mN. 
 
 ANNA B OYNTON A 
 
Class _^^ Sv^Ol 
 Rnnk .j^ aS 
 
 Cotfyright W. ; - 
 
 COPYRIC^HT DEPOSIT. 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 in 2011 witii funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.arcliive.org/details/birchstreamotlierOOaver 
 
Anna Boynton Averill. 
 
BIRCH STREAM 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL 
 
 n 
 
 WITH 
 REPRODUCTIONS OF PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 DOVER, MAINE 
 
 THE CRICKET CLUB 
 

 fuBRARY ot Cu^o n t.3S 
 
 JUN 19 "jyob 
 
 Copyright, 1908, by 
 ANNA BOYNTON AVERILLi 
 
J 
 
 TO MY SISTER MARY 
 
SONG 
 
 Deep in the human hearty Song still abides, 
 Though hushed by worldly strife or wholly dumb: 
 For some hearts harden o'er its murmuring tides. 
 Nor listen when the haunting echoes come. 
 The sentient earth throbs with it day and night; 
 The great seas to its rhythmic pulses stir. 
 And silence holds it as the sky holds light, 
 I listen here — its least interpreter. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Bird's Drink 22 
 
 A Bird Song ^"^ 
 
 A Christmas Rondel ^^ 
 
 A Dark Angel 32 
 
 A Day Dream 39 
 
 A Drea.^i of Peace 24 
 
 A Dream or the Hills 60 
 
 A Fancy 61 
 
 A Harvest Hymn 33 
 
 A Li'jtle Waif 34 
 
 All in the Bleak December 36 
 
 Alone at Dusk I Sit Beside the Sea 297 
 
 Alone Below the Glory of the Night 8 
 
 A March Evening . . 38 
 
 A Memory 66 
 
 A Morning Dream 54 
 
 A Night Thought 35 
 
 A November Idyl 171 
 
 A Question 170 
 
 A Raindrop Legend 56 
 
 A Secret 68 
 
 Asleep 15 
 
 A Song for December 23 
 
 Aspen Flowers 62 
 
 At Eventide 87 
 
 At Last 119 
 
 At the Willimantic Mills, Sebec Lake 149 
 
 Awaiting the Stoum 146 
 
 Awake in the Night 43 
 
 A Walk in the Winter Greenwood 25 
 
 V 
 
i- 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Wanderer's Grave 11 
 
 A Wild Flower in the City 100 
 
 A Winter Dreasi 26 
 
 A Winter Song 45 
 
 Before Christmas 44 
 
 Before Dawn 85 
 
 Before the Rain 42 
 
 Below the Beeches in the Forest Old 9 
 
 Birch Stream 1 
 
 Breaking Camp at the Home of Echoes. (August 7th, 1880). . 29 
 
 Buttercups 28 
 
 Change 152 
 
 Christmas Bells 37 
 
 Coming Home 140 
 
 Compensation 62 
 
 Cow Bells 30 
 
 Curfew 144 
 
 December 6th, 1885 69 
 
 Departing Summer 41 
 
 Dog and Cat 101 
 
 Drouth 46 
 
 Earthly Homes 49 
 
 1881 50 
 
 Ephemera 71 
 
 Evening 154 
 
 Even Song 98 
 
 February Twilight 141 
 
 FoRGOiTEN Feuds 90 
 
 Form and Spirit 51 
 
 From the House of Death 13 
 
 Goals 73 
 
 Good-Night 106 
 
 Haying Song 7 
 
 In a Dream 92 
 
 In Darkest Days 297 
 
 In Dreams 102 
 
 vi 
 
PAGE 
 
 Interpretation 96 
 
 In the Cornfield 63 
 
 In the Valley 103 
 
 In Wonderland 18 
 
 Lichen 19 
 
 Life 162 
 
 Light-Blind 296 
 
 Lines in an Album 95 
 
 Listening 172 
 
 Longing for Rest 164 
 
 Mary Donaldson 127 
 
 Moth and Cricket 77 
 
 Mourning 97 
 
 Mute 78 
 
 My Colors 295 
 
 My Dog 116 
 
 Night on the Farm 143 
 
 Northern Maine 157 
 
 November 104 
 
 Oblivion 295 
 
 Off Ragged Mountain 107 
 
 Of Little Faith 163 
 
 On Sebec Lake 6 
 
 On the Mountain Top 161 
 
 On the Shore 118 
 
 Organ Music 17 
 
 Our Saint 76 
 
 Over the Hills and Far Away 3 
 
 Poet and King 20 
 
 Requiescat in Pace 108 
 
 Rest 120 
 
 Sleigh Bells 123 
 
 Sonnet. (Twilight) 165 
 
 Spring Cleaning 124 
 
 Summer Boarders 122 
 
 Summer Dawn 126 
 
 vii 
 
PAGE 
 
 Summer Rain 110 
 
 Sunset on Sebec Lake Ill 
 
 Swallow Song 158 
 
 The Barring of the Door 114 
 
 The Breaking or the Drouth 47 
 
 The Cricket 145 
 
 The Cry of the Human 139 
 
 The Crystal Cup 75 
 
 The Days Grow Long . 113 
 
 The Dayspring 1 73 
 
 The Dearest Bird 153 
 
 The Deserted House 31 
 
 The Hearts' Own 81 
 
 The Land-Locked Lake 166 
 
 The Marshes 74 
 
 The Morning Ride 4 
 
 The Noon Rest 155 
 
 The Old Home 142 
 
 The Passing Shower 72 
 
 The River 159 
 
 The Singer's Reward , 79 
 
 The Sleep Angel 80 
 
 The Softened Splendors of the Heavenly Spheres 89 
 
 The Sphinx' Riddle 295 
 
 The Sunlit Shower 150 
 
 The Swan's Road to Katahdin 160 
 
 The Wayfarer 137 
 
 The White Throated Sparrow 136 
 
 The Year 134 
 
 Through the Heart of Maine 132 
 
 Through the Tempest 167 
 
 To a Star Flower 147 
 
 To THE Oriole 168 
 
 To THE Pasture 156 
 
 To the Violet 148 
 
 Until the Evening 84 
 
 viii 
 
PAGE 
 
 Vashti 91 
 
 Waiting for Spuing 169 
 
 We Love Oitr Prison Life 296 
 
 When Boughs are Bare 83 
 
 Whence ? 117 
 
 When the First Thrushes Caroli.ed in the Spring 88 
 
 When the Wood Thrush Sings 5 
 
 Why ? 82 
 
 Winged Seeds 151 
 
 Winter Twilight 10 
 
 Youth and Age 174 
 
 PERSONAL AND OCCASIONAL POEMS 
 
 Alice's Birthday 212 
 
 Alma 179 
 
 At Brown's Camp 181 
 
 At Camden 183 
 
 At Nightfall 185 
 
 A Wraith 177 
 
 Bereft 180 
 
 Birthday Lines 186 
 
 Blanchard 187 
 
 Blind Lottie 216 
 
 Called Home 189 
 
 "Camp Solitude" 191 
 
 December First 1 95 
 
 Ellie Warren 196 
 
 For Flora's Wedding Day 197 
 
 FoxcROFT Poor Farm 199 
 
 Grandmother's Garden 201 
 
 Hail and Farewell 202 
 
 Helen 203 
 
 In Jennie's Room 205 
 
 In Memoriam 207 
 
 In Our Old Home (A Rondel) 208 
 
 In Visions of the Night 209 
 
 ix 
 
PAGE 
 
 Lines for a Golden Wedding 210 
 
 Little Edna 215 
 
 Little Fred 215 
 
 Messengers 213 
 
 Mother 218 
 
 Old Home Week 219 
 
 Our Neighbor 220 
 
 Silver Wedding Rhymes 231 
 
 Sonnet — Dedicated to William Avcrill, of Ipswich, Mass. (1637) . 222 
 
 The Hail Storm, Aug. 18th, 1878 223 
 
 The Minister's Garden 225 
 
 The Oregon Exile's Song 227 
 
 The Seeker 194 
 
 The Thompson Free Library 228 
 
 The Village Ne'er-Do-Weel 233 
 
 To F. L. M 235 
 
 To Foxcroft Academy 236 
 
 To H. A. K 238 
 
 To Mary 240 
 
 To My Father 217 
 
 To N. W. W 241 
 
 With Pansies 214 
 
 CHILDREN'S POEMS '' 
 
 A Little Milkmaid 248 
 
 All Fool's Day 245 
 
 A Love Song 247 
 
 A Triumphal Progress 265 
 
 A Winter Picture 267 
 
 Blindman's Buff 252 
 
 Cherry Cheek 249 
 
 Children's Day at Grandpa's 254 
 
 Dandy Lion 255 
 
 Different Views 260 
 
 Dogs in Dreamland 250 
 
 Going to Sleep 264 
 
 X 
 
I PAOB 
 
 "^^ In Haying Time 256 
 
 Kitty's Story 261 
 
 On the Farm 258 
 
 —-Owl and Chickadee 266 
 
 Pictures in the Fire 268 
 
 Prophecy 270 
 
 Ralph at Grandfather's 259 
 
 Song of the Wheat 272 
 
 St. Valentine's Day 27 1 
 
 The Blueberry Girl 274 
 
 The Brook's Song 276 
 
 The First Marsh Marigold 278 
 
 The First Sorrow 280 
 
 The Harebell 282 
 
 The Letter 283 
 
 r-* The Meadow 284 
 
 The Night Moth 286 
 
 Two Hunters 287 
 
 Two Pictures 288 
 
 Under the Flag 289 
 
 What's in a Name 290 
 
 What the Birds Said 291 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 VPAGB 
 
 Anna BoYvrox Averill Frontispiece 
 
 A Study 85 
 
 Birch Stream 1^ 
 
 BOARSTONE MOUXTAIX FROM THE C. P. R. R 132'' 
 
 Buckwheat Field 274 
 
 Children's Poems 243 
 
 Cow Lilies 3 
 
 Dover Bridge 46 • 
 
 FoxcROFT Academy 236 
 
 Indian Singer 57 ^ 
 
 In Haying Time 256 
 
 Kitty's Story 261 
 
 My Colors 295 "^ 
 
 Onawa 166 *'' 
 
 On the Farm 258 
 
 On the Farm 260 
 
 On the Piscataquis 38 
 
 On the Shore 118 ' 
 
 Sebec in Winter 26 
 
 Sebec Lake 6 
 
 Sheep Pasture 280 
 
 Street in Dover 227 
 
 Sunset on Sebec Ill 
 
 The Farm in January 45 ' 
 
 The Logger's Road 123 
 
 The Old Hojie 142 " 
 
 Thompson Free Library 228 ' 
 
 Where the Birches Lean Across 2 
 
 Winter Twilight 10 
 
 Woods in Winter 69 
 
 xiii 
 
BIRCH STREAM AND OTHER POEMS 
 

 
 2 
 
BIRCH STREAM 
 
 At noon, within the dusty town 
 Where the wild river rushes down 
 And thunders hoarsely all day long, 
 I think of thee, my hermit stream, 
 Low singing in thy summer dream, 
 Thine idle, sweet, old tranquil song. 
 
 No noisy mill enslaveth thee, 
 
 No dam doth fret thy waters free, 
 
 Soft rippling through the woodland shy, 
 
 From where the birches lean across 
 
 Thy narrow bed of drowning moss 
 
 To where the Indian islands lie. 
 
 Northward Katahdin's chasmed pile 
 Looms through thy low, long, leafy aisle. 
 Eastward Olamon's summit shines ; 
 And I, upon thy shadowy shore. 
 The dreamful, happy child of yore. 
 Worship before mine olden shrines. 
 
 Again the sultry, noontide hush 
 Is sweetly broken by the thrush 
 Whose clear bell rings and dies away 
 Beside thy banks in coverts deep 
 Where nodding buds of orchids sleep 
 In dusk and dream not it is day. 
 
 Again the wild cow lily floats 
 Her golden-freighted, tented boats 
 In thy cool coves of softened gloom, 
 
 1 
 
O'er shadowed by the whispering reed, 
 And purple plumes of pickerel weed, 
 And meadow sweet in tangled bloom. 
 
 The startled minnows dart in flocks 
 Beneath thy glimmering, amber rocks, 
 If but a zephyr stirs the brake : 
 The silent swallow swoops, a flash 
 Of light and leaves with dainty plash 
 A ring of ripples in its wake. 
 
 Without, the land is hot and dim : 
 The level fields in languor swim. 
 Their stubble grasses brown as dust : 
 And all along the upland lanes. 
 Where shadeless noon oppressive reigns, 
 Dead roses wear their crowns of rust. 
 
 Within is neither bhght nor death : 
 The fierce sun woos with ardent breath 
 But cannot win thy sylvan heart. 
 Only the child who loves thee long, 
 With faithful worship pure and strong. 
 Can know how dear and sweet thou art. 
 
 So loved I thee in days gone by, 
 So love I yet, though leagues may lie 
 Between us, and the years divide. 
 A breath of coolness, dawn and dew, 
 A joy forever, fresh and true, 
 Thy memory doth with me abide. 
 
 2 
 

 
 
" Again the wild cow lily floats 
 Her golden-freighted, tented boats." 
 
OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY 
 
 We know by the leaves and the bending grasses 
 That the wind of the south goes by to-day, 
 A viewless spirit that softly passes 
 "Over the hills and far away." 
 
 On its wings of balm we fain would follow 
 Through greenwood deeps at our will to stray, 
 Or aloft on the track of the tireless swallow, 
 "Over the hills and far away." 
 
 For from toiling town and from sleepy hollow. 
 We lift our eyes to the hills and pray, 
 "O, with the wind and the bird to follow 
 "Over the hills and far away !" 
 
 3 
 
THE MORNING RIDE 
 
 Over the hills we rode at morn 
 
 Into the breaking, widening Hght, 
 
 While the fresh wind shook the blossoming corn, 
 And the villages lay in night. 
 
 Below and away the river went 
 
 In foam or shadow or shining clear, 
 
 And the steady, thunderous song it sent 
 To the hills was good to hear. 
 
 "Behold, behold the dawn unfold!" 
 
 It sang, "The shadows flee away ! 
 A thousand years my floods have rolled ! 
 
 A thousand years are as a day!" 
 
 And everywhere glad song birds flew, 
 
 The soft light stooped to touch the spires. 
 
 And steadily still the glory grew 
 Till the valley caught its fires. 
 
 And up from the maples far below 
 
 Where the shadows lingered dark as even, 
 
 We saw the smoke from our own hearth o-row 
 To a golden cloud in heaven. 
 
 4 
 
WHEN THE WOOD THRUSH SINGS 
 
 Clear is thy message O woodland bell, 
 
 Ringing here in the echoing dell, 
 
 Under green arches and growing spire ! 
 
 When the dawn's first radiant arrow fell 
 Into the dim wood's dusky choir. 
 Thy notes uprose, nor the rising fire 
 
 Of day doth hush thy heavenly swell. 
 
 Under a smoke pall far away, 
 
 Ponderous, clamorous bells to-day. 
 
 Will warn the world of the working hour ; 
 
 But here in a mist of rose and gray. 
 
 The waters shine and the mountains tower, 
 The white lake lilies are all in flower. 
 
 And toil nor turmoil come for aye. 
 
 Hearing thy melody, shadowy dreams 
 
 Of the dewy night and its starlight beams 
 Are blent with the dreams of day that blow 
 
 From realms of rest : and vanishing gleams 
 Of all we have lost in the long ago. 
 Are here in the pure, auroral glow 
 
 That full from the opening orient streams. 
 
 And ever unspoken on earth must be 
 The dawn-blown message borne by thee. 
 
 Bell of the wilderness, soft and clear! 
 There's a language lost and sweet that we 
 
 May never speak in our veiled sphere ; 
 
 But thrushes sing it, and lo, we hear, 
 The lilies blow and behold we see ! 
 
 5 
 
ON SEBEC LAKE 
 
 At dusk we drifted out of Wilson stream, 
 Before the stars came, while the tender sky 
 
 Still wrapped the Borestone in a rosy dream, 
 And night drew near to see the sweet day die. 
 
 The low shore-hills loomed solemn, dark, and green. 
 Above the waters where their bases rest ; 
 
 But all the farther, dimmer peaks were seen, 
 In fading mists of rose and purple dressed. 
 
 Slow drifting southward toward the summer night. 
 And the home hills uplifted far away. 
 
 Out of the sunset and the golden light 
 
 We went, among the twilight shadows gray. 
 
 From out the coolness of the wooded shore, 
 
 Sweet wafts of fir and fern and birch were blown ; 
 
 And one bird's song repeated o'er and o'er 
 Followed our floating till the light had floAvn. 
 
 Then fireflies flashed among the thickets dark. 
 And stars came out above us and below ; 
 
 * * * Oh, little boat wast thou a fairy bark 
 Between the earth and heaven drifting slow.? 
 
 6 
 
CJ 
 
 JX 
 
 ;^ 
 
 C 
 
 c 
 
 U 
 
 3 
 
 t: 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 C8 
 
 ^ 
 
 (U 
 
 c 
 
 x: 
 
 ■*-> 
 
 <f-. 
 
 t^ 
 
 o 
 
 re 
 
 
 <v 
 
 c« 
 
 j= 
 
 T3 
 
 :r 
 
 3 
 
 -M 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 E 
 
 ^-i 
 
 O 
 
 fA! 
 
 U 
 
 OJ 
 
 <f-( 
 
 J= 
 
 
 be 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 -C 
 
 
 1) 
 
 
 J= 
 
 . 
 
 H 
 
HAYING SONG 
 
 This morn the wind is fleet 
 
 Over the rippling wheat, 
 
 And the long ripe grasses blow. 
 And the thrushes song is sweet 
 
 Where merry mowers meet 
 
 In meadows green and low. 
 
 And all the livelong day 
 From still fields far away, 
 A fragrance shall be blown 
 O'er hill and dale and down. 
 O'er hamlet, wood and town. 
 From grasses newly mown. 
 
 Hush robin! your refrain 
 Is "O for rain, for rain," 
 
 While all the world is fair ! 
 
 Sing, sparrow, songs of cheer! 
 Sing ho, for hay-days clear, 
 Blue skies and balmy air! 
 
ALONE BELOW THE GLORY OF THE NIGHT 
 
 Alone below the glory of the night, 
 
 Sometimes the soul forgets the name that men 
 
 Have given the eternal shining suns, and then 
 
 Stands wrapt and lonely, as the first soul might 
 
 Have stood in Eden. On its wondering sight 
 
 The pristine splendor falls, and once again 
 
 Transcendent vision sweeps within its ken, 
 
 And all its darkness is illumed with light. 
 
 Then the strange, childish maps that men have drawn 
 
 Within the deeps of heaven are swept away. 
 
 The soul goes out to meet the living dawn. 
 
 One with the primal and unfading day. 
 
 The earth star fades afar, outworn and wan, 
 
 Tomb of forgotten, fragile forms of clay. 
 
 8 
 
BELOW THE BEECHES IN THE FOREST OLD 
 
 Below the beeches in the forest old 
 The yellow leaves are strown, and overhead 
 From sunny boughs a mellow light is shed, 
 And we together walk the streets of gold. 
 Across the blue the sunset clouds unrolled, 
 Pour down pure color till the ways we tread 
 Are glorified, and eye and soul are fed 
 With mystic light and splendors manifold. 
 O, Friend ! Is Heaven fairer ? Could we see 
 Into the soul of This that wraps us here, 
 Were it not one with Heaven's mystery ? 
 O, Earth divine ! If we with spirit ear 
 Could catch the key-note of thy harmony, 
 Would not the meaning of the whole be clear ? 
 
