Class T S ^ ■'^ \ -^ 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 
 
FIDDLE 
 STICKS 
 
 «^ 
 
 Verse by 
 
 Francis Cadwalader Hall 
 
 
 iqD^i 
 
LIBHARY of CONGRESS 
 Two OoDies Received 
 
 JAN 2 1909 
 
 ^ Copyriint tritry _ 
 dJASS O^/ XXa No, 
 
 , A ^ '^ F4- 
 
 38 OF W. r. ROBERTS 09. 
 WASHINOTON. D. 0. 
 
^ •^ CONTENTS. 
 
 >2» 1 .i . PAGE. 
 
 ^JJ^Absence — 95 
 
 ^•s Album Leaf 75 
 
 -^ Anna Maria 99 
 
 _:m^^At Sea 64 
 
 ; J Belle 98 
 
 •^ The Bookkeeper 96 
 
 ^ ^ A Bug's Eye Point of View 100 
 
 Child's Chinese Valentine 85 
 
 A Conclusion 96 
 
 Curly Head 86 
 
 A Disagreeable Man 70 
 
 An Easter Greeting 69 
 
 Egotism 104 
 
 Extremes 34 
 
 A Fancy 55 
 
 Fate 30 
 
 First Love 60 
 
 Flirting 95 
 
 Fudge 29 
 
 Glory 97 
 
 Grace 99 
 
 The Hand Organ 12 
 
 A Heart Sin 59 
 
 Herbert 97 
 
 A Honeymoon 55 
 
 An Invitation 49 
 
 A Kiss 33 
 
 Lament of the Elevator Boy 80 
 
 The Legend of the Shawl 13 
 
A Love Look 32 
 
 Love's Promise 54 
 
 Mabel 24 
 
 Mamie 98 
 
 A Memory 50 
 
 A Merry Little Ostrich 76 
 
 Not Thee 93 
 
 A Paddle for His Canoe 23 
 
 Paul T] 
 
 Perversity 65 
 
 The Requiem of the Winds 25 
 
 Remorse 28 
 
 Shust So 74 
 
 Smart Aleck Bill 78 
 
 The Solace of Symbolism 35 
 
 A Song 89 
 
 A Song of Domesticity 45 
 
 Strayed — Unmentionables 109 
 
 Stung 9 
 
 Susan Ti 
 
 Sweet Sixteen 10 
 
 To a Danseuse 107 
 
 To a Pair of Slippers 108 
 
 To a Pressed Rose ^7 
 
 To Baby Rosebud 83 
 
 To My Photograph 79 
 
 Together — Apart 91 
 
 A Trysting 5 
 
 Two Sugar Lumps 102 
 
 Violet 56 
 
 White Hands - 7 
 
 Wind Wraiths 62 
 
A TRYSTING. 
 
 Ah, life was strangely glad that night, 
 
 When merry Madge and I 
 Sat talking on a grassy bank 
 
 Beneath a moonlit sky. 
 
 Just laughed that we were happy, while 
 The silver moon hung there 
 
 And edged her cheek with tender light, 
 Made halos in her hair. 
 
 It cast the woods in mystic gloom, 
 
 And lined the road in white. 
 The firefly searched the cool damp shades 
 
 With blinking elfin light. 
 
T'was then I leaned to steal a kiss, 
 And leaning lost my place ; 
 
 And just in fun to hold my own, 
 I caught her round the waist. 
 
 Loud played night's insect chorus. Then 
 A frog drummed with his might. 
 
 The pompous moon strode smiling on. 
 With beaming baton bright. 
 
 If ever life seems hard to her, 
 I hope she'll turn as I, 
 
 And see again that grassy bank 
 Beneath the moonlit sky. 
 
WHITE HANDS. 
 
 That she had caused me so much pain, 
 I must not see her face again. 
 For breaking faith I did upbraid, 
 And though no word or sign she made, 
 
 I could have clasped her to my breast, 
 My wilful dear, my joy and rest; 
 But as she stood there at my side. 
 And turned her head as if to hide 
 
 Her face, I left. 'Twas then that she 
 Outstretched her small white hands to me. 
 Too late I found that I was wrong. 
 And oh ! how dreary have passed along 
 
The years. I thought I would forget 
 That she was part of me, and yet 
 The memory of her first sweet gaze 
 Has filled my dreams and haunts my days. 
 
 When life and faith grow dark as night, 
 Its then my hope's dim faltering light, 
 I fancy through the gloom to see 
 Those small white hands outstretched to me. 
 
 I hope, I trust, that once again, 
 When my brief life in dust is lain, 
 And loves and longings are set free, 
 Those frail white hands may beckon me. 
 
STUNG. 
 
 Your brow was so arched, your face so fair, 
 Your retrousse nose so tilted in air, 
 My heart went out to you right then and there, 
 As anyone's would with eyes anywhere; 
 
 And when like a violet ether of dew, 
 The gaze of a dreamer fell on you 
 The sun of your smile to me did seem 
 The dawn of a sweet and mystic dream. 
 
 Alas ! you were so slow to see 
 
 My irresistability. 
 
 I gave it up, and would forget 
 
 My dawning dream was its own sunset. 
 
SWEET SIXTEEN. 
 
 I never said that I loved her, 
 
 It seemed too absurd from the first ; 
 
 For she was the sweetest and fairest, 
 And I, by God ! was the worst. 
 
 So I mimicked a hopleless caring, 
 
 And she laughed at my seeming jest ; 
 
 For I was a leaf near its turning, 
 And she was a bud at its best. 
 
 I had never hoped for her caring, 
 Nor for her. It didn't seem fair; 
 
 Yet my jest was a joy in my dreaming. 
 When my soul shed its earth rags there. 
 
 lO 
 
And the dream did not end with my waking, 
 But made all the world seem fair. 
 
 I'd never a fear of its sorrow, 
 For it didn't take much to know 
 
 If my cup overfilled tomorrow, 
 
 It would sweeten my life with its flow; 
 
 And yet, when the time came for parting, 
 And not until then did I know. 
 
 How dearly I loved her, the darling. 
 And oh, how I missed her so. 
 
 For she was the sweetest and fairest, 
 The purest and brightest and best. 
 
 II 
 
THE HAND ORGAN 
 
 I hear it now across the street, 
 
 A grinding its tunes away. 
 Somehow its strains sound strangely sweet, 
 
 With the charm of a bygone day. 
 
 I know not what that charm may be, 
 
 RecalHng no loss or joy. 
 Did it sound in that beautiful mystery, 
 
 When I was a pesky boy? 
 
 12 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE SHAWL. 
 
 A crimson, silken shawl was made, 
 In strange and foreign lands, 
 
 By just the dearest, brown-eyed maid, 
 With oh, such dainty hands. 
 
 She'd weave beneath a palm all day, 
 Beside the plain's white glow. 
 
