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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap£§?^ Copyright No. 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
Mks. M. M. Jouvenat. 
 
V/iNG -Shadows 
 
 OF 
 
 Fancy. 
 
 Mrs. M. M. Jouvenat. 
 
WW 
 
 45163 
 
 Copyrighted April 12, i8< 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. M. M. JOUVUNAT. 
 
 TAVO COPIES RECEIVKD, 
 
 SECOiNfD COPY, 
 
 N0V8-18»e ) 
 
 of Cf^x ^./^ 
 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 PAUL AND MORRIS. 
 
SALUTATORY. 
 
 Not always with a heart of eider down, 
 
 The sturdy mariner, though victor 
 
 Of a hundred storm-embattled voyages, 
 
 Essays again the ever-varying 
 
 Fortunes of the deep. And he 
 
 Whose pleasure's bark ha^ only cruised along 
 
 Familiar shores, with the home-harbor safe 
 
 In view ; whose only purpose was to watch 
 
 The moon-washed paddles drip their jeweled spray, 
 
 And drift with aimless dreams on aimless tides, 
 
 Is bold indeed to spread his untried sails 
 
 And dare the assaulting gales of alien skies, 
 
 Yet, those who press where angels fear to tread 
 
 Are also they whom proverbs say are lucky : 
 
 So with what grace of modesty I may, 
 
 I crave your kindly approbation. 
 
WINO-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 NEIGHBORS. 
 
 High on a pantry shelf — by chance 
 Of careless maid, or circumstance, 
 Two vessels waited side by side, 
 Destined forgotten to abide. 
 
 The one of coarsest potters' clay 
 Made by some rude designer ; 
 The other — beautiful as day — 
 Of rarest Sevres china. 
 
 The dust fell over them in clouds ; 
 The spiders wove them grimy shrouds, 
 And sounds of merriment and woe 
 Thrilled them alike, they could not know 
 The dancing feet, or music sweet 
 
 From storm or stress of weather, 
 But every shock of hall or street 
 Jarred their poor sides together. 
 
 With chips and cracks, the dainty vase 
 Lost all Its resonance and grace. 
 The ugly jug, opaque and dull. 
 Remained unscathed, 'till time was lull. 
 Then one to menial use was called 
 
 And found its destined duty ; 
 While multitudes have stood enthralled 
 Before the other's beauty. 
 
AFTER THE FIRE. SHE NEXT PAGE. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 AFTER THE FIRE. 
 
 Softly the lambent beams 
 Of the moon in wavering streams, 
 Wash over the blackened wall — 
 On the charred rafters fall — 
 
 Of my lost home. 
 In silence the swaying trees 
 Beckon with bending knees, 
 
 Some viewless form to come. 
 
 Softly the shadows creep 
 Where the cindered lintels sleep, 
 And fumble at the door ; 
 But nowhere on step or floor 
 
 Of my deserted home, 
 Is the sound of a footfall heard 
 Or echo of whispered word. 
 
 From room to room. 
 
 In the lorn and lonely night 
 The unaccustomed light 
 Searches the haggard place 
 In vain, for the vanished grace 
 
 Of my lost home ; 
 While a bird on the chimney high 
 Shrills in mad ecstacy 
 
 With never a note of doom. 
 
 Oh, bird on the chimney tall. 
 Thy notes with the moonbeams fall, 
 And mingle with my dreams. 
 Faintly their cadence seems 
 
 With anguish stirred ; 
 But what, in thy ecstacy, 
 Are broken hearts to thee — 
 
 Oh, mocking mocking-bird ? 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 The old year with its woes, 
 Fast verges to a close, 
 But e'er its dying throes, 
 We, too, may pass. 
 
 Ah, weary heart and sore. 
 There waits beside your door 
 The rest you oft implore, 
 And yet, alas ! 
 
 Ah, yet, although I see 
 How sweet that rest may be 
 When close it bends to me, 
 I shrink and sigh. 
 
 1 shrink with some vague sense 
 Of effortless defense 
 At life's inconsequence, 
 I know not why. 
 
 Heartsick with life's defeat ; 
 Longing the dead to meet ; 
 I know it will be sweet 
 To rest and die. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY 
 
 ONLY A THRUSH. 
 
 All day in the gleaming corn 
 From the dewy milk-white morn, 
 'Till the evening star is born : 
 
 The crickets' cheery call, 
 Albeit soft and small, 
 lyoud on mine ear doth fall ; 
 
 For I long for one bold bright look 
 At the sun, and cannot brook 
 The crickets' low rebuke. 
 
 1 watch the lark as he swings 
 In the high dim dawn and sings, 
 Like a star with silvery wings ; 
 
 But tho' in my deep delight 
 I fain would follow his flight — 
 I never can reach his height — 
 
 So I flit with restless cry 
 The fruit fringed meadows by, 
 And vex that I cannot die ; 
 
 While all day long in the corn 
 I hear with bitter scorn 
 The cricket's humble horn. 
 
12 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 AT EVENING. 
 
 TO MRS. A. M. G. 
 
 My day is done : 
 
 Beyond the portals of its sunset fringe 
 
 I see the advancing gloom. 
 
 Along the paths which I have come 
 
 lyie faded dreams, and fragments 
 
 Of the hopes I chased — 
 
 And scorned. Around on every side 
 
 I see the fadeless glory 
 
 Of a changeless change ; 
 
 No storm of memory's pain 
 
 Swells to my heart, or breaks 
 
 In rain upon my moveless face. 
 
 The burdens I have borne 
 
 Have ceased to gall ; the sorrows 
 
 I have known no more enthrall. 
 
 The scales of hope and dread 
 
 Pause in a pulseless breath, 
 
 And destiny in equipoise 
 
 Stands waiting. 
 
 ''ROBIN'S AWA." 
 
 What matters all the summer's prescient splendor 
 Her myriad roses — her glad plenitudes 
 Of rilling streams that echo softly tender 
 The bird-calls heard at eve in dim, deep woods ? 
 What matters all life's gorgeous pageantry 
 To sightless vision and unheeding ear ? 
 Aye, "what's this dull world to me : 
 Robin's not here." 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. I3 
 
 NOT TO BE. 
 
