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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Christmas Days 
 
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 -"EUa^'vot HoYiavcL- 
 
CHRISTMAS DAYS 
 
 By 
 JUDD MORTIMER LEWIS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 ROBERT J. SHORES 
 PUBLISHER 
 

 Copyright, 19 17 
 By Robert J. Shores 
 
 DEC 17 1317 
 
 ©CI.A47i)55;^ 
 
To the Little Mothers of the World this book of 
 verse is dedicated. For them no bands play and 
 no banners wave, yet the battles they wage for 
 their loved ones, call for more fortitude, more 
 sacrifice, more suffering, than the soldier en- 
 dures upon the field of battle. God be with the 
 Mothers of the tvorld, for only as they triumph 
 can the world grow better. 
 
 JUDD MORTIMER LEWIS, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAYS IS 
 
 TOO SMALL 17 
 
 JUST BECAUSE I'M HAPPY 20 
 
 POOR SANTA CLAUS 22 
 
 BERNICE 26 
 
 THOUGHT OF RESTING 29 
 
 AT THE SINKING OF THE SUN 32 
 
 IN THE MORNING 35 
 
 TENDER-SWEET 37 
 
 HAS ANYBODY LOST TWO CATS? 39 
 
 TRYING TO EXPRESS IT 42 
 
 NOOKIE KNEW 44 
 
 AN INTERESTING DIZEEZ 48 
 
 AT THE FARM 51 
 
 WHEN BABY HOLLERS PEEK-A-BOO 54 
 
 IN THE NIGHT 57 
 
 BACK TO REALITIES 60 
 
 BACK AGAIN FOR ME 63 
 
 CLIMBERS 66 
 
 THE HILLS 69 
 
 THE BABY WHO ROMPED WITH DAD 73 
 
 A SYMPHONY IN THE MAKING 76 
 
 A SIGN 80 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 LUCK, THAT'S ALL 83 
 
 ALL OF THE TIME 86 
 
 GOOD FOR FARMERS 89 
 
 HAPPY HEART 92 
 
 THOSE OLD DAYS BENEATH THE BOUGH.. 94 
 
 ALL'S WELL 98 
 
 GOING BACK 101 
 
 MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 104 
 
 MIRACLES 107 
 
 THE COVERED BRIDGE 110 
 
 THE OLD DIRT ROAD 113 
 
 HOW IT HAPPENED 116 
 
 RAIN-WET 120 
 
 SUGAR LUMPS 123 
 
 JUST GOING TO DAWDLE ALONG THE WAY 126 
 
 THE LONG SWEET-SMELLING DAYS 129 
 
 MACHINE LIMITATIONS 131 
 
 A CASE O' CAN'T HELP IT 133 
 
 IF I HAD MY WAY 135 
 
 TOGETHER 138 
 
 JUST A TOUCH OF LONGING 141 
 
 RESTING WITH NOVEMBER 143 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 146 
 
Christmas Days 
 
CHRISTMAS DAYS 
 
 f^ HRISTMAS days, and Christmas ways 
 ^^ And, oh, the Christmas weather! 
 Little boys and painted toys 
 
 And wee glad girls together; 
 And Santa Claus a-flinging things. 
 
 And dancing as he flings 'em; 
 Mother crooning Christmas songs 
 
 And laughing as she sings 'em. 
 
 Children's days, and children's ways, 
 
 And green trees decorated 
 With red carts and tinsel hearts, 
 
 All wants anticipated! 
 Never one wee babe forgot. 
 
 And never one that's slighted! 
 Ring-around-a-rosy-time, 
 
 With all the candles lighted! 
 
 15 
 
Little girls with yellow curls, 
 
 And manly boys to love 'em! 
 Mistletoe hung way down low, 
 
 Just bound to get above 'em! 
 Love gifts for the older ones, 
 
 And green and scarlet holly, 
 Shrieks of glee from everjrwhere, 
 
 In a whole world gone jolly. 
 
 Dinner time, and tots to climb 
 
 Up into chairs beside you. 
 Goodies sweet, and things to eat — 
 
 Oh, whatever may betide you 
 Christmas with the little folks. 
 
 Filled with joy that bubbles. 
 Is worth years of toil and moil 
 
 And worth a year of troubles. 
 
 Christmas nights and lowered lights, 
 
 And tousleheads all sleeping. 
 Everywhere on floor and chair 
 
 Toys in careless heaping; 
 Dimpled arms all holding tight 
 
 An engine or a dolly — 
 Thank God for the Christmas-time, 
 
 And mistletoe and holly! 
 16 
 
TOO SMALL 
 
 OOMETIMES I wish the Lord had 
 **^ made me with a whole lot bigger 
 
 heart; 
 The one Tve got gets so blamed full o' joy 
 
 sometimes the teardrops start 
 With the sweet pain it throbs full of, when 
 
 it's stretched till it's 'bout to break; 
 A sort of indescribable, a deep, exquisite 
 
 sort of ache! 
 Like if another drop o' joy was poured into 
 
 it, it would bust 
 And fill the world with happiness; I sort o' 
 
 feel sometimes I must 
 Hop up onto a branch and sing, or simply 
 
 choke with the distress 
 That comes o' bavin' a heart made too 
 
 small to hold its happiness. 
 
 17 
 
If I could only pour it out like a wild bird 
 
 pours out its song, 
 It wouldn't be so bad; I could go a-singin' 
 
 of it all day long; 
 And that would sort o' take the ache out 
 
 of a heart that's made too small; 
 But, shoo! I couldn't keep a tune! I bed 
 
 the horse down in his stall, 
 And fill his manger full o' feed, and sort o' 
 
 pat him on the flanks. 
 And that's 'bout all that I can do. I ain't 
 
 got language to give thanks; 
 And all the critters on the place know me, 
 
 and f oiler at my heels; 
 But when a feller's heart's too small, there 
 
 ain't no tellin' how it feels. 
 
 But I talk some; and that is more than what 
 
 the horse can do, or cow; 
 If I was shut up like they are I don't know 
 
 what I'd do, or how 
 I'd get along; I'd have to quit the farm and 
 
 them and go away; 
 I'd have to find me out a place where little 
 
 children never play, 
 
 18 
 
Where breezes never come at all, and bring 
 
 the Southland's sweet perfume, 
 Where cows don't moo, nor horses neigh, 
 
 nor dogs don't bark, nor roses bloom, 
 Nor where the yellow sun don't shine, nor 
 
 where the stars don't blink of nights. 
 Nor where, when darkness wraps the earth, 
 
 there ain't no cottage window lights. 
 
 An* 'cause there ain't no place like that I'm 
 
 mighty glad that I can talk 
 An' tell things to the violets that bloom 
 
 beside the garden walk; 
 An' tell things to the cow an' horse, an* 
 
 play with children in the sun. 
 An' lift them to the fence to jump into my 
 
 arms, when work is done. 
 An* pick the reddest roses for the woman 
 
 that puts up with me. 
 Who, when I'm glad, seems to be glad as 
 
 anyone could ever be; 
 An' I can whistle some, an' I can fling back 
 
 the wildbird's mornin' call; 
 But when a feller's glad as me it hurts to 
 
 have a heart so small. 
 19 
 
JUST BECAUSE TM HAPPY 
 
 f T ain't to please the people that Vm 
 
 *• hollerin' hooray; 
 
 It ain't to wake the world up at the breakin' 
 
 of the day; 
 It's just because I'm happy, an' I'm feelin' 
 that-a-way 
 That I holler like a looney in the mornin*. 
 
 It ain't because the crops are in an' growin' 
 
 in the rains; 
 I ain't got out my pencil an' a-figgerin' my 
 
 gains; 
 It's because the kids are happy and are 
 
 weavin' daisy chains, 
 That I holler like a looney in the mornin*. 
 
 I holler 'cause I'm happy with the things 
 
 of every day, 
 I holler 'cause old trouble goes around the 
 
 other way; 
 
 20 
 
It^s just to please the babies rompin' happy 
 at their play 
 That I holler like a looney in the mornin'. 
 
 That's why I holler mornings when Vm out 
 
 a-hoein' corn, 
 Till my voice wakes the crossways like the 
 
 tootin' of a horn, 
 To set the echoes chucklin' just as soon as 
 
 they are born 
 That I holler like a looney in the mornin'. 
 
 To set the echoes rollin*; *tain*t to please 
 
 nobody but 
 A little bit o' mother in a little bit o' hut 
 With her little bits o' babies, to lighten up 
 
 the rut, 
 That I holler like a looney in the mornin'. 
 
 21 
 
POOR SANTA CLAUS 
 
 Y HAVE always had a notion I wished I 
 
 * was Santa Claus, 
 
 I have always had a notion I would like 
 
 to be, because 
 It would be such fun a-goin' down the 
 
 chimneys all around, 
 Tiptoein' into bedrooms, stoppin' at each 
 
 little sound. 
 With my ears pricked up to listen for the 
 
 little fellers* tread, 
 Peekin' out between the curtains, peekin' 
 
 into each wee bed, 
 Harkin' to the talk of daytimes of each 
 
 eager little tyke, 
 An* then, Christmas, fetchin to *em all the 
 
 pretty things they like. 
 
 22 
 
I have always had a notion I would like to 
 
 get his mail, 
 And read every little letter till the stars got 
 
 dim and pale 
 Every morning. I imagine he gets just the 
 
 quaintest pile 
 Of wee notes that it's no wonder that he 
 
 always wears a smile; 
 But I've also got a notion, just a sort of 
 
 faint surmise, 
 I can see a little sorrow 'way back in his 
 
 laughin' eyes; 
 An' it's that there look of sorrow gets me 
 
 feelin' glad because 
 I am only me, and do not have to be a 
 
 Santa Claus. 
 
 I'm a fool! For when the presents had been 
 
 scattered everywhere. 
 And been clasped to breasts of babies with 
 
 night's tangles in their hair. 
 When 'twas the day after Christmas, the 
 
 morn after Christmas morn, 
 With the glad girls with their dollies, with 
 
 the boys each with a horn, 
 
 23 
 
With the sun a-shinin' brightly, an* with 
 
 glorious New Year's day 
 Seemin' to wait for us laughin' only just a 
 
 week away, 
 I would turn from it a-sighin', put my 
 
 empty knapsack by. 
 An* wish I could take my smile off an* go 
 
 off somewhere an* cry. 
 
 Cry for letters all unanswered, cry for 
 
 stockings all unfilled. 
 For child voices raised in hoping, now in 
 
 disappointment stilled, 
 I should want to go off somewhere by my 
 
 lonesome just to grieve 
 For the little bits o* stockings hanging 
 
 empty Christmas Eve, 
 That would hang empty and cheerless by 
 
 the cold grate in the morn 
 When with joy the world was ringing and 
 
 the Christmas day was born; 
 I would feel bad for the babies with their 
 
 little cheeks tear-wet, 
 Standin* grievin* Christmas mornin*, think- 
 in* Santa could forget. 
 24 
 
I am glad that Tm not Santa, glad that I 
 
 don't have to be; 
 There won't be no little babies Christmas 
 
 morning blamin' me 
 'Cause their little baby stockings were all 
 
 empty in the light 
 Of the morning, that were hung up filled 
 
 with hoping over night; 
 I can feel bad and be grievin' all of Christ- 
 mas Day because 
 Of the disappointed babies without being 
 
 Santa Claus; 
 An' if I was him I reckon I could never 
 
 play the part, 
 For the thought of them I couldn't ever 
 
 reach would break my heart. 
 
 25 
 
BERENICE 
 
 KT EW roses, red roses; so graceful, so tall 
 
 *" ^ That a little girPs head could not top 
 them at all; 
 
 So red! as the heart of all color has sped 
 
 To love them and hold them and make 
 them so red; 
 
 So fragrant, the fragrance of every known 
 bloom, 
 
 The soul of all flowers seems in their per- 
 fume; 
 
 Toned down, made exquisite, made fitting 
 for you. 
 
 And so they come to you, and sparkling 
 with dew 
 
 To make glad your day, make your birth- 
 day more sweet. 
 
 And carpet the day with their leaves for 
 your feet. 
 
 26 
 
What would the world be with no red 
 
 roses tall, 
 Nor birds in the trees by the wayside, to 
 
 call 
 "Good morning," each morning, to greet 
 
 the glad sun. 
 To let the world know a new day was 
 
 begun; 
 A day of warm sunshine, as yellow as gold; 
 A day of red blossoms, dew-laden, to hold; 
 A day of glad brooks that go laughing 
 
 along; 
 A new day, a glad day, a day brimmed 
 
 with song? 
 What would the world be, robbed of 
 
 blossoms and dew? 
 And what would life be in a world robbed 
 
 of you? 
 
