, battered to\ s, 
 You have glorified and made complete; 
 Good-night — good-bye — to all thy joys. 
 Some pain we keep for bittersweet ! 
 
 NO HURRYXAND. 
 
 I have heard of a land in some far distance 
 Leagues upon leagues from the one we know. 
 Where the sternest of duties know no insistence, 
 Whose people live out a blessed existence, 
 Unimpelied by the forces that hasten us so. 
 
 Nobody there seems to be in a hurry. 
 Leisure's a birthright each may possess. 
 It is so very quiet, such absence of flurry 
 Of all the small things that make up a worry. 
 And the feverish striving after success. 
 
 They say that one's pulse beat is as quiet as sleeping^ 
 In this place I have heard of, an infinite calm. 
 No hot high tide thro' one's veins goes leaping. 
 Out thrusting all peaceful thoughts and sweeping 
 A volume of discord thro' life's sweet psalm. 
 
 It must be so dear — the soft relaxing 
 
 Of the strained wild tension of heart and brain, 
 
 That life has always been overtaxing, 
 
 Thro' long years — and that now are waxing 
 
 Dull to the constant prick of pain. 
 
 Who would not live over there if they could 
 Who ever has lived in the land we know. 
 But they say that only one w^ho has stood 
 Close to the flagstaff of God and of good — 
 Ever can manage to go. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 49 
 
 SOON. 
 
 Sometimes — amid the fret and tumult 
 
 Of daily living — comes the blest belief, 
 
 Falling on our restless fevered spirits 
 
 With a sense of soothing and relief, 
 
 The swift, sure, lightning-like conviction 
 
 That comes to bless us when the world goes wrong, 
 
 When minor tones come slowly, surely creeping 
 
 Through life's divinest song. 
 
 'Tis this — thank God life has its limit. 
 
 Pain and anguish do their work at last. 
 
 Some day soon, the struggle will be ended, 
 
 All the sorrow and the heartache past, 
 
 A rest for wayworn feet and tired hands, 
 
 For hearts grown bitter with the hateful strife, 
 
 And souls that bruise their restless wings against 
 
 The prison bars of life. 
 
 Were there no Heaven, even the surcease 
 
 Of earth's torments in that quiet spot 
 
 They call the grave, would still be rest and peace. 
 
 Where we and all our cares are soon forgot. 
 
 Then, Oh weak heart, uplift thy fallen courage 
 
 To those calm heights thy soul would gain, 
 
 Nor pause, nor backward look, but clasping close 
 
 The hand of angel Pain. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Despair ! I know her well. 
 
 She and I are ancient comrades ; 
 
 Many's the time she's sat upon my hearth 
 
 And watched w4th me the firelight 
 
 Flicker on the walls, and tiptoe past 
 
 The shadowy uncertain corners 
 
 Where mocking ghosts of memory 
 
 Hold high carnival. 
 
 Many's the time, I say — that she has laid 
 
50 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Her icy hand upon my heart, 
 
 Compelling my unwilling gaze to dwell 
 
 Upon her haggard face and awful eyes 
 
 Until I felt myself grow like to her in feature. 
 
 Once a beauteous joy was mine. 
 
 Scarce had she folded her white wings 
 
 Ere my grim comrade's face, 
 
 In hideous contrast t(» the other's plaintive grace, 
 
 Frightened the angel guest away, 
 
 Never to come again. 
 
 Despair still lingers — still keep's watch 
 
 Beside my hearth till it is cold and gray 
 
 As her own face — nor have I power 
 
 To bid my ancient comrade go or stay. 
 
 TWO WISHES. 
 
 Caro mio ! just how fair the world is, 
 Those leaving it alone can tell. 
 Leaving it for vague and unknown regions. 
 In unexplored new lands to dwell. 
 You know well my childish fondness 
 For roses, roses deep and glowing red ; 
 Well dear, just to please my fancy. 
 After I am still and cold and dead 
 
 Bring me a crimson bunch, all dewy sweet. 
 Just as many as my pale hands will hold. 
 How often we have walked with lagging feet 
 In the old rose garden — damp with mould ; 
 They and I are friends, they will not shrink 
 To share with me death's long dark dream ; 
 Their passionate bright beauty will, I think 
 Make even the grave's dread silence seem 
 Less awful, until by the time 
 They shall have withered on my marble breast 
 I will have grown accustomed to the gloom, 
 May even like the silence, and the rest. 
 Nay, do not chide — I shall not go 
 Till some appointed time — we may not part. 
 So — let me laugh — and wear my roses so, 
 Just above the strong loud beating of my heart. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 51 
 
 Hush dear — I am so tired — do not weep — 
 It is so good to rest — the way was long 
 And dreary, and I fain would sleep 
 Away from noise and strife and wrong; 
 And when 'tis over bring me roses white , 
 And place above the heart that fretted so ; 
 I fancy that their snowy whiteness might 
 Cool the fever that throbbed to and fro. 
 
 We are done forever with life's gold and red — 
 My heart and I — well nigh safely passed 
 Out of the glow and glare and clash of metal 
 Into the twilight, grand and calm and vast ; 
 No withering heats of noon will ever beat 
 Upon us, heart of mine, and roses white. 
 Only a soft pale radiance, restful, sweet, 
 Within the land where there can be no night. 
 
 FRUITION. 
 
 Just the dropping of the acorns one by one 
 
 Or in soft showers of friendly twos and threes, 
 
 So silently they fall ; the yellow shining sun 
 
 Turns them all to fairy gold. 
 
 Some between the rocks — some well nigh hid 
 
 'Neath grass and rank green undergrow^th, 
 
 Their quiet home, till they are bid 
 
 Their task to enter on. And from the earth 
 
 Where they have nestled close and warm 
 
 They take a new bright life — another birth, 
 
 And soon reach up a brawny sturdy arm 
 
 Toward the sky — whence it receives 
 
 All sweet good gifts of rain and sun and dew; 
 
 There the birds build nests, the mosses weave, 
 
 The joyous sunshine struggles through 
 
 Its ample boughs. Later on 
 
 When youth is past and gray old age 
 
 Silvers its gnarled trunk, and strips the green 
 
 And glory from its branches, wild winds wage 
 
 A fierce mad war, and lightning's vivid sheen 
 
 Plays with a startling splendor all among 
 
 Its bare gray arms — reached with piteous patience 
 
 Toward the far off heavens. 
 
52 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 And now its mission is fulfilled ; 
 Upon the fire the huge oak logs 
 Yield a grateful warmth and crimson glow, 
 That lights the faces gathered all around 
 The cheery hearth. Some are speaking, 
 Some smiling listen — other some 
 Choose silence, and with the mantle 
 Of introspection wrapped about them, 
 See past the ashes white — far beyond 
 The live red embers' fiery glow, 
 Dreaming their dreams. 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 They call you rich — you! 
 
 Whose sated eyes have grown 
 
 Weary of the brilliance and the bloom 
 
 Of costly art : 
 
 Eyes that forget to raise their languid lid?», 
 
 To gaze upon the exquisite tints 
 
 Of gorgeous sunset skies. 
 
 They call me poor, and yet in truth 
 
 I would not give the joy that's mine, 
 
 As silently I make my own 
 
 The beauty of God's radiant skies, 
 
 For all your works of art — your gold, 
 
 Your table — nay your whole grand house 
 
 Is one bright place of hot-house bloom, 
 
 And scarce one blossom wins a passing glance; 
 
 While I can dream a whole rose garden, 
 
 Over one tiny fragrant bud. 
 
 You lavish princely sums for naught — 
 
 And sadly bored — endure 
 
 The harmony you scarcely hear. 
 
 And I — my weary heart stands still ; 
 
 Once more I am a child and heaven is near. 
 
 My being all absorbed — heart, soul and will, 
 
 By just one wild pathetic strain. 
 
 Besides — you are alone — so poor. 
 