 And in her dreamy, silvery way, 
 Sing cu-lu-la-la-lo. 
 
 'Tis said this crimson, silken shawl, 
 
 Was for her wedding day, 
 Outside her round, brown self 'twas all, 
 
 She had to give away. 
 
 13 
 
With all her heart and soul, it seems, 
 
 She wove therein a face ; 
 And all her blushing thoughts and dreams, 
 
 With kisses in its lace. 
 
 And had you seen the flowers there, 
 
 You could imagine how, 
 She wove the perfume of that air, 
 
 Whose fragrance fills it now. 
 
 She was a sad coquette, men said, 
 Their law was her sweet whim, 
 
 But one could bend that pretty head, 
 She'd pout, then smile on him. 
 
 14 
 
He was so good to her, this one, 
 The fair and brave Abo, 
 
 So gentle, true and full of fun. 
 And oh, she loved him so. 
 
 But just to test his love the more. 
 
 She smiled on one Ali, 
 Who first her favor falsely swore, 
 
 And then in fear did flee. 
 
 Abo pursued him o'er the plain, 
 
 In wrath Lake forsook. 
 She laughed, and said he'd come again, 
 
 She knew him like a book. 
 
 15 
 
But as the passing days grew long, 
 Your heart would ache I know 
 
 To hear her plaintive, sighing song, 
 That sweet cu-la-la-lo. 
 
 And from her door she'd gaze at night, 
 
 Across the moon-lit plain, 
 Her eyes would fill with wistful light. 
 
 And in her breast crept pain. 
 
 One night her name was breathed in air, 
 
 Just as he used to do. 
 She turned and saw him standing there, 
 
 So wan, the moon shone through. 
 
 i6 
 
With joyous cry and wild caress, 
 She caught his outstretched hand; 
 
 But clasping naught save emptyness, 
 Fell fainting on the sand. 
 
 And soon word came, that he was slain. 
 
 Struck down by Ali's knife. 
 She breathed a prayer and dropped the skein 
 
 That ended with her life. 
 
 They crossed her tiny, dimpled hands. 
 And wrapped her in the shawl, 
 
 For she would seek in spirit land. 
 To find her love, her all. 
 
 17 
 
Somehow, the legend runs, that when 
 Good Buddha heard her prayer 
 
 He brought their souls to earth again, 
 To find each other there, 
 
 To learn that Allah's vales are not 
 A torment for the vain, 
 
 That earth is but a penance spot, 
 Nirvana's rest to gain. 
 
 And though the two knew naught of this, 
 The truth their hearts did feel. 
 
 Through lives and lives he sought the miss, 
 While she sought her ideal. 
 
 i8 
 
O'er land and sea this crimson shawl, 
 Her wandering feet keep trace, 
 
 And on her round brown form will fall, 
 Who seeks her lo^^er's face : 
 
 For when she nears her love, this shawl. 
 
 Glows like the setting sun, 
 And when between them shadows fall, 
 
 Like blood its lustres run. 
 
 Of course it will be love at sight, 
 They'll meet with rapturous cries. 
 
 He'll kiss and clasp her firm, round form, 
 And hush her joy pained sighs. 
 
 19 
 
And meet they did in far off land, 
 
 Uncounted years ago; 
 And lip met lip and hand clasped hand, 
 
 In th' sweetest love I know. 
 
 But life was false and hard and vain. 
 
 In lands beyond the sea, 
 And though it broke their hearts again, 
 
 They earned eternity. 
 
 It came to pass that Ben Ali, 
 Of what of him was left, 
 
 Long wandered by the Indian sea, 
 Of heart and soul bereft. 
 
 20 
 
Until one night in shimmering glow, 
 
 Of moonlight on the sea, 
 He saw embracing brave Abo, 
 
 The wraith of sweet Lake. 
 
 He drew his kris, then leaped from shore. 
 
 To end what could not die. 
 But fell, thrown back with sullen roar, 
 
 Outcast of sea and sky. 
 
 Now in that distant land, they say. 
 
 His spirit, shunned by all. 
 Must wend the jungle's sunless way, 
 
 A striped, red fanged Bengal. 
 
And too, it may seem strange to be, 
 That through the ages span, 
 
 So frail a thing as sweet Lalee, 
 Was fate to either man. 
 
 And yet, if e'er fate's light you'll see, 
 From good or ill shine through, 
 
 A visioned face that beckons thee, 
 God bless or pity you. 
 
A PADDLE FOR HIS CANOE. 
 
 Sweet little maid with eyes so blue, 
 
 A paddle to love I offer you ; 
 
 But whose the bark that'll carry you there ? 
 
 I don't know and you don't care ; 
 
 But should you care to stop awhile, 
 
 Rest on your oar and splash and smile. 
 
 Recall ere this you dip again, 
 There're others who paddle some now and then. 
 There's more than one who could go renl strong, 
 'Neath the one girl power of your glance and song; 
 But should those brave little arms e'er tire, 
 When calm seas rise in their might and ire. 
 
 The undersigned would have you understand, 
 Anyone would jump in and take a hand, 
 But if another is worthier and true. 
 Write, telling whose little girl are you ; 
 But ne'er forget the times and day. 
 And hearts you took from Toxaway. 
 
 23 
 
MABEL. 
 With Apologies to R. K. 
 
 A lad sent a lassie some roses rare 
 
 Even as you and I. 
 With sea green eyes and sea-weed hair, 
 Too full of fun and life to care. 
 A damn for anyone who'd dare 
 To call her in secret their lady fair, 
 
 Even as you and I. 
 
 24 
 
THE REQUIEM OF THE WINDS. 
 
 Round my mound upon some hillside, 
 'Neath the cedar's shade reline me, 
 Where the winds are ever sighing, 
 Sighing strangely sweet and low, 
 
 With a tone so loving, longing, 
 That I'll sleep with sweet resigning, 
 Dreaming that my soul is crying 
 Brokenhearted on the breeze. 
 
 They may tell unspoken feeling. 
 They may breathe their miserere, 
 They may sing of foregone gladness 
 Till my spirit sighs refrain. 
 
 25 
 
Ah ! I know they breathe me solace. 
 They will soothe me for all failing, 
 When at night they rock the tree tops, 
 Crooning o'er my weary sleep. 
 
 Could it be they're voices hidden 
 In the winds keen poignant crying. 
 Strive to break death's fateful silence, 
 Of eternal rest to tell? 
 
 Where none doubt and where none weary, 
 Where love grows with joy e'er changing, 
 There I'd rise, should shrill blasts waken 
 Tenderest love to rend my breast. 
 
 26 
 
There I'd rest and dream of springtime, 
 Feel the breeze stroked grass bend o'er me, 
 See the fields neath blue skies dreaming. 
 Lulled by surf of rustling leaves. 
 