 A world robbed forever, forever of you; 
 The smile on your lips, in your soul, in the 
 
 blue 
 Of your eyes. There are times when 
 
 living's a task, 
 
 27 
 
When we drop to our knees, and fear, and 
 
 we ask 
 For rest, only rest! Just to sleep, and for 
 
 long! 
 Eyes shut to red roses, ears closed to the 
 
 song 
 Of birds in the trees! Then your laugh's in 
 
 the hall; 
 Your laugh at the weight of the world; and 
 
 your call. 
 We straighten and square for the task 
 
 that's to do; 
 And laugh. But our laugh is the courage 
 
 of you. 
 
 28 
 
THOUGHT OF RESTING 
 
 f CAN shut my eyes and hear it, hear the 
 * river calling, calling; 
 
 And can hear the rustling rushes in the 
 shallows by the brink, 
 And, below, I hear the torrent in its leaping 
 and its falling, 
 And, above, the spreading rapids where 
 the cattle come to drink; 
 And the apple trees are laden with their 
 red, red globes and golden, 
 
 And I see the fellows playing as they 
 
 used to play with me. 
 And the amber colored sunshine, as in 
 
 merry days and olden. 
 Comes like largess flung from heaven 
 
 through the branches of the tree. 
 
 29 
 
Comes like largess flung from heaven, and 
 I sigh where I am sitting 
 With the autumn all about me, for 
 there's silver on my hair, 
 And my heart calls to the shadows of the 
 old days round me flitting, 
 And my ears hark for a hailing that 
 comes not from anywhere; 
 Oh, heigh-oh, Tm old; I'm leaning like the 
 trees my father, felling 
 In the forests 'way off yonder, in the 
 sunny lands and good. 
 Brought to earth; and in my bosom there's 
 a voice insistent telling 
 I am marked for early resting like the 
 old trees in the wood. 
 
 It is good, the thought of resting, it is good, 
 the thought of going 
 'Way out yonder where the voices of 
 the old days call to me; 
 For methinks I'll hear the laughter of the 
 old days, and the blowing 
 Of old springtime-laden breezes through 
 the blossom-laden tree; 
 30 
 
And ril lay by as a garment this old husk 
 of my souFs fretting, 
 And ril set out on the journey with a 
 lilting soul and free, 
 And they'll run, I know, to meet me for 
 their souls know no forgetting. 
 And we'll laugh and talk and chatter 
 like the boys we used to be. 
 
 31 
 
AT THE SINKING OF THE SUN 
 
 A RE you happy with the happiness 
 *^ That none but daddies know? 
 In your singing repertoire 
 
 Have you got a by-o-lo? 
 Can you sit still in the evening 
 
 And hear the glad pit-a-pat 
 Of the bare feet of a baby 
 
 Hunting where its daddy's at, 
 Till it finds you sitting lonely 
 
 And climbs up onto your knee 
 In its nightie, just as happy 
 
 As a baby ought to be? 
 If you haven't got this pleasure 
 
 At the sinking of the sun 
 You have missed a lot of happiness, 
 
 You're out a lot of fun. 
 
 32 
 
If you haven't got a baby 
 
 You can tousle on the floor 
 Till its mother says: "Be careful/* 
 
 And the baby gasps for more, 
 If you haven't got a baby 
 
 That will ride a-pick-a-pack 
 Hanging to your ears or whiskers 
 
 While it sits astride your back, 
 If you haven't got a baby 
 
 That will urge you up the stairs, 
 That will fairly shake with chuckles 
 
 When you hurdle over chairs 
 You may think your life worth living, 
 
 But you'll know before its done 
 You've been running on a side-track 
 
 And have missed a pile of fun. 
 
 It's a little bit of baby 
 
 At the end of every day. 
 It's a little bit of baby 
 
 With its little baby way 
 Climbing to the knees of daddy 
 
 With its little baby charms. 
 With its mouth a-pout for kisses. 
 
 With its dimpled, necklaced arms, 
 33 
 
Makes the jolts and jars of living, 
 
 All the worries that annoy; 
 Just the way that leads to gladness, 
 
 Just the way that leads to joy; 
 And you'll bear them never thinking 
 
 Till the working day is done, 
 For the night-time "Now-I-lay-me," 
 
 And the scrambling and the fun. 
 
 34 
 
IN THE MORNING 
 
 ¥ UST a happy, childish treble, lifting, 
 ^ lilting down the way; 
 Just a burst of happy laughter where the 
 
 little children play; 
 Just a squeal, and then a man's voice, in a 
 laughing: "Upseday!" 
 Just some little babies playing in the 
 morning. 
 
 Just a father with his children swinging in 
 
 an old rope swing. 
 Swinging high to feel the pleasure of their 
 
 little hands a-cling; 
 How their voices lilt and gurgle, how their 
 happy accents ring; 
 Just some little babies playing in the 
 morning. 
 
 35 
 
Just an earth-floored, cozy playground 
 
 'neath a gnarly liveoak tree; 
 Just some little folks pretending they have 
 
 got some friends to tea; 
 Just some brown-eyed, blue-eyed babies 
 dignified as they can be; 
 Just some little babies playing in the 
 morning. 
 
 Just a something good to live for; just a 
 
 balm for every smart, 
 Just wee baby hands, all dimpled, shaping 
 
 up a fellow's heart; 
 Just a dad a-stoop for kisses when the time 
 
 had come to part; 
 Just some little babies playing in the 
 
 morning. 
 
 Just one more strong push together, one 
 
 more cry of: "Upseday!" 
 Then the place is all deserted where the 
 
 little children play; 
 They are at the gate and throwing daddy- 
 kisses down the way; 
 Just some little babies playing in the 
 morning. 
 
 36 
 
TENDER-SWEET 
 
 IF you use a little lovin* and you use a 
 
 •* little song, 
 
 You will find your world is never gonna go 
 
 so very wrong; 
 If you spread a little kindness on the other 
 
 man's distress, 
 If you use a little sweetness and a little 
 
 tenderness, 
 If you stoop some times to sort of lift 
 
 another feller's load, 
 If you do a little dance-step as you go along 
 
 the road. 
 You will find that all of these, things you 
 
 have found the time to do 
 In some happy form or other will come 
 
 laughin' back at you. 
 
 37 
 
That*s a pretty good religion; that's the 
 
 kind the Master tried; 
 He just chose a way of kindness and of 
 
 sweetness, and He died 
 Hanging on the rough spikes, piercing 
 
 through His tender hands and feet, 
 And through all that He had suffered still 
 
 His smile was tender-sweet; 
 And the way His hurt feet walked in is an 
 
 open way to you, 
 But no spikes await you in it; and each 
 
 tender thing you do 
 To the fellows all about you in the way you 
 
 go along. 
 Will come back to you in laughin' and in 
 
 lovin' and in song. 
 
 38 
 
HAS ANYBODY LOST TWO CATS? 
 
 fjAS anybody lost two cats? Us hopes 
 
 * * nobody ain't, 
 
 Because two baby cats is here; and they 
 
 was thest as faint 
 As they could be when they first came to 
 
 our back yard that day, 
 And so us feeded them, we did, and they 
 
 won't go away; 
 But mamma says that they ain't not our 
 
 little cats, at all; 
 And so us hides them in the shed when 
 
 peoples comes to call. 
 And one of us stays there with them so's 
 
 they'll be sure an' stay. 
 And does not let them out until the callers 
 
 goes away. 
 
 39 
 
And when it's me I hold them tight, and 
 
 peek out through a crack 
 And watch them till they go away and hope 
 
 they won't come back; 
 My mamma says that probably nobody 
 
 wants them much, 
 She says there is so many cats nobody cares 
 
 for such; 
 But us tells her us cares for cats, at least- 
 ways for these two. 
 Us don't think no one cares for cats as 
 
 much as usses do; 
 For these is speshul kinds of cats, and they 
 
 can almost sing, 
 And they've got whiskers and a tail and 
 
 legs, and ever' thing! 
 
 Our mamma says that maybe someone had 
 
 these cats, and they 
 Did not want these and took them in a bag 
 
 an' come away 
 And putted them in our yard; and my 
 
 mamma says that she 
 Would like to have my father catch them 
 
 doin* that, they'd see! 
 40 
 
And she seems kind of fussy, but the cats 
 
 don't seem to mind, 
 And usses thinks whoever left them here 
 
 was very kind; 
 And the cats both is fat, and goes with us 
 
 'most everywhere, 
 And both their tails sticks right straight up 
 
 from them into the air. 
 
 I wish I had a million cats, an' sister wishes, 
 
 too; 
 Us has had these cats quite a while, and 
 
 they are good as new ! 
 And fatter than when they first come; if 
 
 we'd a million we 
 Would give them milkman's milk till they 
 
 were fat as they could be. 
 And we would train them till they would 
 
 go with us everjrwhere — 
 A million — with a million tails stuck right 
 
 up in the air. 
 These is our cats! Now, ain't they fat? 
 
 An* ain't they long an' wide! 
 But 'scuse us someone's comin', an' us 
 
 gotta go an' hide. 
 41 
 
TRYING TO EXPRESS IT 
 
 I COULD hop up on a twig 
 
 * If I wasn*t so dern big, 
 
 An* I wasn't so dern stout, 
 
 An* as homely as git-out, 
 
 An' just sing an' sing an' sing, 
 
 Sing out glad as everything; 
 
 Sometimes my soul seems to buzz 
 
 Like an auto's gizzard does. 
 
 Just for gladness! Swear I could! 
 
 Ain't the old world glad and good? 
 
 Ain't the old world glad and good, 
 Once you get it understood? 
 I ketch myself wishin' that 
 I could purr just like a cat; 
 I'm so glad sometimes I feel 
 Like a pig does; I could squeal. 
 
 42 
 
Vm so glad! Skies are so blue, 
 Winds so sweet an* hearts so true, 
 That, I say — *f I wasn't so big 
 Vd just hop up on a twig! 
 
 Sometimes, when things starts to rip 
 I just pinch my lower lip 
 *Twixt my fingers, this-away. 
 An' don't have a word to say; 
 Never open up my face; 
 Then, somewheres about the place 
 An old mocker lilts a tune 
 Sweeter than the soul of June. 
 And a fleck o' sunshine falls 
 On my patched old overalls. 
 
 Then the wind stirs in the trees; 
 And the hum o' honeybees 
 Comes to me; an* far away 
 Comes the smell of new-mown hay; 
 And the skys keeps gittin* blue 
 And someone yells: "Peek-a-boo!" 
 Or a baby, hid somewhere 
 Laughs, an* there ain't no more care; 
 And my glad soul starts to buzz 
 Like an auto*s innards does. 
 43 
 
'NOOKIE KNEW 
 
 ¥ WENT to ride with " 'Nookie," just the 
 
 '' other night, and she 
 
 Was about as wriggle-twisty as a little girl 
 
 could be; 
 For one moment she'd be sitting right 
 
 beside me on the seat, 
 And next moment she'd be up and dancing 
 
 gaily on her feet; 
 And, it seemed to me, just trying to spill 
 
 out into the road. 
 And rd grab her and Td tell her: "Sit 
 
 down there, you little toad!" 
 But she'd hop up in a moment with a gur- 
 gle-goo of glee. 
 And the mischief in her blue eyes would be 
 
 peeping out at me. 
 
 44 
 
Then I tried to interest her, and asked, as 
 
 we went along, 
 If she was the little girl that I had heard 
 
 could sing a song; 
 And she tuned up in a moment, her song 
 
 was of "little feet," 
 And she cautioned them "be tareful" and 
 
 her voice was mighty sweet; 
 And it rippled and it whispered, like the 
 
 night wind in the trees. 
 And was sweeter than the buzzing of the 
 
 laden honey-bees; 
 It flowed sweeter than the streamlet o*er its 
 
 sunlit pebbles flows; 
 But her feet were not too careful, for one 
 
 hit me on the nose! 
 