 9 
 
WINTER TWILIGHT 
 
 No summer sunset's afterglow 
 
 Can match the soft rose of the snow 
 Upon the pure-browed hill. 
 Blue shadows fill the dells below, 
 
 Sweet airs from fields of silence flow, 
 And earth and sky are still. 
 
 Between the outer deeps of night 
 
 And this low vale the lingering night 
 Builds of the evening mist 
 High walls of glory fair and far : 
 And in the glory shines a star 
 Through trembling amethyst. 
 
 O vale of snow ! the world of thought, 
 The Spirit realm wherein are wrought 
 The dreams that teach us what we are, 
 Is brightened by a nameless light 
 
 That warms thy peaceful heart to-night, 
 And throbs beyond the evening star. 
 
 O humankind, why will ye seek 
 
 The language of the skies to speak? 
 — Day unto day doth utter speech 
 That through the silence of the stars. 
 Through life's mysterious prison bars, 
 Down to the listening soul can reach. 
 
 10 
 
i t 
 
 mP/^y^ 
 
 he- b 
 .- '^ ^ 
 
 • ~ a; o 
 
A WANDERER'S GRAVE 
 
 This passing hour I shut my eyes to see 
 The wide and winding ways where thou hast passed. 
 They belt the huge round earth, and here by me 
 Go out beneath the churchyard sod at last. 
 
 This passing hour the slow dawn gilds the towers, 
 And wakes a chime of sweet pagoda bells 
 In that strange, ancient, far off land of flowers, 
 Where still the memory of thy presence dwells. 
 
 In the w^ild midnight on the Indian wave 
 The ship that bore thee from the Golden Gate, 
 Perchance goes plunging to her unseen grave 
 This passing hour, with all her human freight. 
 
 Through the dim moonlight on Egyptian sands, 
 The camels loom beside the desert wells : 
 But Night, far-brooding o'er the trackless lands. 
 No tale of thee, their vanished voyageur, tells. 
 
 Dead Hellas mocked thee, and old weary Rome 
 Gray, deathless, lifeless, thou wast fain to fly. 
 And seek earth over for some sunny home 
 Where hke himself man's habitations die. 
 
 Among the fishers by the Breton sea 
 The swift drops smite the pane in sudden shower, 
 Outside a studio, where some dream of thee 
 Methinks might linger at this passing hour. 
 
 11 
 
The sounds of evening lull the Sussex downs, 
 And murmurs of the outer ocean beat 
 About the Battle Abbey's ancient bounds 
 Into the stillness of thine old retreat. 
 
 High noon is o'er the islands of the west, 
 Where sun and golden summer lured thee long, 
 Deep-lying in the warm Pacific's breast. 
 The Eden nest of flower, and fruit, and song. 
 
 But here on this New England hillside green 
 Thy grave was made. Doth still thy spirit roam. 
 Seeking new lands, more fair than earth hath seen? 
 Or hast thou found, at last, love, rest, and home? 
 
 12 
 
FROM THE HOUSE OF DEATH 
 
 Who the solemn joy hath known 
 
 Of a midnight walk alone 
 
 Through the summer fields, hath found 
 
 Holiness and peace profound. 
 
 Here the solitude is deep. 
 Brooding nature breathes in sleep, 
 And the soul is one with Him 
 Who hath made our paths so dim — 
 — Dim and dear in starry light, 
 Leading upward through the night. 
 
 We are one with star and clod. 
 Dear to us the fragrant sod. 
 Dear the still night's soothing breath, 
 While we walk with life and death. 
 
 Leave the watchers with the clay. 
 
 She I watched with went away 
 
 One short hour ago, — the friend 
 
 Whose life till now with mine did blend. 
 
 Hopeful, smiling, from my sight 
 
 She passed and left me with the night. 
 
 O'er the darkling fields a ray 
 
 Shineth from the gable gray 
 
 Of her house where to and fro 
 
 Still the watchers softly go. 
 
 On my path Arcturus beams. 
 Sweet, thy heart was full of dreams. 
 We have watched with wistful eyes 
 
 13 
 
These far suns sending down the skies 
 Messages no man hath read, 
 — Mystic, uninterpreted. 
 Thou wast wont to say, of old 
 When we walked the starry wold, 
 That born again, we burst these bars 
 To grow and learn beyond the stars. 
 
 Spirit, all of love and light. 
 Thou wast born again to-night. 
 
 O humanity! how sweet 
 Is this strange land at our feet ! 
 Mystical the face it wears 
 All unknown to us, its heirs. 
 
 What is this our spirits wear 
 
 While through these earthly paths we fare.^^ 
 
 By field and city, sea and shore. 
 
 In hut and hall forevermore. 
 
 Dropping rags or robe or crown. 
 
 Day by day we lay it down. 
 
 Dearest, truest, heretofore 
 Journeying from shore to shore. 
 Words of love like doves came back 
 To comfort me along thy track. 
 Now no word can come to me. 
 But the whole earth draws to thee. 
 
 14! 
 
ASLEEP 
 
 Winds of Arcady softly blow, 
 
 Waves of melody round me flow, 
 
 And wafted out with the tide I go 
 
 Down to the tranquil heart of night. 
 
 Alone, afloat in a shadowy boat, 
 
 From the light and the sound of day remote, 
 
 I drift with the nightingale's rapturous note 
 
 From the land whence love and joy took flight. 
 
 I am free from the bonds of the life I knew, 
 
 My beautiful day dreams all are true ; 
 
 Past isles of lilies and silver dew 
 
 I float or fly, and wave and sky 
 
 With stars are set. Deep calls to deep. 
 
 And into this star-lit realm of sleep 
 
 Are come the angels for whom I weep. 
 
 With the deathless love I had dreamed could die. 
 
 Awake in the world, I never heard 
 
 Thy song divine, O heavenly bird 
 
 Whose song is love ! But the bliss deferred 
 
 At last is sure, and thy melody pure 
 
 With its rising, soaring, ravishing call, 
 
 Freeth my spirit from mortal thrall. 
 
 For love is eternal and all in all. 
 
 And the flowers of earth forever endure. 
 
 Oh white were the blossoms we gave to death 
 In the land of tears and of sobbing breath ! 
 "They are thine forever." The singer saith, 
 And the stars re-echo it o'er and o'er. 
 
 16 
 
And far and clear, O nightingale dear, 
 Falling from every silvery sphere. 
 The song thou singest in earth, I hear 
 As I drift in dreams to this tranquil sliore. 
 
 1$ 
 
ORGAN MUSIC 
 
 The gloaming bringeth visions and a sound 
 
 Of solemn music as the short day dies. 
 
 The air is full of moaning chords that rise 
 
 And shudder through the darkness. All around, 
 
 The voice of lamentation doth abound, 
 
 And supplications, and low, sorrowing cries. 
 
 The miserere burden. — Then the skies 
 
 Are opened, and the sombre night is crowned 
 
 With one pure star that through the darkness breaks 
 
 Shedding soft radiance over earth and sea. 
 
 The music throbs to silence and then takes 
 
 The wings of joy and rises tremblingly . 
 
 Until to Alleluias it awakes. 
 
 For they that mourned have heard, "Come Unto Me." 
 
 IT 
 
IN WONDERLAND 
 
 In childhood's wondrous, morning world of dreams, 
 We knew Penelope's high chamber well, 
 
 And with the queen in wonder-world did dwell 
 
 While grew the web that down the ages gleams ; 
 
 We heard below the bard's illustrious themes. 
 Beyond the isle we saw the wild sea swell. 
 And shuddering felt the fateful sea-god's spell 
 
 That bound Ulysses by Ogygian streams. 
 
 Divining all Telemachus would know. 
 
 We longed to lead him to Calypso's glen ; 
 
 To tell the wof ul wanderings to and fro ; 
 To walk veiled goddesses, unseen of men. 
 
 And through the palace halls to whisper low, 
 "The king to Ithaca shall come again !" 
 
 18 
 
LICHEN 
 
 A CRUST of tiny rubies clings 
 
 To this gray boulder on the waste 
 
 Thick set in fairy cups and rings 
 That wintry frosts have not effaced. 
 
 Exquisite color, rare design, 
 
 Inimitable daintiness, 
 In faultless pattern 'broidered fine 
 
 The gray and ancient rock to dress. 
 
 More than our mortal eyes can trace. 
 More than man's wisdom can explore 
 
 Is hidden here of use and grace, 
 Nor found in scientific lore. 
 
 For finer sense than ours were made 
 The wonders of the wood and mere. 
 
 O, Spirit eyes, that pierce the shade, 
 I feel your thrilling presence near ! 
 
 19 
 
POET AND KING 
 
 Before the king the beggar smiled 
 Sweet hearted, like a little child, 
 But did not bend or bow his head. 
 — "He is the lord of realms," they said. 
 
 — "What realms?" the despot shouted, "Where 
 Do lie thy lands?" 
 
 "O wide and fair 
 His kingdom is, great King," they cried, 
 "More fair than all the world beside ! 
 Unfading, touched by time nor bhght. 
 Bathed in a holy, golden light 
 It lieth. Lo, the mystic key 
 He giveth us and we are free. 
 From toil and chains we break away, 
 Among the stars, beyond the day. 
 Into a land of truest dreams ; 
 A land of shade and glory gleams ; 
 As near as night, as far as morn," — 
 The monarchs face was white with scorn ; 
 "I will despoil thy realms," he cried, 
 "And trample in the dust thy pride !" 
 
 He slew him with the naked sword ; 
 
 He hewed him limb from limb, and poured 
 
 His blood upon the hearth, and flung 
 
 His body to the dogs, and sung 
 
 "Go to, his loving subjects, ye 
 
 Have lost your 'open sesame !' " 
 
 A thousand years have roUed away, 
 King, state and line are lost for aye. 
 
Divine, imperishable, pure. 
 
 The beggar's rule doth still endure: 
 
 Still every beauty-loving soul 
 
 Can feel his shadowy, sweet control, 
 
 And through his realms so wide and fair 
 
 Go freely breathing heavenly air. 
 
 U\ 
 
A BIRD'S DRINK 
 
 Over the valley of Engelberg 
 The peak of the "Angel" towers, 
 
 And the bell of the little chapel sounds 
 
 The Angelus, and the hours 
 
 Pass over the Abbey on peaceful wings, 
 
 And the cascade under the sycamore sings. 
 
 And the tombs are bright with flowers. 
 
 At eve, the redbreast under the leaves 
 
 Sings long and sweet unseen: 
 And then comes hopping o'er cross and tomb, 
 
 To drink with reverent mien 
 From the basin of holy water beneath 
 The marble cross and amaranth wreath 
 
 Half hid in their blooming screen. 
 
 Lo ! water came down from heaven to-day 
 And fell in the basin there, 
 Making the holy drops holier still; 
 And the Abbey shadows are soft and fair 
 Where the redbreast drinks in the hush of even. 
 Lifting his little beak up to heaven 
 As if in thankful prayer. 
 
 22 
 
A SONG FOR DECEMBER 
 
 Revive the embers of the fire, 
 
 And sing a happy song. 
 The bell tolls nine beneath the spire 
 
 And winter nights are long. 
 The world is cold and we grow old 
 
 But loving hearts are strong. 
 
 The love that lives beyond the tomb 
 
 Burns brighter at the last ; 
 Then let the hearthlight banish gloom, 
 
 And care go down the past. 
 The glad New Year will soon be here. 
 
 The old is flying fast. 
 
 O friends, this wondrous, near New Year 
 
 Unlike old years of earth ! 
 To-night we hear its bells ring clear 
 
 In tones too deep for mirth; 
 Forever higher than earthly spire. 
 
 They ring that Death is Birth. 
 
 23 
 
A DREAM OF PEACE 
 
 Over the blackening sky 
 
 The warring clouds are whirled. 
 The winds are wild and high 
 
 And the tempest shrouds the world. 
 But O, 'tis a little while to wait 
 
 Ere the wind and rain shall cease, 
 For the stars are bright at Heaven's gate, 
 
 And above the storm is peace. 
 
 The shuddering earth resounds 
 
 With the shock and crash of war. 
 Strife ploughs her battle grounds 
 
 With graves that deeply scar. 
 But the roar and smoke go by. 
 
 And the soft grass spreads its fleece 
 Over the fields that silent lie. 
 
 Where tumult fell to peace. 
 
 In the struggle and stress of life, 
 
 Beset by battle and storm. 
 Aweary of clash and strife. 
 
 The brave heart still is warm. 
 For the earth is lit by heavenly gleams 
 
 Of wider realms for the soul's release. 
 And the stars of night seem steadfast beams 
 
 From the infinite deeps of Peace. 
 
 2h 
 
A WALK IN THE WINTER GREENWOOD 
 
 The warm fir wood is dark and low 
 
 Within a sheltered valley deep. 
 When o'er the hills the night winds blow 
 
 They rock its happy tribes to sleep. 
 
 A thousand tiny tracks are made 
 Upon its carpet soft and white, 
 
 And through its thick and fragrant shade 
 Brisk bird wings glance in sudden flight. 
 
 Here feasts are spread and mouths are fed 
 Where seeds and buds are scattered wide, 
 
 And many a warm and cosy bed 
 
 Is heaped where dreaming sleepers hide. 
 
 Sometimes a golden sunbeam strays 
 Within to light the green and white; 
 
 Sometimes at night the full moon's rays 
 Fill these dim aisles with silver light. 
 
 But we are interlopers here! 
 
 Our steps are strange, our voices new. 
 The dwellers shy, look forth in fear 
 
 And vanish with a swift adieu. 
 
 25 
 
A WINTER DREAM 
 
 The full moon lights a snowy beach ; 
 The woods are dark and deep for miles 
 East, west and south, but north they reach 
 To where the far St. Lawrence smiles. 
 The Borestone rears his ragged crown 
 And looks abroad o'er hills and lakes, 
 A giant sentry with a frown. . . . 
 
 Our camp fire leaps aloft and shakes 
 A thousand ghostly shadows through 
 The darkness of the evergreens. 
 These shift and flit till, lo, a crew 
 Of swarthy braves and dark eyed queens 
 Go gliding up where balsams climb, 
 And down the fragrant dark defiles. 
 Lithe, supple, silent, keeping time 
 To some weird music of the wilds. 
 
 Soft-footed, dusky-plumed, they sweep 
 So close they brush the sleeper's cheek. 
 — They come from out the land of sleep. 
 And never any word they speak ; 
 But O, wild brothers, moons ago, 
 — How many thousand who may tell? — 
 Your fires were in this valley low, 
 Your arrows by these waters fell. 
 And now of all the deeds you wrought. 
 Your loves, your hates, we know but this — 
 All else is shrouded and forgot, 
 You named the bright Piscataquis, 
 
 26 
 
tb 
 
 
The fair Sebec — and so we dream 
 Some echo of your voices still 
 May linger over lake and stream, 
 Or frowning peak or lonely hill. 
 
 And when the winter moon is white, 
 What wonder if the pale face sees 
 Among the shadows of the night 
 Your dusky forms below the trees? 
 
 27 
 
BUTTERCUPS 
 
 Down all the long, bright summer days 
 Our paths are strewn with honest gold. 
 
 Hill, meadow, field and woodland ways 
 Rich hoards of living treasure hold. 
 
 Where'er o'er marsh and pasture dim 
 We hear the bells of wandering kine. 
 
 And plover's pipe and thrush's hymn 
 We see this golden, lustrous shine. 
 
 A million glossy, yellow gems, 
 
 Warm glowing sparks of sunny light, 
 Aquiver on their swaying stems 
 
 Make yellow sunshine, softly bright. 
 
 Their light is on the fields at eve 
 After the sunset gold has gone ; 
 
 It lingers still, when rain clouds grieve 
 And summer skies are sad and wan. 
 
 A glory through the shining days. 
 
 Bright in the darkness, brave in storm. 
 
 With lavish bloom and kindly rays 
 
 Our eyes they cheer, our hearts they warm. 
 
 28 
 
BREAKING CAMP AT THE HOIVIE OF ECHOES 
 
 August 7th, 1880 
 
 We left the purple shore at eve, 
 
 The lonely, silent forest shore, 
 And sang, "O, summerland, we leave 
 
 Thy lovely haunts to come no more !" 
 And to our ears the night wind bore 
 "No morer 
 
 Against the tender, saffron west 
 
 The wooded peaks stood dark and high; 
 
 And when we sang "O, realm of rest, 
 O, summer dells, good bye, good bye !" 
 
 We heard the solemn cliffs reply, 
 "Good hyer 
 
 29 
 
COW-BELLS 
 
 From early morn, at milking time, 
 
 Down to the dewy close of day. 
 We hear the soothing, dreamy chime 
 
 Of mellow cow bells far away. 
 - — A wandering peal that sinks and swells 
 
 O'er slope and lea, by brook and stream — 
 And this serene, soft sound of bells 
 
 Throbs through and through our summer dream. 
 
 Ding, dong, all day. 
 Over hills and down dells. 
 Where the greenest grasses grow. 
 Where the coolest waters flow. 
 Follow up the cattle bells. 
 
 The summer air is full of dreams. 
 
 And "He is rich who owns the day !" 
 Come forth and catch the fleeting gleams 
 
 That o'er the green earth fly away ! 
 Come listen to the lulling sounds 
 
 Of birds and bees on breezy fells. 
 And hear from off^ the pasture grounds 
 
 The tinkle of the cattle bells ! 
 
 Ding, dong, all day. 
 Over hills and down dells. 
 Where the sweetest grasses grow. 
 Where the clearest waters flow. 
 Follow slow the cattle bells. 
 
 30 
 
THE DESERTED HOUSE 
 
 It crouches dimly by the darkening shore. 
 
 The withered leaves that on its threshold lie, 
 
 Rise as I enter and go rustling by, 
 
 Fleeing like whispering ghosts along the floor. 
 
 Where'er I follow phantoms flit before, 
 
 And through the hollow rooms the winds low sigh 
 
 Seems the faint echo of a far off* cry, 
 
 A wandering voice whose burden is, "No more !" 
 
 Methinks the loneliest wind that ever blows 
 
 Through the waste places of the earth and sea, 
 
 Over the poles untrod, eternal snows, 
 
 Across the desert's dim immensity. 
 
 Or down the night where ocean's dark flood flows. 
 
 Has found this memory-haunted house with me. 
 
 31 
 
A DARK ANGEL 
 
 Gray Grief came over the fields of spring ; 
 
 — O, the world was never so fair to see ; — 
 My heart was weak as a broken wing ; 
 
 She had come forever to live with me. 
 
 For a wound in the bosom of earth was made, 
 As dark and deep as a grave could be, 
 
 And low in the darkness my hope was laid. 
 Though birds were singing in cloud and tree. 
 
 She led me away from the laughing Hght, 
 Through a valley of shadow, chill and wan ; 
 
 It lies in the track of the opening night 
 That reaches on to a fadeless dawn. 
 
 She touched the earth with a sorrowful grace ; 
 
 And wrapped in her shadows and soothing dew, 
 Each wayside flower was an angel's face. 
 
 With a soul of mystery shining through. 
 
 The light that had faded from morn and spring 
 She showed me stored in a deathless star, 
 
 That over the coming night shall bring 
 A dream of the unseen dawn afar. 
 
 Gray Grief is tender and kind and wise ; 
 
 She will walk the Autumn fields with me. 
 With tears she openeth world-blind eyes. 
 
 And showeth the soul a mystery. 
 
 S2 
 
A HARVEST HYMN 
 
 The glory of autumn on wood and height, 
 Peace and plenty by vale and farm, 
 The sky full flooded with throbbing hght 
 And the sea a silver calm. 
 
 Out of the silence there grows and flows 
 From the heart of sorrow a wordless prayer 
 Of praise for the sweetness His love bestows, 
 Of thanks for the beauty His creatures share. 
 