 There was a rose whose matchless grace 
 My soul's far-seeing eyes could trace, 
 But e'er upon the air was shed 
 Its fragrant breath, the rose was dead. 
 And what, though countless roses blow. 
 If this lost scent no more I know ? 
 And so the notes of some sweet bird. 
 By waiting fancy only heard — 
 Still to my ears the cadence sweet 
 The phantom echoes oft repeat, 
 And still my dreaming heart is thrilled 
 By hopes that perish unfulfilled. 
 
 ^ 
 
 REST.— A SONNET. 
 
 Come rest with me ; the tireless days go on 
 
 And the fierce tropics of a busy life as yet 
 
 Abate not of their fury : — come forget 
 
 Awhile the fevered hopes, so often known 
 
 lyike fleeting stars, to vanish one by one ; 
 
 And calm the leaping pulse, the foaming brain ; 
 
 Within the haven, where I dwell alone. 
 
 O, nevermore to me, shall come the pain 
 
 Of unexpected grief ; nor ecstacy 
 
 Of joy, which verges pain. Apart from these 
 
 Cool shadows, — sorrow-born, but yielding peace 
 
 Surround me ; I hold within my memory 
 
 In waveless calm, — the sorrow and the bliss 
 
 Of sainted days : — O, then, come rest with me. 
 
14 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 THE HONEY OF POISON FLOWERS 
 
 Has the spell of the siren found you, 
 
 Heart of gold ? 
 Has her sorcery crept around you, 
 
 Fold on fold ? 
 'Till the eerie glance that won you 
 
 Pierced your breast ? 
 Has the wine of her smile undone you 
 
 And mocked at your vague unrest ? 
 
 Ah ! well that the cup you tasted 
 
 Scarce touched your lip : 
 For your veins are fever-wasted 
 
 With that brief sip. 
 Yet you long in your maddened hours 
 
 To drink your fill 
 Of the "honey of poison flowers. 
 
 And all its measureless ill." 
 
 MIGNONETTE. 
 
 I send you a sprig of mignonette 
 
 Such as haunted our grandmother's dreams 
 And I often wonder if we do not get, 
 
 More of fragrance than sometimes seems 
 Was old nature's first intent. 
 
 If the seed of some treasured old bouquet ; 
 (Relic of heart-broken sentiment) 
 
 May not have wandered to our late day 
 With the garnered sweets of an old romance, 
 
 The lover's kiss — the secret tear ; 
 And give this flower we hold so dear 
 
 A new significance. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 15 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 There's a picture now before me 
 
 Of a forest lone and deep, 
 'Tis dusk in this woodland hoary 
 
 The world is sinking to sleep. 
 
 I see the birds come flocking 
 
 Seeking for shelter and rest, 
 While the harsh night winds are rocking 
 
 The boughs round their icy nest. 
 
 The trackless snow lies over 
 
 The winding old roadbed, 
 And a fox conies out of his cover 
 
 With slow and stealthy tread. 
 
 His sharp keen nose is lifted. 
 
 His brush is trailing low ; 
 He creeps where the snow lies drifted, 
 
 Noiselessly, soft and slow. 
 
 Cling close, nttle birds, together 
 
 On your chilly perch to night. 
 While I vainly question whether 
 
 This law of life is right. 
 
 Tell rue O, wisdom teachers 
 
 Why guiltless blood is shed ? 
 That stronger, baser creatures 
 
 May be comforted and led. 
 
 And what do the little children say? 
 
 Shall the snow be stained with red 
 Or the whelps of the cruel beast of prey 
 
 Go supperless to bed? 
 
l6 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 TO LONELINESS. 
 
 To thee my bosom friend and mate, 
 
 These pilgrim lines I dedicate ; 
 
 O, thou to whom my voiceless cry 
 
 Was uttered, and whose sole reply 
 
 Was silence, — let me take 
 
 Thy hand, and never more forsake 
 
 The purple shadows, and the peace 
 
 Of thy sweet paths. lyO ! on my knees 
 
 I breathe my utter thankfulness — 
 
 For sorrows masked with power to bless 
 
 For poverty, and pain and woe. 
 
 And toil, and many a friendly foe 
 
 Whose kind unkindness dealt the stroke 
 
 That loosed my fetters, and awoke 
 
 The formless purposes that lay 
 
 Folded in sepulture away. 
 
 O, Solitude, no more I shrink 
 
 From the sad cup 'tis mine to drink. 
 
 Fain would I let all sorrow be 
 
 My badge of immortality. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 WITH SOME WILD DAISES. 
 
 Think of me while daises bloom, 
 In thy heart find me sweet room. 
 Let no distant parting doom, 
 Dim those perfect days with gloom. 
 Keep for me like faint perfume. 
 Gentle thoughts while daises bloom. 
 

 
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1 8 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 OUR NAMELESS NATION. 
 
 Read at the laying of the corner stone of Confederate Monument 
 in Sherman,' Texas, April 3rd, 1S93. 
 
 I know a land whose story 
 Of sacrifice and pain, 
 Dwells in pathetic glory 
 lyike some remembered strain, 
 Whose notes forever flying 
 Repeat their sacred themes 
 In sighing echoes, dying. 
 And fading into dreams. 
 
 O, loved and vanished nation 
 Nameless and lost for aye ; 
 With loving iteration, 
 With carven stone and bay, 
 With monumental splendor 
 Thy memory we bless. 
 Though vain our hope to render 
 The fulgor'of success. 
 
 Long shall the deathless story 
 Be told of the young and brave 
 Who sleep in tragic glory 
 In many a nameless grave ; 
 And long shall this land be cherished 
 In her children's loving hearts — 
 Though her boundaries have perished 
 From human maps and charts. 
 
 For the blood that flowed like a river 
 And sank in the earth away 
 Is part of her sod forever, 
 And throbs in our veins to-day, 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 1 9 
 
 And long as the skies' soft arches 
 Are panoplied with gold 
 The thrill of those gallant marches 
 The deeds of those heroes bold — 
 
 Shall swell in our heart's devotion 
 And grow as the leaves unfold, 
 'Till our sunny land by the ocean 
 Shall stand 'mid the nations old, 
 And the fame of that nameless nation 
 On history's page shall shine 
 As our heroes' grand oblation 
 In our hearts has found a shrine. 
 