 Then I asked her when sheM finished, and 
 
 we*d had enough of that, 
 (Of the kicking, not the singing) Tell me: 
 
 "Have you got a cat?" 
 Don't tell me Tm not a wizard picking out 
 
 a subject! She 
 Turned the glory and the gladness of her 
 
 blue eyes onto me, 
 45 
 
And she snuggled up and told me of a 
 
 mother-cat she had, 
 And the very talking of it seemed to make 
 
 her more than glad; 
 And she told me what she called her, and 
 
 she told me she was sweet, 
 And she said that when she teased her she 
 
 had stickers on her feet. 
 
 And then she spoke of the kittens, there 
 
 were four of them in all, 
 And they'd chase her through the parlor, 
 
 and romp with her in the hall; 
 And one of them was named "Stinny," 
 
 and one "Fatty," and one "Pig," 
 And the other, little bit of kitten that was 
 
 not so big. 
 Was named "Pussy-Foot," and always, 
 
 she said with her voice of song. 
 Or most always, when she went out all her 
 
 cats would go along; 
 And she'd hug them up tight to her, and 
 
 they'd sing — she meant they'd purr — 
 And what wouldn't sing I wonder snug- 
 gled in the arms of her! 
 46 
 
Then I told her she was charming and I 
 
 whispered to her that 
 I was glad she had the kittens, glad she 
 
 had the mother-cat; 
 Then I asked her what the kittens had on 
 
 them; I questioned her 
 Wondering if she'd say hair, or, if she 
 
 knew and would say, "fur," 
 And she clapped her hands, and gladness 
 
 shone out of her eyes of blue. 
 And I knew in that one moment, as she 
 
 looked up, that she knew! 
 And she caught me by the ears and stood 
 
 right up there on my knees. 
 And she rubbed her nose on my nose and 
 
 she told me they had "Fleas!" 
 
 47 
 
AN INTERESTING DIZEEZ 
 
 f T ain't no fun this bein' sick and lyin' 
 
 * here Hke this; 
 
 My mother says that I ain't got *fantile 
 
 paralysis, 
 'Cause I can move my toes, and move my 
 
 fingers, this-a-way; 
 If I had it I'd lay right still in bed day 
 
 after day 
 An' couldn't even turn at all, and couldn't 
 
 move my toes. 
 And couldn't hold my handkerchief to help 
 
 me blow my nose; 
 It must be funny for a kid to be laid out 
 
 that flat; 
 I wonder why God goes and makes diseeziz 
 
 such as that? 
 
 My father, which is very smart, and reads 
 'most every night 
 48 
 
Books with the longest words in them, 
 which he pernounces right, 
 
 Says folks are made like telephones, and 
 central is your head. 
 
 And everywhere through all of you the 
 nerves like wires is spread; 
 
 And this ^fantile paralysis which some- 
 times comes to town 
 
 Is like a storm which breaks the wires, and 
 mebby throws them down 
 
 So central can't communicate with fingers 
 or with toes. 
 
 Or legs or arms or anything, to tell them 
 how they goes. 
 
 My father he is very smart, and things is 
 
 like he said; 
 And my brain's like a little man a-settin' 
 
 in my head, 
 A-phonin' me the way to go, and to turn 
 
 out for chairs. 
 And phonin' my feet how to go when I 
 
 start for upstairs; 
 And this 'fantile paralysis is when the 
 
 wires is down, 
 
 49 
 
Like that there last big storm we had 
 smashed them all over town 
 
 And made the phones go dead; Tm glad 
 that I have not got that! 
 
 It's tough enough to be plain sick and 
 lyin* where I'm at. 
 
 Since God has made us that-a-way he otto 
 
 made some men, 
 Some teentsy men with climbers on, to 
 
 make us well again; 
 They could come climbin' up our legs, and 
 
 climb in through our ears. 
 And fix our wires so we would not have 
 
 that dizeez for years; 
 And when they got us fixed one could call 
 
 from our little toe. 
 To Central 'way up in our head, and say, 
 
 "Hello! Hello! 
 Ring your bell. Central, till I see if this 
 
 here kid's all right" — 
 But I ain't got it; what I got's from green 
 
 plums et last night. 
 
 50 
 
AT THE FARM 
 
 JkM Y grandpa, he ain*t got much hair ex- 
 cept just by his ears, 
 And he has lived in this here world for 
 
 years and years and years; 
 And he leans on the fence and smiles when 
 
 he looks down at me, 
 He says I'm such a little girl as gran'ma 
 
 used to be; 
 But it don't seem like grandmas could have 
 
 been just little girls; 
 My grandma's face is wrinkled and she's 
 
 got the whitest curls 
 I ever saw, but he showed me a picture 
 
 of her, and 
 She was a little girl and had a gold ring on 
 
 her hand. 
 
 51 
 
The picture is on glass, and it's in a gold 
 
 velvet frame, 
 And grandpa said it was — I guess I can not 
 
 say the name, 
 But it was an old-fashioned kind they 
 
 made when he was small; 
 But I would not be proud of it if I had it 
 
 at alL 
 I've got a better picture of myself, as big 
 
 as me! 
 With yellow curls and with blue eyes, and 
 
 pretty like I be; 
 Fm glad that grandma is growed up, and 
 
 grandpa growed up, too, 
 I could not love them quite so much if 
 
 they was both so new. 
 
 Folks get more kind as they get old; my 
 
 grandpa is so kind 
 That chickens, colts and calves and pigs 
 
 all lag along behind 
 When he walks out around the place; and 
 
 on one warm day he 
 Was feelin* sleepy so he sat down by an 
 
 ellum tree 
 
 52 
 
And went to sleep; he says he just stopped 
 
 for a little nap, 
 And Molly's colt loved him so much it laid 
 
 down in his lap! 
 And when he woke and hollered the colt 
 
 stepped on him, and he 
 Had to send for a doctor and he had an 
 
 awful knee. 
 
 But he's all right again, and laughs, and 
 
 says he'll have some chap 
 Kodak him sometime with a horse a-settin' 
 
 on his lap; 
 And then he lifts me up and we go where 
 
 red clover grows 
 And bees are buzzin', and the smell's on 
 
 every breeze that blows; 
 And when he finds a great thick patch of 
 
 it he puts me down, 
 And says he don't know what he'll do when 
 
 I go back to town; 
 But I tell him not to feel bad, that when 
 
 I am away 
 I'll write him notes with kisses in and send 
 
 them every day. 
 53 
 
WHEN BABE HOLLERS 
 PEEK-A-BOO 
 
 IT^HEN babe hollers peek-a-boo, then 
 ''' her mother's hiding, too, and her 
 grandma's peekin' through 
 Fingers interlaced; 
 And her grandpa ducks his head under- 
 neath the tablespread, and her happy 
 dad has fled — 
 Fled, in headlong haste. 
 For a nook just anywhere, underneath the 
 parlor stair, or beneath a near-by 
 chair. 
 Any kind of nook. 
 So it's not so far away as to keep him from 
 the play, and each one is hoping they 
 Will get the first look. 
 
 54 
 
For when baby walks around, tippytoe 
 without a sound, till some hiding one 
 when found, 
 Loudly hollers: "Boo!" 
 Then there's doings at our shack when the 
 baby scuttles back, and your ear- 
 drums would 'most crack 
 With the loud halloo; 
 And she's caught and roundly kissed, dim- 
 pled chin and creasy wrist, rounded 
 cheek and chubby fist. 
 Kissed and kissed again; 
 Everybody takes their toll, grandpa ducks 
 his shining poll, grandma whispers: 
 "Bless her soul!" 
 And she's happy then. 
 
 Of a sudden, though her: "Boo!" sends 
 them swiftly scuttling to some place 
 where they can peek through, 
 Watching every turn 
 Of the baby as she seeks, as she tippytoes 
 and peeks, starry eyes and rosy 
 cheeks; 
 He would need be stern 
 55 
 
Who could sit unmoved through all, hide 
 and seek, and find and call, who her 
 happy childish thrall 
 Could not, would not feel; 
 When a human gets too old, too self-cen- 
 tered or too cold, to a babe's form 
 long to hold, 
 Or enjoy its squeal. 
 
 Then it's time for him to hie out, far out, 
 beneath the sky, where white clouds 
 and wild birds fly, 
 Knowing woe nor ruth. 
 And lie close to nature's breast, just to 
 feel her moods, and rest by the sum- 
 mer winds caressed 
 And renew his youth; 
 Get afar from gold and bonds, out among 
 the swaying fronds of cool ferns by 
 shady ponds, 
 Till he feels a tug 
 Of old nature at his heart, causing it to 
 bound and start, causing it to long 
 and smart. 
 For a babe to hug. 
 
 56 
 
IN THE NIGHT 
 
 A MOCKING BIRD waked me up last 
 ** night; 
 He was perchin' out where the moon was 
 
 bright. 
 An' I think a mockin' bird must have sung 
 That kind of a song when the world was 
 
 young, 
 An* the trees was young, and the hills, an* 
 
 streams, 
 An* love was young with its laughs an* 
 
 dreams; 
 He waked me up with the overflow 
 From his joyous heart; an* I didn*t know 
 What it was that roused me, at first, an* I 
 Tried to settle back with a drowsy sigh. 
 
 But would he let me? No sir! his call 
 Came through the window, and hit the 
 wall, 
 
 57 
 
Went through the door, and went down 
 
 the stair, 
 An' into all of the corners, where 
 No music ever had been before; 
 Then he sung louder, an' sung some move; 
 An' I waked up, an' I thought, "Gee whiz ! 
 He's a stemwinder, that feller is!" 
 An' I left the bed, an' pulled a chair 
 Before the winder, an' sot me there. 
 
 I sot right there for the better part 
 Of the night, whilst he spilled out his heart; 
 The world was asleep; all the winders dark, 
 An' there wasn't no one but me to hark; 
 An' the poplars stuck up ag'in' the sky. 
 An' the moon was big as a homemade pie, 
 An' I was a-hearin' a concert worth — 
 Why, there ain't no tellin'! No one on 
 
 earth. 
 Not Tetrazzini, could sing like that; 
 So I drinked it in, and sat and sat. 
 
 An' there was a song of the long ago, 
 An' a little boy with a stonebruised toe. 
 An' a river-road, an' a windin' stream, 
 58 
 
An* a covered bridge, an' a boyish dream, 
 An* a wispy girl with blue eyes ashine, 
 An* two names were carved on a tall old 
 
 pine; 
 An* there was glee, an* a world o* hope, 
 Then a wee grave on a sun-warmed slope, 
 An* then an ache, an* a broken heart, 
 An* a pain so keen that tears would start. 
 
 Then in the tune I heard him sing. 
 The world and life seemed a little thing; 
 I seemed so little I swept along 
 Up, up, up, up, on a gust of song; 
 The world grew little, an* off as far — 
 Far as the littlest, tiniest star; 
 Life*s sorrows dwindled an* faded, too. 
 Heaven was near an* the skies was blue; — 
 The song died down to a little cheep. 
 An* mornin* found me right there, asleep. 
 
 59 
 
BACK TO REALITIES 
 
 WT HEN the new moon is round, an* 
 ^^ gold as a new pat o* butter; 
 An' candlebugs are doin' stunts, and black 
 
 bats (litter-flutter 
 Into the porch an* out again, an* there's a 
 
 far off mooin* 
 Of cattle in the medder-lot, then there ain*t 
 
 nothin* doin* 
 If you are settin* all alone, but jest to go 
 
 a-dreamin* 
 Of walks jest wide enough for two, an* 
 
 silver ripples gleamin* 
 As they come rushin* to the shore v/ith 
 
 the night breezes after. 
 Like happy kids would, an* bust there with 
 
 little lilts o* laughter. 
 
 There's nothin* doin* then, but jest to sort 
 o' set an' listen 
 60 
 
Back in the shadders where the big moon- 
 flowers nod an* glisten; 
 An' pretty soon, away far-off, you'll hear 
 
 glad hoof beats drummin', 
 An' by the feelin' in your heart you'll 
 
 know the dreams are comin'; 
 An' you will go to meet 'em, an' come with 
 
 them through the flowing 
 Clear waters at the ford, an' go wherever 
 
 they are going — 
 You would not let the dreams go past an' 
 
 go their ways without you — 
 An' first you know, the shapes o' dreams 
 
 are dancin' all about you. 
 