 Under the wonder of autumn's wand 
 
 His ripeness drops and His harvests glow. 
 
 Veiled is the splendor just beyond 
 
 To which through the sunset gates we go. 
 
 Hush ! in the holiness still and near, 
 
 W^ith tears of gladness our eyes are dim. 
 
 We stand in the fullness of the year, 
 
 And the earth's thanksgiving ascends to Him. 
 
 33 
 
A LITTLE WAIF 
 
 There are none to bless and love her, 
 The little one in the street, 
 
 With the bleak blue skies above her, 
 And the cold snow at her feet. 
 
 There are none to bless and love thee 
 In thy house so tall and fair ; — 
 
 Thy stately rooms are empty 
 And echoless the stair. 
 
 Take to thy heart this lone one ; 
 
 Thy fires shall keep her warm. 
 And all the winds of winter 
 
 Can never do her harm. 
 
 She like a flower shall brighten 
 Thy hearthstone lone and dim, 
 
 And as ye do to one of these 
 So do ye unto Him. 
 
 34 
 
A NIGHT THOUGHT 
 
 In the solemn hush of the winter night 
 
 Deep and full comes the strong wind's breath, 
 
 Sweeping over the fields of white, 
 Lying stark in a trance of death. 
 
 Blow, cold trumpeters ! earth is still 
 
 Unanswering under her shroud, which soon 
 
 She will fling to the sea, and from hill to hill 
 Bloom shall break in the summer noon. 
 
 35 
 
ALL IN THE BLEAK DECEMBER 
 
 Banners of rose when the day is new, 
 Fill all the shining deeps of air 
 With glories that fall to the frozen dew 
 And strike the branches bare. 
 And field and valley, and hill and spire, 
 Homestead, hamlet, and winding stream. 
 Lit by the peaceful roseate fire, 
 Glow and sparkle and change and gleam, 
 All in the bleak December. 
 
 The rose of the west when the day is old. 
 Warms and reddens the fading land: 
 The brown hills glow like molten gold. 
 And amber is shining on wave and sand. 
 The clouds are fleeces of gold that float 
 Slowly, softly below the blue 
 Where the growing moon like a silver boat. 
 And the evening star shine through. 
 All in the bleak December. 
 
 The rose of the firelight sheds its bloom 
 Wherever the lamp of home is lit. 
 Rose and star in the radiant room 
 Where love and virtue sit. 
 Stars and roses of hearth-light wreathe 
 All the highway by field and town : 
 — Stars that shine in the earth beneath 
 While the stars of heaven look down 
 All in the bleak December. 
 
 36 
 
CHRISTMAS BELLS 
 
 Come from the Christmas lights, O, mourning heart ! 
 Here in the shadows we will sit apart 
 
 And listen to the bells 
 Slow pealing forth their message soft and clear, 
 Into the darkness of the dying year, 
 
 In silvery falls and swells. 
 
 O, dear dark Mother Earth, thou holdst in trust 
 Within thy bosom loved and precious dust, 
 
 And it must suffer change. 
 Nothing is lost : from ocean's pearly caves, 
 From marble tombs and grassy, home kept graves. 
 
 Grow blossoms "rich and strange." 
 
 Nothing is lost: in darkness here awhile 
 
 We miss the hand clasp, the warm kiss, the smile. 
 
 The love light of the eyes : 
 But two Avhite angels in the shadows wait, 
 And point above, where when the night grows late 
 
 New day shall fill the skies. 
 
 The bells ring on in darkness. All is well. 
 We see as darkly yet, but love doth dwell 
 
 In darkness as in light. 
 "Peace and good will !" O, He who made will keep 
 All love and truth unwasted, though we weep 
 
 In shadows of the night. 
 
 37 
 
A MARCH EVENING 
 
 The waters are bursting and waking 
 
 From the silence long and deep, 
 And the stiffened sod is breaking 
 
 From its frozen trance of sleep. 
 The robin trills in the shadows 
 
 And the brook on the brink of night 
 Sings down to the darkening meadows 
 
 "In the morn there shall be light." 
 
 O hearts that are weak with sorrow, 
 
 The birds and the waters sing 
 A song of the soul's to-morrow, 
 
 A song of eternal spring. 
 For the darkness of earthly sorrow 
 
 Endureth but for a night. 
 The dayspring gilds the morrow, 
 
 "In the morn there shall be light." 
 
" The waters are bursting and waking.' 
 
A DAY DREAM 
 
 The shadows of the clouds of noon 
 Fall cool across the shining grass ; 
 
 The waters hum a sleepy tune, 
 And lull the listener as they pass. 
 
 The circling elm trees droop around, 
 — A shelter from the glowing sky ; 
 
 White daisies star the meadow ground, 
 Warm spicy scents are wafted by. 
 
 Bright insects dance above the stream; 
 
 Within the elms, a yeUow bird 
 Is singing in a happy dream. 
 
 And in a dream my heart is stirred. 
 
 I follow thought as light as air, 
 I leave the cities of the plain. 
 
 And o'er the level seas I fare, 
 And o'er the islands of the main. 
 
 I meet them on the verge of night. 
 My pilgrims — in the desert waste; 
 
 I brush their plumes with pinions light — 
 Who sees me pass? — One turns in haste. 
 
 And dreams with retrospective eyes. 
 And ponders for a little space ; 
 
 But the still desert round her lies — 
 She only sees the sphinx's face. 
 39 
 
What if the silent sky should speak, 
 
 And tell the secrets of the air? 
 What if the wind that fans her cheek 
 
 A whisper on its wings should bear — 
 
 A word her listening soul could hear? 
 
 . . Ah ! dreamer, wake ! The bird is dumb, 
 The shadows darken on the weir, 
 
 The sun is gone and night is come. 
 
 10 
 
DEPARTING SUMMER 
 
 O lovely spirit, from the purple hills, 
 Thou lif test now thy soft and sheltering wings ! 
 Crowned Autumn enters, and the cricket trills 
 A low farewell that through the twilight rings. 
 
 The dark earth saddens, but the sky is flushed 
 With thy warm kiss, and peace and silence brood 
 O'er the dim valley where the songs are hushed 
 That with thy sweetness filled the field and wood. 
 
 Farewell ! thou wilt return again, to bless 
 
 These darkening vales with song and bloom and light. 
 
 Soft as the dewfall is thy last caress, 
 
 Low as the zephyr is thy sweet "good night !" 
 
 Lancaster, N. H., Aug. 31st, 1882. 
 
 n 
 
BEFORE THE RAIN 
 
 The low gray sky hath touched the hill 
 And softly wrapped its wooded crown ; 
 
 The thick dark leafage meets the mist, 
 And cool the grayness droppeth down. 
 
 The new mown fields are green as May; 
 
 The shining corn, the flowing grain, 
 The garden flowers, the wayside weeds 
 
 Await the still, slow-coming rain. 
 
 The flaming flowers of summer glow 
 Like sunbeams in the dark green brake, 
 
 But pale and cool the lilies droop 
 Above the crystal of the lake. 
 
 Within the shadow-sheltered dale 
 One single solemn song is heard. 
 
 Low, clear and lone ; you will not find 
 The place where sings my hermit bird. 
 
 All else is hushed. The dim brown road 
 That winds away beyond the hill. 
 
 Leads out to hurry, moil and strife ; 
 But here the livelong day is still. 
 
 42 
 
AWAKE IN THE NIGHT 
 
 The soft wind grieves about the eaves 
 
 To-night, though spring is here. 
 The boughs are wet and naked yet 
 
 And cold in the early year. 
 If something stirs in these still, dark firs 
 
 It is only a lonely bird 
 That came to-day with the rain-clouds gray 
 
 And sang the song I heard. 
 
 Somewhere, I ween, a spire of green 
 
 Hath pierced the waking mould. 
 And holdeth up a pure white cup 
 
 With a tiny heart of gold. 
 Somewhere, I ween, sweet buds are seen 
 
 Half-hid by wandering leaves ; 
 Would I could go where they nestle low — 
 
 Away from the wind that weaves 
 Such a slow, sad song in the night so long. 
 
 — Oh, blue-eyed baby dear ; 
 If thou could'st come through the darkness home. 
 
 The wind would not be drear. 
 
 43 
 
BEFORE CHRISTMAS 
 
 The gray old world goes round and round, 
 The winter woods are warm and green, 
 
 And through their shadowy aisles a sound 
 Of song is wafted, low, serene. 
 
 The wild things of the wood have heard. 
 For through the gloom of copse and dell 
 
 A little joyful wild-wood bird 
 
 Goes flitting light the song to swell. 
 
 And all the boughs of spruce and fir 
 And feathery hemlock wake and sing. 
 
 The woodman hears the wind astir 
 And knows the fairy-flitting wing. 
 
 It is the bird of Christmas tide; 
 
 Its song is all of happy cheer. 
 Blithe chickadee ! flit far and wide 
 
 All in the darkly closing year. 
 
 For happy Christmas days are near. 
 When these green branches bending low, 
 
 With loving gifts shall bring good cheer 
 To hearts that under burdens go. 
 
 And when we stand in that warm light, 
 
 — The hearth light and the home light glow- 
 
 O, may these fragrant boughs be bright 
 For those who no home Christmas know. 
 
 4i, 
 
a; 
 
 o 
 
A WINTER SONG 
 
 Bring fragrant wood this winter night 
 And feed the fire ; the flame is low, 
 Without the world is white with snow, 
 
 Let all within be warmth and light. 
 
 The great stars sparkle cold and bright. 
 The rising winds their trumpets blow, 
 Come feed the fire and let its glow 
 
 Perchance a passing friend invite. 
 
 Draw close the curtains warm and red. 
 For while the fire with radiance fills 
 
 The cosy room, we heard the tread 
 Of legions on the windy hills. 
 
 But here good cheer shall banish dread. 
 Forget to-night our human ills. 
 
 Believe the steady world goes right, 
 
 And trust the things we cannot know ! 
 Behold the steady ebb and flow 
 
 Of shine and storm, of day and night. 
 And feel that omnipresent might 
 
 Doth balance all our joy and woe! 
 
 Though through the dark and light we go 
 The why all unrevealed to sight. 
 By wondrous ways our feet are led, 
 
 A love divine the spirit thrills. 
 A mystic light is ever shed 
 
 O'er all our days, and something trills 
 The song by which our souls are fed, 
 
 "It all is as our Maker wills." 
 
 45 
 
DROUTH 
 
 The summer song birds fall asleep 
 And dream among the thirsty boughs 
 That droop above the musing cows 
 In still, dim pastures shaded deep. 
 
 Through naked rocks the river creeps, 
 Humming its slumberous monotone. 
 Afar and near the locusts drone 
 And in the grass the cricket peeps. 
 
 The sunflower sets the lanes ablaze. 
 The yellow lily lifts her urn, 
 And goldenrod and asters burn 
 By roadside walls and dusty ways. 
 
 The hills are blurred with smoke wreaths dim. 
 And day by day we watch for clouds 
 To rise in thick and thunderous crowds 
 Above the faint horizon's rim. 
 
 O, weird dark Spirit of the mist ! 
 Thy trailing robes across the skies 
 Were sweeter now to our tired eyes 
 Than clouds of rose and amethyst. 
 
 The wide land like a desert lies. 
 The hills look off and long for thee. 
 Rise, rise from out the eastern sea 
 And quench these burning, yellow skies ! 
 
 46 
 
Throiio-h naked rocks the river creeps.' 
 
THE BREAKING OF THE DROUTH 
 
 Long Drouth had dried the river to a rill, 
 
 And shrunk the springs and burnt the brooks away ; 
 
 Brown grew the grasses over field and hill, 
 
 And thick for many a league the white dust lay. 
 
 For weeks the cattle lowed and looked away 
 Across the hills beyond the sun-parched plain : 
 For weeks we waited for a storm-dark day 
 To rise and freshen the faint earth with rain. 
 
 We were aweary of the yellow dawns. 
 The high, hot noons the languid cloudless hours ; 
 We longed to see the drying dusty lawns 
 O'er trampled by the myriad feet of showers. 
 
 At last a silver mist that dimmed the stars, 
 Crept in one night, and all about the moon 
 A golden halo grew, and cloudy bars 
 Across the east foretold the coming boon. 
 
 At dawn the birds that had been silent long 
 In woodland coverts hidden far and deep, 
 Flew o'er the fields again with trills of song. 
 And the south wind was soft as wings of sleep. 
 
 We sang, "O, summer, thou wast fading fast ; 
 The crown was withering on thy feverish brow ; 
 But lo, thy days of heaviness are past. 
 Thou wilt renew thine early splendor now." 
 
 47 
 
And then the rain, the slow, soft, restful rain 
 Wooed the bro^vn Summer from her trance of death ; 
 Freshened the chaplet on her brows again, 
 And filled the green world with its fragrant breath. 
 
 48 
 
EARTHLY HOMES. 
 
 This house wherein I abide, 
 Is stone from basement to dome; 
 Lofty and massive, and wide ; 
 And I — I am weak and I perish, 
 And the things I love and cherish 
 Are fleeting and frail as foam. 
 
 The house that I love is low, 
 
 And brown as an oaken bough: 
 
 And slow the shadows go 
 
 Over the roof in the summer hours. 
 
 And bees are busy about the flowers. 
 
 In dreams I see it novr. 
 
 This house that was built for me 
 Will stand for a thousand years ! 
 But how fair the grass will be 
 Over the roof so small and low 
 Of the narrow house to which I go 
 In a summer that slowly nears. 
 
 49 
 
1881 
 
 The gray old year is on his bier, 
 But Christmas bells are ringing ; 
 
 The Christmas star shines far and clear, 
 And through the dark go winging 
 
 The silent doves that all day long 
 
 About the neighboring belfry throng. 
 
 Chime sweet and long, O bells of love! 
 
 One sorrow of the passing year 
 Lifted the nation's heart above 
 
 The low and stifling atmosphere 
 Of party strife for one brief hour 
 To where Love's holy lilies flower. 
 
 Low voices float upon the air, 
 
 Soft echoes of the dead Year's song, 
 
 His whispered hope, his murmured prayer, 
 A mourning for his sin and wrong, 
 
 And then his funeral anthem swells 
 
 Harmonious with the Christmas bells. 
 
 50 
 
FORM AND SPIRIT 
 
 Down in the toMTi there is a garden. 
 Rock work, roses and hedges high 
 Hide the beds and the silver fountains 
 Away from the crowd that is surging by. 
 Dust drifts over its rare exotics, 
 Clamor startles its timorous deer, 
 Marbles gleam in its nooks and arbors. 
 Its trees are elegant, trim and drear. 
 
 I know the god of the stately garden. 
 
 He stands for aye by the lofty gate, 
 
 His white limbs bare, and his brow of beauty 
 
 High and cold and as hard as fate. 
 
 Up in the hills there is a dingle. 
 
 Bare, black ledges with harebells blue 
 
 Wall it about, and silver birches 
 
 And drooping elms let sunlight through. 
 
 Soft silk plumes of purple grasses. 
 
 And faint pink stars in its shadow shine, 
 
 Below in the light is the laughing water. 
 
 Above in the darkness, the sighing pine. 
 
 And I know the god of the wild, sweet dingle. 
 Forever viewless he hovers near : 
 I feel his touch in the mist of morning. 
 And his pipe on the peaceful wind I hear. 
 
 51 
 
ASPEN FLOWERS 
 
 Who plucks the shimmering aspen bloom? 
 The distant copse one morn was bright 
 Where o'er the tranquil cedar gloom 
 Bare boughs were hung with silvery light. 
 
 It was before the time of leaves, 
 Before the thrush or sparrow built; 
 No swallow yet had sought the eaves, 
 No bobolink sang afield, alilt. 
 
 But pussy willow buds were out 
 
 And in the pool at set of sun. 
 
 The frogs with peep and croak and shout. 
 
 Their jolly orchestra had begun. 
 
 We left the fire-lit wintry room 
 To seek that far and silvery shine. 
 And found above the cedar gloom, 
 The aspen tassels fair and fine. 
 
 So tall they towered — the graceful trees — 
 And held their pendant treasures liigh ! 
 Faint perfume fell upon the breeze 
 From swinging flowers against the sky. 
 
 Long, fragile, drooping, dimly white, 
 What seemed like jewels seen afar. 
 Above us hung in glimmering light, 
 As soft and pale as moonbeams are. 
 
 5£ 
 
But day by day they paled away 
 
 In this green mist the bright May weaves, 
 
 And in the aspen dell to-day 
 
 The twigs are hung with trembling leaves. 
 
 m 
 
A MORNING DREAM 
 
 O, STAR In the bosom of dawn ! 
 Through the infinite deeps up drawn 
 
 We dream that we drink of the tide 
 That flows from the fountains of hght 
 
 Illumining earth's dark night, 
 And the worlds where the weary abide. 
 
 With the earth and the night fall away 
 Our perishing garments of clay, 
 
 And the spirit returns to its own. 
 On the wings of the morning we fly. 
 
 Immortal, new-born of the sky. 
 O'er the path where our vanished have flown. 
 
 We have reached yearning hands to the light 
 Through the silence and sorrow of night 
 
 We have waited in darkness to hear 
 If out of the dawn there might fall 
 
 Some word that should break the long thrall, 
 And reveal the lost, hovering near. 
 
 Fly away through the ether afar 
 'Till the earth is a vanishing star 
 
 O soul, disencumbered and free ! 
 For of old from thy prison of clay. 
 
 Through the wide, golden portals of day. 
 Thought and Prayer found a pathway for thee : 
 
 And thought is the essence divine 
 That flows from God's heart into thine, 
 
 54 
 
And draws thee to dream of His Day. 
 'Tis the proof that thou seekest, — the sign 
 
 That out of all darkness shall shine 
 Till the shadows of earth flee away. 
 
 55 
 
A RAINDROP LEGEND 
 
 Ever unsung 
 By dark-browed brother of golden tongue 
 Is the dreamland song of the dancers fleet, 
 The myriad sprites with musical feet 
 Who in Cloudland have their birth, 
 And down to the hills with hurry and hum. 
 And music of marching and dancing come 
 With a boon for the weary earth. 
 On the wings of the wind they ride, 
 In the hearts of the flowers thev hide. 
 They bear the banners that veil the day 
 With softest, tenderest tints of grey, 
 And shroud the night in slumberous gloom : 
 They break the odorous buds to bloom 
 That fill the forest with incense fine 
 And they bring to the summer its sap and wine. 
 Over the earth their footfalls go. 
 Softly, airily, to and fro : 
 Veiled in shadows dim they sweep 
 The dust of the drouth from the leafage deep. 
 Bringing the freshening breath of the sky 
 To the fields of the earth from their home on high. 
 Rapturous songs ring out to greet them. 
 Bloom and beauty rise to meet them ; 
 Hearts are happier after they pass 
 Trampling fragrance out of the grass : 
 Smiles the valley and shines the plain. 
 Blessed by their shadowy, transient reign. 
 — But when from under the tempest's pall 
 Swift as avenging foes they fall. 
 And born on strong and thunderous wings 
 
 56 
 
"Listen. Paleface, 
 
 the Great 
 dark and 
 
 Spirit 
 light." 
 
 made His Children 
 
Swell to torrents the mountain springs, 
 
 And rend the hfe from the lowland glen 
 
 Ere they rise in mist to the skies again, — 
 
 The pine trees moan that the gods have hurled 
 
 The fairies weeping on the world. 
 
 — For these are the dusky Indian fairies, and the dream 
 
 god once a year 
 Opens dreamers' eyes to see them, opens dreamers' ears 
 
 to hear. 
 