 For all your wealth can never buy 
 
 The little hand that nestles close in mine, 
 
 Your brilliant jewels dim and pale beside 
 
 The lovelight shining in her soft deep eyes. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES BS 
 
 Nay they are wrong, my friend : 'tis 1 — 
 Am rich beyond compare. 
 Your home is like your lieart — 
 Cold, desolate and bare. 
 
 JOYS. 
 
 The passionate deep joys of life 
 
 Descend upon our souls like forest fires 
 
 Sweeping all else before them. 
 
 There is a flash, a crimson blaze of glory, 
 
 A fierce mad power that claims 
 
 All that comes within its radius, until 
 
 Bereft of fuel. After? 
 
 What then? why after flame— we know 
 
 There's ashes. 
 
 And nothing in this world can be so cold 
 
 As the ashes of a burned out joy. 
 
 It is the small tame joys that grow 
 
 Thick as spring violets around our feet. 
 
 That make life tolerable. 
 
 And like that modest flower that hides 
 
 Its blue sweet eyes, and would be sought, 
 
 S<i with these bashful joys of ours 
 
 That wait the plucking. 
 
 Oh, dullards that we are. 
 
 Our careless feet still crush 
 
 The blossoms we are still too blind 
 
 To make our own. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Past all the sunshine and laughter, 
 
 Past the green and the rose bordered path, 
 
 And now in the gathering twilight, 
 
 Finding rosemary and aftermath. 
 
 Her other self — prop and partner 
 
 Of. sunny and shadowy years. 
 
 Has laid down his burdens and left her, 
 
 With her poor dim eyes full of tears. 
 
64 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Not long will she linger behind him ; 
 Faltering the footstep and slow, 
 Each day the hand is more aimless, 
 And the poor shaking head white as snow 
 Droops nearer and nearer the daisies 
 That soon o'er its pallor will rest, 
 And over the worn aged fingers, 
 Crossed peacefully on the still breast. 
 
 And some day soon — childish fingers 
 As hers were once, long ago. 
 Will over the two mounds scatter 
 Fresh flower buds to and fro, 
 And letting their tears' gentle shower 
 Fall upon Grandmother's grave. 
 Will leave her to peace and to quiet, 
 Where the long spikes of grasses wave. 
 
 NATURE'S VOICES. 
 
 How strong they are, those silent forces, 
 
 That war with hate and time and wrong, 
 
 How loud and clear, and angel-like the voices 
 
 That sing creation's song. 
 
 So mother-like the touch of Nature's fingers 
 
 On spirits dulled with grief. 
 
 So willingly she shares our heaviest burdens, 
 
 And gives relief. 
 
 The dew of love and pity falls on weary spirit 
 
 With infinite wide reaching balm, 
 
 From starry skies that stretch so far above us 
 
 In endless calm. 
 
 How near we draw to the beloved w4io left us, 
 
 And how our yearning hands outreach 
 
 Toward their home beyond the sunset glory — 
 
 More fair than speech. 
 
 They seem so poor and pale, these human sorrows, 
 Beside the ebb and flow of ocean's tide, 
 That bears them outward on the waste of waters, 
 So vast and wide. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 55 
 
 And the beating of the great heart 'gainst its prison 
 Muffles the loud impatient throb of ours, 
 Heart and ocean tide alike obeying 
 The higher powers. 
 
 Dawn of day with its pale pink flushes, 
 
 And tender hints of later gold and blue, 
 
 Brings back to us a breath of childish gladness 
 
 When life was true. 
 
 The young grass waving in the yellow splendor, 
 
 Of early sunshine — the look it wears, 
 
 We knew as children, ere grief had come. 
 
 Or weariness and cares. 
 
 The stars in their serene and tender shining 
 Look down upon us with the loving eyes 
 Of all the purest joys we ever knew. 
 Beyond them lies 
 
 A subtle something we have never found. 
 Though its poor counterfeit so real seems, 
 And its pale spirit presence comes to us 
 Sometimes in dreams. 
 
 A DEAD HOPE. 
 
 Tread softly when you reach that sunless region, 
 
 Deep in my heart. 
 Which hides,from thoughts whose name is Legion, 
 A thing apart. 
 
 Tread soft — 'tis true the dead sleep soundly — 
 
 From dreams quite free. 
 Yet sleep my beauteous dead ne'er so profoundly, 
 
 I'd have you be 
 
 Gentle indeed, when you draw near that pallid presence. 
 
 And lift the sheet , 
 To look upon the passionless dead face of her 
 
 Who made life sweet. 
 
 And if you start in awe at the unearthly beauty 
 
 Of that dead face, 
 Think what it must have been while life yet lent it 
 Bewildering grace! 
 
56 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Think of the eyes — whose tender steady shining 
 
 Soothed pain to rest, 
 The voice, who^e music drowned life's harshest discords 
 
 Within my breast; 
 
 The strange glad smile, that turned into day 
 
 All shadowy places 
 Whose mere reflection loaned a brighter beauty 
 
 To other faces. 
 
 The subtle sweet thrill that passed thro' all my being 
 
 And yet lingers. 
 That once was mine thro' the mere magic touch 
 
 Of these marble fingers. 
 
 Too late for tears, and yet a blest faith whispers 
 
 That in a brighter land 
 Haply I'll find my one sweet hope, that perished 
 
 By your own hand. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 If human love could thwart the thorns that cruel 
 Spring to wound the little careless feet. 
 Could choose the richest setting for our jewel, 
 Could make all living blest and full and sweet, — 
 
 Then might we beg, in grief's wild hopeless weeping, 
 For their return back to our empty arms, 
 To safely hold them in that dear close keeping, 
 Shut well away from all the world's alarms. 
 
 We fold the arms bereft over the heart's wild aching. 
 Hiding the broken pla3Tthings out of sight. 
 And wet eyed gaze toward the light that's breaking 
 In that dear land where there comes no night. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 5'^ 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 The fevered fret of life must be 
 Better worth the while, if when we lie 
 Low and prone beneath the grass and sky 
 We know that grateful hearts will ache. 
 And hot tears of regret fall, for our sake, 
 And Nature takes us, weary, to her breast- 
 The winds will sigh— a good man 
 Let him rest. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Life drew a curtain close before her eyes, 
 Leaving her in the dark— but when, 
 Death, more kind, passed by— he paused 
 And with soft reverent touch removed 
 Xhe pall— and led her to the light, 
 That never shines on land or sea. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 One finds perhaps in lapse of many years 
 
 Some few tried souls who know no change, 
 
 Whom nothing in this cold world can estrange. 
 
 Who are firm in lofty strength of self-control, 
 
 Unmoved by tempests that may near tUem roll. 
 
 They do not die— our very tears 
 
 That fall as gentle tribute to their worth. 
 
 The strange sad place they left a blank on earth. 
 
 All speak of them in silence more than speech. 
 
 When they have passed beyond our yearning reach, 
 
58 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 A simple faith was hers, that gave 
 
 Its whole sweet strength, and grew with giving; 
 
 A soul so true and pure and brave 
 
 Passed far beyond your portals, grave, 
 
 Into the realms of truest living. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Grim Death making sure his aim, 
 
 Sends his keen unerring dart 
 
 Straight home to a strong human heart, 
 
 Like this — leaving the stricken frame 
 
 To show how he could find his mark — 
 
 At morn, high noon or in the dark ; 
 
 Yet round the cold and vanquished brow 
 
 The victor's wreath of laurel now 
 
 I? twined. For death has met defeat, 
 
 In that last smile, passing sweet. 
 
 AN OLD LETTER. 
 
 How long it has lain — hidden away. 
 Far from sight and sound of day — 
 Nestled away by chance I think 
 Down in the dark — this faded link 
 Between bright youth and middle age. 
 Youth that is now a turned down page. 
 