 Could it be my soul does penance 
 For the sins in flesh recorded ? 
 That I feel a loss, a longing 
 In whose depth a promise dwells? 
 
 27 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 One tear was shed, love's mirage clear 
 It held the soul that held you dear 
 By sun rays drawn to mists of dew, 
 It fell all hued on a rose like you. 
 The rosy tints turned slowly white, 
 And soon its fragrant soul took flight. 
 
 28 
 
FUDGE. 
 
 Here rests in piece — 'tis true, 
 Some sugared jests for thee, 
 
 And may they seem as sweet to you, 
 As this seems sweet to me. 
 
 Perhaps I'd best tell here, 
 How in my dreams I cooked. 
 
 Your vision to a turn, my dear. 
 As ardently I looked. 
 
 How in your glances cold, 
 
 I set it out to cool. 
 And send it for the lie I've told. 
 
 And felt — repentant fool. 
 
 29 
 
FATE. 
 
 Love tapped at my door one winter's night, 
 As lonely I mused by my wood fire light. 
 It startled me, this tap so dear, 
 That plainly asked to share my cheer. 
 
 I kept right still, for this wouldn't do. 
 Things might not be as snug with two. 
 But when I thought what fun 'twould be 
 To have the dear rogue prank with me, 
 
 I changed my mind and crossed the floor, 
 To watch for him behind the door. 
 With a cloth to sting his soft pink skin, 
 And wrap his chubby gooseflesh in. 
 
 30 
 
I opened the door a little and slow, 
 To find but his foot prints in the snow. 
 I called through the night I called him dear, 
 But a sob on the winds was all I could hear. 
 
 He ran away. My joy, too, fled. 
 And many lone years have long since sped ; 
 Yet when night storms and my fire burns dim, 
 I warm my heart with thoughts of him. 
 
 31 
 
A LOVE LOOK. 
 
 No spell is wrought in the west ere night, 
 No violet glow of the dawn's dim light, 
 No wind-borne breath of fresh perfume, 
 No incense that creeps from the rose's bloom 
 As soft as the touch of a maiden hand, 
 Or the winds light kiss of an errant strand, 
 No mystic tone from the realm of sound, 
 As an unseen mantle falls around, 
 No spell is so rare b}^ these betook. 
 As the tender love in a woman's look. 
 
 32 
 
A KISS. 
 
 You ask me to write some verse on the kiss 
 We shared last night with dinging bHss. 
 It were easier far to write a book 
 On your cherry mouth and rosy look. 
 
 Of the kiss I can but find a part 
 For its sweetness overflowed my heart, 
 And to comment fitly on the whole, 
 rd have to wring my very soul. 
 
 33 
 
EXTREMES. 
 
 We laughed ourselves into loving, 
 In those sunlit clays gone by, 
 
 Nor saw the storm winds moving 
 In that high cerulean sky. 
 
 And so in our hearts were brewing 
 Inscrutable laws that untie. 
 
 Time came when two from parting, 
 Walked lone 'neath leaden sky. 
 
 34 
 
THE SOLACE OF SYMBOLISM. 
 
 Ah, wise the man and wise the maid, 
 Who can themselves this truth persuade, 
 The object of their love and serving, 
 The symbol is of their deserving. 
 
 So grateful be that love can dream. 
 Nor grieve that is not what it seems. 
 No face with love your heart can fill, 
 More than your worth, less than your ill. 
 
 For symbols often from you go. 
 With sense and soul too small to know. 
 They're four involved in love's fair dream ; 
 The two that are — the two that seem. 
 
 35 
 
Love's fullest measure was not meant 
 To be but whim or accident, 
 And does with symbols best abide, 
 That to itself are close allied. 
 
 When some fair image love selects, 
 And in your heart its image sets ; 
 It may be worthy you or less, 
 That craves or flees your fond caress. 
 
 So loving swain believe its true. 
 Love's measure's in the heart of you. 
 Divinely sweet and just it is, 
 Life's highest law and deepest bliss. 
 
 36 
 
Our own reward for good should be 
 The sesame to eternity. 
 Love is a boon so high and rare, 
 It needs no balm of mutual care ; 
 
 No more that than that its solace be 
 Your tender hearts sweet sanctity. 
 It may be in the gaze of love 
 God smiles approval from above. 
 
 No fairer dawn grows into day, 
 When radiant love doth pass your way, 
 And to your longing heart doth seem. 
 The face of all your hopes and dreams ; 
 
 37 
 
Bedecked in raiment wonderous fair, 
 It dazzles you while standing there, 
 You do his every wish and whim; 
 You bow down low and worship him. 
 
 You give your soul's profusion while 
 The symbol gives an idol's smile. 
 You dress him in your heart and soul 
 Till like yourself the thing is whole. 
 
 So when forsaken and bereft 
 Of all that life holds sweet, love left. 
 In ways it might seem all too true, 
 Joy went forever out of you. 
 
 38 
 
Ah, then how desolate life doth seem, 
 When flees that laughing, lipping dream 
 With all its love and future care ; 
 Your pride and very soul left bare. 
 
 No higher joy your soul hath known. 
 Nor bleaker hell it's absence own ; 
 No sweeter bliss seemed God's to give, 
 Than that your heart had ceased to live. 
 
 No sweeter sound do angels know. 
 Than sighs of lost loves here below. 
 In silent hosts they downward flee 
 To sanctify and comfort thee. 
 
 39 
 
Oblivion may be the rest, 
 Of closed eyes over no love glance blest. 
 Somehow the loves must live again, 
 Of those who long but ne'er attain. 
 
 Of this one truth you may be sure — 
 And, man or maid, 'twill make you truer- 
 That love its symbol makes of thee; 
 No matter how high or low you be. 
 
 If love achieved you now would spurn, 
 111 fate will rise where'er you turn. 
 Love is the best in both, so when 
 It smiles on you, breathe an amen. 
 
 40 
 
No sadder sacrifice you'll find, 
 Than love forsaken, hopeless, blind, 
 Which humbled in the dust must kneel, 
 With pain too vast to know or feel, 
 
 Before some fair, entrancing face, 
 With smiling sweet and winsome grace, 
 To lie in vain at its clay feet, 
 All that you held so high and sweet. 
 
 Ah, pity 'tis love's hope's so strong, 
 'Tis true to falseness oft life long 
 Maybe your love's unselfish dreams, 
 More than your sin and pain redeems. 
 
 41 
 
Be brave to tell and ask what's true, 
 In love truth miracles can do, 
 And spare the years of doubt and pain, 
 For fate may never pass again. 
 
 Think not of love where hate there be, 
 'Tis more of wounded vanity. 
 The truer love will nobly bless. 
 It's errant symbol's happiness. 
 
 Though hurt and broken be your soul, 
 Arise — press on for love's the goal. 
 And, broken one believe its true. 
 That love has greater depths for you. 
 