 Over the roof one summer night 
 Danced they trippingly, soft and light, 
 Till low and lulling and full and long. 
 From amid the murmuring grew a song. 
 And grave, monotonous, syllabled sweet. 
 To chime with the dream-shod, fairy feet, 
 In the Indian tongue, melodious, low, 
 I heard the fairy measures flow. 
 
 "Listen, Paleface, the Great Spirit made His children 
 
 dark and light. 
 Even as He made the morning, and the dusky night : 
 Even as He made the sunbeams and the raindrops made, 
 And evermore before the sunbeams made the raindrops 
 
 fade. 
 Who hath eyes to see the rain sprites when the mist is 
 
 high 
 O'er the mountains and the meadows, rising to the sky? 
 — In the sunbeams Paleface fairies hide their tiny spark ; 
 In the raindrops Indian fairies veil their faces dark. 
 Brightness hides the sunbeam fairies, smihng, fair and 
 
 warm. 
 Shadows shroud the dusky fairies, dwellers of the storm. 
 
 57 
 
Numberless we journey earthward, fall and fade and rise, 
 Deathless we, though changing ever through the earth 
 
 and skies. 
 As the white man loves the shining fields and level seas. 
 So the sunbeams seek them ever and the shadow flees : 
 As the redman loves the darkness of the pathless wood, 
 So we love the realm of cloudland where the shadows 
 
 brood. 
 Where the white man fells the forest and the sunbeams 
 
 come 
 Seeking all the hidden places of the red man's home. 
 With the wailing winds as mourners for the sleeping 
 
 braves. 
 Sadly come the raindrop fairies weeping o'er their graves. 
 — For a little space we darken ocean's breast with grey. 
 O'er the fertile fields and valleys bear we passing sway. 
 Till the sun-bright arrows smite us and we fall away. 
 Fading, rising, reappearing, dwellers of the sky, 
 Like to us the red man's spirit falls, but cannot die. 
 Where the rainbow bends in glory when the storms are 
 
 past 
 Dark and bright, the warring fairies meet in peace at 
 
 last." 
 
 So ceased the soft melodious flow 
 Of the Indian voices chanting low: 
 And deep in a dream the sleeper saw 
 The rainy veil of the west withdraw. 
 And troops of the dreamland fairies go 
 With moccasined foot and dusky plume. 
 Fleeing, fading through the gloom. 
 Lithe and shadowy, swift and still. 
 Over the roof tree, over the hill, 
 
 58 
 
Dancing softly, keeping time 
 To the echo of their rhyme, 
 In the darkness faint and far 
 Fled they onward, till a star 
 Over the hills of midnight shone, 
 And the sleeper woke — alone. 
 
 59 
 
A DREAM OF THE HILLS 
 
 Fresh fields on airy heights, besprinkled with blossoms 
 
 of summer, 
 Blown over by winds of balm that bring a breath of the 
 
 sea. 
 The sea whose murmurous echoes melt with the solemn 
 
 pine harps. 
 Breathing in mournful music my memories of thee. 
 
 And my desolate soul is strengthened, bearing its infinite 
 
 burden. 
 Hearing the infinite, wordless hymn of the hills and the 
 
 sea, 
 For the beauty of earth and heaven is Love's illumination, 
 Love that is deeper than death or doom, drawing my soul 
 
 to thee. 
 
 60 
 
A FANCY 
 
 The moon shone on the belfry tower, 
 When deep and slow the midnight hour 
 
 Was tolled upon the silent air ; 
 And floating far a solemn psalm 
 
 O'er village, river, hill and farm, 
 A word of love it seemed to bear. 
 
 A word of love in every stroke 
 That might goodwill and peace evoke. 
 
 And bid all foolish strife depart 
 From out the sheltered valley deep. 
 
 Where, locked in calm, forgetful sleep. 
 Two villages lay heart to heart. 
 
 O'er both the bell's deep anthem rung. 
 To both the same dear river sung. 
 
 The same hill shadows wrapped them 'round 
 And silvered by the moon's pale beam, 
 
 All dim and lovely as a dream. 
 Their streets seemed holy ground. 
 
 And musing in a happy mood, 
 I wished the old time genii good. 
 
 Thus chanting nightly overhead. 
 Might exorcise the evil sprite 
 
 That fills our hearts with jealous spite. 
 And plant sweet charity instead. 
 
 61 
 
COMPENSATION 
 
 Blind David lingers late 
 Within his little garden, for 'tis June, 
 And all about he hears the blithesome tune 
 
 The yellow bird is singing to his mate. 
 
 Sad? Nay he is not sad. 
 "The light that never was on sea or land," 
 Sweet scents and sounds, the breath of breezes bland. 
 
 The clasp of loving hands, all make him glad. 
 
 There is a world more wide 
 Than this he looked out over when 'twas day. 
 And saw blue walls down bending far away 
 
 To meet the level tide. 
 
 His sorrow came like night. 
 Veiling the blue, the crimson and the gold. 
 But opening out before him deeps untold 
 
 Of starry, quenchless light. 
 
 62 
 
IN THE CORN FIELD 
 
 I WALK with joy 'mong sheaves of ripened corn, 
 Deep-bladed, dusky-plumed, till mustered strong 
 A tented host they seem with banners torn 
 And broken spears, and low, triumphal song. 
 
 "Our work is ended and our march begun," 
 — So runs the song upon the wind enrolled, — 
 "Thine is the wealth our silent toil hath won. 
 These rustling robes and heaps of shining gold." 
 
 I walk with joy for this is goodly spoil. 
 I touch the silken pennons blowing free. 
 The golden globes uprounding from the soil. 
 The precious spikes, gold-studded, — all for mc. 
 
 It seemeth strange — Not many days agone 
 I stood alone where these are gathered now ; 
 The land was white and bare as any stone 
 Of form or color. 'Tis a marvel how 
 
 This silent work was wrought. Naught ever came 
 Through the still summer fields by night or day ; 
 Yet now the riches heaped upon this plain 
 A hundred wains could scarcely bear away. 
 
 In the soft clouds that haunt the summer air 
 Or in the fragrant furrows of the ground 
 Search as I may forever, everywhere. 
 No semblance of this treasure will be found. 
 
 6S 
 
Whence came it then? — The patient earth is dumb 
 Holding her restless seas below the moon, 
 She waiteth long for him who will to come 
 And read upon her breast the mystic rune. 
 
 64« 
 
A CHRISTJVIAS RONDEL 
 
 Remember these whose need is sore 
 When winter raves about your door, 
 Oh, ye who dream in warmth and ease ! 
 When cold blasts smite the naked trees, 
 And storm waves beat the broken shore, 
 
 Remember these. 
 
 When Christmas crowns your bounteous store. 
 And loud winds round your thick walls roar. 
 The little ones who starve and freeze. 
 
 Remember these. 
 
 Their cry goes up for evermore, 
 Their wistful eyes your aid implore. 
 Wee, wasted forms urge silent pleas. 
 Blameless the}'^ bow to fate's decrees. 
 Oh, while you count your comforts o'er, 
 
 Remember these. 
 
 65 
 
A MEMORY 
 
 In dark December when the sun was low 
 
 The thick clouds broke, disclosing deeps of blue, 
 
 And in the West a wondrous glory grew, 
 
 Till flames of rose and gold 
 
 Up toward the zenith rolled. 
 
 A fleecy overflow 
 Went drifting eastward, slow. 
 Dropping its silent fire 
 
 On hiU and spire 
 And wood and field below. 
 Till the brown earth did glow. 
 
 And from a cottage window bright, 
 Bathed in the crimson light. 
 With rapturous forehead fair, 
 And a halo of gold hair, 
 
 A httle child 
 Looked Heavenward and smiled. 
 And Heaven that hour seemed near 
 In the sweet silence of the dying year. 
 
 66 
 
A BIRD SONG 
 
 O, SUMMER bird, the soft wind shakes 
 The light leaf shadows o'er thy breast ! 
 
 Thy quivering throat is full of song 
 That with the wind doth rock thy nest ! 
 
 This dell, a dimple in the wood. 
 Is wild and sweet enough for thee ; 
 
 — I sit alone and listen long, 
 
 For O, thy song doth comfort me ! 
 
 It f alleth sweeter than the rain 
 
 That dropping cool on thirsty leaves, 
 
 Doth wash them clear of every stain 
 The hot and dusty weather weaves — 
 
 — Shy spirit! while thou singest here, 
 All careless of my love — or me, 
 
 I hold thee in my heart most dear. 
 And draw divine content from thee. 
 
 67 
 
A SECRET 
 
 A BIRD woke in the starlight 
 And warbled, clear and soft, 
 
 A tender little trill. 
 The dewy linden stirred 
 And whispered one low word, 
 
 And then the night was still. 
 I leaned out in the stillness — 
 Out in the dim, sweet night. 
 
 And caught the word that fell ; 
 I and the drowsy bird 
 Were all that ever heard. 
 
 And we shall never tell. 
 
 68 
 
"Each twig upbears its jeweled spark." 
 
DECEMBER 6th, 1885 
 
 A SPLENDOR Summer never knows 
 Is rained on Winter woods to-day 
 From radiant dawn of gold and rose 
 Through silver noon to twihght gray. 
 
 Transfiguration rich and strange! 
 Last night the rain-swept trees were dark 
 And bare, — This morn a magic change! 
 Each twig upbears its jeweled spark. 
 
 The wide woods scintillate. The pines 
 Are bowed beneath their load of gems : 
 Beside the road dead ferns and vines 
 Make pearl and diamond broidery hems. 
 
 We walk into the woodland deeps 
 Where hemlocks hold their dazzling spray 3 
 And shyly forth the rabbit creeps 
 Uncertain of the shining way. 
 
 Aloft upon his blazing perch 
 The lonely crow in silence sits, 
 And singing on his cheerful search 
 The chickadee below him flits. 
 
 A wind comes o'er the glittering rime, 
 
 And lo, a million tiny bells 
 
 In icy tinklings faintly chime 
 
 A fairy tune through frosty dells. 
 
 69 
 
O, Winter day, so strange and bright ; 
 Thy transient glories do not flee: 
 They live forever in "The light 
 "That never was on land or sea." 
 
 TO 
 
EPHEMERA 
 
 Ephemera we, 
 
 Happy to be, 
 Glad in the glance of the sun. 
 
 We gleam 
 
 In his beam 
 Through our life's little dream 
 And die when the day is done. 
 
 Thou art 
 
 But a part 
 Of us and of all things that follow for aye 
 
 Through the range 
 
 Of all change 
 In a world sweet and strange, 
 And a thousand years are a day. 
 
 71 
 
THE PASSING SHOWER 
 
 Chill shadows chase the light and darken all 
 The still, dim fields that far and level lie ; 
 A growing blackness surges up the sky ; 
 Across the hills there creeps a misty pall ; 
 Swift, scattered, rattling drops begin to fall; 
 But still all undismayed the swallows fly, 
 And in the windy maples clear and high, 
 The fearless, happy robins chirp and call. 
 — Then bows the blast and rushes on amain, 
 And bellows in the darkness. Bolt and blaze 
 And sudden deluge from the heavens are hurled. 
 — Behold ! the blackness breaks ; and soon again 
 Soft azure, rainbow glories, songs of praise, 
 And the sun smiling on a shining world! 
 
 7S 
 
GOALS 
 
 In the heat of the day we long 
 
 For the dewy hours of eve ; 
 For the twihght hush and the whlppoorwilPs song, 
 
 And the stars, and the night's reprieve. 
 
 In the heart of the year we wait 
 
 For the golden days of peace, 
 When the ripe fruits fall and the year grows late. 
 
 And sowing and harvest cease. 
 
 In the stress of our lives we dream 
 Of the peaceful years when we fail 
 
 From our task and wait for the twilight gleam 
 Of the stars that never pale. 
 
 73 
 
^ THE MARSHES 
 
 A CHILL and cheerless landscape ; far and wide 
 The marshes stretch ; the blasted, blackened pines 
 Stand stern and stark, and sluggish water winds 
 Among their roots. No singing birds abide 
 Within this shadeless waste. Where dost thou hide 
 O, Beauty? for the glad soul surely finds 
 Thy face forever. Thou hast set thy shrines 
 In lonehest places, and hast not denied 
 Us when we sought thee. — ^What sweet light is this ? 
 
 Look up ! look up above thee to the sky ! 
 The sunset light is falling like a kiss ! 
 O, golden west ! O, faint pink clouds so high ! 
 In fairest lands thou couldst not lovelier be. 
 — Thank God ; the sky is always over me. 
 
 74 
 
THE CRYSTAL CUP 
 
 By many a moss-grown rocky brink, 
 
 Limpid, cool and pure, 
 Bubbles Mother Nature's drink — 
 
 Come and try her cure! 
 You who scorch your souls with wine,- 
 
 Heal your blistered lips 
 With the self-same draught divine 
 
 That the wild bird sips. 
 
 Cool the fever and the fire, 
 
 Where Nature offers up 
 Health and peace and pure desire — 
 
 In her holy cup. 
 Lavishly her wealth she flings 
 
 Free of toil or cost. 
 Desert wells and mountain springs 
 
 Bless the faint and lost. 
 
 By the crystal cup refreshed, 
 
 Rise and rend apart 
 The sinful toils that have enmeshed 
 
 Will and brain and heart ! 
 The cooling floods shall purify 
 
 Your body and your breath, 
 And save you from the foes that lie 
 
 In wait with sin and death. 
 
 75 
 
OUR SAINT 
 
 Long years ago, when light and song 
 
 And bloom, and all things glad that throng 
 
 To youth and spring filled earth and sky, 
 She watched a happy troop go by. 
 
 And heard their joyous voices call — 
 "The future holdeth gifts for all ! 
 
 Love, pleasure, wealth, or fame, or power, 
 
 — Choose now — it is the day and hour !" 
 
 But Duty sadly said her nay. 
 And pointed where a shadow lay. 
 
 Along a narrow pathway, dim, 
 
 Down to the low horizon's rim, 
 And bade her walk therein, — nor swerve. 
 — Two gifts were hers — to love, to serve. 
 
 The slow, full years with flower and frost 
 
 Went by. — She counted not the cost, 
 But strove unthanked, unnoted still. 
 For love's pure sake to work love's will, 
 
 Toiling with willing heart to win 
 
 Relief for sorrow, want and sin, 
 
 She found at last her task, so hard. 
 Its "own exceeding great reward." 
 
 Glad toiler ! At the close of day. 
 With sweet farewells, she went away 
 
 Beyond our little ken. — Her deeds 
 
 A thousand tiny, living seeds. 
 In darkness sown, with love and trust. 
 Already "blossom in the dust." 
 
 76 
 
^ MOTH AND CRICKET 
 
 When the lonely candle shines 
 From my attic window high 
 
 In at the lattice of vines 
 
 There floats a sylph of the sky 
 Out of the warm, sweet dark, 
 With gold dust on her wings, 
 Still as a spirit bark — 
 
 And then black Gryllus sings. 
 
 Under the ancient heath. 
 In a cosy, elfin nook. 
 
 He chirps of the Autumn Aftermath 
 Till he wins me from my book. 
 For the moon goes under the earth, 
 And my star is hid in the sea. 
 And a silent Sylph and an elf of Mirth 
 
 Are come to dwell with me. 
 
 77 
 
MUTE 
 
 The heart most torn by grief hath never flung 
 
 Its plaint abroad for all the world to hear. 
 
 The voice of song is hushed beside love's bier. 
 
 And deepest sorrow is for aye unsung. 
 
 The mellow threnes that down the years are rung, 
 
 For fame are sounded, in the haunting fear 
 
 That love will perish in oblivion drear 
 
 Unless the singer give it golden tongue. 
 
 But O, the broken heart doth turn away 
 
 To silence, listening and remembering! 
 
 It loveth starlight more than blinding day, 
 
 And trusteth time to heal its wounded wing, 
 
 Hoping to rise where love's eternal ray 
 
 Pierceth the darkness, — ^but it doth not sing. 
 
 78 
 
THE SINGER'S REWARD 
 
 In the days when the dim moon shines in heaven, 
 And clouds crowd over and sift their snow, 
 
 I light the fire on the hearth at even, 
 And sit and dream in its crimson glow. 
 
 Weird troops of flickering shadows gather, 
 And light and darkness alternate play 
 
 Across my dreaming, till snowy weather, 
 And night and winter are far away. 
 
 Outside the curtain black shades may thicken. 
 And clouds come under and hide the moon ; 
 
 But here, the fays of the firelight quicken 
 My dreams to songs that I love to croon. 
 
 Alas, poor songs! will they ever gladden 
 One sorrowing heart in its night of grief? 
 
 One soul that the dying summers sadden. 
 One life that fails with the fallins: leaf.? 
 
 'to 
 
 I may not know, if I listen longing — 
 Never a whisper the wide winds bring. 
 
 And yet, in the early winter gloaming, 
 Among the shadows I still must sing. 
 
 For, O, winged singers, your wordless burden 
 Caroling now by the summer sea. 
 
 My heart is full, and your one sweet guerdon, 
 — The joy of singing — sufficeth me. 
 
 79 
 
THE SLEEP ANGEL 
 
 The moon is full, and soft as snowfall 
 
 Comes slow-winged Sleep from Shadowland, 
 
 Over the fields of drowsy daisies, 
 
 Over the town and the lighted strand. 
 
 Toward the old tree-shadowed cottage. 
 Where sparrows nestle among the leaves. 
 
 Where flowers a-droop are swinging, nodding, 
 And swallows dream in the silent eaves ; 
 
 Where slowly, softly, a cradled baby 
 Rocks like a flower in a moonlit room. 
 
 And the mother sings till she sees the angel. 
 With still, shut wings, in the tender gloom. 
 
 80 
 
THE HEART'S OWN 
 
 If thrushes would sing in the dark 
 
 And the moon would shine by day, 
 
 If the noon could hold the firefly spark 
 
 And the morn the twilight ray, 
 
 If a rose would bloom in the snow 
 
 And chained ice would sing. 
 
 Then out of my heart of hearts should flow 
 
 This sweet and hidden thing. 
 
 But deep, deep, deep and still, still, still, 
 
 It lieth now, as a glowing gem 
 
 Is hid in the heart of a hill. 
 
 81 
 
WHY? 
 
 Eaeth thou art perfect and fair ; 
 Life thou art earnest and sweet; 
 Soul thou art rightfully heir ; 
 — Is not thy rapture complete? — 
 Why from the manifold joys 
 That hie to the morning of day, 
 From sorrows that strengthen and save, 
 Turns't thou expectant away? 
 
 I stand in the fresh morning lands. 
 Dew stars in the grass at my feet. 
 Buds and white bloom in my hands, 
 About me sweet song pulses beat. 
 From the far depths of the sky 
 A glory is rising for me, 
 A royal and roseate dawn 
 Tinting the hills and the sea. 
 
 Youth with its gladness is here. 
 Time with its treasures untold. 
 Toil with its promise and cheer, 
 Love that will never grow cold. 
 Yet out of this sweetness and warmth 
 I fade, and I follow afar 
 A voice that is vague as a dream, 
 A light that is faint as a star. 
 
 — Mystery waveth her wand 
 Over the knowledge I crave. 
 And the shadow that stayeth her hand 
 Hovereth over a grave. 
 
 82 
 
WHEN BOUGHS ARE BARE 
 
 When boughs are bare we watch the rose 
 The matchless rose of dawn unclose, 
 And on the pure, illumined air 
 Like graceful tracery pencilled there 
 Each twig and spray and stemlet shows. 
 
 With amber lights their darkness glows 
 Against the flushing hillside snows. 
 And icy gems among them flare 
 When boughs are bare. 
 
 Through woodlands hushed in deep repose 
 The molten gold of sunset flows. 
 New vistas open wide and fair 
 Across this world of whiteness, where 
 The winter moon its silver throws 
 When boughs are bare. 
 