 One is the boy you chummed with when 
 
 life's paths were all before you; 
 Jest harum-scarum boyish chums, with 
 
 blue skies archin' o'er you; 
 An* you loved one another, too, but he 
 
 stopped way back yonder, 
 An' in amongst your dreams you sit with 
 
 a hurt heart, and ponder 
 The question you oft ask yourself, you with 
 
 the years grown mellow, 
 61 
 
If he, beyond the farthest star, is still the 
 
 little fellow 
 You used to know an^ love, or if he's still 
 
 been growin*, growin*, 
 So that your wrinkles an' grsty hair won*t 
 
 put you past his knowin\ 
 
 An' then a laugh within the house, a glee- 
 ful pitter-patter. 
 An' rushin' little white-robed forms send 
 
 all your dreams a-scatter! 
 An' babies romp onto your knees, to say 
 
 their, "Now I lay me," 
 An' all the thin dream shapes are gone; 
 
 and fades out laughin' Jamie, 
 The comrade of your boyish pranks, an' 
 
 you are left a-holdin' 
 A bunch o' babies that care not for fumin' 
 
 or for scoldin'; 
 Because they know it's all a joke. Dreams 
 
 of old days are pleasin'. 
 But laughin', lovin' babies are far better 
 
 worth one's squeezin'. 
 
 62 
 
BACK AGAIN FOR ME 
 
 T THINK I'd best pack up my duds and 
 
 * tell the town good-by, 
 
 And leave the pall of smoke behind; and, 
 out beneath the sky, 
 
 Go off along the country road, the wind- 
 ing road I know, 
 
 I came along so bravely just a little year 
 ago; 
 
 Go back to the broad meadow, to the call- 
 ing of the stream. 
 
 The little room beneath the eaves in which 
 I used to dream, 
 
 The birdsong of a morning, and the sweet 
 scent of the pine. 
 
 And all the joys that wait out there for me 
 to call them mine. 
 
 63 
 
The smoke's so dark above me that I can 
 
 not see the stars; 
 I want to see the cattle stand a-callin* at 
 
 the bars; 
 I want to wake at morning with the old 
 
 familiar sounds. 
 And not the slammin', bangin' as the milk- 
 man makes his rounds; 
 I want the smell of clover makin' all the 
 
 noonday sweet; 
 I am weary, weary, weary of the clinging 
 
 asphalt street, 
 And I will be more happy than I was a 
 
 year ago 
 If I can walk at starlight with a maid I 
 
 used to know. 
 
 The city girls are different, they are thin 
 and ground by toil; 
 
 They are weary every evening of the day- 
 long stress and moil; 
 
 Their poor cheeks are so hollow, and their 
 eyes such somber wells — 
 
 Oh, Vm bound to leave the city, and its 
 reeking shops and hells! 
 64 
 
And Vm goin' to the country where the 
 
 fields are wide and green, 
 And no smoke-clouds hide the heavens, 
 
 and the winds are cool and clean, 
 And the girls are plump and happy, with 
 
 their hair in ribbon-bows, 
 And they dimple into laughter, and their 
 
 cheeks are like the rose. 
 
 I have had my year-long lesson, and it's 
 
 back again for me! 
 To the gladness of the hill-tops, to the 
 
 spring beneath the tree; 
 To the high blue sky at noontime; and at 
 
 night the blinking stars, 
 And the cattle standing calling, in the 
 
 evenin* by the bars; 
 I've had my fill of the city, and I want the 
 
 clover-bloom. 
 And the winding country highway, and the 
 
 honeybee's ba-zoom; 
 I will trade the mighty city, with its shops 
 
 and streets aglow. 
 For the glinting eyes and laughter of a 
 
 country girl I know. 
 65 
 
CLIMBERS 
 
 T^HE road gits ruther warmish an* it's 
 ^ climbin' all the time; 
 But we ought to be a-thankin' God weVe 
 
 got the strength to climb; 
 When there's boulders in the pathway that 
 
 we have to work around, 
 When weVe passed a bit o* goin' that we 
 
 feared would get us downed, 
 When the slippin' an* the slidin' of the 
 
 slopes are passed and by, 
 We should sing a song o' gladness that we 
 
 had the heart to try; 
 'Course the road was steep and warmish, 
 
 an' we had to climb an' crawl. 
 But the road goes always upward that leads 
 
 anywhere at all. 
 
 66 
 
Course the grime an' sweat of climbin' an* 
 
 the weariness was great; 
 Course we sometimes felt the longin* to 
 
 set in the shade an* wait 
 Till the gentle evenin' breezes brought a 
 
 coolness to our cheek; 
 But if we're amongst the winners, we kept 
 
 pluggin' at the peak 
 Till it kept a-growin' nearer, an', almost 
 
 before we knew, 
 We was reachin' for the blossoms that 
 
 stood out ag'in the blue, 
 We was settin' in the shadow listenin' 
 
 to the gentle croon 
 Of the wild birds, an' a-breathin' in the 
 
 sweet perfume o' June. 
 
 If you're on the road a-climbin', or have 
 
 reached the very top- 
 But you haven't — thank the Maker there 
 
 ain't any place to stop; 
 If you lived through all the ages there 
 
 would still be heights to climb; 
 There would be a little something that 
 
 you could do all the time; 
 67 
 
There would be a weaker brother who must 
 
 tote a bigger load; 
 There might be a weaker sister who was 
 
 laggin' in the road; 
 It might be just a wee baby separated from 
 
 its dad, 
 Waitin' for your arms to squeeze it, an* 
 your kiss to make it glad. 
 
 So, however dust is blowing so, however 
 
 steep the ways. 
 Though the road gits ruther warmish in the 
 
 peltin' of the rays. 
 If you keep head up, eyes forward, to the 
 
 line ag'in the skies 
 You will find the perspiration will not run 
 
 into your eyes; 
 If you slow up to be helpin* someone else 
 
 to make the climb, 
 You won*t notice the road's roughness nor 
 
 its danger, half the time; 
 And the joy of every boulder you climb 
 
 over, by and by 
 Will keep you a-thankin* Heaven that you 
 
 had the strength to try. 
 
 68 
 
THE HILLS 
 
 TPHERE^S nothing so good as the hill- 
 '' tops that rise 
 Till they're covered with snow and tints of 
 
 the skies 
 Lie on 'em; there's nothin' so good as they 
 
 are! 
 I look o'er the miles to the hills where they 
 
 are, 
 Like sentinels standin' ag'in' the blue skies, 
 And hot tears of longin' well into my eyes. 
 The hills! oh, the hills, with their summits 
 
 of snow! 
 Their scars and their chasms I never may 
 
 know; 
 And God's in the mountains! His voice is 
 
 the tone 
 Of torrents down tearing by shoulder and 
 
 stone. 
 
 69 
 
The hills! Oh, the hills! The snow-capped 
 
 hills for mine! 
 The bare rocky peaks far above the last 
 
 pine! 
 The white virgin snow where no man ever 
 
 trod! 
 The peaks and the silences vibrant of God! 
 Above all the toil and the stress and the 
 
 strife, 
 The petty small threads that are woven in 
 
 life, 
 The sorrow and heartache, the stress and 
 
 the care. 
 The ages-old woman with grey in her hair 
 Who begs on the comer, the bandit who 
 
 lurks 
 To spoil of his earnings his fellow who 
 
 works. 
 
 The hills ! Oh, the hills, with their mantles 
 of snow! 
 
 Their heaven-born winds and their tor- 
 rents that flow 
 
 And call through the silence uproarious 
 and far, 
 
 70 
 
And fling around boulder and barrier and 
 
 bar, 
 Until they go laughing and careless and 
 
 free 
 Down smooth level highways that lead to 
 
 the sea; 
 The hills are all white and the hills are 
 
 all clean, 
 And only the valleys and lowlands are 
 
 mean; 
 The hills are God's highways, man walks 
 
 on the plain, 
 An atom, soul-shackled, bowed down in 
 
 his chain. 
 
 And yet, if I could would I leave it and go, 
 Climb up to the hills from the valleys be- 
 low, 
 Climb up to the silences, icy and vast, 
 Leave men I have fought with, the men I 
 
 have passed 
 With laughter and hail as we journeyed 
 
 along. 
 The beggar I helped with a lilt and a song, 
 
 71 
 
The beggar below on the corner, whose 
 
 eyes 
 Unseeing, seem always to gaze on the 
 
 skies? 
 Leave the toil and the strife, the resting 
 
 and glee? 
 No! the hills are for God; the valleys for 
 
 me! 
 
 72 
 
THE BABY WHO ROMPED WITH 
 DAD 
 
 f\ H, little girl, with the braids grown 
 ^^ long, 
 
 And the laughing lips and heart of song, 
 And the slim cool hands, each night you 
 
 wait 
 As you once did by the arbored gate, 
 But when your daddy turns in the street 
 No more you scamper on dancing feet. 
 With wind-blown curls, and your arms 
 
 out, so, 
 As you did ever so long ago. 
 
 Now you stand waiting him, tall and 
 
 and straight 
 And self-possessed; and you swing the 
 
 gate 
 To let him through, and you tippytoe 
 For his kiss, and arm in arm you go 
 
 73 
 
Up the long walk where the red rose bends, 
 Each rose on its stalk and you are friends, 
 You smile at the world, and it looks glad; 
 But where is the baby who romped with 
 dad? 
 
 Where is the babe with her rush and shout, 
 Her hair blown wild, and her arms held 
 
 out; 
 With the wee hurt where she slipped and 
 
 fell 
 Which but the kiss of her dad made well? 
 She stands wide-eyed with her lips apart. 
 Her hands clasped over her fluttered heart; 
 With fluffy curls in a shining strand, 
 And gazes into the grown-up land. 
 
 And just last evening a tall youth stood 
 By the gate with her; the distant wood 
 Shone green and gold in the setting sun; 
 A bird in its shady depths, just one, 
 Trilled a low note to departing day; 
 She stood and watched when he turned 
 away; 
 
 74 
 
Then ran, arms wide, where her father 
 
 smiled. 
 And clung to him like a little child. 
 
 He knew; and, knowing, his eyes grew 
 
 dim. 
 How much that loving was meant for him; 
 That night he stood by her snowy bed 
 As she slept, one arm 'neath her little head. 
 And thought long thoughts, and his heart 
 
 was sad 
 For the wee girl who had run to dad 
 With a glad shout on those far off nights, 
 For kiss-healed bruises and pillow-fights. 
 
 75 
 
A SYMPHONY IN THE MAKING 
 
 f^ OD is planning greater wonders, as a 
 
 ^*^ player o'er the keys, 
 
 Going thoughtfully and slowly brings the 
 
 world new melodies. 
 As a dreamer, eyes before him, through 
 
 starvation, hurt, and ruth, 
 Brings his dream where men may grasp it, 
 
 hold it, know it for the truth, 
 God is picking through the ages from the 
 
 hearts of vibrant strings 
 Things but yesterday unthought of, what 
 
 to-day are undreamed things; 
 And the world grows ever better, cries 
 
 grow fainter, die away. 
 As the eyes of stumbling mortals catch 
 
 the dawning of the day. 
 
 76 
 
As musicians build their music, toning, 
 
 cutting out discord, 
 So the work goes on forever in the work- 
 shop of the Lord; 
 The whole universe His keyboard, planets 
 
 far beyond our ken 
 And beyond them other planets, and then 
 
 more as far again. 
 And, twice farther, other planets ; each has 
 
 some place in the score; 
 Though the throbbing comes but faintly, if 
 
 we listen more and more, 
 If we tune our ears to catch it, it shall come 
 
 near and more near: 
 If our hearts are kept unsullied and we 
 
 hearken we shall hear. 
 
 Till in time all men shall hear it come tri- 
 umphant to- their ears. 
 
 Through the interstellar spaces catch the 
 music of the spheres; 
 
 And the weeping of the children, and the 
 grieving of the sad. 
 
 And the moan of those who hunger, and 
 the growl of men made mad 
 77 
 
By the grinding and the squeezing of the 
 
 cruel hands of greed 
 Shall be hushed to catch the music; and 
 
 whatever god or creed 
 Men may have, if they but labor with their 
 
 eyes turned to the dawn 
 They shall step forth into glory when the 
 
 darker days are gone. 
 