 42 
 
Our life is but a battlefield, 
 Where love for lesser things doth yield. 
 The realm of love's a higher plain, 
 With stronger joy and keener pain. 
 
 The laws by which loves come and go, 
 No one save God can ever know. 
 No just appeal nor sad refrain 
 E'er called a dead love back again. 
 
 No wiser truth, when love has run. 
 Is felt than this: 'Thy will be done." 
 In love you cannot always see; 
 Nor fathom God's deep equity. 
 
 43 
 
Nor should your wounded spirit sink 
 Below despair's unsealed brink; 
 But brave and firm remain above 
 Abasement of affronted love. 
 
 Bemoan no love too good for thee. 
 Forsooth, vain one, the thing can be. 
 But should it prove unworthy thee ; 
 Regret is useless flattery. 
 
 Nor let it thief like stalk abroad, 
 In love's fair raiment, fool or fraud; 
 For to the heart that w^ove that dream 
 A brighter day may sometime beam. 
 
 Ah, rest contented then to know 
 Awhile love's sacred afterglow. 
 That smoothes your face with sad impress, 
 Till those like you may see and bless. 
 
 44 
 
A SONG OF DOMESTICITY. 
 
 I can't dance, can't play a thing, 
 Can't whistle much, or pluck a string. 
 But when I come home cold and tired, 
 And find mv sweetheart neat attired, 
 
 The room all filled with cozy light, 
 A warm meal spread on table white, 
 Where she presides with wifely grace, 
 While love and laughter light her face. 
 
 A wave of joy flows over me. 
 And thrills with sweet intensity. 
 With all the world I feel in tune. 
 Life seems all joy. Time flies too soon. 
 
 45 
 
My rapture grows and flows until 
 My cup begins to overfill. 
 I'm very thankful for one thing — 
 Though some are not — That I can sing. 
 
 I close the door, tilt back my chair, 
 Pick out some good old-fashioned air, . 
 And then with glorious song and shout, 
 I let the surplus feeling out. 
 
 O Lord, how sweet it sounds to me, 
 The glad chills course exultingly. 
 The dear sad past stirs in my breast. 
 Awakened from its fairy rest. 
 
 46 
 
Of highest joys my found soul speaks 
 Between the breaks and lusty shrieks. 
 How it must sound with those high notes, 
 That fly to pieces in my throat. 
 
 It matters not. I onl}^ hear 
 A song whose time my heart beats here, 
 A song of angels bright and fair. 
 Whose happy lot I seem to share. 
 
 The sight of her lights up my eyes. 
 On her dear laugh all trouble flies, 
 Her magic garners more from gold 
 Than could the fairy folk of old. 
 
 47 
 
Puts loving eheer in everything, 
 That wealth can't buy nor station bring. 
 Somehow life runs too fair to tell, 
 Like wind blown chimings of a bell. 
 
 So vague and strange it all doth seem, 
 I question if I only dream, 
 And must needs wake to lonely cheer. 
 With her sweet image nowhere near. 
 
 But no, the angels sews the while, 
 And listens with a martyr's smile. 
 Amidst the clouds of fluffy lace. 
 Till time for sleep steals on apace. 
 
 Then arm in arm we romp up stairs. 
 I tell her I have said my prayers. 
 To never mind, time may beget, 
 Some sweeter music for her yet. 
 
 48 
 
AN INVITATION. 
 
 Now tell to which of these below, 
 Some night real soon you'd like to go : 
 We could follow the crowd to vaudeville, 
 And give dull care its fling and fill, 
 Or watch the lunatics that spark 
 And laugh out loud at some such park. 
 
 Or chase ourselves to a sylvan place, 
 
 Where the cool breeze fans your hair and face. 
 
 Or skim and glide to motions spell, 
 
 'Neath the stars on the rails' bright parallel ; 
 
 That is, if you don't prefer to go 
 
 Where the river stubs its great big toe. 
 
 I know you've read the best of verse, 
 And now I'm sure you've seen the worst; 
 But bad as it is, the good Lord knows 
 I dare not write to you in prose. 
 Why then, fair maid, do you suppose, 
 At the foot of this I lay a rose. 
 
 49 
 
A MEMORY. 
 
 On this high hill, here at my feet, 
 
 You, laughing, talked the hours away. 
 
 I was content. Your voice was sweet 
 To me that perfect April day. 
 
 What, though my head lay on your breast ? 
 
 I loved you so, I loved you then, 
 The whole world smiled in dreamful rest, 
 
 I thought you loved me too, for when 
 
 A wandering breeze stirred in my hair. 
 You stroked it tenderly and slow. 
 
 Your farewell kiss fell melting there 
 On my warm brow, a flake of snow. 
 
 50 
 
'Twas here we came to part. You said, 
 It could not be. It was not fair 
 
 To one already hapless wed. 
 
 Our love must bloom in purer air. 
 
 My grief my God and pillow knew. 
 
 It hurt to think you held me vain, 
 Who loved the very sight of you, 
 
 And only laughed to hide my pain. 
 
 I willed you from my heart and mind. 
 
 You hurt my pride. I would forget. 
 But that you were so blythe and kind, 
 
 I might have hated you, and yet 
 
 51 
 
There're times so strange, your memory 
 Awakes my love and pain anew. 
 
 It's then I feel you're calling me. 
 It's then my poor heart turns to you. 
 
 One warm night past, as calm I slept 
 And lived a dream of joy — half true, 
 
 I awoke. You were not there. I wept, 
 And stretched my aching arms for you. 
 
 I sighed and wept until there came 
 
 A cool sweet breeze that soothed my pain 
 
 With gentle whispers of thy name, 
 And kissed me into dreams ao:ain. 
 
 52 
 
So come, my love, ere 'tis too late. 
 
 Life has no meaning save with you. 
 This may be life's one love — our fate. 
 
 You care for me. I know you do. 
 
 I wait, but ere hope has fled, 
 
 Resistless unto love I'll go. 
 And seek thee out, by nature led. 
 
 I'll press thy lips. I'll make thee know. 
 
 53 
 
LOVE'S PROMISE. 
 
 My love-impassioned soul would bear 
 Your spirit to the realms on high, 
 
 Where all is sweet and blissful — fair, 
 And laugh-caressing cupids hie. 
 
 I'll drink no more of Lethe's wave. 
 
 I thirst for joy, though tried in fire, 
 With spell of love I would enslave 
 
 And feast my heart with love's desire. 
 
 54 
 
A FANCY. 
 
 With love turned lips and raven curls, 
 
 And great dark eyes, my gipsy girl's 
 
 A world of peace and joy to me. 
 
 Her gaze a life spring seems to be. 
 
 Where from my weary soul doth drink. 
 
 'Tis dragged with dreams. I sometimes think 
 
 Her ways are like the sweet, wild rose 
 
 That gathers sweetness as it grows. 
 
 My heart — a butterfly — the while 
 
 Just flutters in her sunbeam smile. 
 