 ^ 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 How does Cupid live, and where? 
 Hides he in my lady's hair? 
 Drinks he nectar from the cup 
 Of the crocus lifted up ? 
 Does his voice in odor swell 
 From the bells of Asphodel ? 
 Violets are love's own flower 
 And they whisper of his power. 
 O, beware ! The trap is laid, 
 Cupid waits in ambuscade ; — 
 Every sunbeam sparkling nigh 
 But reflects his laughing eye. 
 See the rose my lady wears 
 With the cruel thorn it bears ; 
 Ah ! 'twas Cupid with his dart 
 And its pain has pierced my heart. 
 
20 WING- SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 ILLUSION. 
 
 You pass me every little while 
 
 "Mrs. Glower."— 
 Your square-set jaws and acrid smile 
 
 Would fain devour 
 
 A creature whom you so despise — 
 
 But 'tis not I— 
 The thing you scathe with loathing eyes 
 
 Is poverty. 
 
 My real self you do not know, 
 
 You only see 
 The tangled skeins of toil and woe 
 
 That compass me. 
 
 If life were all a summer sea 
 
 Then would my face 
 An image fair and placid be 
 
 And full of grace. 
 
 But like some view through dim sea caves 
 
 I meet your glance — 
 Distorted in the broken waves 
 
 Of circumstance. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 WITH A FLOWER. 
 
 Take this little pretty pansy 
 
 Lady fair, 
 Let it dwell in thy sweet fancy 
 
 Light as air. 
 
 Shed the dayshine of thy smiling 
 
 On its head, 
 It will bless in such beguiling 
 
 Sunlight fled. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. Ht 
 
 NEURALGIA. 
 
 In an effort vain to conquer the pain 
 Assaulting my shuddering senses, 
 I call for a lotion, or some deadly potion 
 To hinder its headlong advances. 
 
 Then like the echo dim of a wordless hymn 
 Falls the sibilant sound of chloral — 
 But what profit to weep when instead of my sleep 
 Comes the dawn of a vision auroral ? 
 
 I sway and swing like a birdless wing 
 On wanton breezes sailing — 
 I float — I float like an earless boat 
 With my hair in the eddies trailing. 
 
 Like the sounds that swell in a tongueless bell 
 That rings with its own vibrations. 
 My senses swim in a swirling dream 
 With a thousand wild gyrations. 
 
 Ah, I faint at the brink, where I fain would drink 
 For my hot lips are famished with fever, 
 I am groping in quest of that endless rest 
 That shall quiet my pain forever. 
 
 EN RAPPORT. 
 
 Stately and tall and lonely. 
 The pines tell their secrets only 
 To the starry dusk and me. 
 But ever, and ceaselessly, 
 I hear in their murmured tones 
 The voices of absent ones. 
 
22 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 O, COME SWEET FLOWER. 
 
 When youth and dawn and glad June days 
 
 Their golden chimes are ringing ; 
 When hope's high noon with sweet delays 
 
 Withholds his flight from winging ; 
 Before one blighting breath is blown 
 
 Upon our perfect blisses — 
 O, come sweet flower, the moment crown 
 
 With blushes born of kisses. 
 
 Chorus. — O, come sweet flower and bloom 
 And crown life's glad behest, 
 In pleasure's hour or sorrow's gloom, 
 Come die upon this breast. 
 
 When still at last, this broken heart 
 
 On death's cold bier is lying ; 
 When winged pain with poisoned dart 
 
 Finds sweet surcease in dying ; 
 When staunched for aye the anguished wound 
 
 With roses softly weeping — 
 O, come sweet flower, thy place is found 
 
 Where pain and joy lie sleeping. 
 
 Chorus — O, come, etc. 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 
 Deep in my heart's serenest depths I look 
 Perchance some unfamiliar lineaments lo trace ; 
 But like a jewel in some limpid brook 
 I see thy face. 
 
 I 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 23 
 
 MESSAGE OF THE FLOWERS. 
 
 (Lines accompanying a bouquet of roses and violets lent to 
 Mrs. M. L. Nash.) 
 
 If to our dull prosaic souls 
 
 No sweet mysterious hope unrolls, 
 
 When the soft petals of the rose 
 
 Their carmine-tinted lips disclose ; 
 
 If from the violet's pleading eyes 
 
 No hints prophetic of the skies 
 
 To our insensate hearts arise, 
 
 Nor breaks upon our dumb despair 
 
 In odorous pulses of the air. 
 
 The rhythmic measure of a prayer ; 
 
 If flowers may bloom, and wax and wane 
 
 Nor cheat our human hearts of pain, 
 
 The world is beautiful in vain. 
 
 "VERS DE SOCIETE." 
 
 WITH SOME FLOWERS. 
 
 I have no rare and gorgeous things 
 To bear upon their fragrant wings 
 The messages I fain would send ; 
 To be of thought the argosy — 
 The medium of apology. 
 And for my lack to make amend. 
 So let this simple group of bloom 
 Propitiate the sprites of gloom 
 And bear in modest guise for me 
 The intent of a courtesy. 
 
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WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 25 
 
 VANISHED. 
 
 A DANCE MEMORY. 
 
 If only that soft refrain 
 
 Would cease in my heart and brain ; 
 If the faded scent of mignonette, 
 
 And the odor of withered clover, 
 
 Would ever be over ; 
 If the vision of Fate's grim silhouette, 
 I could forget. 
 
 If she had not been so fair, 
 
 As she winnowed the fragrant air ; 
 With her drowsy wonder of misty lace, 
 
 While the music's languid mazes, 
 
 In dim somnolent phrases. 
 Swooned round the dread enchanted space, 
 That rimmed her face. 
 
 Or yet if those lips of wine. 
 
 Had ever been mine : 
 If I had not trifled as one gone daft. 
 
 And held the coveted chalice away. 
 
 With a connoisseur's delay. 
 As one who knows that at one rich draught 
 It could be quaffed. 
 
 But ever that old refrain. 
 
 Throbs on in my heart and brain. 
 With the haunting odor of mignonette; 
 
 And a vision of vanished grace, 
 
 Thrills in the empty space. 
 And fills the paths where all my thoughts are set 
 With vague regret. 
 
26 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 THOU AND I. 
 
 TO EDNA. 
 
 Morning for thee with the blowing 
 
 Of south winds soft and sweet ; 
 Of sunrises mellow and glowing 
 
 And bright paths to beckon thy feet 
 Morning for thee with the glory 
 
 Of ships sailing out to the West, 
 The joy of an untold story, 
 
 Thrilling within thy breast. 
 