 Those who trample on their passions, turn 
 
 their backs on lust and greed; 
 Men who turn to help a brother who is 
 
 crying in his need; 
 Men who help to take the babies from the 
 
 spindle and the loom 
 To wide fields where summer breezes stir 
 
 the blossoms to perfume; 
 Men who govern them with loving, who 
 
 protect the baby limbs 
 From the thoughtless blow are helping 
 
 shape the gladdest of God^s hymns; 
 They are teaching love, are treading where 
 
 the spike-pierced feet have trod; 
 They are helpers to the Master; they're in 
 
 partnership with God. 
 78 
 
And it all shall roll together, throb to- 
 gether, reach above, 
 
 Up to where the Great Musician with more 
 than men know of love 
 
 Lets his hands glide o'er the keyboard till 
 he finds the sought-for time 
 
 Sweeter than the smell and gladness of ten 
 million years of June; 
 
 And men, soul attuned, shall hear it com- 
 ing faintly to their ears; 
 
 Though the very sweetness of it may suf- 
 fuse their eyes with tears, 
 
 Yet the tears shall be of gladness, gushing 
 from long hidden springs; 
 
 Love, just love, may touch the keyboard, 
 love, just love, vibrate the strings. 
 
 79 
 
A SIGN 
 
 'T'HE work ain't goin' so good, some- 
 * how, 
 
 I heard a whistle an' looked just now, 
 An' — well, I pushed all my work aside; 
 The city's streets were as big an' wide 
 As the prairies were, an' buildings tall 
 Had dwindled till they wa'n't there at all; 
 The magic of it was something queer 
 For, for the moment I was not here. 
 
 I turned my head when I heard the sound, 
 And my eyes lit, an' I looked around. 
 An' after searchin' I seen him there. 
 With a sunburned neck an' brick-dust hair. 
 An' his smudgy face, an' freckled nose. 
 An' his ragged pants, an' eager pose. 
 With his eyes alight, and feet apart — 
 I loved him so it most hurt my heart. 
 
 80 
 
He held his fingers up, this-a-way, 
 Like I held my fingers yesterday, 
 Just held them up, like two rabbit ears. 
 And them an' the whistle knocked the 
 
 years 
 Plum off of me; as they slipped aside 
 I was a kid, an' as eager-eyed 
 As the kid there on the corner was; 
 It hits folks funny, remembrance does. 
 
 As I stepped out of the years ag'in, 
 With a boyish heart an* face a-grin, 
 I stuffed my fingers into my mouth 
 And the soft wind from the blossomed 
 
 south 
 Caught my call, shrill as it used to be, 
 An' Redhead heard it an' looked at me; 
 I raised two fingers an' signed to him 
 That I'd play hooky an' go an' swim. 
 
 And then the boy in the ragged clothes 
 Stuck his small thumb 'gainst his snubby 
 
 nose, 
 An' wiggled his fingers, so; an' you 
 Can bet I knew what that sign meant, too; 
 81 
 
An' then he stuck out his tongue, he did, 
 The derned little, redhead, smudge-faced 
 
 kid! 
 And then the city came back once more. 
 With all its rattle and rush and roar. 
 
 And years came back as he turned away, 
 And work came back, and the streaks of 
 
 gray 
 Came back again in my thinning hair; 
 I looked again and he wasn't there. 
 The redhead kid with the sign I knew, 
 That meant: "Go swimmin'?" to me an' 
 
 you 
 When we was kids, but that sign an* smile 
 Had made me glad for a little while. 
 
 82 
 
LUCK, THATS ALL 
 
 f T ain't good sense to raise your head an' 
 
 * tell what you would do 
 
 If things that's happened to your friends 
 
 would happen-up to you; 
 It ain't good sense to scorn another feller 
 
 if he falls, 
 There ain't no tellin' what you'll do if the 
 
 fool-killer calls; 
 An' if a feller strays aside into a crooked 
 
 way 
 You oughtn't point him out at all, nor have 
 
 a word to say; 
 You ought to thank your lucky stars it 
 
 wa'n't you jumped the track, 
 An' give the other chap a lift an' try to 
 
 coax him back. 
 
 For when it comes to stubbin' toes the last 
 word's never said, 
 
 83 
 
An' no man can be sure he's safe until he's 
 
 safely dead; 
 Nobody wants to leave the straight to go 
 
 the crooked way; 
 There wasn't ever anyone that pined to 
 
 go astray; 
 Some fellers can't go head held up an' lilt 
 
 a bit o' song 
 An' laugh temptation down the wind; 
 
 some fellers ain't so strong, 
 Perhaps, as you have proved yourself; but, 
 
 when the best is said. 
 You ain't so sure you're strong yourself 
 
 until you're safe an' dead. 
 
 That's why you ought to, when you run 
 
 across a derelict, 
 Someone whose life is full of falls, whose 
 
 soul is scarred and nicked. 
 Go up an' slap him on the back and give 
 
 him howdy-do. 
 An' thank the God that made you both the 
 
 falls were not for you; 
 For he was weak where you are strong; 
 
 be tender when you speak, 
 84 
 
For everybody's coat of mail has got a spot 
 
 that's weak; 
 An' that yours hasn't been found out don't 
 
 prove it can't be struck; 
 The only thing it proves at all is that you've 
 
 been in luck. 
 
 85 
 
ALL OF THE TIME 
 
 A LL of this life is a lovable joke; 
 *^ Sleep through it, eat through it, drink 
 
 through it, smoke. 
 Laugh through it, love through it, dance 
 
 through it, sing — 
 Any old way it's a lovable thing! 
 Walk through it, crawl through it, auto 
 
 along. 
 Ever and always it bubbles with song! 
 
 Always the sun on a hill or a tree, 
 Always a baby that gurgles with glee, 
 Always a mother a baby makes glad. 
 Always somewhere there's a home-coming 
 
 dad, 
 Always someone flings a beggar a dime — 
 Lovable, life is, and alt of the time. 
 
 86 
 
Blind? There are songs filled with love for 
 
 your ears, 
 Heart notes which only the blinded one 
 
 hears. 
 Deaf? You can sing as you go down the 
 
 way, 
 Songs in your heart of the glad yesterday; 
 Loved ones about you to press to your 
 
 side — 
 It's lovable, life, however you're tried. 
 Deaf, dumb, and blind? There's a lovable 
 
 squeeze 
 The mortal who hears, who talks, and who 
 
 sees 
 Can't gauge the joy of, when it goes about 
 Your shoulders. You know your heart 
 
 gives a shout, 
 And throbs with a gladness that makes it 
 
 expand — 
 A lovable life? All of it; and grand! 
 Poor? Then God's pictures are hung on 
 
 the skies; 
 Hues of God's blossoms are free for your 
 
 eyes; 
 
 87 
 
Streams sing for you, and the night comes 
 
 with sleep — 
 YouVe not a vault to watch over and 
 
 keep — 
 You can laugh, love and sleep; romp, run, 
 
 and climb; 
 Lovable, life is, and all of the time! 
 
 88 
 
GOOD FOR FARMERS 
 
 HP HIS mornin' when I milked the cow, 
 *• before I started off for town, 
 I had to take her by the horns an' tail an* 
 
 turn her upside down, 
 An* milk her that way; yes sirree! it*s 
 
 rained so doggone much an* long 
 I*ve ordered me a submarine. I tell you 
 
 I'm a-gettin* strong 
 For sunshine an* for dusty roads an* things 
 
 like that, doggone the luck! 
 Why, I ain*t got a rooster that ain*t wishin* 
 
 he was hatched a duck; 
 An* mud? There*s mud on everything! 
 There*s mud on all my suits of clothes. 
 An* I have paddled *round so much I*m 
 
 gettin* webs between my toes! 
 But what makes me more doggone m»d 
 
 than anything makes me, I vow. 
 
 89 
 
Is this here line of talk I hear: ''This suits 
 you farmers, anyhow." 
 
 "This suits you farmers!" Do folks think 
 
 Vm runnin* me a frog-farm here, 
 Or raisin* waterlilies? Say, some folks* 
 
 idees are mighty queer! 
 Town folks think farmers got to have their 
 
 farms wet down so they can wade! 
 I wonder if folks think that I am raisin' 
 
 tadpoles for the trade? 
 If it keeps rainin' this-a-way a little longer, 
 
 garden truck 
 Won*t do for me, V\\ have to go to plantin* 
 
 eels, or buy a duck; 
 And have to trade my cows and horse and 
 
 all such things, it makes me fuss. 
 And go somewhere where I can get a herd 
 
 of hippopotamus. 
 The water is so doggone deep that all the 
 
 bull-frogs has been treed. 
 An' cattle has to ketch their breath and 
 
 dive to get a bit of feed. 
 
 90 
 
An' wife can't get to go to town to shop, 
 
 an' the kid's eyes are full o' tears; 
 The water is so doggone deep the mules 
 
 are breathin' through their ears! 
 And still town folks say: "This is good for 
 
 people livin' on the farm." 
 That shows you how much sense they got! 
 
 I ain't a-wishin' them no harm, 
 Doggone their skins! but I would like to 
 
 have them here with me a spell, 
 An' make them help me do the chores; 
 
 they wouldn't think I fared so well 
 As they appear to think I do. Town folks 
 
 do have the queer idees! 
 I'm 'fraid I'll have to plant my corn up 
 
 in the crotches of the trees; 
 Why, just this mornin', 'fore I fixed to 
 
 hitch and to drive into town, 
 I had to swim to ketch the cow, and milk 
 
 the critter upside down! 
 
 91 
 
HAPPY HEART 
 
 jut AID EN, with the parasol, 
 *'* Maiden, with the lilting call, 
 Maiden, with the graceful poise. 
 Maid with all of the glad world's joys 
 Bubbling in your heart until 
 Laughter seems to overspill 
 From your eyes in glinting glee, 
 You're a world of joy to me! 
 
 Yes you are! Your glinting eye 
 As you daily pass me by. 
 Drifting light as thistle-down, 
 Seems to light up the old town; 
 And the gladness of your smile 
 Makes all work and life worth while. 
 Just your glee and youth and grace 
 Make the world a gladsome place. 
 
 92 
 
Roses red and glories blue, 
 They were all contrived for you; 
 If I were a honey-bee, 
 Don't you know, it seems to me 
 I would dare death for a sip 
 At your curved mischievous lip; 
 Being but an old man, I 
 Merely watch you drifting by. 
 
 What can people care at all 
 For the mocker's lilting call? 
 If God blessed me with a choice 
 I would always hear your voice 
 Lilting happily and free; 
 That would be enough for me. 
 All the joy life ever knew 
 Bubbles in the heart of you. 
 
 93 
 
THOSE OLD DAYS BENEATH THE 
 BOUGHS 
 
 Q AY, do you recall the rock in the tor- 
 
 ^ rent where you played 
 
 When a little bit o* boy? How the syca- 
 more's wide shade 
 
 Covered it an' made it cool in th' hottest 
 kind o* day, 
 
 How you used to, sprawled on it, let vaca- 
 tions drift away? 
 
 How you builded castles tall that reached 
 almost to the blue? 
 
 But let's not recall the dreams, for so few 
 of them came true; 
 
 Let us not recall the dreams, far too grand 
 for you and me. 
 
 Let us only just go back to the days that 
 used to be; 
 
 94 
 
They were fairer than our dreams ever 
 
 could be, ever were. 
 Those old days beneath the boughs where 
 
 the branches used to stir. 
 
 Did you ever catch the crab, the big one 
 
 that used to dwell 
 Underneath the sloping side of the rock 
 
 you loved so well? 
 Have you ever gathered berries that half 
 
 way could compare 
 With the red, luscious berries that you 
 
 gathered *way back there 
 On the slope above the stream, berries big 
 
 an* wet with dew? 
 Do you ever taste a fruit whose rare flavor 
 
 brings to you 
 Like a movin* picture scene, all the joys 
 
 you used to know, 
 The big rock above the stream where you 
 
 used to love to go. 
 An* the laughter of the boys *way back 
 
 there with whom you played. 
 An' almost knee-deep shallows where you 
 
 used to love to wade? 
 95 
 
Where you used to fish for minnows while 
 
 waters used to swish, 
 And you would sit there breathless, fear- 
 ing lest you scare the fish; 
 It was fun to throw your duds on the rock 
 
 an' dare the tide, 
 Almost deep enough to swim, an' to splash 
 
 from side to side 
 Playing tag, splashing water in the other 
 
 fellows* eyes; 
 Do you ever, sitting lonely, when daylight 
 
 fades and dies 
 See the road go winding round up the hill 
 
 and far away 
 To the home that waited you at the end of 
 
 every day? 
 Is the home that waited you up and over 
 
 the big hill 
 Lost to you forever, is a strange foot upon 
 
 its sill? 
 