 55 
 
A HONEYMOON. 
 
 The pearl rests pure in its ocean bed. 
 
 The sun gHnts the dew on the grasses blade. 
 So thy fair form, when that dear head 
 
 With thine eyes dream light to my heart is laid. 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 A seed was borne upon the air, 
 
 And fell into the morass where 
 
 The grass and reeds grow thick and rank, 
 
 Beside the marsh's stagnant bank. 
 
 None e'er knew the zephyr's name, 
 That for this sowing was to blame, 
 Some said 'twas love, and others care. 
 Perhaps 'twas need or bleak despair. 
 
 56 
 
Not e'en the budding flower knew 
 It's source, as in that soil it grew, 
 So wonderous sweet it was and fair, 
 Its fragrance filled that fevered air. 
 
 The reeds and grass bowed fondly down, 
 The wanton winds spread its renown, 
 A nearby brook sang there awhile 
 With liquid note and rippling smile. 
 
 But when that bloom was opening whole, 
 Into its life there came a soul. 
 The soul was love. It looked around ; 
 But found no life in that rank ground. 
 
 57 
 
It breathed the marsh air with dismay, 
 Then smiled and wilted fast away. 
 The mist above that place did fall, 
 And hung there like a ghostly pall. 
 
 'Tis said the flower's heart and face, 
 Became the fable of that place, 
 And from that marsh of bleak despair, 
 Was followed to the purer air. 
 
 At night a lover wind, tis said, 
 Moans keenly for her overhead. 
 Deploring that he did not bear 
 Her love, on high, to purer air. 
 
 The while, an owl, on lifeless tree. 
 Against the moon laughs mockingly. 
 Vain fool you've lost the love God gave, 
 The thing from hell your soul could save. 
 
 58 
 
A HEART SIN. 
 
 When now a fair one awes my gaze, 
 And love enthralls in tenderest ways, 
 A white robed form betw^een doth arise, 
 The meaning in whose sombre eyes 
 Forbids the bans, and says, ''too late." 
 I was votir love. I am vour fate. 
 
 The dream of love then flees my heart, 
 
 As though dispelled by magic art. 
 
 Fond hands and looks turn cold and strange, 
 
 Affrighted by the blighted change. 
 
 It's then an old love pleads which I 
 
 Refuse my heart, left to die. 
 
 59 
 
FIRST LOVE. 
 
 It was so sweet, so pure, so fair ; 
 Its thoughts are with me everywhere, 
 A song's refrain through joy and pain, 
 A sunHt stream that threads Hfe's plain. 
 
 A rose leaf fancy smiling dear. 
 Wind wafted down a moment here 
 To touch my heart into a blaze, 
 And warm to blushing in my gaze. 
 
 From high blue skies 'twas wafted down, 
 'Midst crinkling mists wrapped loose around, 
 Then breathing promise rose somewhere, 
 Beyond the velvet depths of air. 
 
 60 
 
And though there other loves, its true, 
 The bloom seems off the grape's ripe hue; 
 No face may seem, though oft I care 
 So wondrous sweet, so laughing fair. 
 
 Ah, if in youth we only knew, 
 That only love is real and true. 
 That love abides delusions vain. 
 And weeps o'er tokens that remain. 
 
 6i 
 
WIND WRAITHS. 
 
 Tonight the winds are sighing, 
 And rushing o'er land and seas, 
 
 Like a soul that knows no resting — 
 Seeking the love that flees. 
 
 They awaken the countless longings, 
 
 And memories I've lain, 
 Asleep amid their dreamings, 
 
 Like a child at rest from pain. 
 
 Outside my rattling window, 
 
 Past the light of its rain-streaked pane, 
 The wraiths of fair faces follow, 
 
 And smile from the night again. 
 
 62 
 
It sounds to me like singing, 
 And pleading in the skies, 
 
 As though my soul they're calling, 
 With sweet and poignant cries. 
 
 'Tis then with a heart o'erflowing, 
 
 I bury my face in hand, 
 With grief too sweet for telling — 
 
 Too strange to understand. 
 
 63 
 
AT SEA. 
 
 Last night as I strolled along the shore, 
 In quiet made vast by the slow, dull roar 
 Of waves, that in their long mad race 
 Broke white as palor on a dying face, 
 That creeping, crouching, rushing free. 
 Leaped madly from the murky sea, 
 That threw a veil of mist on high. 
 And hid from the drifting the star-strewn sky. 
 'Twas then I questioned why should I, 
 An atom, a moment's triumph or sigh, 
 Feel fear of death or dread its call 
 
 As I faced the infinity of all? 
 
 Happy and proud in my lowly way, 
 
 With the crust, the coat and the roof of today. 
 
 Not caring for riches, fame or strife. 
 
 But filled with the love and the joy of life. 
 
 Thankful in spite of the faults in me, 
 
 To feel some beauty in all I see. 
 
 Hoping that when the Redeemer of all, 
 
 For the little worth saving in me makes call, 
 
 For eternity's solace, may chance to see 
 
 The love and the laugh in the heart of me. 
 
 64 
 
PERVERSITY. 
 
 'Tis said you love the peerless Prue, 
 And that your suit is all in vain. 
 
 Are new fields then too few for you, 
 Who held it easy smiles to gain? 
 
 I know that I my time ma}^ waste, 
 
 That she deserves much more than me. 
 
 I might be more. She's to my taste, 
 Though I'm no cannibal, you see. 
 
 Now don't make light of her sweet spell. 
 
 Of your sad plight she soon may know; 
 And more a little bird may tell, 
 
 That may add to your weight of woe. 
 
 65 
 
One word I would add for myself. 
 
 Just hint this thought that me engages, 
 'Tis plain she thinks well of herself ; 
 
 And this is hard. It's so contagious. 
 
 And last of all you may this tell : 
 
 I hope her crown my dreams may be. 
 
 I'll seek no more. I've served too well. 
 I'll keep for love what's left of me. 
 
 66 
 
TO A PRESSED ROSE. 
 
 How fair the face by thee recalled, 
 
 Of one as clear as ere to me, 
 Who to my cloak thee sweetly pinned, 
 
 With lash swept cheek and blushingly. 
 
 Like joys that briefly live till blown, 
 By fate that gives and takes away. 
 
 As petals on their fragrance blown, 
 You die to bloom in memory. 
 
 I know a cheek pink as thy bloom. 
 
 As satin soft it seems. 
 With ways as sweet as thy perfume, 
 
 And light as evening dreams, 
 
 67 
 
Thy tints like lovers seem to be, 
 Twin beauties merged in one, 
 
 And like her eyes deep purity 
 
 Are both my sky and morning sun. 
 
 Thy sad, sweet fragrance doth instil 
 Dreams that are past and hopes to be, 
 
 As poppied fumes of fancies will, 
 Live in the dreams that follow me. 
 