 I did not think I could be so stirred 
 Again by written or spoken word, 
 But here — after so many changeful years, 
 How is it — can it be — yes, tears; 
 They do not ease the old heartache, 
 Holding its own asleep or awake. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 A woman's whole pure heart laid bare 
 Upon this page — while here and there 
 A sweet reserve makes valiant fight, 
 But further on is vanquished quite, 
 As she pens the tender words of love ; 
 Ah ! can it be that heaven above 
 
 Sees and pities our rash mistakes, 
 Sorrows over our poor heart breaks? 
 Do our guardian angels leave our side 
 The while the cruel Demon Pride 
 Grasps our hearts in his fiery hold 
 And burns them to ashes gray and cold. 
 
 Our own hands summon the minor tone 
 That thrills thro' life like a piteous moan ; 
 Our own hands strike the note of strife 
 That mars the harmony of life — 
 And only Beyond — will a master hand 
 Restore the lost melody full and grand. 
 
 TWO PICTURES. 
 
 Paint me an apple tree crowded with blooms 
 And 'neath it — uplifting two round arms bare 
 To the wealth of blooms not half so fair 
 As the white hand thrust 'mid their perfume, 
 Paint a young girl with an angel's face, 
 Soft brown hair with a hint of gold 
 Slumbering in every braid and fold, 
 Crowning her queen of youth and grace. 
 
 Give her deep sweet eyes of darkest blue, 
 "Lake Constance" eyes — with the sunny light 
 Of a noble nature strong and bright 
 Shining steadily through and through. 
 Give her oval cheeks the delicate tint 
 Of the sky as it flushes at dawn of day ; 
 But ere you touch the mouth — I pray. 
 Painter — try you hard to imprint 
 
 My words on your memory's safest cell. 
 The red curved lips must be full of pride, 
 
60 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 And yet not overmuch to hide 
 The gracious sweetness I know well ; 
 The subtle something but half-revealed 
 By the beautiful lips of the pictured face, 
 Lends it an almost pathetic grace 
 Fairer than human speech can tell. 
 
 Paint me a face that is older and wiser, 
 
 The face that is now the girl's over there, 
 
 Leave out the youth but make it fair, 
 
 Place lines where dimples once reigned supreme, 
 
 Put thought into eyes that once held a dream, 
 
 Take a little, for Time, from the oval cheek, 
 
 And — to the lips just ready to speak 
 
 Oive a fainter red — but you must pay 
 
 Back what you have taken away 
 
 A hundred fold. Make a saintly face. 
 
 With naught of earthiness — not a trace. 
 
 Use your best skill on the steadfast eyes 
 Pure as a child's — as tender and wise. 
 Let a beautiful life show thro' the face, 
 Let each sad hour if you choose — keep pace, 
 And accent itself in her silvering hair. 
 But then do you think you can gather there, 
 The blessings of living and some long dead, 
 And weave in a crown for the shining hair? 
 Ah Painter! I see your brush falls back. 
 And the hand that held it is all too slack. 
 Greater than you have failed, I ween, 
 To picture the essence of things not seen ; 
 But two portraits live in my heart alway 
 As I knew her then — and again to-day. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 61 
 
 RAN 8 STORY. 
 
 Oood evenin' Miss Sanders; don't worry, 
 
 I can't stop barely a minute, 
 
 You heard 'bout Cal and his wife separatin' 
 
 Didn't think there was nothin' in it? 
 
 Yes there was. If you insist ma'am 
 
 I'll take a cup o' warm tea 
 
 An' tell you the whole o' the trouble, 
 
 The same as Miranda told me. 
 
 You know Ran's been with the young folks 
 
 Ever since Cal was married to Rose, 
 
 /An' she says in all these years 
 
 They'd never a hard word — as she knows, 
 
 Cal was proud as a man could be, 
 
 Of Rose's beauty an' goodness an' grace; 
 
 He fairly worshipped the very sun 
 
 That shone on her sweet face. 
 
 Well — last March it was — one evenin'. 
 The master'd been gone all day, 
 An' Rose was softly playin' 
 Some strange old tunes, in a way 
 She often had in the twilight. 
 Ran comin' to light the lamp 
 Saw a man walk in the low window. 
 An' first she thought 'twas a tramp. 
 
 Saw him swiftly reach the piano, 
 An' clasp Rose in his arms, 
 An' she not knowin' her brother 
 Jumped back with a scream and start. 
 But she knew him. just in a minute. 
 Her playmate of years ago ; 
 Her husband had never Been him. 
 Accordin' it turned out so 
 
 That comin' home, he should see 'em 
 ^ettin' so lovin'ly there 
 Jn the cheery glow o' the firelight, 
 An' she so wonderful fair. 
 
62 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 He made no sign, but turning, 
 Quietly went his own way, 
 An' only one letter he wrote her. 
 From then to this very day. 
 
 Ran didn't know what he wrote. 
 But she drooped — day in day out, 
 Till she wore away most to a shadder. 
 An' she never was very stout. 
 Some folks said they were parted. 
 Or that business had called him off — 
 But nobody ever blamed her, 
 And nobody dared to scoff. 
 
 To-night when Ran cooked supper. 
 
 An' goin' to tell her Miss Rose, 
 
 Found the master, who was saying, 
 
 "I have suffered, love — God knows." 
 
 An' his w^ife — her big eyes shinin' 
 
 Out of her pale little face. 
 
 Put her arms round his neck, an' her head 
 
 On his breast — its rightful place. 
 
 An' Ran told me all about it. 
 The worry an' sorrow an' trouble, 
 An' long before she had finished, 
 I'm fraid I began to "see double." 
 No more tea Miss Sanders — thankee. 
 Nor muffins — tho' yours is the best 
 To be had in the town — I take it, 
 No more — 'deed ma'am, I protest. 
 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 You pity me, my friend, in this strange land 
 
 So many hundred leagues across the sea. 
 
 Far from the clasp of any friendly hand. 
 
 And light of eyes, that once have smiled on me. 
 
 Yet even here, the yellow sunset splendor 
 
 Lingers as fondly on these foreign trees. 
 
 That reach up skyward, dark and straight and slender. 
 
 With soft faint sighs for every passing breeze. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES «3 
 
 I find the same dear stars at night above me 
 In their accustomed places, in the waste of blue, 
 And fancy, as of old, that those who love me 
 Are thinking of me still with hearts as true. 
 The fleeting perfect glory of the sunset skies 
 Brings back a host of memories to soften. 
 And tears unbidden to my unwilling eyes, 
 Remembering silent voices once heard often. 
 
 The pale blue morning glory round which hovers 
 The romance and the freshness of my youth 
 Smiles up at me with eyes of real lovers, 
 Eyes full of innocence and truth ; 
 The distant sail across the world of waters, 
 A glint of gold green marsh grass nearer shore, 
 And I am wrapped in dreams as sweet and real 
 Ae life was in the days that come no more. 
 
 You see my friends are legion ; can you pity 
 
 Me, now that you understand at last 
 
 How these, my comrades in this queer old city, 
 
 Help me to live again the happy past? 
 
 Nay then, not ever homesick nor forsaken. 
 
 With the bright blue sky at noon and stars by night. 
 
 When dawn restores more than the dark has taken. 
 
 Ushering in some new and fresh delight. 
 
 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 No faith in human kind — and why so, pray? 
 
 Is it because one does not care to guage 
 
 The depths of life's divinest needs, my friend,0 
 
 By your own line, and measure ofP the world 
 
 By your small rule? Bah! I had thought 
 
 Better things of you than this most pale 
 
 And puny sentiment, devoid 
 
 Of even common justice. May I not turn 
 
 To right and you to left, 
 
 Paths wide diverging, which yet some day. 
 
 May meet each other and be lost 
 
 In one broad free highway? 
 
 Do you not see that I must loose 
 
64 BE TWEE N^ WHILES 
 
 Your hand if I would go my chosen way, 
 
 For mine is narrow, and the path is not 
 
 Edged with tender-hued forget-me-not, 
 
 But cruel thorns are there, and burning sand 
 
 And stones to wound unwary feet: 
 
 Surging up in hungry wav*^s I see 
 
 Marah's bitter waters climbing high, 
 
 Waters thro' which, shuddering, I 
 
 Must pass — for straight they flow 
 
 Across the way that I must go 
 
 To reach my shining goal. 
 