 And I wonder if you can, if you try, recall 
 
 once more 
 How you labored all one day till your 
 
 hands were bruised and sore 
 96 
 
With a rock and a big nail, till you'd 
 
 graven big and deep 
 The initials of your name? Those initials 
 
 meant a heap 
 To the boy away back there, the glad boy 
 
 you used to be. 
 The wee boy who used to sprawl on the 
 
 rock beneath the tree; 
 Have you ever had a longin' to go back 
 
 where you were, 
 Where you carved your name that day, 
 
 where the branches used to stir? 
 If you have, don't you do it! Keep the 
 
 memory as fair 
 As it was when you were glad and a part 
 
 of it back there. 
 
 97 
 
ALL WELL 
 
 OEFORE Bill upped an* married an* 
 
 '^ left the old home farm 
 
 Vm *fraid that I was most too strict; there 
 
 wasn*t any harm, 
 I don't suppose, in lettin* him take Molly, 
 
 meetin* nights 
 An* take his sweetheart ridin*, when the 
 
 rosy northern lights 
 Was lightin' up the heavens, an* the old 
 
 earth down below. 
 An* makin' rosy flickers on the heaps o* 
 
 drifted snow; 
 But I never let him take her, an* it used to 
 
 make him cross; 
 I reckon I thought *most too much o* that 
 
 old Molly-hoss. 
 
 So — mother called him William, like the 
 most o* mothers will, 
 98 
 
Though to me an' all the hired hands his 
 
 name was only Bill — 
 Bill went his way, an' I went mine, th' way 
 
 I'd made the start; 
 An' day by day an' year by year we growed 
 
 more far apart; 
 An' when he took his girl out for a snug- 
 
 glin' moonlight hike 
 Across the hills he didn't git the hoss that 
 
 he would like. 
 But mostly took a plow-hoss, just a heavy 
 
 ploddin' plug. 
 Although I know a plow-hoss takes one 
 
 safest through a hug. 
 
 An' now he's married. I declare ! It's been 
 
 almost a year! 
 An' mother's settin' in the house, an' I'm 
 
 a-settin' here 
 An' feelin' sort of lonesome, sort of like 
 
 I'd missed the mark 
 A-raisin' our one chicken — an' I'm headed 
 
 toardst the dark. 
 An' Bill'll get the farm some day, an' plow 
 
 the furrows, too, 
 99 
 
Across the fields I used to plow an* tried 
 
 to plow so true; 
 I guess I thought too much of all the fields 
 
 I had to till, 
 An' too much of oV Molly-hoss, an' skurce 
 
 enough o* Bill. 
 
 I oughter made a chum o' him, he can't 
 
 care fur his dad, 
 Or love me like he wouldVe done, I reckon, 
 
 if I had; 
 I was plum wrong — Is that Bill's hoss 
 
 a-comin' down the hill! 
 Good heavens! Somethin's happened! 
 
 God! don't let it be to Bill! 
 Why, that's Bill's self a-drivin' — like his 
 
 coattails was afire! 
 Good gracious! Don't that youngster think 
 
 that hosses never tire? 
 What's that? You've got a baby! And 
 
 you've named it after me? 
 You did— why, Bill!— I didn't think— 
 
 I'm proud as I kin be! 
 
 100 
 
GOING BACK 
 
 QOME day Til fill up my pipe an' slip 
 
 •^ into an old coat an* go 
 
 Until I come to a little town, a little old 
 
 town I know; 
 Where the dusty road winds round an* 
 
 down an' comes to a burblin' stream 
 An* trees 'way off on the distant hills are 
 
 touched by the sunset gleam 
 Until their green takes the hue of gold, an' 
 
 out of the distance still 
 Comes the faint note of the nightbird's 
 
 call, the plaint of the whippoorwill; 
 An' there I'll meet the friends I knew in 
 
 the days that are past an' gone; 
 The boys, they're ruther old boys today, 
 
 I met at the gates o' dawn. 
 
 101 
 
There wasn't one in the old home town but 
 
 who was as close as kin; 
 I never knocked at a door back there, I 
 
 whistled an* went right in; 
 An' there were cookies, I taste them now, 
 
 the mothers o' those days made; 
 They always kept them on hand for boys, 
 
 an' there was a creek to wade. 
 An' barns an' lofts where a boy could romp 
 
 an' put in a rainy day. 
 Or sneak a copy of Deadwood Dick to read 
 
 on the smelly hay; 
 An' so I'm thinkin' I'll go back there, to 
 
 the old home town sometime, 
 Where I know each song of the bouldered 
 
 creek, an' there is a hill to climb. 
 
 An' I will slip off the train back there, an' 
 
 mix with the old time crowd. 
 An' get my name in the paper, too; an* 
 
 maybe I won't be proud! 
 That's been my aim for these many years, 
 
 to get in the old home sheet; 
 "One of our home boys," it will say, an' 
 
 each friend o' my youth I meet 
 102 
 
Will say: "I seen you was back in town 
 
 in an editorial; say, 
 By jing, old feller, it seems to me you're 
 
 gettin' a little gray!" 
 An* that will be by way of a joke; Til 
 
 laugh as I used to do; 
 But it ain't much of a joke, because I know 
 
 in my heart it's true. 
 
 103 
 
MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 >np WERE fine upon these July nights 
 
 * to wander far away, 
 To leave the work and worry and the cares 
 
 of every day, 
 To leave the town behind one and go out 
 
 where winds are cool, 
 To where a tree throws shadows deep 
 
 across a bayou pool. 
 And there lie prone upon the grass and 
 
 watch the stars come out 
 Where only just the noises of the night 
 
 are all about. 
 And candle-bugs flit all about, and frogs 
 
 call from the pool 
 And all the wide world seems at peace, and 
 
 all the world seems cool. 
 
 104 
 
To just lie sprawled out on the grass and 
 
 hear the owl's to-whoo, 
 'Way out where not a city voice brings any 
 
 fret to you, 
 And all the world is sweet with peace, and 
 
 winds are in the trees, 
 And lullabies of old seem to come to you 
 
 on the breeze; 
 To lie there and to just forget that days 
 
 are full of toil. 
 That the tomorrow will come in with sweat 
 
 and rush and moil; 
 Forget the town, forget the toil, forget the 
 
 things to do. 
 And just imagine that the night and stars 
 
 were made for you. 
 
 Just hypnotize yourself; forget the price of 
 ham and eggs; 
 
 Sip lightly of life's brimming cup, forget 
 the bitter dregs; 
 
 Forget life's hurts, forget false friends, for- 
 get life's jolts and jars; 
 
 Just yield yourself to the cool night and let 
 it heal your scars; 
 105 
 
Just put your hands behind your head and 
 dream of bygone days, 
 
 A little girl you knew of old, and old re- 
 membered ways; 
 
 And things she said, and things you said, 
 and how you held her hand. 
 
 And life seemed set to a sweet tune and all 
 the world seemed grand. 
 
 The city is a fearsome place; the city streets 
 
 are hot; 
 Go wander off across the dark, across the 
 
 meadow-lot. 
 And find a place no other one has found, 
 
 and watch the trees 
 Stand dark against the summer sky or 
 
 gently feel the breeze 
 And sway in rhythm to its song, and watch 
 
 the ripples flow 
 Beneath the stars right to your feet as in 
 
 the long ago 
 They used to flow, and feel again all the 
 
 old-time delights, 
 And then go back made strong, and armed 
 
 to fight a thousand fights. 
 106 
 
MIRACLES 
 
 QOME folks make me tired! Their argu- 
 ^ ments 
 
 Is so derned lackin' any kind o^ sense 
 That I can't argue with them! I won't try! 
 I wave 'em to one side an' pass 'em by. 
 If they'd confine theirselves to politics — 
 But I git crosser than a pair o* sticks 
 When they knock at religion, an' they say: 
 "Why ain't there any miracles to-day?" 
 
 Why ain't there any miracles to-day! 
 When the sun rises can a feller say 
 That ain't a miracle? An' when the moon 
 Lights up the night, an' the air smells o' 
 
 June, 
 And all the world is bubblin' full o' love, 
 It makes me wonder what they're thinkin' 
 
 of! 
 
 107 
 
An' when October comes an* paints the 
 
 trees! 
 If miracles are wanted what are these? 
 
 The mornings an* the nights, the wavin* 
 trees. 
 
 The lights that lies on mountains, plains, 
 an' seas; 
 
 The bu'stin' buds o' spring, the changin' 
 fall, 
 
 The little streams a-singin', an* the call 
 
 Of birds, far-sent from some woodland re- 
 cess, 
 
 A father's love, a mother's tenderness. 
 
 The tall red cannas that dip down an' 
 sway — 
 
 And yet there ain't no miracle to-day! 
 
 And then we go a-tippytoe some morn 
 To where a little baby, newly born. 
 Is lyin' like a crumpled rose leaf lies. 
 As pink an' pure, an' in its vi'let eyes 
 A look of reminiscence of far things. 
 Of heaven-slopes an' of white angel-wings, 
 
 108 
 
And things that weVe been here till weVe 
 
 forgot — 
 No miracles today! Who says there's not? 
 
 Why, every babe's a miracle, I know! 
 Two of 'em call me Daddy; when you go 
 An' stand beside a newborn baby's bed 
 Its eyes tight shut in sleep, its fluffy head 
 So light it hardly dents the piller, you 
 Are gazin' on a miracle; a few 
 Can't seem to see it, but it ain't unkind 
 To tell em' when they can't, by jing, 
 they're blind! 
 
 When a new baby, where it's lyin' at 
 Laughs in its sleep until it shakes its fat, 
 Just laughs an' laughs an' chuckles, don't 
 
 you s'pose 
 There's somethin' that that little baby 
 
 knows 
 That it ain't had no time to learn on earth. 
 That makes it shake its side for all its 
 
 worth? 
 There's miracles to burn, big ones an* 
 
 small, 
 But a new babe's the grandest one of all. 
 109 
 
THE COVERED BRIDGE 
 
 "TPHE new steel bridge across the crick's 
 * a pritty thing to see, 
 As gauzy and as spidery as any bridge 
 
 could be; 
 It's floor's just like a solid road, cemented 
 
 good an' tight, 
 An' it's all painted red, an' it's a ruthev 
 
 pritty sight; 
 But it don't have no charms fer me, don't 
 
 please me not at all; 
 The crick goes gurglin' just the same, an' 
 
 givin' the old call, 
 An' singin' comes along an' slips beneath 
 
 the river road; 
 But the new bridge ain't like the bridge, 
 
 the covered bridge we knowed. 
 
 We used to climb the slipp'ry rocks that led 
 up to the ridge, 
 110 
 
An* stump each other divin* off o* that old 
 
 covered bridge; 
 I learned to swim in its cool shade in the 
 
 old swimmin' hole, 
 An' used to sit beneath it with my can o' 
 
 worms an' pole 
 An' Bsh fer pouts an' suckers, an' fer cats 
 
 th' hull day long, 
 Whilst all the time the crick went by a-sing- 
 
 in' of its song; 
 An' so the new bridge don't fill up the place 
 
 the old bridge did, 
 The covered bridge we romped in when I 
 
 was a little kid. 
 
 The covered bridge our voices went a-roll- 
 
 in', boomin' through. 
 Almost a-scarin' of ourselves each time we 
 
 hollered, "boo"; 
 An' 'twas the dearest courtin' place that all 
 
 the country knew. 
 An' lovers walked from miles around to 
 
 meet an' bill an' coo 
 In its brown shadows, an' each day 'twas 
 
 dark enough, you wis 
 111 
 
Fer two to pause, an* heart to heart, 
 
 exchange a lovin' kiss; 
 An* Maggie*s name was carved in it with 
 
 my name, side by side; 
 I carved them there while she looked on, 
 
 the day she was a bride. 
 
 The day she was a bride — Oh, that was very 
 
 long ago! 
 Our children all played in its shade, an*, 
 
 when the lights git low, 
 I hear their footsteps romp an* dance 
 
 across its soundin* floor. 
 An* hear the happy laughter of the ones 
 
 that come no more; 
 An* through its arches many times a slow 
 
 procession wound. 
 An* to the buryin* ground beyond, where, 
 
 each beneath a mound, 
 Our little children lie asleep beside their 
 
 ma. To me 
 The new bridge ain*t so pritty as the old 
 
 bridge used to be. 
 