 Evening for me, with its reaches 
 
 Of barren and shadowy vales. 
 Its storm-swept and desolate beaches. 
 
 The glimmer of farewell sails ; 
 Morning for thee with the gladness 
 
 Of hope that eternal springs — 
 Evening for me with the sadness 
 
 Of twilight and folded wings. 
 
 POST PRANDIAL. 
 
 It's the interval that tells 
 
 In the beating of the heart. 
 And the sweetest music swells 
 
 In the pauses of its measure ; 
 The deepest thoughts that start 
 
 Throng the hyphen of the night. 
 And we find the dearest pleasure 
 
 In the fugitive delight, 
 Of the witching hour that waits, 
 
 When a presence we resign, 
 And we dare the tempting fates 
 
 With the walnuts and the wine. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 27 
 
 EXILES. 
 
 Gone are the birds that chirped and swung 
 Out in the trees, where their high nests hung. 
 
 The wind that listless, idled here 
 Stdrms by and passes otherwhere. 
 
 Dark shadowy forms in the wintry sky 
 Utter their lorn discordant cry. 
 
 Far from the old Egyptian stream 
 The lotus lilies stand and dream. 
 
 The orchid flower in the greenhouse nigh 
 Exhales its soul in a tropic sigh. 
 
 The singing notes of a voice long gone 
 Pass and repeat and echo on. 
 
 And the haunting breath of a dead June day 
 In the old rose walk is still astray. 
 
 While the lonely longing heart of me 
 Goes wandering in quest of thee. 
 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 Sea-weed and empty shell 
 That loved the ocean well. 
 
 Forsaken lie ; — 
 And treacherous fawning waves 
 Crawl over their hidden graves, 
 Foam-flecked and sullenly 
 They creep from the maddened sea 
 Creep to the shore and me, 
 
 To die. 
 
28 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 YOUR PICTURE. 
 
 [To an unseen correspondent.] 
 
 Your cheeks are like the roses that abound- 
 Beneath the snow. , 
 
 Your voice has all the music that is found- 
 In a crow ; 
 
 Your eyes like purple sapphires scintillate, 
 (Sin till late), 
 
 And your pretty retrousse nose aspires 
 Toward your pate; (your pretty pate) 
 
 You'rie graceful as a willow in the wind ; 
 
 You're constant as a billow, and as kind ; 
 And I'll bet a half a nickle 
 You are nothing if not fickle 
 
 In your mind. 
 
 DO YOU CARE ? 
 
 Do you care for the rosebuds, so tender. 
 That shed their sweet lives in your sight? 
 
 Do you care for the lilies' soft splendor, 
 The jessamine's languid delight? 
 
 Or is nature's domain all too slender 
 
 A suitable homage to render 
 
 To you, in your beauty and might ? 
 
 Do you care to remember the vision 
 Of dusk with its fire-fly gleams ? 
 
 Have you nothing but scorn and derision 
 For the past, and the lost, as it seems ; 
 
 For tears that without act of volition 
 
 Rain down on the memories elysian 
 Of days that lived only in dreams ? 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 29 
 
 LITTLE BLUEBIRD. 
 
 Ah ! little bluebird, is it you? 
 Thrilling the dawn and my sad soul through, 
 Filling my dark and lonely room 
 With phantom roses and faint perfume, 
 A winged shred of summer sk}^ 
 Flitting by ? 
 
 The gray of winter is over the land, 
 And sorrow and I sit hand in hand ; 
 But one blithe note from your tiny throat 
 And visions of spring in fancy float. 
 And the wings of hope in my breast are stirred 
 By one sweet bird. 
 
 Throvv the dark curtained portals wide, 
 Let in the flood of memory's tide ; 
 Awake to the call of a warbling strain 
 The old time joy, the old time pain. 
 And swift on thought and wing will fly 
 Bluebird and I. 
 
 ^ 
 
 UNSEVERED. 
 
 Over the waters white and wide 
 
 Thou and I — 
 Through flash and foam of the billowy tide 
 
 Blithly fly. 
 Prow in the darkling deep, 
 vSpars mid the starbeams sweep, 
 Dearest, together we stand 
 
 Faring forth, 
 Thou in the spirit land, 
 
 I on earth. 
 
30 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 THE RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 TO THE THIRTEEN YOUNG LADIES OF CLASS '93, SHERMAN INSTITUTE 
 
 Hope's dial marks the hour of noon, 
 
 This glad Columbian year ; 
 And red, red roses crown the June 
 
 Henceforth to memory dear. 
 The year, — The Country, — and your youth 
 
 Each one fair summer find. 
 So let "ill omens" pass, forsooth 
 
 Auspicious fate is kind. 
 'Tis true no signal from beyond 
 
 Gleams far, life's billows over. 
 Nor messages to prayers respond, 
 
 The future to discover. 
 Yet not unguided shall your mind 
 
 Seek paths of grand endeavor. 
 By no "pent Uticas" confined 
 
 But led by freedom ever. 
 The red, red rose in days of old 
 
 Was famed in song and story, 
 Since Lancaster the brave and bold, 
 
 Bathed it in crimson glory. 
 Then wear "the rose of victory" 
 
 With no thought of compunction. 
 Your motto, "God and our country" 
 
 All one benign conjunction. 
 And year by year while the roses bloom 
 
 You will learn where the thorns are hid. 
 And will often come in the dusky gloom 
 
 As sweet "Meh Lady" did — 
 To gather red roses fresh and free. 
 
 While dew-drops their petals cumber, 
 And feel that long ago, '93 
 
 Made thirteen a "lucky number." 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 3I 
 
 BABY JOHN. 
 
 A PEN PICTURE. 
 
 Like flakes astray from summer skies, 
 The azure of his bab)^ eyes ; 
 Fine as spun silk, and chestnut brown. 
 The hair that shades his baby crown. 
 His cheeks, so downy and so rosy ; 
 His mouth, as fragrant as a posey. 
 Beneath his cunning little nosey. 
 And as he lies so warm and cosey, 
 With wink and yawn so sleepy-dozy, 
 From top of crown to tiny toesy: 
 The sweetest flower the sun shines on 
 Is baby John. 
 
 THREE NEPHEWS. 
 
 AFTER A VISIT. 
 