 Who knows — you may be right, my friend, 
 
 Yet my own way is best for me. 
 
 And yours for you. 
 
 Then good-bye, dear, an' dost thou let 
 
 Thy hand leave lingering touch of mine, 
 
 In dreary, listless, quite forsaken way. 
 
 Nay — there's much yet left for you, 
 
 I keep you still in sight, 
 
 Tho' palms may not touch evermore 
 
 Until our two paths meet 
 
 Upon the Broad Highway. 
 
 THAT DAY. 
 
 When, in some uncertain far off future, 
 
 Or mayhap a still nearer present, 
 
 There comes a day when I shall say, 
 
 "Dear World, bid me good-bye." 
 
 No matter when the time, if far or near, 
 
 I shall not turn regretful hands 
 
 Earthward — but in very truth. 
 
 Accept the summons as I have this life. 
 
 Its baitings in the burning noonday sun, 
 
 Its sudden forced marches, and the storms 
 
 From which there seems to be no shelter. 
 
 And yet — ah that sweet "yet," 
 
 How keenly I recall the rests 
 
 In grassy meadows, and the beauty 
 
 Of the bits of color here and there ! 
 
 After the storm had passed, 
 
 All the unearthly fairness held 
 
 Within a thousand glowing sunsets. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 65 
 
 Not if I could would I forget 
 
 The brambles and the stones that bruised 
 
 My feet so often on the way. 
 
 The angel Pain is linked forever 
 
 With her dear sister — Joy; and so 
 
 I knew the one so well, the shadow 
 
 Of the other rested on my heart. 
 
 From my blest stronghold do I gaze 
 
 With wondering pity 'pon a world 
 
 So blind to life's serenesfc ways; 
 
 Not till the death day shall I wait, 
 
 And groping backward strive to find 
 
 The lost bright threads of joy 
 
 I should have woven in life's gloom and night. 
 
 I can count up each separate gleam 
 
 Of sunshine I might claim, and basked 
 
 Within its light. Drained my cup 
 
 iVnd minded not the little bitter drop. 
 
 Indeed well nigh forgot 'twas there. 
 
 HER LAST LETTER. 
 
 Dear Jo : — (Can I ever forget 
 The short familiar old name?) 
 I write this now to inform you 
 (I declare it's a downright shame,) 
 I write just as Pa has told me. 
 In so many short spoken words, 
 And not as I would unbidden. 
 Were I free as the wild wood birds. 
 
 He says, Jo, that you "are no partner 
 
 For a girl who has just received 
 
 An offer from almost a nabob. 
 
 And who, if report be believed. 
 
 Owns enough to buy us and sell us 
 
 Over and over again," 
 
 And who's fallen a victim, so he says, 
 
 (I wonder his honor could deign,) 
 
 To the eyes you have likened to sloes, Jo, 
 
 And the curls that were once your pride, 
 
 With sublime disregard of "position," 
 
 Proposes to make me his bride. 
 
m BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 "Of course I refuse?" — well — no — Jo, 
 
 Now don't threaten to go to the bad 
 
 Because there's no help for it now, Jo, 
 
 And — poverty is dreadfully sad, 
 
 You know, Jo, 'tis none of my doing, 
 
 Pa has it all his own way. 
 
 While I'm to be properly grateful 
 
 And have little or nothing to say. 
 
 Try to utter your "Kismet" with grace, Jo, 
 
 Now that our vow 'neath the stars 
 
 Is annulled by the Diamond Order — 
 
 Or rather — an order of Pa's ! 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Brick by brick — piece by piece. 
 
 The fair old church is being shattered, 
 
 Every nook and corner consecrated 
 
 By a long and loving service 
 
 Of hymns to God. And others — 
 
 Dirges full of tears around the biers 
 
 Of our loved ones, borne away forever, 
 
 The last sad prayers in hushed presence 
 
 Of our dear unheeding dead; 
 
 Its walls, yet echoing with the sweet 
 
 Vibration of the joyful wedding marches 
 
 They have listened to in times now past — 
 
 Are rudely shaken down, letting in 
 
 God's sunlight on the floor 
 
 Where many hundred footsteps passed, 
 
 Bringing sorrow, wild rebellion, grief 
 
 And loss, leaving all save peace and calm 
 
 There beneath the cross. 
 
 And from round the overthrown tower 
 Where nevermore will sound the call to prayer, 
 They push away with harsh unpitying fingers 
 The ivy's clinging hands — poor things. 
 They reach out blindly, in a helpless search 
 For that support they no more will find, 
 Even on the breast of Mother Earth. 
 In a little while the old church lives 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 67 
 
 No more save in the dreams 
 And tender memory of some mother 
 Whose little one was carried to its rest, 
 Across that threshold ; or some matron 
 Whose wifely vows were spoken there. 
 Or mayhap some heart, more gentle 
 Than the rest, will give the ivy clad — 
 Unshattered vision — a lasting home 
 Within its tender thoughts forsake 
 Of just one touching hymn. 
 Or prayer inspired, that waked 
 Ere it was called too late — 
 One sleeping soul — sleeping 
 In the watches of the night. 
 
 FROM THE CAR WINDOW. 
 
 With a freshening speed around the curve 
 Swept the long dark living thing aswerve. 
 Just then it was — there came in view 
 A long, low farm house, shining through 
 The Springtime green of many trees 
 Swaying lightly in the breeze ; 
 In the open door stood a little child, 
 "Of such is the Kingdom — undefiled." 
 
 The little one's glory of yellow hair 
 Curled softly around her forehead fair. 
 The sunny blue of her shining eyes 
 Matched well the April morning skies. 
 The small mouth parted in tender smile 
 Haunted me many a weary mile ; 
 This I saw as the train passed by. 
 And after — all day wondered why 
 
 The vision of her baby grace. 
 
 The exquisite smile on her tiny face. 
 
 The careless clasp of her dimpled hands 
 
 (I can almost see her as she stands, ) 
 
 Should haunt my dreary business den, 
 
 Checking my always ready pen. 
 
 And somehow my thoughts go wandering back 
 
 Over memory's limitless track 
 
68 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 As T search for a clue, and not in vain, 
 Why the little one's face brings a thrill, half-pain, 
 Half subtle sweet dreams of a beautiful past 
 That was perfect, alas — and might not last. 
 Of a love who was only a pretty child, 
 And tho' so loving — not angel mild, 
 Passion-rocked as the ruby rose, 
 Yet gentle to all human woes ; 
 
 Of a parting in anger and bitterest strife, 
 And a long grey stretch of soulless life 
 Wherein her tender face was not; 
 Then the coming back to a grassy spot 
 They called her grave — beside which — [, 
 Kneeling — cry out — peccavi ! 
 Ail too late, the while my tears 
 Fall like rain, and all the years 
 
 Move backward, as again I see 
 
 Her as she used to come to me 
 
 When I was vexed with her childish way; 
 
 Come with a face like dawn of day, 
 
 And her dazzling slow sweet wondrous smile. 
 
 Blue eyes ashine that could beguile 
 
 The flintiest human heart. 
 
 So like — so like was the baby face, 
 It had found a safe and tender place 
 Within my thought — and the rosy mouth, 
 Gentle as zephyrs wandering south, 
 Seems to whisper "see, beyond. 
 In the Aiden true and fond 
 Thou shalt find thy treasure lost, 
 Sweetest saint in white robed host." 
 
 ONE HEART. 
 
 Some hearts there are, that never seem to hold 
 A single shadowy place where love's sweet shine 
 May not make warmth and light of dark and cold, 
 And leave a touch of youth upon the old, 
 O rare, sweet love, akin to the divine. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 6£ 
 
 A heart like this was hers; such love shone through 
 The clearness of her eyes unshadowed light, 
 Wherein were cradled gentle thoughts that knew 
 A tenderness for all things weak and all things true, 
 And loving humanly — grew near to God and right. 
 