 83 
 
UNTIL THE EVENING 
 
 Until the evening forth to toil we go, 
 Missing our loved ones till the night is near, 
 The hallowed night, blest with home rest and cheer 
 And happy gatherings in the hearth-light's glow. 
 Until the evening! O, Beloved, so 
 Through years unsolaced by your presence dear. 
 We work and dream and pray that we may hear 
 Your glad home greetings when life's sun is low. 
 How sweet to feel that you will waiting stand. 
 Immortal lovelight shining from your eyes, 
 To welcome us within the soul's Home Land 
 When the calm stars of that last night arise ! 
 There love may rest in our unbroken band 
 As here it rested in an earthly guise. 
 
 84^ 
 
" Borne on to the unknown day." 
 
BEFORE DAWN 
 
 Long is the night and we ride 
 
 Into the east, it seems; 
 Friend and foe at our side, 
 
 Through a land of shadows and dreams. 
 
 Voices to left and to right 
 
 Out of the darkness call, — 
 "Travellers, what of the night?" 
 
 — Wayfarers, wanderers, all — 
 
 From magical gardens behind. 
 Songs and sweet echoes enthrall; 
 
 "Lo, here are your idols enshrined: 
 Return, for the flowers you let fall !" 
 
 Ah, never! forever away 
 
 Through the dark and the mist we speed, 
 Borne on to the unknown day, 
 
 And the echoing songs recede. 
 
 Loometh a watch-tower tall : 
 
 "Watchman, what of the night?" 
 
 For lo, in the windowed wall. 
 Surely there shineth a light. 
 
 But dumb is the oracle, cold 
 Is the window empty and high. 
 
 And the light it seemeth to hold 
 Is a Star in the western say 
 85 
 
Prophet, poet and saint 
 
 Have said that a dawn will break : 
 But chilled by the darkness we faint ; 
 
 Will those who are sleeping awake? 
 
 They have slept so long and so deep I 
 Our hearts are aweary : our eyes 
 
 Are heavy : we too must sleep. 
 
 Shall we wake with the Day in the skies? 
 
 86 
 
AT EVENTIDE 
 
 Along the west the low light dies, 
 The holy stars begin to shine; 
 
 At rest from toil, we feel upon 
 
 Our weary brows the benison 
 
 The soft air breathes, of peace divine. 
 
 This is the hour for tranquil thought. 
 
 The silent spirit seeks release ; 
 In the deep stillness unsung song 
 And prayer unspoken pure and strong 
 
 Attune our hearts with Nature's peace. 
 
 A finger on our lips is laid — 
 
 We listen deeper than all speech — 
 Behold, below our lives a calm 
 That holds through turmoil and alarm 
 The blessedness we strive to reach. 
 
 811 
 
WHEN THE FIRST THRUSHES CARROLED IN 
 
 THE SPRING 
 
 When the first thrushes carroled in the spring, 
 Oh, then the heart leaped up to meet the May ! 
 But haunting music, sweet and far away. 
 Out of the happy past came echoing, 
 Voices of vanished springs, quick tears to bring 
 The wistful heart that would be glad and gay. — 
 Then tender memories filled the fading day. 
 And sorrowfully did the thrushes sing. 
 
 O buried love ! O cherished dreams of old ! 
 
 O radiant hopes that made the future fair ! 
 
 O heart ! full heart ! How strong thou wast, and bold ! 
 
 The sorrow of the world that thou didst bear 
 
 So lightly, now is more than heart can hold 
 
 When vesper thrushes fill the soft spring air. 
 
 S8 
 
THE SOFTENED SPLENDORS OF THE HEAVEN- 
 LY SPHERES 
 
 The softened splendors of the Heavenly spheres 
 Are gently showered upon our feeble sight 
 Through the great shadow of the world to-night. 
 The troublous thunders of the infinite years 
 Fall into dreamful echoes on our ears. 
 Standing below the awful heaven's height, 
 • Blind to the blessing of the tempered light, 
 We gaze on brighter worlds through wistful tears. 
 
 And always in the shadow of our life, 
 Shrouded from splendors that we could not bear, 
 We long for some far heaven where we shall bow 
 Before His face : — ^while all the night is rife 
 With tender glory and the common air 
 Throbs with His presence even here and now. 
 
 89 
 
FORGOTTEN FEUDS 
 
 Time and Sorrow soften wrong, 
 
 And in their hallowed light we see 
 That hearts outhve resentment long, 
 And sweeter than the voice of Song 
 Is gentle charity. 
 
 90 
 
VASHTI 
 
 Above fair Esther in her royal state 
 
 Doth Vashti wait the world's wise judgment yet, 
 
 Above Ahasuerus and his threat 
 
 And Mordecai the Hebrew at the gate. 
 
 Proud, silent, and unconquered by her fate 
 
 She lived and died. O, Queen, without regret 
 
 Thou leftst the palace Shushan to forget 
 
 Barbaric homage, and thy time to wait ! 
 
 Thou wast of finer mould than those who met 
 
 Within the sumptuous courts with hearts of hate 
 
 To bow before the despot. Thou couldst let 
 
 A far, sublime ideal recreate 
 
 A nobler love in earth before was set 
 
 Upon thy brow the crown inviolate. 
 
 91 
 
IN A DREAM 
 
 "Then forthwith Duncan sent unto Macbeth com- 
 manding him with all diligence to come and set upon the 
 enemy being in easie point to be overcome. Macbeth making 
 no delay, came with his people to the place where his ene- 
 mies were lodged, and first killing the watch, afterwards 
 entered the camp and made such slaughter on all sides 
 without anie assistance, that of the whole number there 
 escaped no more but onlie Sueno, liimself and ten other 
 persons by whose helpe he got to his ships lieing at rode 
 in the mouth of Taie. Whereof when Sueno perceived 
 how through lack of mariners he should not be able to 
 convaie away his navie, he furnished one ship thoroughlie 
 with such as were left, and in the same sailed back to Nor- 
 waie, cursing the time that he set forward on this journie. 
 
 The other ships which he left behind him, within three 
 daies after his departure from thence, were tossed so to- 
 gether by violence of an east wind that they sunke there 
 and lie there in the same place even unto these daies, to the 
 great danger of other such as come on that coast ; for be- 
 ing covered with the flood when the tide cometh, at the ebb- 
 ing of the same some part of them appeere above water. 
 The place where the Danish vessels were thus lost is yet 
 called Drownelow sands." — Holinslied's Chronicle. 
 
 The owl flew out of the copse, the blind bat flitted by. 
 And the nighthawk's cry was heard afar in the fading 
 
 sky; 
 The frogs in the reedy creek were many and loud and 
 
 shrill, 
 And the lowing cows came home from the pastures under 
 
 the hill. 
 
 93 
 
And I saw the witches ride — the wayward sisters three — 
 
 All in a bit of purple cloud that sailed along the sea. 
 
 For the shadowy East is deep, and its doors swing open 
 wide, 
 
 Sometimes when the twilight falls down here by the rhyth- 
 mic tide. 
 
 Its doors swing open wide — and over the h vcl floor 
 
 Of the blue, dividing sea, an olden, golden shore 
 
 Looms out of its misty veil. But to-night the witches 
 
 came. 
 Or ever my prayers were said, or ever I thought of blame. 
 
 They came from the Drownelow sands, where the Norse- 
 men's ships went down, 
 
 In that eerie dawn of eld, 'ere Scotland's fateful crown 
 
 Was torn from Duncan's head. — They came as a thouglit 
 may come. 
 
 They have heard the dead hulks beat below like a Titan 
 drum; 
 
 Rush together and beat when the storms came up the Tay, 
 And the tide flows over the sands, and night creeps over 
 
 the day. 
 And they leered with lifted wands — leered and leaned 
 
 to me. 
 And laughed, and cried "Alack, my lady! would you see.?" 
 
 "Ambition fired a will that mastered friend and foe ; 
 Before it bowed a king, and after came a woe. . . . 
 We dwell in murky hell, O we are the sisters three, 
 'Tis all below the wand — My lady, would you see.?" 
 
 98 
 
And I covered my face in fear, for deep abysses yawned 
 And an awesome sight I saw below the witches' wand. 
 In the waves below the wand — And I shut my eyes away 
 From the terrible nameless sight — and lo ! in the land was 
 day. 
 
 And swallows wheeled in light, and the sunny air was 
 
 sweet, 
 And a kingly cavalcade with a tread of martial feet 
 Wound under battlements old where ivy darkly clings. 
 And the raven hoarse is hushed the while the swallow sings. 
 
 .... But a thousand years go by in a dream as goes 
 
 the day. 
 And the king comes forth no more forever and for aye. 
 
 94i 
 
LINES IN AN ALBUM 
 
 Poor brain-sick bards have sung to me 
 That friends, hke birds in summer weather, 
 Stay with you till the frost, and then 
 Fly off in flocks together. 
 I'd fain believe my friends are true 
 And life worth living, — Would'nt you? 
 
 Sir Croaker says the times are bad ; 
 
 Are "Out of joint" — the world grows worse. 
 
 Its web of tangles makes him sad. 
 
 We rest beneath a primal curse. 
 
 I'd fain believe God holds the clue 
 
 To life's worst tangle. — Would'nt you? 
 
 95 
 
o 
 
 INTERPRETATION 
 
 O THE summer days must pass ; 
 
 But the daisy low in the grass 
 
 And the rose in the dew have brought 
 
 A message to earth that abides, — a dream 
 
 From the infinite deeps of Thought. 
 
 No bard hath given it word ; 
 
 But the ear of earth hath heard, 
 
 When the master's music breaks 
 
 From the organ's heart, and the listening soul, 
 
 Borne up on its wings awakes. 
 
 96 
 
MOURNING 
 
 When winds are loud they seem to mock my woe, 
 Wailing like Hindu mourners round a tomb, 
 While I lie silent in the midnight gloom 
 Hearing them shriek and rave in empty show. 
 For wildest rain nor any winds that blow 
 Can voice the sorrow of our mortal doom. 
 In the sea deeps is heard no breaker's boom, 
 To her low place of sleep no sound can go. 
 
 When winds are still my wrung heart tells its grief 
 To the great heart of Night, and wild tears come. 
 Sobs shake me as the tempest shakes a leaf. 
 And the wide silence doth my soul benumb. 
 I ask of Darkness why her days were brief. 
 And all the deep Night listens, pitying, dumb. 
 
 97 
 
EYEy SONG 
 
 Bid strife adieu, forget, 
 Forgive and cast away 
 For one sweet hour to-night 
 The burden of the day. 
 
 The day doth stun and blind, 
 And wearing work and care 
 Shut out the thought that Thou 
 Art with us everywhere. 
 
 Peace falleth with the dew 
 And in the dark I see 
 How in and through all things 
 Infinite love can be. 
 
 My brother 'neath the palms 
 With yearnings blind and dim, 
 Buildeth his Dagon rude 
 And boweth down to him. 
 
 My brother 'neath the pines 
 Prayeth aloud for me. 
 But in his heart is set 
 An image false of Thee. 
 
 I do not ask to-night 
 That fair my lot may be. 
 That sorrow, loss and pain 
 Shall not abide with me. 
 98 
 
But that in this calm hour 
 Uplifted, pure and free, 
 My soul may drink Thy truth, 
 I am athirst for Thee. 
 
 99 
 
A WILD FLOWER IN THE CITY 
 
 I BLOOM by the dingy wall, 
 Of brick and barren stone. 
 The blue sky is my all, 
 I look to that alone. 
 
 I wait for a blue-eyed child 
 With clustering hair of gold. 
 And forehead fair and mild. 
 And form of dainty mold. 
 
 She will come soon or late 
 And she alone will see 
 The low nook where I wait 
 To fill her heart with glee. 
 
 100 
 
DOG AND CAT 
 
 Don, my dog, I love you well. 
 Lift your eyes to mine and tell 
 If you love me. Quick and true 
 Speak the steady eyes, "I do. 
 Don your dog would die for you, 
 Hardship, hunger, cold, abuse. 
 Love, like mine, can never loose. 
 Though you were a wanderer poor, 
 Begging bread from door to door, 
 I would follow you and share 
 Meanest shelter, meagrest fare, 
 Shield you, save you, if I might. 
 Serve you gladly day and night 
 Wheresoe're your steps might range, 
 With a love that knows no change." 
 
 Pussy Willow, tell me true, 
 While I tie your ribbon blue 
 And you purr your softest song, 
 Will you love me well and long.? 
 Dainty kitten, white and gray. 
 If you will you never say. 
 In the sun you love to play. 
 In the sun you love to sleep 
 On a cushion soft and deep ; 
 
 Smooth as silk you keep your fur, 
 Cunningly you come and purr 
 When I call you — but I fear 
 Fish and cream are far more dear 
 To your heart, my kitty fair, 
 Than my love without my care. 
 101 
 
IN DREAMS 
 
 Across the soft-plumed, purple grass 
 A breeze begins to blow, 
 
 And light as summer birds, we pass 
 Above it, to and fro, 
 Low sailing, soft and slow. 
 
 The voices of the upper deep 
 Call from afar, in vain ; 
 
 Lo, e'en the eagle leaves the steep 
 To sweep the verdurous plain 
 With winnowing wings, amain ! 
 
 Dear mother earth, thy face is sweet ! 
 
 Awake, we yearn to flee ! 
 Asleep, our dream wings softly beat 
 
 The winds and we are free; 
 
 But still we cling to thee ! 
 
 102 
 
IN THE VALLEY 
 
 Below the cliff where echoes answer clear 
 In broken, silver notes that ring and quiver, 
 
 The bobolink his grassy nest anear, 
 
 Chimes his wild aria with the singing river. 
 
 The gray rain broods above the distant town, 
 Still as a spirit on its misty wings ; 
 
 And closer yet the soft dark sky comes down 
 Around the valley where the glad bird sings. 
 
 From far away a bell breaks on the ear, 
 And down within the cosy garden gloom 
 
 A happy little voice is piping clear, 
 
 Heard like the bird's above the river's boom. 
 
 And looking from my open window down, 
 
 The tiny singer in the dusk I see ; 
 The wee, wise head that wears a golden crown, 
 
 The loving hands a-plucking bloom for me. 
 
 And quick the warm tears start — for what am I, 
 That all this sweetness should so thrill and bless ; 
 
 That brooding Love from out the low, near sky. 
 Should stoop to comfort with such tenderness ? 
 
 103 
 
NOVEMBER 
 
 When song and color have passed away, 
 And the clouds and the hills and fields are gray, 
 And the sky is low and the air is chill, 
 And the bare trees wait, and the land is still. 
 Shall we follow the swallow in dreams of bloom? 
 Or dwell content in the kindly gloom? 
 
 We will follow the woodland paths and know 
 How soft and solemn the low winds blow 
 Through evergreen aisles where warm and deep 
 The sheltered buds of the summer sleep. 
 
 We will walk in the pastures brown and see 
 How safe the burrowing things may be. 
 Where the shy field mouse and the chickadee, 
 And the chipmunk flit, when the swallows flee. 
 
 O lonely pass of the hills, I keep 
 A dream of your summer silence deep : 
 And now November, the somber, broods 
 Over your frowning solitudes. 
 
 But dim in the distance and far below. 
 The light of a hearth in the dusk doth glow, 
 A star in the valley, a cheering ray 
 That the traveller hails at the closing day. 
 
 For in valley and city, on hill and plain. 
 The rose of the lamp illumes the pane. 
 And nestling homes in the coming storm 
 Will keep the heart of the gray world warm. 
 
 104 
 
So here in the village beside the stream 
 To-night we will kindle our evening beam, 
 And pray that the shelterless all may come 
 From storm and peril and darkness — home. 
 
 105 
 
GOOD NIGHT 
 
 The light and laughter of the room 
 
 Go out, and holy stars look in 
 Upon the sudden hush and gloom 
 
 Where mirth and song so late have been. 
 The slow clock tells its rhythmic beats, 
 
 The late moon rises silver-white, 
 And at the pane the wind repeats 
 
 The last words said, 
 
 "Good-night ! Good night !" 
 
 The fire burns low, the embers fall 
 
 And in the ashes pictures grow. 
 The firelight shadows on the wall 
 
 Are moving softly to and fro. 
 The near and dear are with me here, 
 
 Who come when gay friends take their flight 
 And gently on my spirit ear 
 
 Their blessing falls, 
 
 Good-night ! Good-night ! 
 
 106 
 
OFF RAGGED MOUNTAIN 
 
 Our little boats at anchor ride 
 Below the mountain bald and steep, 
 
 At rest upon the golden tide, 
 The west aflame, the wind asleep. 
 
 No sound abroad in all the air, 
 Save now and then some bird-call, sweet, 
 
 Among the upper shadows, where 
 Soft echoes low the notes repeat. 
 
 And down the lake's dim shore, afar. 
 From out the amber mist, a horn 
 
 Blown mellowly, where hke a star, 
 Our beach-fire leaps to life, new-born. 
 
 The saffron skies to crimson bloom. 
 And all the dimpled waters blush ; 
 
 The rocks and pines above us loom 
 Transfigured in the sunset flush. 
 
 O, golden perfect day, thou art 
 A happy dream from dawn to close! 
 
 Thy fragrance stored within the heart 
 Is sweeter than a ripened rose. 
 
 lO'T 
 
REQUIESCAT IN PACE 
 
 In the shadows rings a knell 
 
 Soft and clear. 
 Whoso' hath a pitying ear 
 
 Let him hear. 
 Louder sounds above it swell, 
 Low and poor was little Bell 
 But the kings of earth might bow 
 
 Before her now. 
 
 What was life to httle Bell? 
 
 Who can tell? 
 Gibe of schoolmate, scorn and flout. 
 
 Toil and doubt? 
 Death was darkness — fear of hell. 
 She had learned this lesson well 
 And its heavy curse had lain 
 
 On her brain. 
 
 Little Bell was dark and plain. 
 
 Scoffings bold 
 Filled her brooding heart with pain 
 
 All untold. 
 Let her merry schoolmates come 
 Now and call with laugh and jeer, 
 "Topsey !" "Darkey !"— WiU she hear ? 
 
 She is dumb. — 
 
 Little worker, rest is sweet. 
 
 Death was kind. 
 Not the foe you feared to meet 
 
 — Groping blind. 
 108 
 
Was there ever calm so deep ? 
 "He giveth His beloved sleep !" 
 Out of shadowland a knell 
 Ringeth softly: "It is well 
 With Httle Bell." 
 
 109 
 
SUMMER RAIN 
 
 Dauk as twilight are the valleys, 
 
 Cool and soft the south wind brings, 
 
 From the fresh woods where it dallies, 
 Fragrance on its misty wings. 
 
 Wavy leaden masses lie 
 
 Crowded in the upper sky. 
 
 On the hills deep shadows hover, 
 Through the dimness voices fall, 
 
 Thrushes whistle from the cover. 
 Shrill and sweet the robin's call. 
 
 Is it morn, or noon, or night? 
 
 Star and sun are hidden quite. 
 
 Ah ! but silence gathers slowly 
 O'er the dim and fragrant hour ; 
 
 Passeth here the angel holy. 
 
 Hushing bird and closing flower. 
 
 Ere the first soft raindrops fall. 
 
 Night's wide wings are over all. 
 
 110 
 
'. . . purple mist . . . 
 
 That drifts adown the circling hills." 
 
SUNSET ON SEBEC LAKE 
 
 The robin in the soft spring rain, 
 Is singing loud his glad refrain, 
 Where pushing leaf and grasses gay 
 Are freshening brightly day by day. 
 