 I wonder where the boys are gone ; 
 James, and Troy, and John ! 
 Sometimes the days seem very long 
 With no one to care for a baby song, 
 No one to care for fairy tales. 
 No one to dabble in water pails, 
 No one to romp and make a noise. 
 O, what has become of the little boys ! 
 
 I once had three little boys of my own. 
 Whose bright eyes like the starlight shone. 
 They had rosy cheeks and voices sweet, 
 And merry the music of their glad feet. 
 But the beard now grows where the roses grew, 
 And the same will happen some day to you. 
 And out in the world you will soon be gone : 
 James, and Troy, and John. 
 
32 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 IMPERISHABLE LOVE. 
 
 I looked on the maiden form 
 
 Of one, who long had lain 
 Embalmed from the greed of worm : 
 
 Shut from the realm of pain, 
 Whose eyes were sealed from tears 
 In a tomb, — three thousand years. 
 
 Her jeweled hands were crossed 
 
 Over her pulseless breast, 
 But the bloom of her cheek was lost ; 
 
 And her lips — once love-carressed 
 Smiled not, nor answered me 
 In my anguished inquiry. 
 
 'Oh, where is the love immortal. 
 That found and crowned thee. 
 
 Can it not burst the portal 
 Of death's eternity ? 
 
 Or where is the love that once 
 
 Thrilled thee with glad response ?' ' 
 
 O, quiet breast forever — 
 
 You prophesy, 
 And to life's longing fever 
 
 Make grim reply. 
 The lips of love — the grieving tears 
 Are silent — these three thousand years. 
 
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34 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 APRIL MUSINGS. 
 
 The locusts are in bloom, 
 
 Their whiteness 'mid the green 
 
 Waves in Spring's magic loom, 
 Like shuttles out and in. 
 
 I see the sunset sky 
 
 Banked high with windy clouds ; 
 O'er the darkening world they lie 
 
 lyike grim prophetic shrouds. 
 
 The lonely night comes down 
 
 And folds me 'round and 'round ; 
 
 The noises of the town 
 
 Add to my gloom profound. 
 
 I think of those who live 
 With children at their knee ; 
 
 And I scarcely can believe 
 'Twas ever so with me. 
 
 I shrink from every hand, — 
 I close and bolt the door. — 
 
 'Tis fate that I should stand 
 Alone forevermore. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 35 
 
 TEXAS (NEBULA.) 
 
 As the red-cinctured suns unroll 
 Their cooling vapors scroll on scroll, 
 When chrystalized and rigid rings 
 A menace to their freedom flings, 
 
 And hurled far out to orbits new 
 A thousand glittering tangents fly ; 
 Crushed and cast out, but not to die, 
 
 (For chaos yields to order true.) 
 And glorious spheres of light and grace 
 Emerge to claim an honored place, 
 While gracious seasons circling round 
 Unveil life's mysteries profound. 
 
 The clouds lift up, the dews descend. 
 Bland seas, and fair redundant fields 
 Their joy to sentient beings yields 
 
 And all benignant uses blend. 
 vSo our fair land, the heritage 
 Of every race, of every age, 
 A nation wrought of fragments torn 
 From strife when liberty was born. 
 
 Beacon of every instinct free. 
 Drift of the passing world's erosion, 
 Shrine of the exile's wrapt devotion, 
 
 A grand mosaic entity. 
 
36 WING-SHADOWS OP FANCY. 
 
 THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. 
 
 How terrible the strife 
 
 For only bread. 
 Is this the all of life, 
 
 To be not dead ? 
 
 Yet never to take a hand 
 
 From the driven task, 
 Reaching to those who stand 
 
 And idly ask. 
 
 No, not a moment's time 
 
 Have we to spare. 
 Need is the sire of crime ! 
 
 We may not share. 
 
 Half of your loaf with those 
 
 Who wait and want, 
 Lest the same squalid woes 
 
 Our future haunt. 
 
 This is the worldling's creed. 
 Let ME have plenty first ; 
 
 When I have gorged my greed 
 And slaked my thirst 
 
 With life's benignant wine — 
 
 When all it is to live 
 To surfeit has been mine, 
 
 Then I will pause — and give. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 37 
 
 THE STAR. 
 
 A myriad blushing roses bloom 
 
 Where erst the wilderneis wis spread, 
 And ploughshares flash where through the gloom 
 
 The poisoned arrow lately sped. 
 Across the plains with silent haste 
 
 Magnetic messengers are thrilling 
 Through fields where wild and fruitless waste 
 
 Her thistle-ermined robes were trailing. 
 No sounds more hostile greet the ear 
 
 Than herdsmen's jocund laughter, 
 The jibes of larks and robins clear 
 
 And echoes flying after. 
 
 A magic mesh of roads and rails 
 
 Their wooing vistas kindly lend. 
 Dim is the web of savage trails 
 
 Where the bold strides of progress wend. 
 We stand in this penumbra fair 
 
 Between the old life and the new 
 Between its ceaseless ebb and flow, 
 
 A fate invincible to dare. 
 The seer sees despite our fears 
 
 A destiny of proud prediction. 
 In rounded symmetry of years, 
 
 Beyond the poet's wildest fiction. 
 
38 WING-SHADOWS OP FANCY. 
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 
 
 A letter, yellow and old and worn ; 
 Wrinkled with aj^e, with handling torn, 
 Holding some faded buds forlorn. 
 Carefully hid from eyes of scorn. 
 
 The words were words of the long ago, 
 Which the hand that wrote would scarcely know 
 As like the truth as the flowers that blow. 
 Are like these poor buds crumbling so. 
 
 While I with sadly drooping head 
 Pondered the words so often read, 
 The weary past looked up and said, 
 "Ah, why not let me bury my dead ?" 
 
 Earth to earth, with many a tear. 
 Hands that were living and w^arm and dear 
 Were folded to rest full many a year. 
 While you lay quietly folded here. 
 
 "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust," 
 Fulfiill your doom as mortals must. 
 Who die like you, save that they trust 
 In God, both merciful and just. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 39 
 
 HEART-HUNGRY. 
 
 When the spring rain, slowly drifting 
 
 To the earth from a wintry sky 
 Suddenly shifting, dreamily lifting, 
 
 Like a veil some hand puts by ; 
 And I see the grass-green rippling far 
 
 In a wild race over the hills, 
 I welcome the prophet — "the eastern star," 
 
 Of nature's benificent wills. 
 