 O ye who grieve and miss her from her place, 
 'Tis something to have known if but awhile 
 A soul like hers, whose simple childlike grace 
 Banished the twilight shades from every face, 
 Giving without stint the sunshine of her smile. 
 
 And though ye still wi h misty tear-dimraed eyes 
 
 Shall strew the roses over her dear dust. 
 
 She leaning o'er the parapets of paradise, 
 
 Sends you a message down from God's clear skies; 
 
 Be patient, bide thy time, dear heart — and trust. 
 
 LIVING AND LOVING. 
 
 It isn't life's purple and gold, dear, 
 That makes it best worth living, 
 Not always the very costliest gifts. 
 Are dearest and best worth giving. 
 The heart that beats in truest time 
 With the music of creation, 
 Is happier far than his whose will, 
 Can make or mar a nation. 
 
 The little sunny gleams that prove, 
 Our dark clouds' hopeful lining, 
 Are brighter, dear, than if we had 
 Walked always in the shining. 
 I do not think God loves us less. 
 Or frowns on us hereafter. 
 Because we cover up a sigh, 
 With single hearted laughter. 
 
 There is no heart so poor, but give& 
 If it but will, a treasure 
 Richer than any kings may own, 
 Greater than time can measure. 
 
70 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 No life can e'er be poor or cold, 
 Or craving some new blessing, 
 That hath and holdeth fairy gold, 
 Love's gracious self possessing. 
 
 Love soundeth depths that none may reach 
 With any common plummet. 
 It leadeth up to heights beyond 
 This work-a-day life's summit. 
 A little tender human love 
 Just at the right time given, 
 Goes far to make this sad old earth 
 Seem like a bit of heaven. 
 
 SLUMBER. 
 
 We call them dead, the giants of our youth, 
 
 Love, Ambition, Pride. 
 We gave them decent burial in sooth 
 
 As each one died. 
 
 Yet, though for years the grasses may have grown 
 
 Green upon their graves. 
 And we have left them cold and still and lone. 
 
 Where night winds rave. 
 
 Still, though we may own it not, their ghosts arise 
 
 Unasked and undesired. 
 To bring the past back with their haunting eyes, 
 
 With life unfired. 
 
 A touch of tenderness, a low caressing word, 
 
 Fills every vein. 
 With much the same wil(^ foolish bliss that stirred 
 
 The old sweet pain. 
 
 A breath of praise, a little triumph, sets us dreaming 
 
 Of plans left unfulfilled, 
 And once again our eager thoughts are teeming 
 
 With hopes once stilled. 
 
 A word, a look, and ghostly pride ariseth. 
 
 Where he has lain 
 Within his grave, and in his might surpriseth 
 
 Our hearts to pain. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 71 
 
 Our old selves do not die, they only slumber, 
 
 And mother nature knows 
 'Tis hers to waken them times out of number, 
 
 Or leave them to repose. 
 
 THAT SAME JO. 
 
 He asked me if I'd have him, 
 
 An' I pint'ly told him "no. 
 
 An' what's more, that I wouldn't 
 
 If I never had a bo." 
 
 But he wasn't noways flustered 
 
 Was that young fellow Jo. 
 
 He kept on comin' reg'lar 
 As any other bo, 
 Till I right up an' tol' him 
 I wished that he would go. 
 But he didn't 'pear to mind it, 
 Did that long, lanky Jo. 
 
 He said he'd "keep on askin' 
 
 A time o' two a year, 
 
 Till ever I got married!" 
 
 / said I didn't care. 
 
 He'd nagged and worried so. 
 
 Had that young fellow Jo ! 
 
 Jus' how to end the thing, 
 I 'clare / didn't know — 
 Noways but jus' to marry. 
 An' so I did — but sho', 
 The man that put the ring on 
 Was that same f ellow^ Jo ! 
 
72 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 GUARDIAN ANGELS. 
 
 guardian angel; what your mission is 
 
 1 know not — were it but this, 
 
 To place the seal of thy firm finger-tips 
 Upon the passion of our human lips — 
 To stem the tide of hasty, careless speech 
 That places happiness beyond our reach, 
 And ruling the sunshine of love's presence out 
 Fills up the aching void with pain and doubt, 
 I say your mission would not be in vain. 
 With us so guarded — all would be well again. 
 
 OVER THE BORDER. 
 
 What does it matter if all day long 
 The skies are gray and cold winds grieve ; 
 Minor tones creep thro' the gayest song, 
 And one plan goes right where ten go wrong, 
 When darkness brings a reprieve! 
 
 Over the border between sleepland and waking 
 There's a beautiful realm where I fain would be, 
 Where friendship and love know no forsaking, 
 And no unkind fate is forever taking 
 Some joy that was all in all to me. 
 
 As soon as I pass into that land of wonder, 
 My daytime comrade until I shall die 
 — Care — who puts Joy and me asunder, 
 And diggeth his grave the dark earth under, 
 Looses my hand and says "good-bye." 
 
 The two twin angels, Grief and Pain, 
 And their gaunt dread sister, dark Despair, 
 That have tuned my life to their own refrain 
 And who bide with me thro' sun and rain — 
 Never can go with me there. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 73 
 
 I bask in the light of my loved ones' faces 
 Over the border — in that sunny land, 
 And life grows young in their gentle graces; 
 There are no waste or desert places 
 Where I and another go hand in hand. 
 
 It is hard to come back to the world of striving, 
 To hearts that never can understand. 
 Where ne'er a sweet word is thought worth giving — 
 But 1 say to my heart — "we shall soon be living 
 In that sunshiny place— on the border land.' ' 
 
 SWEET WORDS. 
 
 All that day and for many days thereafter 
 I heard a rhythmic chorus rise and fall,^ 
 A chorus sweet of strange unearthly voices, 
 And the beating of my heart kept time thro' all. 
 The song was wordless but I did not care, 
 Its perfect sweet melody was enough for me. 
 All my future living seemed changed and fair 
 Attuned to that angel chorus free. 
 
 Soft as the murmuring of far off seas, 
 Whispering deep songs of praise to God, 
 Or as some loving summer breeze 
 That comes and passes o'er the sod 
 Where our unforgotten dear ones sleep, 
 Rippling the long grass o'er each quiet breast 
 And softly sighing — on its way doth keep 
 Toward the sunset's golden rest. 
 
 Much I wondered who the fair musicians. 
 Vainly did I long to see one face, 
 Up and down I went with hope to find them, 
 Searching as I thought, in every place. 
 But after, being weary and disheartened 
 Opening the inner door that guards my soul, 
 I found the joyous prisoned singers. 
 And round about me did their music roll. 
 
 Would you then know their name and country, 
 Whence they came — what heavenly clime? 
 
76 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Sweet words — all glad with faith, 
 Straight from a generous heart to mine, 
 Came and bade me look ever skyward. 
 Unheeding stumbling feet, and fears that clog, 
 One hand in God's — the other free to battle 
 With giant shapes that rise in earthly fog. 
 
 Crush and put aside the poor ambitions 
 That swarm like bees around unwary lives, 
 Rule out the leaven and replace it 
 With something purer — he who st-ives 
 Always towards the heights, nor turns aside 
 Faltering from steeps — must needs win 
 The fairer level where 'tis always day 
 And fruitions of best hopes are garnered in. 
 
 BROKEN, A PROMISE ! 
 
 Broken, a promise, and nobody knows 
 
 Just how to mend it; do you suppose 
 
 There is such a place past the western bars, 
 
 Beyond the glimmer of nightly stars, 
 
 Where God has a workshop for mending things 
 
 Like broken promises — of men and kings. 
 