 68 
 
AN EASTERN GREETING. 
 
 Fair lilies sway in the breeze to and frow, 
 
 Filled with a secret they'd have you know, 
 
 Like a child with a tale it cannot keep, 
 
 But holds till you coax its silence sweet. 
 
 So place thine ear to their petals white, 
 
 And listen in awe to its whispering light 
 
 Of a miracle once performed for man, 
 
 How a likeness to you in them began 
 
 Through a fond mother's eyes ere yours could see, 
 
 And they traced their fair white souls in thee. 
 
 69 
 
A DISAGREEABLE MAN. 
 
 Oh, I'm a disagreeable man, 
 Just kick and grumble all I can 
 When things don't go to suit my mind, 
 I hate myself and cuss my kind; 
 
 Forget the jolly times I've had. 
 That books and music make me glad : 
 Forget a world of youthful joys, 
 With pretty girls and prankf ul boys ; 
 
 Forget a love that bloomed and died 
 Without a word through my fool pride 
 Forget a wild, sweet kiss that came 
 From thrilling lips of tender Mame; 
 
 70 
 
Forget dear Hannah's great blue eyes, 
 That took their mood from changing skies- 
 This rhapsody sounds rough, I know. 
 But then I'll tell you why its so. 
 
 My ideal was in all of these, 
 For they were so darned hard to please. 
 That, while I wondered which was she, 
 They wondered what was wrong with me. 
 
 And that these times may never come 
 Again, is just the reason I'm so grum, 
 Why in light jest I vent my spleen 
 On all save those in memory green. 
 
 71 
 
They're all the joy my life has known; 
 And in my heart a light they've sown, 
 That back of care glows like the sun 
 Above the clouds, whose shadows run 
 
 Across the meadows' long green roll, 
 All fresh with scents and daisy gold. 
 Well, let them go. What do I care ? 
 I guess I can find joys elsewhere. 
 
 With boon companions have a smoke, 
 And listen to some pesky joke. 
 I think men would be less forlorn 
 If women folk were never born. 
 
 72 
 
SUSAN. 
 
 What opera is that — Mascagni's, I think — 
 Where they bawl, and bow, and strut, and blink. 
 Some call it grand opera. Now ain't that absurd, 
 For with looking so hard you can't hear a word. 
 
 Well, maybe it is, but why hide it so. 
 There was only one sound that I chanced to know 
 In the name that has ever been lovely to man, 
 They called her Santuzza, but la ! that's Susan. 
 
 73 
 
SHUST SO. 
 
 Violets is red, 
 
 Roses is blue, 
 Dot sounds like a lie. 
 
 But its shust as drue. 
 
 That my head are twisted, 
 And my eyes is two. 
 
 And I swaten my tay 
 With thoughts of you. 
 
 74 
 
ALBUM-LEAF. 
 
 I've looked your little album o'er, 
 Of wise old saws I've seen a score (or more). 
 I'm tempted this bright thought to say, 
 In kind of brand new off hand way, 
 
 That "I reiterate them"— no ! 
 I heard that once before, and so 
 I'll say ''these sentiments are mine' 
 For in originality I'd shine. 
 
 75 
 
A MERRY LITTLE OSTRICH. 
 
 Ye powers that be, you can't fool me. 
 I know your tricks. I'm on to ye. 
 You-ve kept your secrets long and well, 
 But don't fear me, for I won't tell. 
 
 We'd better let these mortals rest. 
 For ignorance is bliss and likewise best. 
 And with these words, so vague and grand, 
 This little bird buried its head in the sand. 
 
 76 
 
PAUL. 
 
 I smile when I think of Paul. 
 He wouldn't be bad at all 
 If he didn't write verse, 
 The saddest and worse 
 I think I can recall. 
 
 His temper was much too free. 
 A joke he'd ne'er take nor see, 
 And got mad when I said 
 That the back of his head 
 Was where his ears should be. 
 
 77 
 
SMART ALECK BILL. 
 
 Smart Aleck Bill was a white liver pill. 
 He looked like a jug, and smelled like a still. 
 Sugar-coated with smiles, within he was gall. 
 He admitted himself that he knew more than all. 
 
 His head was so bald when held stiff and high 
 
 It furnished a rink for the frolicsome fly; 
 
 But the thing that marked this ass from his peers, 
 
 Was the fact that his head lay in front of his ears. 
 
 78 
 
TO MY PHOTOGRAPH. 
 
 Here's scowling at you with all my might. 
 Now don't climb a tree, for I don't bite. 
 Beneath's the reason for this look, 
 I'm taking myself more seriously than "took." 
 
 79 
 
THE LAMENT OF THE ELEVATOR BOY, 
 
 There rested a martyred look on his brow, 
 
 And in sympathy I told him, 
 I wished I were he and knew as well how 
 
 To floor everyone with a whim. 
 
 "You'd envy not me," he said, ''nor my lot, 
 
 Nor wonder at my frowns, 
 Could I tell all the draw-backs of this spot, 
 
 And my life with its ups and downs. 
 
 "Of kicks and jests, that are always the same, 
 
 My measure is over full. 
 I have tried to escape them time and again, 
 
 Till I doubt the good of a pull. 
 
 80 
 
"They're those who ask for the twice times floor, 
 With a grin that sticks Hke a cockle bur, 
 
 And the man who must help me open the door, 
 And the wag who wants a through transfer. 
 
 "Of these there are two I won't revile; 
 
 The rube that thinks he must pay, 
 And the guy whom I pass and who asks the while, 
 
 Will I come again this way. 
 
 "The first impression is best, they say, 
 And yet with me 'tis the worst; 
 
 For though I approach, in a guarded way, 
 Its headforemost or feet first." 
 
 8i 
 
"I wish you all knew what to do with a hat. 
 
 Opinion seems to divide, 
 As the hair on the head of the dandy that 
 
 Ogles the girl at his side." 
 
 He paused to give me time to digest 
 
 The gist of views so sage, 
 Then told me I might find it best 
 
 To keep my head in the cage. 
 
 To others who know not where to go. 
 But paused with a foot inside, he gave 
 
 A gentle hint that remaining so 
 
 They stood with one foot in their grave. 
 
 As I left, I promised the boy a Hft, 
 He smiled and questioned my shaft, 
 
 And asked if raises would be swift, 
 Were he the head of the staff. 
 
 82 
 
TO BABY ROSEBUD. 
 
 On a great big rose bush fine 
 Grew a little bud divine, 
 'Dust as bight, and dust as seet 
 As her toud be. 
 
 Once a north wind passing by, 
 Stole a kiss and made her cry, 
 "Top a while my 'ittle wind 
 And play wid me." 
 
 83 
 
But the north wind south must go, 
 And it let the south winds know 
 *'0f this 'ittle bud who was 
 Him joy to see." 
 