 When the last of the March winds, peeping 
 From his ambush wild with fear. 
 
 All at once leaping, the dry brush sweeping- 
 Scuttles by like a frightened deer ; 
 
 And I see the rose-red blossoms blow, 
 Chasing the vanquished gloom. 
 
 Then hope, wing-weary, stoopeth low. 
 To bathe in this mortal bloom. 
 
 When eyes that have lost beaming 
 
 In the hopeless lapse of j^ears. 
 Waking or dreaming, still streaming 
 
 With a silent fall of tears, — 
 Shall see thro' the mist of an earthly clime, 
 
 A rift in the gloom of space. 
 Beyond the prison bars of time ; 
 
 O, then, shall I see thy face. 
 
40 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 MOTHER'S REST. 
 
 "O, I'm so tired," mother said, 
 
 "I need a good long rest. 
 Away from Nannie, and Jim, and Ted, 
 
 And the baby at the breast. 
 Since Nellie went off to school with Sue, 
 
 I have more clothes to make, 
 I really have too much to do, 
 
 Nor time a breath to take. ' ' 
 
 "When baby is old enough to wean 
 
 I mean to go away 
 For one whole month just like a queen. 
 
 And have a holiday. 
 Nellie and Sue can take my place. 
 
 The boys are little men ; 
 Nannie can wash her own wee face 
 
 'Till I come back again." 
 
 And so, when summer came once more 
 
 The trip was fully planned, 
 But there was much to do before 
 
 She pressed each little hand 
 And held them all close to her heart, 
 
 And kissed them all "good-bye." 
 Poor mother found it hard to part. 
 
 And just began to cry. 
 
 But father put her on the train. 
 And all their kisses waved ; 
 
 And letters told her oft again 
 How well they all behaved. 
 
 But e'er the first two weeks were past 
 The mother restless grew. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 4 1 
 
 And father brought her back at last 
 Before her trip was through. 
 
 And when with laughter mixed with tears 
 
 She kissed them all around. 
 "I feel like I've been gone for years, 
 
 And now can settle down. 
 O, I'm so tired !'' once more she cried, 
 
 Stroking each darling head, 
 But when they stared with eyes so wide, 
 
 ' ' Tired of resting, ' ' mother said. 
 
 TWO LITTLE GRANDDAUGHTERS 
 
 Whose little blue eyes are these, 
 If you please ? 
 
 One, two, three, four. 
 
 Are there any more ? 
 See the dainty cheeks and noses. 
 Sweet as roses ; 
 
 Whose are they any how, 
 
 I'd like to know ! 
 
 Here's a precious, smiling, cute 
 Little "snoot," 
 
 And another just its mate 
 
 And duplicate. 
 Now, who are these tiny girlies two. 
 Say, who ! 
 
 Why, who but little Minnie May 
 
 And Doris Gay ! 
 
42 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 TO ALBYN. 
 
 That pretty Scottish name of thine 
 Descended from an ancient line, 
 
 Of Celtic ancestry ; 
 Proud as the Alp it signifies, 
 And spotless as the snow that lies 
 
 On Alpine heights eternally. 
 
 Guard well that heritage, my friend. 
 That it unblemished may descend 
 
 To bless humanity. 
 May no sad wrecks bestrew thy path 
 To be the ghastly aftermath 
 
 Of heedless vanity. 
 
 ^ 
 
 PALE ASPHODELS. 
 
 TO LOUISE, ON THE DEATH OF HER BABE. 
 
 O, soft the death bloom sleeps 
 
 Upon his pallid lips ; 
 On his sweet eyes a shadow lies. 
 
 The gloom of hope's eclipse. 
 His last low sobbing breath 
 
 To silence has been given. 
 We yield his tender form to death. 
 
 His life from ours is riven. 
 Yet speak not of farewells. 
 
 And count him not as dead. 
 But plant the bells of asphodels 
 
 Above his lowly bed. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 43 
 
 SILENCE. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MRS. M. L . NASH . 
 
 The skies are dim to-day, 
 
 And grim and gray ; 
 
 And everywhere the atmosphere 
 
 Seems wan and palpable and drear. 
 
 The gaunt and leafless trees 
 
 Stand shadowless. 
 
 Hushed bird and bee, their minstrelsy, 
 
 The world seems lost in reverie. 
 
 Farewell ! Life's argosy 
 
 Drifts out to sea. 
 
 In vain we stand upon the strands 
 
 And hold outstretched and pleading hands 
 
 She who majestic lies, 
 
 With darkened eyes. 
 
 Now sees the farther mysteries 
 
 Beyond life's brief parenthesis. 
 
 The flowers she held so dear 
 
 We shall revere : 
 
 And for her sake will not forget 
 
 The daisy's bloom, the mignonette ; 
 
 Will love the daffodil. 
 
 The bluebird's trill; 
 
 Sweet scent and song like censer swung. 
 
 Some old cathedral aisles among. 
 
 But spring will soon repeat 
 
 Its bourgeon sweet. 
 
 And tapestries of bloom shall weave 
 
 Their canopy above her grave. 
 
44 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY, 
 
 "TAKE ME." 
 
 In memory of little Marguerite Hopsou, boru Christmas Day, if 
 Died November 26, 1S92. 
 
 Gay holly on the wall, — 
 
 Dark leaf and scarlet berry, — 
 Cedar scent by hearth and hall. 
 And glad hearts doubly merry. 
 A mother smiles at rest, 
 And in her happy arms, 
 Safe from the world's alarms, 
 A treasured infant lies, 
 With dark unfathomed eyes, 
 A welcome Christmas guest. 
 
 O, but the years were fleet 
 
 In which to know het sweetness ; 
 The music of her feet 
 
 Made all of life's completeness. 
 Holiday was in her heart ; 
 All her sunny life along. 
 Echoes of her childish song 
 Aching memories repeat. 
 But the name, sweet Marguerite, 
 Dwells in sorrow's crypt, apart. 
 
 A day of anguished grief ; 
 
 Death every hope defying ; 
 Now — the memory of her brief 
 And patient words — replying. 
 Will never more forsake thee, 
 Nor that her latest thought. 
 She turned all pain distraught. 
 To one sweet place of rest. 
 Her mother's loving breast, 
 And whispered faintly, "take me." 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 45 
 
 Sad mother, some far day, 
 
 When weary with long pain 
 And sorrow and delay. 
 