 112 
 
THE OLD DIRT ROAD 
 
 f\ H, the old dirt path that was almost 
 
 ^^ overgrowed 
 
 With the grass and the bushes by the old 
 
 dirt road 
 That went windin' in an* out by the old 
 
 rail fence, 
 It's a-callin' to me now. It's a long time 
 
 sence 
 I have walked in the dust that was soft 
 
 to my feet, 
 Like a carpet o' velvet, an* night air so 
 
 sweet 
 Just breathin' it in was a everlastin' joy. 
 Just breathin' of it in, an' bein' just a boy! 
 
 Oh, the old dirt road! How it wound from 
 
 side to side! 
 'Twas just a narrow track, an' the world 
 
 was so wide 
 
 113 
 
There was hardly no use for the old road 
 
 at all, 
 But the robins 'ud build, an' orioles *ud 
 
 call 
 Along its twisty length where it wound in 
 
 an* out — 
 Once it turned by a pool that was plum 
 
 full of trout, 
 Once it turned in a field to a spring by 
 
 a tree; 
 Just an old dirt road, as contented as 
 
 could be. 
 
 A lazy, good-for-nothin* careless kind o* 
 
 road! 
 I can see it now, an' the weeds that over- 
 
 growed 
 Its edges, an' berries that in season 'ud 
 
 hang 
 From bushes in corners where wildbirds 
 
 hid an* sang — 
 See it like it wound, white an' misty 'neath 
 
 the stars. 
 Hear cattle callin* as they gether by the 
 
 bars! 
 
 114 
 
Tm homesick to go to it! Homesick as 
 
 can be! — 
 It's always, forever, a-callin', callin' me. 
 
 115 
 
I 
 
 HOW IT HAPPENED 
 
 WOULDN'T have dasted ask her if Td 
 
 stopped to think at all; 
 But the glory vines was climbin' in a riot 
 
 on the wall, 
 An' I had picked up Jones' boy, a little 
 
 an' barefoot tad, 
 An' had took him walkin' with me cause it 
 
 always made him glad 
 For to have a grown-up notice him, 
 
 espeshly if 'twas me; 
 So we cantered off together. No one seein' 
 
 us would be 
 Ap' to think I was a bachelor, satisfied an* 
 
 plum resigned 
 To his state, an' knowed all over as the 
 
 woman-hatin' kind. 
 
 116 
 
An* Tad trotted on beside me with his hand 
 
 hold of my hand, 
 His feet an' tongue a-goin', both of 'em, to 
 
 beat the band; 
 An' afore I was suspectin' it, the thought 
 
 snuck up on me 
 That when fellers without babies gits as 
 
 old as they can be, 
 An' ain't got no kin to love 'em, an' ain't 
 
 got no little kids 
 To hold in their arms an' croon to night- 
 times when the katydids 
 Is a-chirpin' in the thickets, an' the moon's 
 
 a-shinin' through 
 The tall trees, an' night-birds holler, what 
 
 in God's name do they do? 
 
 What in God's name do they do at all, an' 
 
 what can they be worth? 
 Just a clod, a bump on nature, just a-clut- 
 
 terin' the earth! 
 An' 'twas whilst I was a-thinkin' these 
 
 strange thoughts we come to where 
 She was standin', leanin' over the old ruint 
 
 wall; her hair 
 
 117 
 
Sort of frsizzled round her forrid, was a 
 
 golden sort o' fuzz; 
 An' her eyes was the same color that the 
 
 mornin' glories was; 
 An' she had Jones' little girl, Tad's sister, 
 
 along o' her, 
 An' was snugglin' her an' talkin' when we 
 
 come to where they were. 
 
 And we neither one said nothin', didn't 
 
 have a word to say, 
 An' the children went together for to git 
 
 us a bokay. 
 An' a bird away off somewhere sung 
 
 ka-hoot, ka-hoot, ka-hoot; 
 An' I stood a while a-lookin 'at the worn 
 
 toe of my boot. 
 An' then I looked into her eyes an' looked 
 
 right away again, 
 An' after awhile when I looked back her 
 
 eyes was lookin' in 
 My eyes, an' then she looked away as 
 
 fluttered as she could be. 
 An' I heard my voice a-sayin': "Would 
 
 you marry up with me?" 
 118 
 
An' then the pinkest rose-flush run all 
 
 across her neck, an' run 
 To her cheeks, like paints the apple on the 
 
 side that's near the sun, 
 An' her answer was just whispered, but it 
 
 raised me by the hair 
 An' set me down right in heaven where the 
 
 happy angels air! 
 An' I said: "I can't help wonderin' why a 
 
 girl as sweet as you 
 Has gone single?" An' a glimmer lighted 
 
 up her eyes o' blue. 
 An* we sorter leaned together, where the 
 
 mornin' glories climb. 
 An* she said: " 'Twas your fault, Jasper, 
 
 but I knowed you'd ask sometime." 
 
 119 
 
RAIN-WET 
 
 YT rained last night, and the whole wide 
 * world 
 
 Looks sweet and clean as it ought to be; 
 Like a baby bathed and dressed and curled, 
 
 And eyes a-glint with a baby's glee; 
 And pink and purple and azure blue 
 
 The morning glories look fresh and 
 sweet; 
 And fresh red roses are wet with dew, 
 
 And grass is softer beneath the feet. 
 And ever3rwhere, where a rainbow hit 
 
 A jasmine bud it has opened up. 
 And a gem lies at the heart of it; 
 
 And a gem lies in the lily's cup; 
 And trees look fresher and twice as cool. 
 
 And twice as green as they were last 
 night. 
 And children wade in a wayside pool. 
 
 Splashing and shrieking in mad delight. 
 120 
 
What a good old world! How clean and 
 sweet 
 
 The busy old world is after all! 
 Its shaded paths coax our weary feet, 
 
 And every morning the mocker's call 
 Comes with the very first streaks of dawn, 
 
 With all the beauty the day-dawns hold, 
 And all the fears of the night are gone. 
 
 And the morning is azure and gold! 
 
 And babies lift as the glories do. 
 
 Their fresh sweet faces and nod and 
 smile. 
 The grass is green and the skies are blue 
 And life is sweet and is well worth 
 while; 
 Whatever fate may be holding back 
 
 The strength to bear it is given when 
 Fresh out of the night and storm and 
 wrack 
 The world comes bringing its youth 
 again. 
 
 The cattle low and the butterfly 
 Flies lazily past the blossoms sweet, 
 121 
 
And perfumed breezes are drifting by 
 And bending daisies and meadow-sweet; 
 
 Whenever the tasks of life are done, 
 And our marching banners dipped and 
 furled, 
 
 May that land past the westering sun 
 Look half as good as the rain -wet world. 
 
 122 
 
SUGAR LUMPS 
 
 ¥ ET us go away off yonder down a path 
 
 '^ that used to be, 
 
 'Way across the little footbridge, 'way 
 
 beyond the apple tree; 
 Skirt the hill the way we used to, skirt the 
 
 ruffled wayside pool, 
 With our books and slates and pencils, to 
 
 the little country school; 
 To the room with its long blackboards 
 
 where we labored every day. 
 To the yard where during recess boys and 
 
 girls played pull-away. 
 Or the girls, off in their corner, would play 
 
 prisoner's base, and run 
 Full of happiness and gladness, full of 
 
 laughter in the sun. 
 
 123 
 
Let's go back to a far springtime where the 
 
 mellow sunlight shines, 
 To the little girls we loved then; who 
 
 inspired our valentines; 
 Girls whose locks were golden yellow, girls 
 
 whose eyes were cobalt blue, 
 Girls to whom we wrote in loving: "Sugar's 
 
 sweet and so are you." 
 Girls in pinafores and collars, starched and 
 
 clean as they could be. 
 Girls who 'way across the schoolroom used 
 
 to smile on you and me; 
 Let's go back, away back yonder, down 
 
 the paths we used to know. 
 To the "sugar lumps" we loved so in the 
 
 happy long ago. 
 
 You remember I am certain how our 
 
 hearts would throb and race, 
 How those days all of a sudden I began 
 
 to wash my face 
 And to keep it washed, and how you used 
 
 to comb and brush your hair, 
 And we scrubbed our necks until we were 
 
 the cleanest, pinkest pair 
 124 
 
Of schoolboys in the whole village, and 
 
 how father used to grin, 
 And the look that mother'd give us when 
 
 we'd come a-marchin* in 
 With a flower pinned onto us. How she*d 
 
 love and squeeze us two! 
 Oh, the girls away back yonder! Naught 
 
 could cut our love in two! 
 
 Oh, the girls away back yonder! And the 
 
 perforated scrolls 
 That each year took them our message; 
 
 heaven bless their little souls! 
 Just the memory of their sweetness and 
 
 the days that used to be 
 Makes that time away back yonder seem 
 
 the best in life to me! 
 Years have stretched their length between 
 
 us as the years are wont to do. 
 Severing the loves we used to swear no 
 
 knife could cut in two; 
 But when springtime wakes the blossoms 
 
 and warms up the out-of-doors 
 Memory goes back and snuggles by the 
 
 girls in pinafores. 
 
 125 
 
JUST COIN* TO DAWDLE ALONG 
 THE WAY 
 
 I AM goin' to laze along, 
 Pausin* to hark to every song 
 Of bird an' breeze an' brook an' tree, 
 An' every kind of minstrelsy 
 The world knows, an' sings; an' all 
 Of it, its littlest wee call 
 Will git response from me, an' I 
 Shall dawdle 'long beneath the sky; 
 Just like a feller waitin' till 
 Th' first call o' the whippoorwill 
 Tells him it's courtin' time; th' time 
 When life seems flowin' to a rhjrme. 
 
 Goin' to wait like that I be, 
 Till your glad feet ketch up with me; 
 Till you, 'cross fields o' babyhood 
 An' youth an' truth, an' all that's good 
 
 126 
 
Have come to me; have tripped along — 
 Just like the spirit of some song 
 Your mother used to sing to you 
 Had grew an* grew an' grew an* grew, 
 Until the song got so blamed small 
 It couldn't hold it in at all, 
 An' it had had to crystallize 
 Into a woman with glad eyes. 
 
 Had had to be a livin' thing! 
 A livin', breathin', sweet — By jing! 
 Th' promise of what you will be 
 Fills up this heart inside o' me 
 Till I feel like she's 'bout to bust! 
 An' then again I sort o' just 
 Wish you would stay a little girl; 
 With every little tousled curl 
 Just like it was; an' always glad 
 To snuggle in the arms of dad, 
 An' sigh, an' drop away to sleep 
 With him a-lovin' you a heap. 
 
 Heigh-oh! Oh-hum! My eyes gits dim 
 A-thinkin' things, an' over-brim 
 With tears; but men don't never cry — 
 127 
 
It's prob'ly smoke. I wonder why 
 
 I wasn't took? Your ma would be 
 
 Ten times a better man than me 
 
 To bring a girl up; but I guess 
 
 God sort of knows His bizziness; 
 
 Men can earn more — I *spose it's best — 
 
 Well, it's time that you was undressed 
 
 An' said your "lay me down to sleep — " 
 
 Dad's still here, lovin' you a heap. 
 
 128 
 
THE LONG SWEET-SMELLING 
 DAYS 
 
 T 
 
 HE ox-driver with his goad, 
 And the oxen with their load, 
 And the up-and-down and winding, dusty, 
 townward wending road. 
 And the blue jay on a rail 
 Switchin' of his sassy tail. 
 And a-scoldin' in a language that don't 
 never seem to fail. 
 
 And the whirrin' of the mill 
 Over yonder by the hill. 
 With the buzzin' of its sawin* sort of 
 minglin' with the rill, 
 Till afur it sort of seems 
 Like the singin' heard in dreams, 
 Like the liftin', ripplin', liltin' of the 
 dreamland bordered streams. 
 
 129 
 
An* the long sweet-smellin' days 
 Bloomin' from a sort of haze 
 Every mornin', that drifts backward leavin' 
 dewy country ways 
 Stretchin' far an' straight ahead, 
 Blossom bordered an' all spread 
 With dust-layin' dew, and softer than a 
 carpet to the tread. 
 
 An' I'm sorry till I frown 
 Thinkin' of the folks in town, 
 With their hurryin', worryin', an' rushin' 
 up and down, 
 Glad to simply work and live; 
 Never knowin' when they've striv 
 Any gladness like the gladness that the 
 country ways can give. 
 