 The river runneth full and strong. 
 Chanting its old triumphant song; 
 The air is full of prophecy — 
 Of golden hours that are to be. 
 When swallows to the eaves shall come, 
 And in the blossoms bees shall hum. 
 And field and hill shall ring with song, 
 "In summer when the days are long." 
 
 But through it all I seem to hear 
 The wild loons calUng far and near ; 
 And waves low lapping round a boat 
 Midway upon a lake afloat. 
 No other sound is in the air — 
 A sunset flush is everywhere — 
 Gold, amber, rose and scarlet, change 
 To purple mist slow, soft and strange. 
 That drifts adown the circling hills 
 Till all the silver valley fills. 
 
 On the dim, western shore, below 
 A rugged hill, our camp-fire glow 
 Is but a spark to light the gloom ; 
 Our tent a speck of purple bloom ; 
 The figures of the rowers take 
 The tint of sky and wood and lake ; 
 
 111 
 
Behind us calls the mocking loon, 
 And rises full the autumn moon, 
 As through the purple dusk we float, 
 Silent, in an enchanted boat. 
 
 lU 
 
THE DAYS GROW LONG 
 
 The days grow long, and safe below 
 The soft white blanket of the snow 
 Leaf -blade and bud are all astir. 
 On ruddy boughs the downy fur 
 Of "Pussy Willow" 'gins to show. 
 
 Out of the south, warm breezes flow. 
 Bright, tinkling waters sparkling go. 
 And thawing mists the blue hills blur 
 As days grow long. 
 
 How sweet and still, how sure and slow 
 The miracle is worked, till lo ! 
 Within the naked trees a whir 
 Of wings, the flowers' bright harbinger, 
 And now the arbutus will blow. 
 While days grow long. 
 
 113 
 
THE BARRING OF THE DOOR 
 
 The chill, sweet wind is like a sigh 
 To-night above the hallowed ground 
 Where side by side our loved ones lie 
 With quiet fields and woods around. 
 
 And here at home the hour has come 
 For rest and sleep — outside, the leaves 
 Drop slow and still, and all is dumb 
 Save the low wind that softly grieves. 
 
 The children put their books away, 
 While mother sweeps the littered floor. 
 And father winds the clock for day. 
 — It falls to me to bar the door. 
 
 O, it has been so long, so long, — 
 The tender years have soothed the pain ; 
 And yet the autumn wind's low song 
 Brings fresh and sorrowful again 
 
 The memory of that childish fear. 
 That with the barring of the door 
 We shut them out — the dead and dear 
 Who sought us from the unseen shore. 
 
 When those thick-sodded graves were new, 
 I used to think my heart would break ; 
 And wept awake the long night through, 
 And watched the stars out for the sake 
 
 114 
 
Of those in darkness shut away ; 
 
 For sore I feared they yearned for home, 
 
 And ever with the shadows gray 
 
 I thought "perhaps to-night they come." 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 . . . O Angels in the starry skies, 
 Are we the shadows on the shore? 
 And ours, not thine, the wistful eyes 
 That wait the unbarring of the door ! 
 
 115 
 
MY DOG 
 
 Dear Don your eyes are deep and browTi, 
 Are they "the windows of the soul?" 
 
 Love lies in them deep down, deep down, 
 True love that lives through doom and dole. 
 
 Love lives forever wise men say, 
 
 It cannot die if this be true, 
 Dear Don, and so I hope and pray 
 
 There's room in Heaven for me and you. 
 
 116 
 
WHENCE? 
 
 Fall, flower and book ! the tale is true ! 
 
 What spirit calls my name? 
 A world away, across the blue, 
 
 The young moon lights her silver flame. 
 I look into the west and wait : 
 The wind is west, the day is late. 
 The silver moon is low, 
 
 And low beside the orchard gate 
 The fallen bloom drifts white as snow. 
 
 The light breeze fails, the voice has passed 
 
 One dim and trembling star 
 Looks out of heaven serene and vast. 
 
 — O earth so near ! O heaven so far ! 
 Whose voice was this so strangely heard? 
 With wondering awe my soul is stirred ! 
 — Art thou of earth, or winged and free, 
 
 O soul, who sent this spirit word 
 Across the twilight world to me? 
 
 in 
 
ON THE SHORE 
 
 0, THE swing of the wind and the sea! 
 
 O, the sweep of the pines in the gale ! 
 They move to the measure, they chant to the key 
 
 Of the Song the soul hears when the shrill pipers fail 
 — ^The far-heard, the holy, the hymn of the spheres, 
 
 — The music eternal to which the worlds roll, 
 — The harmony solemn that haunts the dull years, 
 
 — The call from the Deeps to the wayfaring soul. — 
 
 118 
 
c 
 
 u 
 
 o 
 
AT LAST 
 
 The wind blows where it listeth, 
 
 And borne on its wings we roam 
 The restless seas of the changing world, 
 
 But to-night it bears us home. 
 
 We were wrecked in the waste of waters, 
 We were whirled in the storms like foam, 
 
 We were beaten and tossed from the shores of rest, 
 But to-night we are nearing home. 
 
 The wind blows where it listeth. 
 
 But at last in the autumn gloam. 
 The dark west glows with the evening star 
 
 And the harbor lights of home. 
 
 119 
 
REST 
 
 An August noon : The wide, still fields 
 Lie bathed in heat. Heat ripples rise 
 From rustic roofs in distant lanes, 
 And white clouds sleep in changeless skies. 
 
 Hushed are the sounds of morn and eve, 
 'Neath quiet boughs calm waters shine, 
 And far against the glowing south 
 The dim hills lie a faint, blue line. 
 
 Here on this shaded, mossy knoll. 
 Beneath a kindly, sheltering tree, 
 A brown bird broodeth on her nest 
 Still as a leaf, nor heedeth me. 
 
 The low stream slumbers at my feet. 
 
 The rushes whisper soft and low, 
 
 And up and down the silent air. 
 
 Pale, white-plumed seeds drift to and fro. 
 
 Pure wafts of warm, delicious breath. 
 Float slowly from the fragrant fern. 
 Yon rocky wall is all aglow 
 With golden bloom: — bright blossoms burn 
 
 Beside the path that windeth down 
 And on, by many a devious turn 
 Through meadows where the harvest waits 
 The coming of the reaper stern. 
 
 120 
 
Sun-bathed the hazy hillside sleeps, 
 The noble trees that crown its brow 
 Reveal within their foliage dark, 
 One golden-bright prophetic bough. 
 
 Sometimes a lazy locust flings 
 Its dull discordance on the air, 
 Sometimes a dreamy wood bird sings 
 To win my heart away from care. 
 
 "Dream on," it sings, "The summer day 
 
 Is long and sweet, these idle hours 
 
 Shall not be lost, but shall return 
 
 With full hands, bringing fruit and flowers." 
 
 121 
 
SUMMER BOARDERS 
 
 They came to us in dainty garb 
 
 And took possession. Through the dew 
 
 Without so much as "By your leave" 
 
 They tripped to where our strawberries grew 
 
 And took their fill. The lawn was theirs 
 
 Though they ignored our tame croquet 
 
 And even tennis while they held 
 
 Their Musicale or Matinee. 
 
 They let us know at once our house 
 Was not Hke theirs — Our table too 
 Was not set forth with their menu, 
 — And yet — we liked the airy crew. 
 — We couldn't help it. He would strut 
 And she would perk in fine array, 
 Their little ones ^ere greedy — but 
 We missed them when they went away. 
 We even wished they'd come again 
 Another year. They didn't say 
 They wouldn't — for they never talked 
 With us — You see it wa'n't their way. 
 
 'Tis true they did look down on us, 
 'Tis also true (they flew so high) 
 That we poor, plodding, clumsy folk 
 Looked up to them — and that is why 
 They held themselves aloof — perhaps — 
 — I cannot tell, but 3^ou and I 
 Might feel as airy as did they 
 If we could soar as free and high. 
 
 122 
 
The level road the loggers make." 
 
SLEIGH BELLS 
 
 The moon and stars with splendors fill 
 The sky. The earth is white and chill, 
 And over valley and plain and hill 
 Silver bells are ringing. 
 
 The jewelled forest road we take 
 — The level road the loggers make, — 
 And into the silent woods we break 
 With silver bells a-ringing. 
 
 The frosty boughs with diamonds flash, 
 A million tinkling crystals clash 
 As through the sparkling air we dash, 
 The silver bells a-ringing. 
 
 The shadows dance and the echoes chime, 
 And ever the hurrying hoofs keep time 
 With the haunting lilt of an olden rhyme 
 And silver bells a-ringing. 
 
 Then out to the open and on in the light 
 Of the glittering snowfields wide and white. 
 And down the valley and up the height. 
 Our silver bells a-ringing. 
 
 And over the hill and across the stream, 
 And under the icy cliffs, agleam. 
 And around by the river and home, to dream 
 Of silver bells a-ringing. 
 
 129 
 
SPRING CLEANING 
 
 When the airs of April blow 
 Rather fiercer than they ought, 
 And defiant roosters crow, 
 Answering each from lot to lot, 
 And the frogs begin to squeak 
 Faintly in the nearest fen, 
 And we hear of dams that leak, 
 Damaging the homes of men. 
 When the melancholy crow 
 Flaps and caws about the river 
 And the rosy Mayflowers blow 
 In their wooly leaves ashiver, 
 When balsamic bonfires smoke 
 Where the "banking" boughs are burned. 
 And little boys about do poke 
 On stilts — (the horseback fever turned, — ) 
 Then do naked windows stare 
 Into dusty chambers bare. 
 And the scent of yellow soap 
 Robs the "husbandman" of hope. 
 Then, the housewife with a rag. 
 Sees the skyhnes crook and sag. 
 Sees the tottering steeples wane. 
 As she scrubs the sudsy pane : 
 And a vague and wild unrest 
 Takes possession of her breast. 
 All her household gods she tears 
 From their thrones, and beats, or airs. 
 Dusts, or polishes, or scours. 
 Through the livelong daylight hours. 
 Then the children's boot-heels ring, 
 
 124 
 
On the bare floors echoing ; 
 Then old carpets "flout the sky," 
 And passing horses horrify. 
 Then odds and ends accumulate, 
 Till slowly dust and dirt abate. 
 And sweetest cleanliness doth come 
 To make the house once more a home. 
 
 Then old Dame Nature looking through 
 
 The shining windows clear as dew. 
 
 Straight takes the hint — grows emulous, 
 
 Works slyly, without stir or fuss, 
 
 And lo, some morn her floors are seen 
 
 Spread all with carpets fresh and green. 
 
 Of softest texture, fold on fold, 
 
 — Set thick with tiny stars of gold : 
 
 Her furniture with misty green. 
 
 Or rosy bloom half veiled is seen : 
 
 Her roof so high, all clear and blue. 
 
 Blown sweet by winds and washed by dew. 
 
 And warmed and softened by the sun. 
 
 And then — we know "Spring Cleaning's done." 
 
 125 
 
SUMMER DAWN 
 
 Clear in the purple light an elm's fresh boughs 
 Are penciled on the lucid, dewy east. 
 
 In the still deeps a fading star doth drowse ; 
 
 Below the dark hills dream, but o'er their brows 
 Behold a soft cloud riseth, rosy-fleeced ! 
 
 Unseen, the birds in every covert sing, 
 
 And earth will wake to greet the day full soon ; 
 Night, with her follower Silence taketh wing 
 Into the west where paling vapors cling 
 Faintly illumined by the dim, gold moon. 
 
 Winds of cool fragrance o'er the waters creep 
 ... 0, Spirit, born of darkness and of light ! 
 Forever fresh as flowers new-waked from sleep. 
 And pure as starlight in the ether deep. 
 
 Stay ! Thou art fairer than the day or night. 
 
 126 
 
MARY DONALDSON 
 
 When the summer sunshine showered golden radiance 
 through the wood, 
 And the clover in the clearing blossomed red, 
 And the fragrant smoke of choppings in the warm air 
 seemed to brood, 
 And the river showed the boulders in its bed. 
 Then the settlers from the hamlet round the silent sum- 
 mer mill, 
 In the early dewy morning rowed away 
 For the wild and grassy meadows, lying far and green 
 and still, 
 There to mow and dry and stack the meadow hay. 
 
 In their barns the summer grasses were stored and sweet 
 and dry. 
 The aftermath was rosy on the slope. 
 The harvests on the uplands shook their shining banners 
 high, 
 And the heart of man and woman glowed with hope. 
 For the winter had been dreary while they waited through 
 the gloom 
 For the land that lay in torpor cold and white, 
 But the spring and golden summer made the wilderness 
 to bloom. 
 And the Autumn's blessed fruitage was in sight, 
 
 When the fathers and the brothers and the lovers and the 
 sons. 
 Every man and boy among them in the early morning 
 gray, 
 
 127 
 
From below the shrunken rapids where the river deeper 
 runs, 
 To the broad and lonely meadows in the valley rowed 
 away. 
 Then the miller's daughter, Mary, brought her spinning 
 wheel, and stood 
 All the sunny morning, spinning in the door. 
 Where she saw the busy workers of the little neighbor- 
 hood, 
 Brave and cheerful 'neath the burdens that they bore. 
 
 The mothers and the children, the aged and the young, 
 
 Going forth among their gardens and their fields, 
 While the solemn woods about them with the songs of 
 summer rung. 
 And the tuneful air was fragrant with the sweets that 
 summer yields. 
 — And the children smiled to see her, for they knew her 
 kind and good. 
 And the mothers blessed her spinning in the sun, 
 For her loving ministrations and ever helpful mood 
 That had made their burdens lighter, every one. 
 
 There was peace in all the valley, for a treaty with the 
 tribes 
 Had lately been concluded. But of treacherous Wana- 
 wee, 
 Who had broken faith in former times, and taken foreign 
 bribes, 
 Mary felt a sad suspicion which she let her father see. 
 And the miller in the morning had laughed away her 
 doubt : 
 
 1S8 
 
"He would never dare, my daughter, with his weak and 
 
 broken band. 
 To brave the friendly Indians, and the settlements about. 
 And the arms within the block-house, which he thinks 
 
 is fully manned." 
 
 But at noon he stood among them — in their midst before 
 they knew ! 
 He had lurked by night and hstened, and had waited 
 for the day 
 When trusting in the treaty, and the friendliness that 
 grew. 
 The men should mow the meadov/s in the forests far 
 away. 
 In his war-paint, with his warriors, the last of all his race, 
 He stood, the dusky traitor, silent, crafty, quick to see 
 There was not a single soldier to defy him to his face. 
 Or a sound that served for warning, or a foot that 
 turned to flee. 
 
 He would butcher them like cattle, every mother, maid, 
 and child ! 
 He would burn the crops and houses, and steal the store 
 of guns ! 
 And with two warriors left to guard the women weeping 
 wild. 
 With their hatchets to the block-house the whole squad 
 swiftly runs. 
 To the roof they climb, and quickly through the wood 
 they cut their way ; 
 So eager for the arms below, their murderous task must 
 wait. 
 
 129 
 
For long before the hay boats return with dying day, 
 They can be beyond the vengeance of the settlers' woe 
 and hate. 
 
 Then darted Mary Donaldson, so swift it seemed she flew. 
 
 Within her cabin doorway, and seizing ax and brand. 
 While both bewildered savages start wildly to pursue. 
 
 She gains the secret cellar of the block-house ere the 
 band 
 Above have seen or heard her : — and in a moment more, 
 
 A roar that shook the valley went thundering far away. 
 And rolling down the mountains, and dying down the 
 shore 
 
 Below the farthest settlement that on the river lay! 
 
 She had burst the stores of powder and flung the burning 
 brand. 
 And died to save the settlement ! — O swift to death she 
 sped, 
 And in the darkened doorway where they all had seen her 
 stand 
 Since the early morning spinning, stood her wheel with 
 broken thread. 
 
 O dreadful was the summons that through the valley 
 rang! 
 And hopeless were the hearts that heard in meadows 
 far away, 
 And in all the neighboring settlements to horse the settlers 
 sprang. 
 And rode towards the hamlet in the golden summer day. 
 And toiling^ up the river, in hot and frantic haste, 
 
 130 
 
Came back the boats of morning with wild, distracted 
 
 crews 
 Who strained their suffering eyes to see the hamlet laid 
 
 in waste, 
 — With heart-sick efforts rallying to bear a mortal 
 
 bruise. 
 
 And lo ! the hamlet rising unharmed above the cove. 
 
 The cabins in the clearing, the gardens and the mill. 
 The peaceful cattle feeding in the pastures and the grove. 
 And the ripening harvests waving untouched upon the 
 hill! 
 But the block-house in the stockade, beyond the farthest 
 field, 
 Is a mass of smoking ruins, and the woods are black 
 and bare! 
 O helpless wives and children! who was here to shield? 
 For embracing one another they are grouped together 
 there. 
 
 Then weeping forth to meet the men with pallid cheeks 
 they came. 
 And they clasped the miller's trembling hands and 
 stroked his whitened head. 
 And brokenly he looked at them and murmured Mary's 
 name. 
 And "Mary" was the only word he ever after said. 
 
 131 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF MAINE 
 
 Down the dark gorge in rushing flight 
 By frowning ridge and beethng scar, 
 
 We flash from darkness into hght 
 To break thy dream bright Onawa. 
 
 What wild and winged steed is this 
 
 That through the rock's heart shrieking flies? 
 That leaps the tarn and deep abyss 
 
 Below these blue October skies ? 
 
 This path was torn by Titan might ; 
 
 The mountain rock was rent and flung 
 Down shuddering chasms left and right ; 
 
 From cliff to cliff these spans were hung, 
 
 And forests hurled apart to make 
 
 A way for this swift steed to fly. 
 This blue bright morn his wings we take 
 
 And wood and wave and peak go by. 
 
 His giant heart-beats thrill us through. 
 
 — The poetry of motion this, — 
 Swift as the eagle skims the blue 
 
 We pass the towering precipice 
 
 And thunder down the long defile. 
 
 The bright woods flash away, and high 
 The purple mountains pile on pile 
 
 Loom round us in the cloudless sky. 
 
 132 
 
And forests hurled apart to make 
 A way for this swift steed to fly. 
 
Stout heart, strong brain and steady hand 
 Direct thy flight — we fear no ill. 
 
 Fly swifter yet, O, Giant grand! 
 
 Thou canst not work thine utmost will! 
 
 To these thou bearest on thy wing 
 This golden day hath no alloy. 
 
 The great woods shout, the caverns ring, 
 Thine onward rush is rhythmic joy. 
 
 133 
 
THE YEAR 
 
 A SHOWER of buds and bloom and dew, 
 
 Swift and sweet as rainbow light; 
 A sound of song and waters too, 
 
 Waking out of silent night. 
 Mists of green on field and hill, 
 
 On wood and valley, far and near; 
 Soft clouds sailing white and still. 
 
 One short day of beauty here, 
 And Spring had flown away. 
 
 The builders caroled in the dawn. 
 
 The rose-bloom deepened day by day, 
 The strawberry ripened and was gone. 
 
 The mowers came and made the hay. 
 Rich perfumes floated toward the sky 
 
 On pulsing, quivering waves of heat. 
 The locust and the bee went by. 
 
 And while the world was warm and sweet 
 The Summer went away. 
 
 The greenness ripened into gold 
 
 And brown and crimson everywhere ; 
 And brightness carpeted the wold 
 
 And floated down the mellow air. 
 The fruit and grain were garnered in ; 
 
 The smoke-wreaths rose above the wood ; 
 A soft hush fell where birds had been, 
 
 A loneliness where flowers had stood. 
 And Autumn passed away. 
 134 
 
The earth was still a little space, 
 
 And waited for its robe of white — 
 A wondrous robe, of fairy grace, 
 
 That fell and clothed it in a night. 
 And now the winter fires are lit. 
 