 Her voice may come again 
 
 From life's poor dream to wake thee. 
 Then from pale lips the prayer 
 For rest and heavenly care, 
 "O, safe from death's alarms. 
 
 To thine eternal arms, 
 O, Father, 'Take me.' " 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 FOR LITTLE LILLIAN. 
 
 Like some pale blossom she lies, 
 Listless and withered ; 
 
 Cover and close her sweet eyes, 
 Lillian is dead. 
 
 ****** ^ 
 
 O, many a morning shall break 
 
 And find her away ; 
 For vainly we call her, to wake 
 
 And come to her play. 
 
 Vainl}^ we call, but no word 
 
 Answers again ; 
 Only an echo is heard 
 
 Mocking our pain. 
 
 Ah, never a bird-note shall trill 
 Or sweet south wind stir, ' 
 
 But memory will listen and thrill 
 And whisper of her. 
 
46 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 MEMORIAL JUNE. 
 
 The rippliug measure of an old time song, 
 The gay glad notes of summer birds and bees, 
 
 All day their quivering cadences prolong ; 
 
 And always in my heart, as on the fleeing breeze. 
 
 In lonely dreams, or where crowds gaily press, 
 
 I hear the echo of a name — forever answerless. 
 
 Whether above lone wandering autumn streams 
 
 The storm-swept gull his circling shadow flings, 
 Or where o'er summer pools a prismic shower gleams 
 
 When bathing birds dip their sun-burnished wings, 
 Or where pale lily-lips lie breathless from the day. 
 And on the icy rimpled waves the rime lies wan and 
 
 gray ; 
 'Tis always June — for all the past is June. 
 
 My weary feet and dull unseeing eyes 
 Pass on unheeding. All my thoughts have flown 
 
 And followed far, 'neath brooding southern skies. 
 Where fled the waves that saw his last sad gaze. 
 Where willows grope in pallid streams to find the 
 vanished face ! 
 
 I see indeed the outward joy that strays 
 Along the perfumed limits of the days ; 
 Yet mark, against the glowing sky 
 An empty nest, storm-tossed and high, 
 
 In leafless branches swinging. 
 And to the joyless nest no bird — 
 As to my hopeless heart no word — 
 Its glad home-flight is winging. 
 * # * * 
 
 O, gay mosaic sun and bloom discloses ! 
 
 O, laughter wet with tears behind June roses 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 47 
 
 The affluent splendor of your glories bring 
 And lay on Pain's pale lips your offering, 
 Enwreathe the clay-capped billows in the mould ; 
 The tempest track of human grief enfold ; 
 O, vain intrigue of brightness, bloom and moss : 
 Over ALL is agloom the spirit of longing and loss. 
 
 KARNAK, EGYPT. 
 
 With bated breath, and sudden, glad surprise, 
 
 I saw the glorious ruined temple rise 
 
 As if the earth, impulsive from her breast, 
 
 Had heaved it out, and left it there to rest. 
 
 A wilderness of ruins around me lay ; 
 
 Magnificence which words may not portray. 
 
 A huge propylon — shattered portico — 
 
 An obelisk above, the palm below, 
 
 And pylon after pylon tumbling down 
 
 And heaping up enormous cubes of stone. 
 
 Long colonades supporting roofs Titanic ; 
 
 With endless walls and obelisks of granite. 
 
 Here avenues from various points proceed 
 
 From thence to isolated portals lead. 
 
 — Yet silently amid the rubbish heaps 
 
 Of thousands of years, it stands in pride and keeps 
 
 Its awful dignity, and when, at night. 
 
 The mellow moon sheds down her tender light, 
 
 And hides in shadow all its sad decay 
 
 In glory clothing its humility — 
 
 Proudly it says : "Forever and for aye 
 
 I shall endure — the world has need of me." 
 
48 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 SPRING WITHOUT HAROLD. 
 
 TO MRS. BELLE FOUTE. 
 
 The whole wide world is full 
 
 Of a dreadful splendor ; 
 The trees like blossoming wool 
 
 Stand white and slender. 
 
 Their shattering petals blow 
 
 The garden over, 
 Pale as the lips we know 
 
 The blossoms cover. 
 
 Oh, strange ineffable things 
 
 Seem everywhere — 
 Alas ! the bluebird sings — 
 
 And he not here ! 
 
 The world is full of dreams 
 
 And empty places. 
 All night the darkness teems 
 
 With slumber faces. 
 
 All night the darkness throngs 
 
 With yearning fancies, 
 'Tis drenched with silent songs 
 
 And missing glances. 
 
 The little groping hands, 
 
 The velvet lips 
 Have slipped from living lands 
 
 To death's eclipse. 
 
 And all the world falls dull 
 
 For one caress. 
 While life is oozing full 
 
 Of emptiness. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 49 
 
 WHITE POPPIES. 
 
 These are the poppies wild 
 That bloom so fair and mild 
 Above my slumbering child. 
 
 Ah ! sleep ! 
 White poppies here are planted 
 
 Above thy grave ; 
 
 Sweet sleep — 
 More sweet than e'er was granted 
 
 Where eastern poppies wave. 
 
 Oh, far the time, and long agone 
 
 Since silence fell between us. 
 Yet shall no change but death alone 
 
 From thy dear memory wean us. 
 
 Ah ! rest ! 
 Wake not to this cold world 
 
 Nor to its passion. 
 
 lyie thought caressed, 
 Where lily roots are curled 
 
 In mute compasion. 
 
 OBIT. 
 
 Morris Kilbourne, infant son of Mr. and Mrs. Morris Jouvenat, 
 died February 23. 1898, at Winnesboro, La. 
 
 O, find some sweet and gentle spot 
 Beneath soft southern skies. 
 Where storms and blighting pains come not, 
 And only memories 
 Of his sweet life may fill the air ; 
 And lay his tender body there. 
 
50 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 SWEET SIXTEEN. 
 
 To Miss Z. M., Dkc. Sth, 1897. 
 
 This is the happy day 
 
 With gifts and graces gay, 
 
 That brings one household's queen, 
 
 Sweet Zelma, sweet sixteen. 
 
 Plus one or two, may be. 
 Stop me ere too late, 
 
 For you clearly see 
 A kiss for every year, 
 May cost you very dear 
 
 When thus we celebrate. 
 