 It must be a busy place up there. 
 That workshop — miles thro' the sunny air; 
 Just think of the things God has to mend, 
 And the angels too — I think they lend 
 A helping hand — there's so much work, 
 That nobody there has time to shirk. 
 
 There are crooked things to be straightened too 
 That grew so here, why — nobody knew. 
 The lives that were gloomy and sad and wrong, 
 That should have been only one soft clear song. 
 Lives that grew crooked instead of straight. 
 And love that somehow came to be hate. 
 
 And when one thinks with a sigh of pain. 
 
 What trouble it must be to make whole again 
 
 The millions of promises broken since then. 
 
 When the world was young — by its countless men, 
 
 We promise ourselves and heaven too, 
 
 Not to give the angels so much to do. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES tS 
 
 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 'Tis hard to say good-bye to dear old friends 
 We'd like to journey with to earth's far ends, 
 Who have trod our path m sunshine and in rain, 
 Joined in our laughs and suffered with our pain 
 And friendly paths that long run side by side, 
 Forget that miles of space can soon divide, 
 But good-byes tremble in the smiling eyes 
 Of all our joys — on wing for Paradise. 
 
 So with the heartaches — they go too, 
 
 Yet there is scarce good-bye, but just adieu, 
 
 And nothing in our world but soon is past ; 
 
 No joy, no anguish, nothing here can last. 
 
 Thou too, dear year, thy smiles, hopes, fears, 
 
 Thy bright glad days of shine, thy nights of tears, 
 
 The brokenhearted prayers that came to naught, 
 
 The wild sweet key-note of some grief-chord caught. 
 
 We'll say good-bye tlien brightly as we may. 
 With hope of meeting thee in some far day 
 When we may look thee frankly in the face. 
 Blessed with a better and a happier grace. 
 A hand clasp, an embrace, and all is o'er. 
 An empty space where thou hast stood before, 
 A faint sweet something as of roses' fragrant dust, 
 And in thy place a message — "wait and trust." 
 
 HOW TO MEASURE A MAN. 
 
 To measure a man, you needs must go 
 Down to the heart of things, you know ; 
 You must go over every inch of ground 
 He calls his past — across and around, 
 You must mark his fight with giant sin. 
 And know which will the victory win. 
 And know defeat must often be 
 The great high road to victory. 
 
76 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 You may not measure by one deed, 
 
 Or you will deal him unjust meed; 
 
 All of his acts both great and small 
 
 Must measure together, or not at all, 
 
 If you cannot do this with your measuring rod, 
 
 You had best just leave it all to God. 
 
 LAND 0' THE LEAL. 
 
 Beyond — in the distance dim, unreal — 
 
 Away from the beautiful false world, 
 Faith points us out the land o' the leal. 
 
 Where Pain's purple banner is furled. 
 There, we are told, no dream of sadness 
 
 Nor tears ever enter in. 
 Unquiet, nor passion, nor madness, 
 
 That belong to the world of sin. 
 
 None of the dross and dread alloy, 
 
 That dim our fairy gold here — 
 No sorrow to balance each separate joy. 
 
 No deadly sickening fear. 
 Hearing the sorrowful "learn to wait," 
 
 Never again on the beautiful shore — 
 Neither the pitiful chill "too late" 
 
 Heard so often here before. 
 
 Nothing of heart-sick life-in-death. 
 
 Hand clasp given in long farewell. 
 Sadder than watching the failing breath 
 
 Preceding the sound of funeral bells. 
 Yea — sadder to pass away forever. 
 
 Out of the lives with ours wov'n in, 
 And feel no future wild endeavor 
 
 Will place us where we once have been. 
 
 The place we once did hold — yea. 
 And held right royally our own 
 
 E'er Fate did step between and say 
 
 Uncrown, thou leavest now thy throne- 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 And in the Kingdom of thy reign 
 
 The hearts of those who loved thee we] 
 
 Comes now a new and bright refrain, 
 E'en sadder this than funeral bell. 
 
 God of the beautiful and the true, 
 
 Tender and pitiful wilt thou be; 
 The perfect ones are scant and few, 
 
 Some, groping blindly cannot see — 
 For tears, the home of the satisfied 
 
 Beyond the sunset's gold, and feel 
 Their rest at hand — across the tide. 
 
 Within the land o' the leal. 
 
 A DEAD SUMMER. 
 
 Are you sure she sleeps and will not waken ? 
 I've seen them lie just so, times past, 
 And sudden rise to bright triumphant glory, 
 When we were sure each death throe was the last ; 
 Well, she has died hard, and each struggle 
 Brings back the thought of all the joy 
 She folds away in her dead arms forever — 
 Ere it has mingled with the world's alloy. 
 
 Haply she's dead — 'tis hard to think so. 
 
 When on her perfect face there rests a smile 
 
 So full of love and life and laughter. 
 
 One would think she played at sleep the while ; 
 
 And then the roseate fingers lightly clasping 
 
 Late roses red as wine, have yet 
 
 Retained their lovely pink and white perfection, 
 
 Nor paid to death its ghastly pallid debt. 
 
 Her dewy lips still hold the pink of coral, 
 And ready seem to overflow with laughter 
 As in the brilliant days when life was joy 
 And love the dream she followed after ; 
 Just beneath the fringed lids resting. 
 Like daysprings hidden in some shaded nook, 
 The wells of her clear eyes — I wonder 
 If in her day areams they had not that look. 
 
 LcfC. 
 
78 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Well, if you're sure she sleeps, to waken 
 No more in likeness quite the same again, 
 I'll leave within her coffin all my treasures 
 She helped me gather — but I keep the pain, 
 A dear and bitter-sweet remembrance 
 Culled from the kiss left on her dead face, 
 Upon which rests no dark and dreary shadow 
 And where grim death has left no single trace. 
 
 FIRE PICTURES. 
 
 Gazing into the fire, 
 Wrapped in a dreamy mood, 
 Watching the flames climb higher, 
 Caressing the logs of wood, 
 I fashion my eager dreaming 
 To the wayward turn of the blaze, 
 Conjuring happy visions 
 Of bygone things and days. 
 
 As my Castle in Spain rises skyward 
 With its glittering minarets fair, 
 I gloat o'er its wondrous beauty. 
 Outlined 'gainst the sunny air. 
 All my fair domain is peopled 
 With those Avhom my soul holds dear, 
 And the echo of their voices, 
 Is the sweetest music there. 
 
 I look into eyes that gladden 
 With the looking into mine. 
 And touch the hands that tremble 
 With joy — and sweet eyes shine ; 
 But ah! the fire grows hungry, 
 And my Castle over in Spain 
 Crumbles in with a dying splendor, 
 Whose loveliness mocks my pain. 
 
 And the walls of my fairy palace 
 Fall noiselessly thro' the air, 
 Tearing soft vine tendrils 
 Away from their trellises fair, 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 But the worst of all is the waking 
 From my dream with a shivering start, 
 Chilled with the cold and the silence, 
 And the worse chill at my heart. 
 
 Some of the eyes of my vision 
 Are shining beyond the stars. 
 In some rest woeful shadows, 
 Cast by world raised bars. 
 And the ghostly caressing fingers 
 Wave a piteous slow farewell. 
 The good-bye — meaning forever, 
 Rings in my ear like a knell. 
 
 Creeping away from the ashes. 
 And the darkness and the cold, 
 Uncanny wings sweep o'er me, 
 Damp with a graveyard mould. 
 I go to a slumber — broken 
 By a wailing sad refrain, 
 And a solemn chanted chorus. 
 Whose burden is ''never again." 
 
 REPLY. 
 
 Dear ! why have you killed 
 Our sweet unconscious friendship 
 And left its pale, unsmiling ghost to stand 
 Between us evermore with upraised hand- 
 Forbidding any other love to bloom 
 Upon its grassy grave, whence it must roam 
 A pale unquiet thing that turns to you 
 Its sad, reproachful face. 
 
 friend, could you not see 
 
 Within my thoughts your place was that 
 Of a noble heart — a good true soul, 
 And one to whom I should have gone 
 With any grief or joy — well knowing 
 
 1 should find comfort, help and guide? 
 Now — all that is passed. No more 
 Your eyes will ever hold for me 
 
 The olden friendly light — instead. 
 