 And all the old-time games begun, 
 As in their cheerful light we sit ; 
 
 For all the Old Year's work is done 
 And he has flown away. 
 
 135 
 
THE WHITE THROATED SPARROW 
 
 Far away a wood bird sings 
 
 In the spruce's purple shade, 
 And I follow at the call 
 
 DoMTi a leafy cool arcade. 
 O, how far, how clear, how pure, 
 
 Is this liquid floating song! 
 Sweet bird spirit ! Vain my quest 
 
 Though I hear you all day long, 
 
 ''Come, come, follow me, follow me.'* 
 
 Here a sparrow builds her home 
 
 In the creviced, mossy ledge. 
 And a startled redwing flies 
 
 Like a fire spark from the hedge. 
 And the dusky wood is filled 
 
 With clear songs and flitting wings 
 While I follow wrapped in dreams 
 
 Where this lonely spirit sings 
 
 ''Come, come, follow me, follow me.*' 
 
 And I hope that some white day 
 
 In the cool wood shadows deep, 
 I shall end my patient search 
 
 And a rich reward shall reap — 
 In the solemn mystic shade 
 
 Where his dreamy music rings 
 I shall see my spirit bird. 
 
 Hark ! how sweet the song he sings, 
 
 "Come, come, follow me, follow me.*' 
 
 136 
 
THE WAYFARER 
 
 They wound the horn o'er fell and fen : 
 Their cavalcade was fine and gay: 
 
 They sang "All hearts are merry, when 
 The world is holding holiday 
 And wears the colors of the May !" 
 
 "In you the world is young again," 
 — Said one who sat beside the way, — 
 
 "And merry hearts are yours ! amen !" 
 
 — Her cloak and hood were hodden-gray, 
 Her life had known no happy play. 
 
 Her hands were hard ; her eyes were wise 
 And true and humble ; one could see 
 
 The color of the summer skies 
 
 Was in them still. — They checked their glee, 
 And sighed, "Alas, for such as she !" 
 
 She smiled ; "My road is rough," she said. 
 But here and there I sit and rest ; 
 
 "The stars are always overhead. 
 
 And night is like a mother's breast 
 When day has faded down the west." 
 
 "The dear earth seems a holy place 
 To souls that suffer long," said she, 
 
 "Nor want, nor pain, nor sin efface 
 The glory and the mystery 
 That make life sweet to such as me." 
 
 137 
 
"I would not have it otherwise ; 
 Why this is so I cannot say. 
 
 — My comfort cometh from the skies; 
 It riseth with the dawn of day, 
 And bideth till the evening gray." 
 
 O, merry makers, ride away ! 
 
 What though now holden are your eyes? 
 What though the golden moon of May 
 
 Doth not reveal her meaning wise? 
 
 'Twill dawn for you in wintry skies. 
 
 138 
 
THE CRY OF THE HUMAN 
 
 I AM a clod. I cannot read the rune 
 In splendor writ o'er all this beauteous world, 
 From dawn to dawn o'er skies and seas unfurled, 
 And green lands bourgeoning with life. The tune 
 The stars and tides obey as me they pass 
 I cannot hear. So dull am I and blind 
 That through earth's waiting years I cannot find 
 The life spark burning in a blade of grass. 
 I am a clod. 
 
 When shall I waken to the glory here, 
 Endowed with insight more divine, to see 
 Through all this beauty and this mystery. 
 And hear through life's now unheard harmony 
 The meaning that forever seems so near.? 
 
 189 
 
COMING HOME 
 
 The low, large moon looms redly through the rack 
 That drives across the east. The sun is down, 
 The lights begin to twinkle in the town. 
 
 The tree-boughs in the twilight toss and crack, 
 
 And warring voices of the winds come back 
 
 O'er miles of frozen moorlands bleak and brown; 
 Dark-boding cloud-shapes from the heavens frown, 
 
 And crowd the fading west with squadrons black. 
 
 But one clear star among the city lights 
 
 Was lit for me, and loving spirits wait 
 Within its radiance cheering, warm and sweet. 
 
 Ah ! bitterest and dreariest of nights ! 
 
 Thou hast no power to make me desolate. 
 The while these listen for my coming feet. 
 
 140 
 
FEBRUARY TWILIGHT 
 
 With snow the ground is shrouded and the sky 
 Is full of curdled clouds, dull, soft, and gray. 
 That wrap the mountain tops from sight away, 
 And darken the slow river creeping by. 
 Fringing the cliff, old elms and maples high 
 The graceful tracery of their boughs display. 
 Dark, dim and dreaming of the distant day 
 When to their shade the birds of song shall fly. 
 
 A silent dove wings softly through the gloom ; 
 
 A snow bird chirps ; and children's voices call 
 Beyond the hill where spires and chimneys loom 
 
 From out the grayness : — deeper shadows fall. 
 The steeple clock strikes six with muffled boom. 
 
 And sudden, starless night is over all. 
 
 14.1 
 
THE OLD HOME 
 
 A RANGE of hills clothed all with bare, black trees ; 
 A wide field blackened by December frost, 
 Its eastern limit by a dark stream crossed, 
 
 That now o'erflows and murmurs, ill at ease, 
 
 A low chant, chiming with the wistful breeze ; 
 Then, farther, dead, dark pines with trunks gray-mossed, 
 And wide, wide wastes in the flat distance lost, 
 
 And a sad sky close-bending over these. 
 I know, dear friend, 'tis not a pleasant land. 
 
 And yet, my heart is touched to see it so, 
 For it hath other phases, fair and grand ; 
 
 I've seen the summers grace it long ago. 
 The sweet years bless it with most lavish hand. 
 
 O sad old home ! thine inmost heart I know. 
 
 142 
 
re 
 
NIGHT ON THE FARM 
 
 'Tis dewfall on the lonely farm, 
 The flocks are gathered in the fold ; 
 The dusky air is soft as balm, 
 The daisies hide their hearts of gold. 
 
 Slow, drowsy tinkling bells are heard 
 In twilight pastures far and dim, 
 And in the dooryard trees a bird 
 Trills sleepily its evening hymn. 
 
 The dark blue deeps are full of stars ; 
 A lone lamp in the hillside glooms 
 
 A mile away is red as Mars ; 
 
 — The night is full of faint perfumes. 
 
 At bedtime in the quiet house 
 Up through the wide old rooms I go 
 Without a lamp, and not a mouse 
 Is stirring. Loudly to and fro 
 
 The old clock ticks, and easterly 
 The ancient windows open high. 
 Here the sun's kiss shall waken me 
 With bird songs welling up the sky. 
 
 143 
 
CURFEW 
 
 Come home, my heart, thou hast been wandering long, 
 The hght has wearied thee, the garish day. 
 Flowers, colors, perfumes, and tumultuous song ; 
 But now the night approaches, come away. 
 
 Cover the fire, the curfew call obey ; 
 For darkly pass the unmarked hours to morn, 
 In the still house, securely shut away 
 From warring echoes of the hours outworn. 
 
 Bid all good night : give o'er thine eager quest : 
 Softly shall sleep thy lingering hold release 
 On day dreams bright that lured thee long from rest : 
 Come home, my heart, and enter into peace. 
 
 144* 
 
THE CRICKET 
 
 Sweet elfin fifer, at the warm still close 
 Of August days, when first thy note I hear, 
 Within my heart a shadowy vision grows 
 Of dead leaves lying on the summer's bier. 
 
 Men call thee merry, but thy small voice seems 
 To me a plaintive requiem for the leaves ; 
 And yet I would not miss thee from my dreams 
 Beside the hearth on tranquil autumn eves. 
 
 For then again dear, vanished faces fill 
 The fire-lit room, and the rapt spirit hears 
 Soft and remote, thy lonely, tender trill 
 Throb in the stillness of remembered years. 
 
 And waking there, thy tiny pensive song 
 Chimes with the thought so close akin to tears. 
 That winter, night, and sleep are not for long. 
 That morn and spring should soothe our faithless fears. 
 
 Minstrel of hope ! The last voice of the year ! 
 The night is closing round thee dark and deep. 
 And still thou singest in the grasses sere 
 Where those I love have lain so long asleep. 
 
 145 
 
AWAITING THE STORM 
 
 In these gray fields the golden rod is sere, 
 The hardy aster fails, and o'er the woods, 
 Half hid in darkening mist a stillness broods 
 
 Unbroken by a bird note far or near : 
 
 But listen, and there rises faint and drear 
 A wail of winds from wide sea soHtudes, 
 That on the hushed and lonely shore intrudes. 
 
 And dies among the whistling grasses here. 
 
 It is the herald of the storm to be. 
 We wait with weed and stubble for the blast 
 
 That *hall come roaring from the midnight sea, 
 Pale shattered forms upon the sands to cast. 
 
 God's image is but clay : thou canst but free 
 What fears not thee, O wild Iconoclast ! 
 
 146 
 
TO A STAR FLOWER 
 
 O, WHITE star in the mosses ! 
 My heart with grief and loss is 
 
 Alone ! — Bereft of tears ! 
 But lo, a still voice holy, 
 From thee so pure and lowly, 
 
 My suffering spirit hears ! 
 
 So tiny and so lonely 
 
 I found thee, — and I only ! — 
 
 Thy face looks up to mine. 
 And while the sad day darkens, 
 My soul in anguish hearkens, 
 
 O, messenger divine ! 
 
 Thou frailest little flower, 
 Exhaling heavenly power ! 
 
 Thy beauty was unfurled 
 To touch one heart with healing. 
 The fount of tears unsealing, 
 
 For "God is in His world." 
 
 147 
 
TO THE VIOLETS 
 
 My violets, what spirit thrills 
 
 Your slender, trembling forms? 
 The same profound world secret fills 
 
 Your tiny veins that warms 
 Our eager, beating human hearts. 
 
 We name it Life — and lo. 
 From sight and reach its light departs ! 
 
 Oh, whither does it go? 
 
 Dear, dewy eyes in the tender grass 
 
 Uplifted here to bless ! 
 Sweet, lowly spirits ! When I pass 
 
 Your breath is a caress. 
 I love you and you look at me 
 
 From out a Land so near ! 
 A Land of Pure Reality 
 
 Whose soft winds fan us here. 
 
 And though we're deaf and blind we know 
 
 That all about us wait 
 Such messengers as these to show 
 
 That Heaven hath no gate 
 To bar us from its holiness 
 
 Its loveliness and calm. 
 O, violets, my days j^ou bless 
 
 With silent prayer and psalm ! 
 
 148 
 
AT THE WILLIMANTIC MILLS, SEBEC LAKE 
 
 Lo, here is the wildwood, mountain bridge, and here the 
 
 wild clematis grew 
 From "the days of old" ; and the waters white here rush 
 
 the dark rocks through, 
 And the song of the thrush is sweet on the brink, and the 
 
 summer fields are fair, 
 And the throbbing hum of labor fills all the golden air. 
 
 It was here when the lonely hills were still. 
 Before they had builded the busy mill. 
 That we came in the autumn bright and chill. 
 And climbed these rocks at our own sweet will. 
 
 But now roofs nestle among the trees. 
 The smoke of traffic is on the breeze ; 
 The whistle screams, and electric lights 
 Flash from the darkness of winter nights. 
 
 And yet the turmoil can never take 
 
 The peaceful wildness from rock and brake ; 
 
 The echoes dwell on the mountain side. 
 
 The shadows sleep in the forest wide. 
 
 And the waters rush through their rocky door 
 
 With the same deep chorus they sang of yore. 
 
 Did the little red hamlet grow in a dream 
 Among the mountains, beside the stream? 
 Behold how they shelter it, close and near. 
 As if they loved it and held it dear : 
 — Shall we sorrow then if the mountain glen 
 Holds in its warm heart homes for men ? 
 
 149 
 
THE SUNLIT SHOWER 
 
 Softly dancing down the shore 
 
 Came the silvered drops, while o'er us, 
 
 Flushed the skies from east to west 
 And the thrushes sang in chorus. 
 
 To their music danced the rain 
 
 On the dimpled, liquid plain. 
 
 It was near the sunset hour 
 
 And the dim world wore the splendor 
 Of the skies where rose and gold 
 
 Fading down to violet tender 
 Soft, transforming glory gave 
 Rock and mountain, wood and wave. 
 
 Through the glory danced the shower 
 To the thrushes' ringing measure, 
 
 And the rainbow sprang in sight, 
 — One foot o'er the hidden treasure, 
 
 Deeply in the bright lake drowned. 
 
 Where the gold may yet be found. 
 
 150 
 
WINGED SEEDS 
 
 Airy-feet, 
 Fairy-feet, 
 Far away flying, 
 Over the fields so fair sowing your gold ! 
 Light are you, 
 White are you. 
 Ghosts of the dying. 
 Fain would we fathom the secrets you hold. 
 
 In the mold 
 Low and cold 
 There are miracles growing. 
 Blind are we 
 Dull are we 
 Dumb and dark souled. 
 While the white winter is over us blowing, 
 But you, you will rise and your rays shall be gold. 
 
 Winging light. 
 Bringing bright 
 Dreams though winds sow you. 
 Frailest of fair things that sink to the sod; 
 O, could we know you. 
 As dark death doth show you. 
 Then with the sandals of light were we shod. 
 
 161 
 
CHANGE 
 
 The fresh, green fields are blurred with white and gold, 
 
 And longer, sunnier, sweeter days have come : 
 
 The flowers have dropped from cherry, pear and plum: 
 
 The apple blossoms on the bough grow old : 
 
 But everywhere the roses are unrolled. 
 
 And eager bees o'er cups of nectar hum: 
 
 In the hot noons the singing birds are dumb. 
 
 And the shade deepens in the maple wold. 
 
 Soft witcheries are wrought from day to day 
 
 So subtly, that unheeding we behold 
 
 The pristine glories fail and fade away, 
 
 Until the apple bloom is on the mould. 
 
 The dandelion's golden head is gray. 
 
 And Spring is as a story that is told. 
 
 15S 
 
THE DEAREST BIRD 
 
 This day of winter dark and drear, 
 The dearest bird of all the year 
 Comes freely to my window here 
 
 With gleeful song that gladdens me. 
 Summer and winter, spring and fall, 
 I hear his cheery, merry call. 
 And O I love him best of all, 
 
 My friendly little chickadee. 
 
 Alert and blithe, no cold benumbs 
 This dainty guest who daily comes 
 To dine upon his dole of crumbs 
 
 And bring a world of joy to me ; 
 Then gaily to the greenwood hies, 
 A speck of warmth in wintry skies, 
 A trusting heart in tiny guise, 
 
 O, blessed little chickadee ! 
 
 153 
 
EVENING 
 
 The fire has faded from the western panes, 
 
 A roseate flush suffuses all the sky ; 
 
 About the roofs the swallows dip and fly, 
 
 The sweet-breathed cows come up the clover lanes: 
 
 Far heard the lonely whippoorwill complains. 
 
 And through the deepening dusk the nighthawk's cry 
 
 Comes, and is gone. — An echo and reply. 
 
 While slowly from above the soft light wanes 
 
 And dewy darkness lulls the world to rest. 
 
 — Then all the tranquil sounds of evening cease. 
 
 The bird is brooding on its hidden nest, 
 
 The laborer from his toil has found release. 
 
 The dark earth takes her children to her breast. 
 
 And leaves and winds and waters whisper peace. 
 
 154 
 
THE NOON REST 
 
 Red rose leaves drop upon the black soil stilly 
 
 In the cool garden place: 
 Against the elm's dark bole a scarlet lily 
 
 Riseth in slender grace. 
 
 Softly the shadows of the tree leaves twinkle 
 
 O'er beds of phlox ablow, 
 And amber waters over warm rocks crinkle 
 
 With slumberous hum below. 
 
 Here where deep shade with peace and silence blendeth, 
 
 The farm hands take the boon 
 Of restful sleep while slow the hour glass spendeth 
 
 The golden sands of noon. 
 
 In the hot fields where falls no cooling shadow, 
 
 Fragrant and sweet and dry, 
 Down the dim slope and far across the meadow 
 
 The waiting windrows lie. 
 
 In the broad barns these brawny hands will store them 
 — Then welcome showers shall come. 
 
 And all night long the low soft rain song o'er them 
 Upon the roofs shall hum. 
 
 155 
 
TO THE PASTURE 
 
 To-day we turned the cows away 
 
 Among the grasses young and sweet. — 
 
 We drove them in the morning gray, 
 Before the sun came up and kissed 
 Into warm rose the dewy mist 
 
 That over all the pasture lay. 
 
 They wound along the olden road, 
 
 By bush and boulder, out and in ; 
 We heard the streamlet as it flowed, 
 And loud and long the leader lowed. 
 And merry robins made a din. 
 
 Ah me ; it was so good to hear 
 
 The birds among the budding trees 
 The silver birches shone so clear. 
 The bluets blossomed far and near. 
 
 And summer scents were in the breeze ! 
 
 The thickets wore a mist of green. 
 We heard the Hamadryads laugh 
 
 Among the echoes. — ^We had seen 
 
 Full many a time their garments gleam 
 Above that shining, glimmering stream 
 
 Where lithsome birches lean. 
 
 We sang for joy! — The sun of May 
 Came up and flooded all below. 
 
 And all the morning vapors gray 
 Took rosy wings and flew away. 
 . . To-day ? — I dreamed it was to-day ! 
 
 Why, this was twenty years ago ! 
 
 156 
 
NORTHERN MAINE 
 
 My native wilds ! for years untold, 
 The morning touched your hills with gold, 
 The north wind swept your fragrant glooms. 
 And bore the larch and pine perfumes 
 Across your lakes of lily blooms : 
 
 The fir, the hemlock and the pine 
 Sang on the heights ; — and moss and vine 
 Made many a far, dim valley sweet 
 And shadowy for the shy fawn's feet. 
 
 In silvery solitudes the loon 
 Laughed with the echoes ; and the moon 
 Made splendor on the mountains when 
 The Storm King slept, unseen of men. 
 
 woods and lakes and wandering streams ! 
 Ye have awakened from your dreams. 
 Your sweet breath blew abroad. Beware ! 
 The gay world comes and finds you fair. 
 
 — Will all wild things take wing away? 
 
 1 ween I would an' I were they. 
 Up these deep waterways I'd fare 
 If I were wolf, or moose, or bear. 
 Or bird, or fawn, or fox, or hare! 
 
 O Northern wilds ! you surely hold 
 In your great heart some refuge old. 
 Safe hid and far and deep and dumb, 
 Where the gay world can never come ! 
 
 167 
 
SWALLOW SONG 
 
 Oh, to feel the wild thrill of the swallow — 
 
 The wonder of the wing ! 
 On the soft, blue billows of air to follow 
 
 The summer and soar and sing ! 
 
 To drink blue air and to feel it flowing 
 Through every dainty plume ; 
 
 Uplifting, pillowing, bearing, blowing, 
 And the earth below in bloom. 
 
 "Is it far to heaven, O swallow, swallow?" 
 
 The heavy hearted sings ; 
 "For I watch thy flight and I long to follow 
 
 The while I wait for wings." 
 
 158 
 
THE RIVER 
 
 Strong singer, in the summer dark, 
 While the white village lies asleep, 
 
 Lit only by the firefly's spark, 
 
 Thy rhythmic chanting low and deep, 
 Relieveth the long watch I keep. 
 
 And into words of strength and hope. 
 Thy rich and solemn measures flow, 
 
 Till all the starry spaces ope, 
 And on thy winged voice I go 
 To my dear dreamland, drifting slow. 
 
 There, the chill shadow like a fear. 
 That hovereth over me and mine. 
 
 Doth drop away, and God is near. 
 
 And through the dark the still stars shine. 
 And clear I hear the countersign. 
 