 Bade them in their sun and showers, 
 Take her fairy fruits and flowers, 
 And to tiss her once or twice, adain 
 For me. 
 
 84 
 
CHILD'S CHINESE VALENTINE. 
 
 Suck-his-thumb, the Celestial, 
 
 Is not as divine, 
 Nor his melon as sweet 
 
 As my valentine. 
 
 With his fingers for forks, 
 I hope he won't fail 
 To stuff all his melon. 
 And end a pig's tale. 
 
 85 
 
CURLY HEAD. 
 
 He was the peakiest of boys, 
 To raise the most ungodly noise, 
 You could hear him shout a mile away, 
 When laughing, romping at his play. 
 
 He looked like his mother, but all could see, 
 He took his cussedness from me. 
 I'd like to spank him every day. 
 He'd only laugh and run away. 
 
 For I was funnin' with him he knew, 
 As I smiled at his pranks and him as he grew, 
 Light hearted and sunny of face, I know, 
 I spoiled, but then, I loved him so. 
 
 86 
 
When early we put him in nighties to bed, 
 He'd kick and cry and shake his head, 
 Till mamma would kiss his silken curls 
 And face as fair as a baby girl's. 
 
 With goblin tales his grief beguile, 
 Until a drowsy, tear-stained smile 
 Would light his face and he would fall 
 Asleep, forgetting woes and all. 
 
 'Twas only last night of him I dreamed 
 That he was still with us, it seemed 
 I stretched my hand to his trundle bed. 
 To smooth his little tousled head. 
 
 87 
 
But found no wonted comrade there, 
 No breath of sleep or touch of hair, 
 Only the cold and vacant place. 
 Where he had lain with smiling face. 
 
 My heart was dry until the balm, 
 Of welling tears brought deeper calm. 
 I felt I should not always miss 
 His baby hug and soft round kiss. 
 
 88 
 
A SONG. 
 
 Through hazes of the white moon's light, 
 
 A face I seemed to see, 
 That ere from earth in grief took flight, 
 
 And sadly turned from me. 
 
 I thought she must all see and know. 
 And from star deeps above, 
 
 Would whisper to my heart's lone woe 
 Hopes of eternal love. 
 
 'Twas then a song fell on my ear, 
 A voice so sweet, a voice so clear. 
 
 The moon-beams trembled on the tear 
 That startled at a voice so dear. 
 
 89 
 
Fresh woke my heart's fond memories, 
 And sang aloud a glad refrain. 
 
 'Twas all of music known to me, 
 The voice of fair Lorraine. 
 
 A summons glad it seemed to me, 
 As though it dared to break 
 
 The quiet of eternity, 
 
 And life's sad sleep awake. 
 
 I would this weary life of mine 
 Were summoned far away. 
 
 By that faint voice so sweet and clear, 
 Past night to fairer day. 
 
TOGETHER— APART. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Now that you've gone afar, 
 I know how dear you are. 
 Yet does my heart's fond glow 
 Make sweet its lonely woe. 
 And as through life you go, 
 May you yet feel and know. 
 
 When tired you seek the cool at night, 
 
 Alone in its peace to dream, 
 
 The evening star may cast the light, 
 
 Beneath whose rays are seen 
 
 A head in rest laid low. 
 
 With dreams of love aglow. 
 
 91 
 
He's dreaming of thee, 
 For none else can he see, 
 Through all life's fleeting years, 
 So sweet in purity. 
 When love an hour did seem, 
 A sweet, elusive dream. 
 Ah, that this fond decree 
 May never come to be. 
 
 92 
 
NOT THEE. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 A face this heart holds tenderly, 
 
 And ever dear. It seems not thee 
 That now looks us as trustingly, 
 
 As once you did to me. 
 I mean not this to cause thee pain. 
 
 With thee I would be frank. 
 E'en though my love live not again, 
 
 Your pretty face I thank. 
 
 At times I see thee in my dreams. 
 
 And live those golden days again, 
 And like to her thy vision seems, 
 
 'Tis then I wake and live my pain. 
 Oh ! oft I wish so longingly 
 
 That thou wert now as she; 
 But when thy pretty face I see, 
 
 I would that she were thee. 
 
 93 
 
Thou wert thy true self to me then, 
 
 And sweetheart, can you guess 
 How much I'd have you be again 
 
 The memory I possess. 
 Dear Marie, If, mistakingly 
 
 I've made two loves of you. 
 There's one way things can righted be, 
 
 Make one love of us two. 
 
 94 
 
ABSENCE. 
 
 Absence makes some hearts grow fond, 
 
 If fond they chance to be. 
 Long distance cuts that fond growth short, 
 
 If she's absent minded, see? 
 
 FLIRTING. 
 
 A sHp of a girl from Lynne, 
 
 Thought flirting an awful sin. 
 
 So one spring day on Avenue A, 
 
 He followed — and she marched proudly away, 
 
 Oh rat-a-tat-toot-tat-a-din boom — boom, 
 
 Oh rat-a-cat-boot and run him in. 
 
 95 
 
THE BOOKKEEPER. 
 
 Old Bill Cowles was a jolly soul, 
 
 If soul at all was he, 
 
 He'd sum up his book, 
 
 With a spreading adder look, 
 
 Then smile like a chimpanzee. 
 
 A CONCLUSION. 
 
 If this thing looks like me, 
 
 And I like the looks of you, 
 
 Why shouldn't it be a likeness of thee, 
 
 Minus my hideosity. 
 
 96 
 
HERBERT. 
 
 There was a young man named Herbert, 
 Who out of pure water made sherbert. 
 He froze it awhile with his chilHest smile, 
 And then stuck in his finger and stirred it. 
 
 GLORY. 
 
 My nose is red. 
 
 My eyes are blue. 
 Three cheers for my face. 
 
 It's up to you. 
 
 97 
 
MAM-I-E. 
 
 She didn't like names with endings i e. 
 On this we couldn't agree. 
 The first didn't amount to much said i; 
 But ah! how I love the e. 
 
 BELLE. 
 
 There was a sweet thing, named Belle, 
 
 Whom I loved — no, I liked very well. 
 
 From this sweet mouthed miss 
 
 I made a meal of a kiss. 
 
 And swore, by gum ! I'd not tell. 
 
 98 
 
GRACE. 
 
 Immortality in this for Grace, 
 And I swear if her lips do taste 
 Half so sweet as her winsome face, 
 I'd be the busy bee in the case. 
 
 ANNA MARIA. 
 
 Three cheers for Anna Maria, 
 
 She's the cheerfulest kind of a liar, 
 
 She can talk long and well, 
 
 And hammer as well. 
 
 The devil himself wouldn't defy her. 
 
 99 
 
A BUG'S EYE POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 A lady bug said to a male fire-fly: 
 Stop winking at me, and tell me why 
 The big bug man wears store-made clothes. 
 He's an old turn coat, for everyone knows 
 He changes for heat, and changes for cold, 
 And looks gay, shabby, young or old. 
 