80 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Their retrospective pained regret 
 
 Will haunt my very dreams — and yet 
 
 Am I to blame? 
 
 I would give — if that I might, 
 
 Ten of the sunniest years I have to live, 
 
 To find abloom within my desert heart 
 
 The blossom bittersweet, you call it Love. 
 
 It is no fault of yours — but dear, 
 
 When I am gone, forget me — nay 
 
 Not quite — but just remember. 
 
 Those other days before you dreamed — 
 
 And waking with a start, your careless hand 
 
 Killed that dear friendship; otherwise 
 
 It would have seen no fateful sad to-morrow 
 
 But one forever fair — to-day. 
 
 HIS LAST LETTER. 
 
 Dying! You dying — mon ami! 
 
 Your letter came to me to-day — 
 
 And the smile on my lips quite faded 
 
 As they slowly grew cold and gray. 
 
 The sunshine and shadows grew misty, 
 
 My lily drooped low its tall head. 
 
 And there seemed to thrill thro' the silence, 
 
 A chill, like the touch of the dead. 
 
 There came to me swiftly a vision 
 Of a summer , not long ago past — 
 Made brighter and better and fairer, 
 By a friendship that might not last; 
 Of dark eyes full of longing. 
 And a love more sad than life. 
 Shining out from their woeful shadows 
 Where a will and a soul were at strife. 
 
 Of a farewell — a firm hand clasping. 
 
 And a glance — where my sad eyes met 
 
 Yours, full of a deathless passion, 
 
 And a speechless, wild regret; 
 
 How the midsummer night seemed to chill me 
 
 As I left you there with your pain, 
 
 Passing from starlight to lamplight. 
 
 Where sorrow seems useless and viin. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 81 
 
 You are passing away from earth's torments, 
 And well nigh are free from its bonds, 
 I doubt not your hands are outreaching. 
 Already, toward the Beyond, 
 Where shadows and fogs there are never. 
 Where our dreams are sure to come true. 
 And no blight finds the heart of our roses. 
 Where our skies are steadfastly blue. 
 
 And I — I shall not forget you. 
 
 There is place in each day, sweet or sad, 
 
 For memory of all who have loved me, 
 
 And helped to make my days glad. 
 
 Under the sod on the hillside. 
 
 Or down from God's sunny skies, 
 
 There will shine thro' my earthly existence 
 
 Two fond and faithful dark eyes. 
 
 LAST DAYS. 
 
 You ask me what I w^as thinking 
 
 Through the silence that suddenly fell 
 
 Upon me just at the ceasing 
 
 Of your langh, that rang like a bell. 
 
 1 was thinking, if you must know, dear, 
 
 Of just this time next year, 
 
 If we two should be together — 
 
 If away — how far or how near. 
 
 Wondering if all of this sunshine 
 
 Would dwell on us two apart — 
 
 Its beauty bring separate sadness 
 
 To each divided heart. 
 
 And if the unearthly fairness 
 
 Of our moonlit accustomed walks, 
 
 Would bring sharp thrills of remembrance 
 
 Of our dead and gone happy talks. 
 
 I do not know v/h?.t — -but something 
 In the carelessly happy ring 
 Of your laugh floating off into silence, 
 Made me think what a difi'erent thing 
 
^2 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Life would be to me hereafter 
 With that musical laughter left out. 
 And the touch of your hand on my arm — 
 Is it wrong dear, to wonder and doubt? 
 
 And then too, this one summer 
 Stands out to itself alone, 
 Enriched with a golden glory 
 That no other summer has known. 
 A deeper joy than ever before, 
 Albeit joy dashed with pain. 
 What is it seems to whisper 
 "For you two — never again !" 
 
 Sweetheart! if you should be gazing 
 
 At our favorite stars alone. 
 
 With wet eyes and poor lips trembling. 
 
 Striving to make no moan. 
 
 On the other side of the stars, dear, 
 
 I shall thank our God who has given 
 
 Us one fail, perfect summer here. 
 
 As a foretaste of those of Heaven. 
 
 BON SOLDAT. 
 
 Ha! Ha! Bravissimo, Major, 
 
 That last was a good one, 
 
 The prince of good stories after a fight ; 
 
 Quite the cream of the rest I wager — 
 
 Throw on the logs, boys, 'tis chilly to-night. 
 
 Yes, the battle was a fierce one to-day, 
 And some like tigers fought; 
 I saw young Philip Lane's lithe form. 
 Darting about in the midst of the fray. 
 In the glittering flashing sabre storm. 
 
 You say he is one of the missing number? 
 
 God help his mother at home, 
 
 While she prays for her boy with streaming eyes, 
 
 His bright hair dabbled — in slumber 
 
 Beyond awakening up there he lies. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Poor child! he was little more in years. 
 
 But not a veteran of us here, 
 
 Was readier to face death than he ; 
 
 But facing death so often, sears 
 
 Us to these piteous things we see. 
 
 Ugh ! I had forgot that scratch 
 Of an awkward sabre till now, 
 And 'tis stiff — what a horrid smart! 
 I saw it just in time to catch 
 It^ in place of our Colonel's heart. 
 
 Here — see the fragment of the blade. 
 Broken in the sudden tilt. 
 Christ! how the wound gapes — too late, 
 'Twas deeper than I thought — I'm afraid 
 You're wasting time, old boy — tell Kate 
 
 Good bye for me — will you, Victor? 
 We have little time for love in war ; 
 She's a brave little heart, she'll make no cry, 
 Even tho' perhaps her eyes may be dim ; 
 You'll tell her I knew how to die? 
 
 The moon must have clouded over. 
 How dark it has grown all at once ! 
 Stir the camp fire — charge boys — huzza ! 
 Bon soldat — O Kate — Vive le Rot — 
 'Twas a good one — no more — a rover ! 
 
 TWO SUNSETS. 
 
 Backward and forward she and I 
 
 Paced the sands of the shining beach, 
 
 The silence broken by sea birds' cry — 
 
 Our sad hearts too full for speech ; 
 
 Save the plaintive cry of the swift winged bird 
 
 And the waves' soft flow — no sound was heard. 
 
 We had dreamed our dreams, fair, so fair, 
 Of a life so sweet and glad and blest. 
 
84 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 And that day, watching the sunset rare, 
 Saw our hopes sink down in the crimson west 
 And knew that none — nay, not one, 
 Would arise again with the morning sun ! 
 
 Her eyes were dark with hopeless pain. 
 Her white face turned toward the sea 
 In mute, pale protest; all in vain 
 I strove to speak. Ah me ! ah me ! 
 Our lives stretched out so gray and cold 
 With love left out — its fairy gold. 
 
 We said good-bye — our lips were dumb, 
 But two souls met thro' our woeful eyes; 
 My heart was crushed and cold and numb. 
 And to this very day it lies 
 Like stone within my breast — nor stirs 
 At any touch save thought of hers. 
 
 Is she living? Yes friend, over yonder, 
 
 And no ocean rolls between us now 
 
 Hers is the fairer life — I ponder 
 
 Oft the reasons — how or why 
 
 We call this strange translation death, 
 
 That gives us air of bliss for breath. 
 
 She went away, I heard, a little while 
 After I saw her last. 1 yet remain. 
 To suffer and meet fate with a smile, 
 A target for the years and bitter pain. 
 O sweet! I hear your tender, "it is best," 
 Through all these years of vain unrest! 
 
 Only a narrow stream keeps us apart. 
 
 Narrow, but swift and dark and deep; 
 
 So soft it flows, my weary heart 
 
 Fain on its peaceful banks would fall asleep, 
 
 To wake on further side of crimson west. 
 
 To hear her, "dear love, it was best." 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 85 
 
 MAY TIME. 
 