 How soon affection learns 
 To wish you swift returns. 
 May no cloud intervene 
 To dim your sweet sixteen, 
 
 Plus two, or three, or more. 
 Needless to hesitate, 
 
 But youth and love galore 
 We pledge with wine and rhyme, 
 And bless the golden time 
 To-day we celebrate. 
 
 VOILA. 
 
 The autumn is here again. "Ma mie," 
 With its sun and rain and dew ; 
 
 And the roses remember the springtime. 
 And kiss their hands at you. 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 5 1 
 
 PRENDRE GARDE. 
 
 Quiver and ache and yearn, 
 
 You who were merciless, 
 Stealthily breathe and turn 
 
 Lest you your pain confess 
 She at your side serene ; — 
 
 Ah ! could you know that she, 
 Groping her doubts between, 
 
 Half dreams your perfidy. 
 
 Think of another face 
 
 Eyes of deep anguished blue. 
 Brown hair and young lissom grace. 
 
 Cheeks passion-pale for you. 
 She on another's arm — 
 
 She, with her deep unrest. — 
 Ah, could you press that form 
 
 Once to your longing breast ? 
 
 Shudder, and writhe, and pray ; 
 
 Think of the years to come ; 
 Think of your child at play 
 
 There in your quiet home ; 
 Think of the words you have driven 
 
 To some aching heart like a knife. 
 Go dream of an error forgiven 
 
 And not of your neighbor's wife. 
 
52 WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 
 
 FUTILE. 
 
 O, empty world ! how strange ! 
 
 And full of dread. 
 The thought that he could change, 
 
 And be as dead ; 
 That while the indignant blood 
 
 Through all my veins was flying 
 One hot, resentful flood ; 
 
 Mine enemy was lying 
 Dying. 
 
 I had no wish of harm. 
 
 No thought of death, 
 I shrank beneath that arm. 
 
 That venomed breath 
 And only longed for peace ; 
 
 I had no heart of grace 
 To pray for swift release, 
 
 Nor dreamed ought could displace 
 That dreaded face. 
 
 Are these the same sun-rays 
 
 That scorched me so ? 
 The same harsh nights and days 
 
 That knew my woe ? 
 Are these those walls of blight 
 
 That stood so seeming fair 
 Between me and the light ? 
 
 Crushing in blank despair 
 My prayer. 
 
 O, empty world and vain. 
 
 No dire distress 
 To urge me or detain, 
 
 How purposeless ! 
 
WING-SHADOWS OF FANCY. 53 
 
 Ah, wasted years ! 
 
 Thy rosary be said 
 With humble tears, 
 
 Mine enemy from whom I fled 
 Is dead. 
 
 ADVICE FROM A "NEW" GRAND- 
 MOTHER. 
 
 What shall baby have to eat ? 
 Rice and gravy or something sweet, 
 Soft-boiled egg and hot milk tea ; 
 Ask his choice and you will see. 
 Buttered bread and marmalade 
 Is good enough if it can be had. 
 Fill him up to his baby throat 
 With new-drawn milk and sweetened oat, 
 And when you have a chicken stew 
 Give baby a drumstick bone to chew. 
 Give the children whatever they like, 
 From the horned moon to a tandem bike. 
 For no set rule will ever dispense 
 With the crying need of common sense. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 After the Fire - - - - - - 9 
 
 At Evening, ----- 12 
 
 A Valentine, - - - - - - 19 
 
 A Valentine with a Flower, - - - - 20 
 
 As a Bird, - - - - - - 33 
 
 An Old Dress — a Reverie, - - - - 24 
 
 April Musings, - - - - - 34 
 
 Ashes of Roses, - . . . - 3S 
 
 Advicefrom a "New" Grandmother, - - - 53 
 
 Bon Silene Buds . . - - - 17 
 
 Baby John, - - - - - - 31 
 
 December, ------ 10 
 
 Do You Care? _ * - . - - - 28 
 
 Exiles, ------ 27 
 
 En Rapport, - - - - - - 21 
 
 Futile, ------ 52 
 
 Heart Hungry, - - - - - - 39 
 
 Illusions, ------ 20 
 
 Imperishable Love, - - - - - 32 
 
 Karuak, Egypt, ----- 47 
 
 Uttle Bluebird, - - - - - -29 
 
 Mignonette, ----- 14 
 
 Message of the Flowers, - - - - - 23 
 
 Mother's Rest, . - - - - 40 
 
 Memorial June, - - - • - 46 
 
 Neighbors, ------ 7 
 
 Not To Be, - - - - - - 13 
 
 Neuralgia, ---..-- 21 
 
 Only a Thrush, - - - - - 11 
 
 O, Come Sweet Flower, - . - - 22 
 
 On the Beach, - - . - - - 27 
 
 Our Nameless Nation, _ . _ - 18 
 
 Obit, - - - - - - 49 
 
 Post Prandial ----- 26 
 
 Prendre Garde, - - - - - -51 
 
 Pale Asphodels, ----- 42 
 
"Robin's Awa," ..... 12 
 
 Rest — A Sonuet, . . . . .13 
 
 Sunset, ...... 15 
 
 Spring Without Harold, . . , . .48 
 
 Sorrow, ...... 45 
 
 Silence, . . . . . .43 
 
 Sweet Sixteen ..... 50 
 
 To Loneliness, . . . . . .16 
 
 To a Friend, ...... 16 
 
 The Honey of Poison Flowers, . . . .14 
 
 The Red, Red Rose, ..... 30 
 
 Thou and I, ...... 26 
 
 Three Nephews, ..... 31 
 
 Two Little Granddaughters, . . . .41 
 
 The Brotherhood of Man, .... 36 
 
 "Take Me" . . . . . .44 
 
 The Star, ...... ;^y 
 
 Texas (Nebulae) . . . . . -35 
 
 To Albyn, ...... 42 
 
 Unsevered, . . . . . .29 
 
 Valentine, ...... 22 
 
 "Vers deSociete" . . . . . .23 
 
 Vanished — A Dance Memory, .... 25 
 
 Voila, . . . . . . .50 
 
 White Poppies, ...... 49 
 
 Your Picture, .... .28 
 
 Sherman Printing Company, 
 
 120 North Travis Street, 
 
 Sherman. Texas. 
 

 
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