 I may never, never know 
 Nights o' jostlin' to an' fro 
 Where the theayters are crowded an* the 
 streets are all aglow; 
 But I know of bush an' tree 
 An' the heavens over me. 
 An' my happy red-cheeked babies make me 
 glad as I can be. 
 130 
 
MACHINE LIMITATIONS 
 
 I'D love to sit by this machine 
 
 *■ And slowly touch the yielding keys, 
 
 Till the whole world should see the sheen 
 
 Of Rocky River through the trees; 
 See the slate cliffs I used to know, 
 
 And see the spider-webby span 
 Of the bridge known so long ago, 
 
 Away back where my life began. 
 
 Vd love to take the world with me 
 
 Across my white typewriter keys. 
 Until the whole wide world should see 
 
 The things I see, feel the same breeze 
 Upon its cheek; should go and wade 
 
 With me across the shallow ford; 
 And climb the cliff's face, unafraid. 
 
 And drink with me from the old gourd. 
 
 The keys are unresponsive things! 
 They never quite interpret right 
 131 
 
The song that's in one's heart, and sings 
 Its throbbing notes out to the night; 
 
 The song of youth and gladsome days, 
 The song of blossomed slopes and bees, 
 
 The song of sumach bordered ways, 
 And forest glades and shady trees. 
 
 They never can quite make the world 
 
 See the rare color in the air — 
 As if the sunset banners furled 
 
 Had left their sweetest colors there; 
 A color warm as sweetheart lips! 
 
 A color holding all the gold 
 Of truant locks, pink as the tips 
 
 Of little fingers known of old. 
 
 Let my stiff fingers stray across 
 
 The iv'ry faces as they may, 
 I cannot make the branches toss, 
 
 I cannot make the roses sway 
 The way Vd like the world to see. 
 
 The way Td like the world to know. 
 Or the whole world would sing with me 
 
 Sweet love songs of the long ago. 
 
 132 
 
A CASE O' CANT HELP IT 
 
 IT'S just a case o* can*t help it with me, 
 
 ■* By gee! 
 
 It's a case o' can't help it with me, 
 
 Whoopee ! 
 When I see a tow-headed boy or a girl, 
 I feel like I'd like to just kiss every curl. 
 And grab 'em right up and just give 'em 
 a whirl; 
 It's a case o' can't help it with me! 
 It's a case o' can't help it with me. 
 
 By jing! 
 For it makes me feel glad as can be. 
 
 And sing? 
 My heart beats in ragtime! And hanmiers 
 
 around. 
 My feet do a rhythmical stunt on the 
 ground, 
 
 133 
 
I feel I could grab 'em and waltz 'em 
 around! 
 It's a case o' can't help it with me! 
 
 A sweet tow-headed, glad, little girl, 
 
 Ah, me! 
 Or a boy! How they set me awhirl. 
 
 By gee! 
 I simply can't help it! I git full o' laugh, 
 I tell 'em hello, an' I joke an' I chaff, 
 I caper an' prance like a big yearlin' calf; 
 It's a case o' can't help it with me. 
 
 134 
 
IF I HAD MY WAY 
 
 ¥ F I had my way, and money to 
 ^ Do all the things I should like to do, 
 I'd give a chuckle and laugh and shout 
 And wipe the orphan asylums out! 
 Each heart which craves for a baby boy, 
 Or little girl, with a throb of joy 
 Should get her wish and tight to her breast 
 Each one should clasp which she loved the 
 
 best; 
 An* croon songs to it when it grew late. 
 An* I would chuckle an' pay the freight. 
 
 There are lots who long for babies small, 
 To hear them patter along the hall; 
 Who walk sad-hearted and all alone, 
 Without a baby to call their own; 
 And that's where I would come in, by jing! 
 And orphan 'sylums would all go, bing! 
 
 135 
 
rd stoop and kiss every up-turned face, 
 An* leave that *sylum the lonest place 
 That you ever knew, without the call 
 Of a laughin', rompin* babe at all! 
 
 Or, if I but had the money to 
 There's another thing I b'lieve I'd do — 
 I'd put them other folks on the shelf 
 An' mother the whole big bunch myself! 
 And days we'd romp, and would laugh and 
 
 play. 
 Out over the hills and far away; 
 An' nights I'd sit by a big grate fire 
 An' tell 'em tales whilst the flames went 
 
 higher; 
 An' pray to the Lord each soul to keep. 
 As fast as they snuggled down to sleep. 
 
 Till angel mothers peeped through the 
 
 night, 
 An' said: "He's got 'em an* they're all 
 
 right!" 
 And when they grew tired of romp and run 
 A tender woman should love each one, 
 
 136 
 
An* when they waked in the morning blue, 
 All pink an* dimpled an* eager to 
 Get out an* run in a happy crowd, 
 Vd snuggle them till they laughed out loud; 
 An* they*d be glad as the bees that buzz. 
 An* 'ud never know what a spankin* was. 
 
 137 
 
TOGETHER 
 
 'T'HE sun shines as warm, and the world 
 *• is as young — 
 
 But we — we are older; 
 And sweet were the songs that the wild- 
 birds have sung, 
 But days have grown colder; 
 And bleak winds are swooping down out 
 of the skies, 
 Are swooping and blowing; 
 The red rose we loved is all wrecked, and 
 it lies 
 Where erst it was growing. 
 
 Once life was all youth, and bright red 
 was its mouth. 
 And pouting for kisses; 
 But now the sweet songsters have flown 
 away south; 
 One listens, but misses 
 138 
 
The call of the mocker concealed in his tree, 
 
 The cardinal's calling; 
 A cold wind is blowing in off from the sea, 
 
 And shadows are falling. 
 
 Do you care? Are you sad that birds are 
 away; 
 Sad, dear one, and grieving? 
 Do you care that your locks are sprinkled 
 with gray? 
 That gold locks are leaving? 
 We have walked up the trail from glad 
 days of youth. 
 In hand and together; 
 Have laughed loud in glee at the shadow 
 of ruth; 
 Have laughed at the weather. 
 
 We have walked with a laugh where 
 blossoms are tall. 
 Hands clasped, through the meadows; 
 Have loved and have laughed, hand in 
 hand through it all; 
 Let's laugh at the shadows! 
 
 139 
 
Let us romp as we did, our laughter be 
 clear, 
 For all the wind^s blowing! 
 Death*s the grandest venture of all, and 
 it's near; 
 Let's laugh and be going. 
 
 Let's laugh as we go down the path to the 
 vale — 
 Let's laugh at the going! 
 The red rose is dead, and the white rose 
 is pale. 
 And cold winds are blowing; 
 But love's all about us, the sun is as warm. 
 
 There's just as glad weather; 
 Your hand in my hand, then who fears any 
 storm! 
 We're going together! 
 
 140 
 
JUST A TOUCH OF LONGING 
 
 pvO I miss the old home? Why, 
 •■^ I do miss the punkin pie 
 That I got my fill of when 
 Autumn had rolled *round again; 
 Punkin pie as big around 
 As a cartwheel most, and browned 
 Just the sort of brown that melts 
 In your mouth like nothin* else! 
 Do I miss the old home? My! 
 I DO miss the punkin pie. 
 
 And I miss the killin' time! 
 Hog backbone and spareribs! Vm 
 All right till I start to think 
 Of the spring, an* how Vd drink 
 Out of it, a-lyin' down 
 Sprawlin* right out on the groun* 
 So's my lips could reach the spring; 
 Bet there ain't another thing 
 141 
 
In the world that can compare 
 
 With that bubblin' spring back there. 
 
 An' I miss the cattle some, 
 Miss the cows. God made 'em dumb, 
 But their eyes 'ud seem to be 
 Sayin' worlds of things to me. 
 When rd go into their stall 
 An' I'd pat each one and call 
 Her by name, an' she 'ud turn 
 An' her big ca'm eyes 'ud burn 
 With love for me. They was dumb 
 But I miss the cattle — some. 
 
 An' nights when the sticks 'ud fall 
 Inter coals, an' when the hall 
 Would be full of ghosts, to scare 
 Little boys until their hair 
 Would feel prickly — Do I miss 
 The old home, the mother-kiss — 
 Well, this is 'twixt me and you 
 I 'bout half believe I do! 
 An' I always sort o' sigh 
 At the thought of punkin pie. 
 
 142 
 
RESTING WITH NOVEMBER 
 
 "you could hardly tell November by the 
 * weather; it's so clear 
 That sky-scrapers in the city, miles away, 
 
 look just as near 
 As the bunch of trees off yonder, and the 
 
 wildbirds seem to sing 
 Just as sweet a song as ever they sung to 
 
 us in the spring; 
 And the trees, as fur as I see, are a-lookin* 
 
 'bout the same, 
 'Ceptin* now and then a sweetgum is 
 
 a-bustin' into flame. 
 An' I never felt more fittin' to chop wood 
 
 or go an' plow, — 
 An' I never felt less like it than I happen 
 
 to right now. 
 
 My old blood seems fairly rompin', like red 
 licker, through my veins; 
 143 
 
An' I ought to drive the hosses, with 
 
 a-rattlin* of their chains, 
 Where fall plowin* is a-waitin*, an* there's 
 
 other things to do; 
 But the air is so perfumey, and the sky is 
 
 such a blue, 
 An' the roses are so bloomin', and the can- 
 
 nas such a red, 
 An' the violets so smilin' where they're 
 
 hidin' in their bed, 
 An' the whole world looks so restful, it 
 
 should be ag'in' the law 
 For a man to do a thing but stand around 
 
 and chew a straw. 
 
 I would like to stand out yonder by the 
 
 front fence, stand all day, 
 So's to see the city people in their autos 
 
 hike away 
 For a day out in the country, for to spin 
 
 across the hills; 
 Where the sweetness of November just 
 
 wells up and overspills 
 Till no one can help but get it, get full of it 
 
 through and through, 
 144 
 
Of the redness of the cannas — but as 
 
 certain as I do, 
 When I'm half lost in my dreamin*, an' 
 
 have stood out there a spell, 
 Some of them will stop an' ask me if I've 
 
 got some eggs to sell. 
 
 Then I'll have to quit my dreamin' to hunt 
 
 eggs and such like stuff; 
 An' the dream that I am dreamin' will have 
 
 left me sure enough; 
 So I dassen't stand out yonder where the 
 
 autos hike along; 
 If I want to dream in quiet, and to hear 
 
 the mockbird's song, 
 There ain't no place that's so quiet as 
 
 behind the barn for me. 
 Where the yellow sun is fallin', an' where 
 
 people lets me be; 
 Wife imagines I am workin', an* the 
 
 honkers go on by; 
 But I'm restin' with November, an* the 
 
 wild birds, an' the sky. 
 
 145 
 
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 
 
 JLM E? Happy? I could hop up a swaying 
 
 *'* twig an* swing, 
 
 If it was strong — I'm gittin' stout — an* 
 
 sing an' sing an' sing 
 Until the whole world turned its head to 
 
 hear the music roll; 
 An' still I'd sing, an' sing till I poured out 
 
 my soul 
 
 I could — till I poured out my soul in one 
 
 last gasp o' glee, 
 Perched right up an a swayin' twig on 
 
 some tall Christmas tree, 
 A-tearin' loose an' spreadin' out, so clear 
 
 an' high an' long 
 That all the birds 'ud hush, an' all the 
 
 world be filled with song. 
 
 146 
 
I don't know what it is that's got into me, 
 I'm so glad! 
 
 But somehow this is just the best Christ- 
 mas I ever had! 
 
 I think it must be just because love's piled 
 up more an' more, 
 
 Until there's more love in the world than 
 ever was before! 
 
 The little children on the streets — each 
 
 little girl and boy — 
 Are busier than teapots are, just bubblin' 
 
 full o' joy! 
 An' all the stores in all the town where 
 
 tramplin' buyers shove. 
 Have fairly got their walls bulged out, 
 
 they are so filled with love. 
 
 If each clerk had a thousand hands she'd 
 
 have all she could do; 
 But not a one is lookin' glum, an' not a 
 
 one is blue; 
 
 147 
 
They're filled with Christmas spirit till it 
 
 shines out of their eyes, 
 It's in the bundles they wrap up, an' in 
 
 their sweet replies. 
 
 I wish for them all that they wish, an' 
 
 then a whole lot more; 
 An' for the little bits o' tads just smilin' 
 
 in life's door 
 I wish a life of Christmases as glad as this, 
 
 by jing! 
 I wish I COULD perch on a twig an' sing 
 
 an' sing an' sing! 
 
 148