 Two children in the early May 
 Laugh and chatter — dance and play, 
 Adorn the tiny play house cool 
 Subject to little mistress' rule, 
 Bring acorn cups with water filled — 
 Aprons witness much that spilled. 
 
 Thus their merry game goes on. 
 So far, rose is free from thorn. 
 Till some unlucky fay does tempt 
 Miss Bessie, until now exempt 
 From any mischief-making thought, 
 To gain experience dearly bought. 
 
 Jack's castle rising high in air, 
 
 Its frail points watched with anxious care, 
 
 Built solely his Queen Bess to 'sprise. 
 
 To note delight in her blue eyes. 
 
 Is suddenly in ruins laid 
 
 By Bess — now trembling and afraid. 
 
 Quick as the hand the house laid low, 
 
 Flew his, and left a stinging blow 
 
 'Pon naughty Bess's peachy cheek; 
 
 Both cried and sulked and wouldn't speak, 
 
 Till from far end of small domain 
 
 Bess notes Jack's anger on the wane. 
 
 And sudden, not to courage lose, 
 
 Run little feet, unknowing shoes; 
 
 Reaching him she falters low, 
 
 "I des-was-only playin', you know, 
 
 An'-an'-" then and there 
 
 Five little fingers fair 
 
 Slipped within Jack's willing hand ; 
 
 Happiest urchin in the land 
 
 He kissed the big tears off her face 
 
 Until they no more leave a trace ; 
 
 Restored again their golden day, 
 
 In their sunny lives, glad month of May. 
 
^ BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 Do not speak of the past as a dead thing, 
 With that low intonation of pain, 
 And tears in your voice — still trembling 
 With memories of never again. 
 Do you not think the myriad yesterdays, 
 That passed into things that are gone. 
 Repeat themselves just the same, dear, 
 In the happier to-morrows born? 
 
 And instead of the backward glances 
 Of our yearning regretful eyes 
 Toward the past, that lies behind us 
 In shadowy uncertain guise, 
 Shall we not rather turn our longings 
 Of heart and soul and hands. 
 To the future's golden promise, 
 Aglow from sunrise lands? 
 
 'Tis said we can never quite know 
 
 How well we have loved — till the day 
 
 When, out of our heart and home life 
 
 The loved one has passed away. 
 
 80 it is with our happiness here, dear — 
 
 We trifle and play, till at last. 
 
 We shiver over its ashes, 
 
 And tearfully call it our "past." 
 
 Don't you think 'twould be wiser and better 
 
 If we could but realize now 
 
 What sweetness to-day holds for us. 
 
 Ere has faded upon her brow 
 
 The laurel with which we crowned her — 
 
 Ere the light has died from her eyes. 
 
 And we know too late we have lost her. 
 
 With a sorrowful dumb surprise. 
 
 Do not speak of the past as dead, dear. 
 When the present, it was, so late — 
 The yesterdays, to-days and to-morrows, 
 All pass thro' the very same gate. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 8t 
 
 Let us take what to-day may bring us, 
 Be it joy and peace — or sorrow, 
 Knowing full well the end will be 
 God's gracious, fair to-morrow! 
 
 QUERY? 
 
 Hate? Yes — no — how do you call it? 
 
 I cannot understand. You English, 
 
 Your language is so very hard, 
 
 So awkward — I cannot tell you 
 
 Just what I mean — save in my own. 
 
 My native tongue. Only this, 
 
 Is it — hate — you say, when I 
 
 Seem to feel around my brow 
 
 A cruel band of living fire, 
 
 Searing all my brain, and raising 
 
 My heavy eyelids, find his serpent gaze 
 
 Holding my own? When time 
 
 Drags painfully, halt and maimed 
 
 In his presence? 
 
 When the sharp and sudden sound 
 
 Of his harsh voice will make me start, 
 
 And scatter all calm ideas 
 
 Into wild and trembling space? 
 
 When if by any awkward chance, 
 
 My hand touch his — I cannot help 
 
 A childish shiver — just as though 
 
 My flesh had met the cold and clammy coils 
 
 Of some sleeping serpent — unawares? 
 
 If his dark forbidding face 
 
 Seems to me to shut away 
 
 All of God's dear sunlight, subtracting 
 
 The subtle sweet something 
 
 That makes it worth one's while to live — 
 
 Is that hate.^ 
 
 I would not harm him — there is no grudge. 
 
 But sometimes I shut tight my eyes, 
 
 As children do — afraid of darkness ; 
 
 And floating outward on a sea of doubt 
 
 Conjecture as to how it will be 
 
 Up yonder — 'mong the saints. 
 
5 BETWEEN WHILES 
 
 Either he, or I — will not be there, 
 
 Because the earthy has no place 
 
 In that pure realm. Sweet Christ! must this 
 
 That you call my hate, must he 
 
 Ever bar my way up there? God knows ! 
 
 Not I. At last, I trust all that is left 
 
 Will be — fit for the awful change to immortality, 
 
 Fit too, to touch the childish dimpled fingers 
 
 Of the angel sister, waiting there. 
 
 Jewels only shine their brightest 
 
 In a setting of dull gold. 
 
 Fires look their ruddiest, lightest 
 
 To traveler half benumbed with cold. 
 
 Of summer birds, we say they never 
 
 Sing so sweetly as when gone 
 
 Are the summer days forever, 
 
 And birdie comes some autumn morn 
 
 Lingering in the same old oak tree 
 
 Where his summer home has been, 
 
 Singing full notes — liquid, free. 
 
 Pausing — to begin again, 
 
 Letting out his whole heart's music 
 
 In that farewell autumn song. 
 
 Ere he wings his flight far southward 
 
 Where his feathered tribe belong. 
 
 WAKING DREAMS. 
 
 How did it come that I cared for her? 
 
 Well, I can hardly tell you, sir; 
 
 Only this, I was lying there. 
 
 With hot parched lips — unkempt, unfair, 
 
 Chasing the dreams of a heated brain. 
 
 Tense hands clenched in nervous pain. 
 
 I was lying thus alone, I say. 
 Unloved — forgotten, the livelong day — 
 When just in the early even fall 
 A voice as soft as an angel's call 
 Whispered my name as ne'er before, 
 Then lost the sound thro' open door. 
 
BETWEEN WHILES 89 
 
 But quickly back again it came, 
 
 This soft weird thing I could not name; 
 
 Was it a dream of wine brown eyes 
 
 Floating below in human skies, 
 
 Gazing in soft compassion down 
 
 Upon my pain drawn forehead's frown? 
 
 Was it a dream of smooth white hands 
 Tenderly binding ice cold bands 
 About my aching, burning brow, 
 (I can almost feel them now) 
 Then white dream fingers' touch, 
 Whose mesmeric power was such 
 As soothed away all pain, and sent 
 Me into the land of sweet content. 
 
 A land, wherein I dreamed we two 
 Roamed all the gracious summer through, 
 Hand in hand as children go, 
 Out in the sunshine, to and fro. 
 She chiding if I culled a flower — 
 "Let it live its brief bright hour," 
 And so for her dear sake 
 I spare the shy wild things — and wake 
 
 To find my vision clear — a dream 
 
 Yet not a dream — for I do seem 
 
 To find the same clear eyes, the hands; 
 
 A vase of fair dream flowers stand 
 
 Near my bed, and the perfume rare 
 
 Floats vaguely up thro' the freshened air. 
 
 Yesterday — just at even fall 
 
 I told her my dream — told it all. 
 
 Took the soft dream hand in mine, 
 
 The touch sent a thrill to my heart like wine, 
 
 Raising the drooped face in my palm. 
 
 To look for an answer in deep eyes calm, 
 
 Turned the dear flushed face from my gaze away, 
 
 To hide on my breast forever a day ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
DtC 19 1900 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 llillli!! 
 
 iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 
 018 393 961 
 
 uuiutiiHmHii^itiilifliiH