 One suit lasts us for life, 'tis true. 
 
 We all look alike, and spick span new, 
 
 And if to change our clothes we'd strive, 
 
 I'm sure we'd skin ourselves alive. 
 
 At this he laughed so contagiously 
 
 She smiled and felt as bright as could be. 
 
 lOO 
 
Then rubbing his lamps, he said, lemme see, 
 
 The reason is this, my dear, sez he. 
 
 They're all home-made and ugly as sin, 
 
 So tall, so short, so fat and thin, 
 
 They're ashamed of themselves, they are, by ging, 
 
 And cover themselves with any old thing. 
 
 Down here they won't stand the wear and tear ; 
 For they're just slipped in by mistake somewhere, 
 And will soon be gone — excuse these tears — 
 In about one thousand million years : 
 The lady bug shook her head with a sigh. 
 And the fire-fly winked his other eye. 
 
 lOI 
 
TWO SUGAR LUMPS. 
 
 I've a silly little tale to tell, 
 Clear as mud and trifling as well. 
 'Tis a tale of two little sugar lumps, 
 That goes by fits, and starts and jumps. 
 It's hard to swallow, but good to eat, 
 And in some respects is rather sweet. 
 
 These lumps to you may not seem fair. 
 But all in all they're on the square. 
 For weeks without a jar or spat. 
 These saccarine cubes in a cupboard sat. 
 Until one hot and humid day, 
 The blonde to the brunette one did say : 
 
 ''Why, bless my soul, you're melting away. 
 
 At this rate you won't last a day." 
 
 You're snivelling yourself," the other said, 
 
 "And you'd weep like me, but your soul has fled." 
 
 Of course, they couldn't know or see, 
 
 That an undefined humidity, 
 
Which spirit-like spread from a sky of blue, 
 
 Had soaked what was pure in them clean through. 
 
 In their good or ill was neither to blame, 
 
 For the sugar and the starch from same shop came. 
 
 So side by side they snivelled and wept. 
 
 Until a breeze the humidity swept 
 
 Out of the window and into the sky, 
 
 And bore their sweetened tears on high ; 
 
 But the starch in one was left to die. 
 
 Dead as a mackerel — high and dry. 
 
 So when together in clouds they came. 
 
 And found their tears and themselves the same, 
 
 Doomed never on earth to spat again, 
 Their tears in gladness fell like rain. 
 To think that they so blind could be, 
 Not to guess that their souls and humidity 
 Were in point of fact the very same, 
 Until one in the clouds they both became. 
 
 103 
 
It don't matter now what a pound they're worth, 
 Or if they were sugar or salt on earth. 
 Their laughter is heard in the April showers 
 That wakens the grass and rests in the flowers, 
 And, of course, I need not tell you how 
 Their tears tint the glow of the sunset now. 
 
 EGOTISM. 
 
 Upon a pin point star they say, 
 
 A microbe race of men hold sway. 
 
 Unless my information's wrong, 
 
 They swarm out there just millions strong. 
 
 Too far to walk or swim or soar. 
 They're trillion miles away and more. 
 It's said they believe that space sublime, 
 Was made alone for them on time. 
 
 They claim and question everything, 
 E'en to the worlds that round them swing; 
 But some more knowing than the rest. 
 Suspect the gods of them make jest. 
 
 104 
 
They'll have their day, likewise their swing, 
 Until they bump into something. 
 The weather then will turn so hot, 
 They'll bake to cinders on the spot. 
 
 And then a race more strong and fair 
 May breathe that super-heated air. 
 They can't see how this change could be. 
 They take themselves so seriously. 
 
 And when they die reward, it seems, 
 Must be beyond their wildest dreams. 
 Now ain't it sad that you and I 
 Can't get our dues until we die. 
 
 105 
 
'Twould make the dead turn in the grave, 
 And the living ponder and behave, 
 To learn that heaven can only come 
 When man makes his millenium. 
 
 They bring to mind the Arctic whale, 
 Who dived down deep with whopping tale 
 Of mountain tops and things that fly, 
 And golden ball in azure sky. 
 
 Alas ! the small fry of that sea 
 Raised question of his sanity; 
 For hadn't they swam and nosed about 
 Too long to hear to a fool whale spout. 
 
 io6 
 
TO A DANSEUSE. 
 
 You're gorgeous as the blushing rose, 
 
 In brief, swirHng dress, 
 You're graceful, too, my dear, Lord knows, 
 
 When dancing with the rest. 
 
 Yet as I gaze, the more I feel. 
 This saw is far from wrong: 
 
 Man wants but little here below, 
 Nor wants that little long. 
 
 107 
 
TO A PAIR OF SLIPPERS. 
 
 You clasped as fondly her little feet, 
 As my hand did hers one evening sweet. 
 Like mice you peep beneath her clothes, 
 The reason for this I should suppose. 
 
 You took for the sun and the depth of the sky, 
 The glow of her smile and the blue of her eye ; 
 Or would you soar on a kick perchance, 
 To catch the light of her radiant glance. 
 
 Like very priests you seem to be, 
 Content in your dim captivity. 
 To breathe the incense and perfume 
 Of canopied and columned gloom. 
 
 'Tis strange that I should laud you so. 
 
 For we were ever at odds you know. 
 
 I loved the ground she trod, which now you must, 
 
 Recall you spurned into clouds of dust. 
 
 1 08 
 
STRAYED— UNMENTIONABLES. 
 
 Sweet innocents, you've lost your wav 
 You'll ne'er get back, I'm grieved to say. 
 Indeed, I never hoped to see 
 You in or out my laundry. 
 
 The laundry maid I cannot scold, 
 I wouldn't take your weight in gold. 
 To me you seem more than divine, 
 An altar cloth to marble shrine. 
 
 So high and pure's your sanctity, 
 I turn my eyes and thoughts from thee, 
 As there you lie with silken grace, 
 Like lily bloom in cloister place. 
 
 109 
 
E'en like a sacred flame you seem, 
 That winds its incense round a dream. 
 You've clung to her like flowering vine, 
 With right to clasp her form divine. 
 
 Mute guards before a temple grand 
 You've stood, but not alone you'll stand. 
 So dust to dust to you I'll say. 
 And in deep drawers will reverent lay. 
 
 If sitting posture you'd assume, 
 You're welcome to the sitting room. 
 We must'nt spat, for, understand, 
 Divided things alone can't stand. 
 
 This lily's calyx none shall see. 
 Though princes' ransom should tempt me. 
 The owner might avoid all strife, 
 If my reward she'll be for life. 
 
 no 
 
 L£Ap'09 
 
FIDDLE 
 STICKS 
 
 ^ 
 
 Verse by 
 
 Francis Cadwalader Hall 
 

 ^