 159 
 
THE SWAN'S ROAD TO KATAHDIN 
 
 Sailing through soft, mid-summer hours, we go 
 The "Swan's road to Katahdin." Lakes and streams 
 Break the deep woods with shining paths that flow 
 From thee to me, O, mountain of my dreams ! 
 
 The far Northeast, thy shadowy reahn of snows. 
 Was part of Heaven for me in days long flown. 
 And thou — when after storm thy form arose, 
 Majestic, glorious — wast the great White Throne. 
 
 As this dream melted like the morning's breath, 
 The Indian hunter to our hearth would come 
 With legends of a spirit dark as death, 
 Who made thy lone and hoary height his home. 
 
 But the glad years have brought me one by one, 
 Dreams that come true. Before the boat, hope flies 
 To thy fair altar shining in the sun. . . 
 — O, that thine high priest were a poet wise ! 
 
 That there might be unblemished off'erings. 
 Worship embalmed in song's ambrosial wine. 
 Upborne to thee on bright, immortal wings. 
 And poured upon thy pure, supernal shrine. 
 
 . . . How wilt thou welcome us, O, lonely king? 
 — Thy royal promise for a king is meet. 
 Thou wilt uphold us in the clouds and bring 
 Thy wild and lovely kingdom to our feet. 
 
 160 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP 
 
 Only the warm blue splendor of the sky 
 Unflecked above us, and below us, dim, 
 Refreshed with dews, and fair with shadows, lie 
 The lake-starred wilds that meet the sky's low rim. 
 
 Below the dawn, adown the orient steeps 
 We slowly swim, and all the shadowy world 
 Drifts in a dream beneath the upper deeps 
 Of summer glory hour by hour unfurled. 
 
 Under the noon and down the opening night 
 We hold our solemn march among the stars. 
 Star dwellers we, upon our course of light. 
 — Why should we long to burst our prison bars ? 
 
 161 
 
LIFE 
 
 Through earth and heaven, moves the mystic power 
 
 That warms all flesh, and lifts the tree and rose — 
 
 — The breath divine that through all being flows. 
 
 — Thought, action, growth and change, immortal dower 
 
 It brings to man ; and in the wayside flower 
 
 He finds the force that in his own heart glows. 
 
 The soul of all that breathes or blooms or grows, 
 
 Creating, recreating, hour by hour. 
 
 O blind, blind seeker ! to the primal cell 
 
 Tracing this spirit with dissecting knife! 
 
 Dost thou not hear in every passing bell, 
 
 In pain and darkness, sin and doubt and strife, 
 
 The voice that breathes through earth and heaven and 
 
 hell, 
 Sun, moon and farthest star — "I am the life" ? 
 
 162 
 
OF LITTLE FAITH 
 
 Man deems his life a shadow on the grass 
 
 Because the pyramids must pass away, 
 
 And joy and sorrow are but for a day, 
 And bloom and beauty and all sweet things pass. 
 Pass from his sight. Darkly as through a glass 
 
 He sees death's changes going on for aye, 
 
 Hears no new hymn break through the heavens gray, 
 And names earth's noblest song but sounding brass. 
 For mortal cannot fathom love and might 
 
 Immortal. Even as man's feeble art 
 Fails to explore the nearest star of night, 
 
 So fails his faith to see through loss and smart 
 How all that passes, changing, from his sight 
 
 Is held unwasted in the Eternal Heart. 
 
 163 
 
LONGING FOR REST 
 
 To dream at ease upon a green hill's breast, 
 
 O'er looking a wide valley far below 
 
 Where noiselessly bright, winding waters flow, 
 By floating perfumes and soft winds caressed, 
 And lulled by bird songs in my bowery nest. 
 
 To watch the cool cloud shadows slowly go 
 
 Over fair fields and woodlands, and to know 
 The inland stillness and its peace and rest 
 Would heal this hurt. Deep breaths of sea air blown 
 
 O'er thundering surf upthrown to beat the shore. 
 Give strength to those who love the sea winds loud. 
 
 I fain would steal away awhile alone 
 To think and dream of days that are no more. 
 
 Mid inland scenes "Far from the madding crowd." 
 
 164j 
 
SONNET: TWILIGHT 
 
 Now comes the twilight angel to divide 
 
 The light from darkness, stress and toil from sleep, 
 
 With one calm hour for meditation deep. 
 
 Day's bright and blinding veil is drawn aside 
 
 To show us where the eternal stars abide 
 
 And let the soul its earthly bounds o'er leap. 
 
 Refreshing presence ! Holy tryst we keep 
 
 With peace and silence at the eventide. 
 
 Downward to night and sleep we softly float, 
 
 The far off morn is but a distant dream. 
 
 The day's long turmoil now is grown remote. 
 
 Life's longed-for prizes lightly we esteem 
 
 In this blest hour with hope and memory fraught, 
 
 And all earth's petty cares are set at naught. 
 
 165 
 
THE LAND-LOCKED LAKE 
 
 Its bounds are set. The mountains tower. 
 Stern, granite warders, dark and high. 
 But in its heart it holds the sky, 
 And evermore its clear deeps flower 
 With stars, when radiant night goes by. 
 
 The wild rose blows about its brink, 
 The cool tree shadows kiss its breast. 
 But from its heart of deep unrest 
 The highest clouds of heaven drink ; 
 It feels the far seas strong behest. 
 
 Unseen its silent currents fall 
 And rise in circling destiny, 
 For it is one with sky and sea. 
 And barred within its rocky wall. 
 Is dreaming of immensity. 
 
 166 
 

 a; 
 
 o 
 
 
 
THROUGH THE TEMPEST 
 
 We met the tempest midway on the plain. 
 
 A Titan force, wind-winged, with roar and flame 
 
 And trampling legions of the air it came. 
 
 Straight at its front we drove with thundering train. 
 
 Then ruin raged around us : — plunging rain, 
 Fire bolts and stones of ice with crashing aim. 
 And shocks that seemed to shake earth's solid frame- 
 — But on, though chaos roared, we rushed amain. 
 
 Out of the blackness with triumphant blast 
 We swept. Blue splendor broke a dazzling rift. 
 Deep, booming thunders answered, dying fast 
 Down the dark earth behind us. Dim and swift. 
 We watched the spent storm fade in distance vast 
 And on before us new horizons lift. 
 
 167 
 
TO THE ORIOLE 
 
 Bright Oriole, beautiful guest! 
 
 Sweet as a dream is the thought 
 
 That thou — the fair South in thy quest — 
 
 A home in our summer hast sought. 
 
 O rare, golden starling! thy wings 
 Are a flash of soft flame in the air ! 
 And thy nest, a bird miracle, swings 
 From our elms like the blossom they bear. 
 
 Fine art to its making doth lend 
 
 A mystery mocking our aid ; 
 
 No deft human fingers could mend 
 
 This wonderful house thou hast made. 
 
 Clear, fresh, like a flute is thy call. 
 Round, rich, — yet a tremble, a ring 
 Of the earth sorrow born in us all. 
 To thy strain in its closing doth cling. 
 
 O stay, sunny starling, and build 
 With our thrushes and sparrows, and sing 
 O'er our homes and our graves ; thou dost gild 
 Our paths with the gleam of thy wing. 
 
 168 
 
WAITING FOR SPRING 
 
 Against the soft, gray, rainy sky 
 The naked trees show dark ; 'tis eve, 
 And round the house the warm winds grieve, 
 And deep I hear the pine tree sigh 
 For tardy spring. 
 
 A lone bird in the maple boughs 
 Chirps sweetly shrill, then waits alone, 
 For all the little flock have flown 
 That came, this morn, about the house 
 And sang of spring. 
 
 O Bluebird, stay to-night and sing! 
 Sing out your faith, then fly away 
 To other fields to sing of spring 
 And wake the promise of the May, 
 The slow, sweet spring. 
 
 Sing of green fields and leafy woods. 
 And dancing brooks and sunny hills, 
 And that warm, quivering air that fills 
 The high, blue boundless solitudes 
 Of sky in May. 
 
 Then though the shrouded sky be low. 
 And bare the dripping boughs, and dumb. 
 We'll trust thy song that days shall come 
 When leaves shall burst and buds shall blow 
 In spring, in spring. 
 
 169 
 
A QUESTION 
 
 What if some element beyond our ken, 
 More subtle than the soft, vibrating air, 
 Filling infinity, should forever bear 
 Outward in silence all the words of m«i 
 And the forgotten past be read again? 
 
 What if celestial phonographs are there 
 
 Forever keeping on the tablets fair 
 Unending records with unerring pen? 
 
 What if with effortless, immortal art, 
 The soul of all the past in light and sound 
 
 Is registered within the future's heart. 
 And we, slow moving on our orbit round. 
 
 Should find the sweet, lost past again, and see 
 Life's circle rounded in eternity? 
 
 170 
 
A NOVEMBER IDYL 
 
 When evening falls and lonely darkness creeps 
 
 Across the threshold where the dead leaves lie, 
 The busy mother puts her sewing by, 
 
 Makes bright the fire and clean the hearthstone sweeps ; 
 For still the baby in the cradle sleeps ; 
 
 And somewhere out beneath the dull, dim sky, 
 
 The father and the boys are drawing nigh 
 And her warm heart with a glad welcome leaps. 
 
 And while her hand prepares the savory food. 
 She thinks how still the house has been all day, 
 
 How lonely baby was and how she cooed, 
 And watched them, wistful, when they went away. 
 
 Till lo ! the latch is Hf ted ! Well and good ! 
 The baby wakes and all the house is gay. 
 
 171 
 
LISTENING 
 
 Down lonely woodland paths through glens remote 
 
 Where sylvan silence reigns the livelong day, 
 
 And restful shadow shuts the world away, 
 
 We wander listening for a wood birds note. 
 
 For through these aisles at times a song doth float 
 
 Divinely sweet — And haply while we stray 
 
 Amid the haunts where erst we heard the lay 
 
 T'will burst again from that melodious throat. 
 
 Here silently the gray hawk sails the blue 
 
 And softly shod the rabbit hies from sight. 
 
 The fragrance of the woods comes drifting through 
 
 The wind-stirred leaves that sift the trembling light 
 
 And whisper "Listen !" All is hushed for you 
 
 O, Song bird shy, Whom these deep shades invite. 
 
 172 
 
THE DAYSPRING 
 
 We leave the dewy light of morn and go 
 
 Adown the long day's splendor till it dies 
 
 Behind us and the darkness fills the skies. 
 
 Then wrapped in sleep we float a space — and lo, 
 
 The dewy light again. So, circling, flow 
 
 The days and years. The morning light that flies, 
 
 Returns again. Will Youth's lost light arise 
 
 With that far Dawn to which we circle slow 
 
 With new worlds breaking on us strange and fair.? 
 
 Will the same glory that we knew of old. 
 
 The Dayspring, the immortal morning air 
 
 Breathing upon us o'er the hills of gold. 
 
 The Light and Love of Long Ago be there 
 
 In that deep Dawn we journey to behold .^^ 
 
 173 
 
YOUTH AND AGE 
 
 O DAY SO gray you could not chill me ; 
 
 In that sweet time far off and fair, 
 Though loud winds shrieked and echoed shrilly, 
 
 And wild rain washed the woodlands bare; 
 Though sodden fields stretched cold, unvaried, 
 And birds flew south on weary wing. 
 For in my happy heart I carried 
 The hope and promise of the spring. 
 
 day so gay you cannot thrill me ! 
 
 Your light and perfume, shower and song 
 Your bloom and brightness only fill me 
 With old-time memories sweet and strong. 
 
 1 would not bid your swift hours tarry, 
 I do not hasten at your call 
 
 For in my thankful heart I carry 
 The joy and fruitage of the Fall. 
 
 174 
 
PERSONAL AND OCCASIONAL POEMS 
 
A WRAITH 
 
 On starless nights a little boat 
 With silent oar and naked spar, 
 
 Soft as the white owl's flight will float 
 In shore where sleeping campers are. 
 
 Strangers ! O, little boat away ! 
 
 These are not those you lightly bore 
 With bounding keel and colors gay, 
 
 O'er bright Sebec in days of yore. 
 
 For long ago they went away 
 
 To wider shores. O, little boat, 
 
 You too grew old, long, long you lay 
 Bereft — then vanished. Now you float 
 
 Across the dreams of those, who still 
 
 Remembering, still sadly stray 
 Back through the past when dim and chill 
 
 The night mists wrap the mountains gray. 
 
 Thou wast a wonder, we recall 
 The craftsmen tried to copy thee, 
 
 Light, swift, alert, eluding all 
 Who sought to mold a mystery. 
 
 Thou hadst thy day and hearts were young 
 
 And life a summer holiday. 
 Thou wast a treasure there among 
 
 A merry band of youth, at play. 
 ITT 
 
 r^ 
 
staunch little craft, the echoes sang 
 Thy spirit name on Granite Hill. 
 
 It died unwritten there where rang 
 Dear voices now forever stiU. 
 
 178 
 
ALMA 
 
 We loved her for her gentleness and grace, 
 Her modesty and beauty. All her ways 
 
 Were lovely as the sunshine of her face, 
 And full of willing service were her days. 
 
 A tender sister, loving daughter, friend 
 Unselfish and devoted. Few her years 
 
 On earth, but full of sweetness that shall lend 
 The balm of grateful memories for our tears. 
 
 So dear and dutiful ! Her faithful care 
 
 For failing age, the thoughtful love that blessed 
 
 Her own home circle make her memory fair 
 
 And fragrant in the hearts that knew her best — 
 
 More than all else this bounteous earth can give, 
 Far more than fame or wealth or length of days. 
 
 Is this sweet gift of Alma's, — just to live 
 A duteous life of love in lowly ways. 
 
 179 
 
BEREFT 
 
 O BROKEN and bleeding hearts : 
 Our hearts must mourn with you, 
 Above the lovely face that fades 
 Forever from our view. 
 
 We are blind with tears and we cannot see 
 
 How fair the mansions be: 
 
 — Too deaf with the strife of life to hear 
 
 The bells of Heaven ring soft and clear. 
 
 O, blest and beautiful one ! 
 
 — ^Was ever a child more dear? — 
 
 We will not think of you still and cold. 
 
 You are not lying here, 
 
 But looking down from the heights above. 
 With clearer vision, and deeper love. 
 And a larger hope, on the loved below 
 Than ever our earth-bound hearts can know. 
 
 O, dear and precious dust! 
 If the soul that has soared away 
 Could come again to those beautiful lips. 
 We know the words it would say : 
 "Be comforted, Father and Mother ! 
 
 Weep not O, Sister and Brother ! 
 
 I have found that death is a glorious birth ; 
 
 God's last and sweetest gift to earth." 
 
 180 
 
AT BROWN'S CAMP 
 
 J5ECLUDED from the beaten ways, 
 The forest lake, hill-girdled, shines, 
 Where safe we rest through halcyon days 
 Of sun and soft autumnal haze, 
 Forgetting life's relentless lines. 
 
 Sojourners here the world forsa.ke: 
 Care fades away to realms remote. 
 Down shadowy aisles by ledge and brake 
 We follow ways the wild things take 
 And dream we hear Pan's pipe of oat. 
 
 Or resting by the sandy shore. 
 
 We watch the slow, cloud shadows creep 
 
 Across the sunny hills and o'er 
 
 The water's smooth and shining floor 
 
 Where hills and woods are mirrored deep. 
 
 And here above the beach of stones. 
 Kin to the woods that round it grow, 
 And blending with the dusky tones 
 Of massive trunks and ripened cones. 
 Rises our broad-roofed bungalow. 
 
 All day no traveller intrudes, 
 Though silent voyagers come and go, 
 — Late birds above the brilliant woods 
 Cleaving the blue sky solitudes, 
 And boats upon the blue below. — 
 
 181 
 
Two highways, wide and free and clear 
 For wing and keel, — ^We float or fly, 
 All wayfarers who enter here. — 
 Through limpid waterwa^^s we steer, 
 Or sweep the pure fields of the sky. 
 
 Northward the crowded shore hills break 
 And out beyond the mountains loom. 
 Huge rugged peaks and domes that take 
 The softest tints of sky and lake. 
 Pearl, rose and gold, or purple bloom. 
 
 The changing light on these bright hills, 
 Revealing, veiling crag and scar. 
 The glow of falling leaves that fills 
 The air, the balm the pine distills. 
 Sunrise and sunset, moon and star, 
 
 The nightly glamor of the wood. 
 Low winds and softly falling rain 
 Refresh the heart with Nature's mood 
 Of rest, while peace and silence brood 
 Above the loveliest lake in Maine. 
 
 Ift9. 
 
AT CAMDEN 
 
 (August, 1892) 
 (To M. A. C.) 
 
 We sat together through the summer hours 
 While slow sails glimmered o'er the silver deep, 
 
 And deemed those days would vanish like their flowers-. 
 But lo, we find them fadeless — ours to keep. 
 
 Again in dreams we see the pictures rise. 
 
 The Camden hills, the slumbering isles, the sea, 
 
 And over all the warm blue summer skies 
 Veiling the sea and land with glamourie. 
 
 The tide's low lapping I can hear to-day 
 
 Among the boulders and the seaweed brown, 
 
 Where dreamy breezes bring or bear away 
 The softened clamor of the little town. 
 
 Faintly afar the bell-buoy booms, and near. 
 The soothing sound of insects in the sun ; 
 
 And one bird's ceaseless song peals sweet and clear 
 From the deep thickets till the day is done. 
 
 You name the headlands and the coves anew 
 As fancies quaint the happy hours beguile. — 
 
 Shall we forget across the harbor blue 
 
 The sentinel "ostrich" on his lonely isle.? 
 
 Shall we forget the homeward drives along 
 
 The darkening shore? the mountains' purple glooms? 
 
 The light waves whispering a low sea song? 
 The salt air laden with the woods' perfumes? 
 
 18S 
 
The pleasant circle that was gathered then 
 In the bright rooms at eve is severed wide ; 
 
 But in our hearts the long days live again 
 By the summer sea's soft splendor glorified. 
 
 184 
 
AT NIGHTFALL 
 
 The hurrying shadows gather fast 
 As the train speeds on, and the town is passed 
 And the dark-bridged stream. Now Memory wake, 
 And wring the heart that will never break ! 
 
 The west is yet like a golden isle: 
 
 Tarry, O Light, for a little while! 
 On good giant ! Thy wildest speed 
 Through the gathering dark will meet my need : 
 For I must pass in this ride to-night, 
 
 A home and a grave. O, tarry light, 
 And grant one glimpse ere the radiance dies ! 
 — Between the hills to the east will rise 
 The vision, — Hush ! — It has come — and gone — 
 
 A humble roof and a pallid stone, 
 With wide jfields waking from wintry sleep. 
 — Spring, be tender my trust to keep ! 
 — O, does he see from the pitying skies. 
 That I pass in the darkness with tear-blind eyes ! 
 
 185 
 
BIRTHDAY LINES 
 
 My friend, these fresh and fragrant hours 
 That close your fourscore years and nine, 
 Trace precious promises with flowers 
 About my feet in many a sign. 
 
 Interpreting the flowery rune. 
 Across the pleasant fields I went, 
 Till echoes of your natal June 
 With this morn's mirth and music blent. 
 
 Peace, beauty, light and glory filled 
 The hour, and as I thought of you, 
 Anew the glad hope through me thrilled 
 Which human hearts have held as true. 
 
 That death is birth, — our lives but change 
 From night to morn, from old to new ; 
 Sown darkly, reaped in light — the range 
 Forever widening out of view. 
 
 And comfort came for every grief, 
 And every seeming-cruel wound 
 That frets our little lives so brief : 
 For when the cold insensate ground 
 
 Throbs into bloom above its graves, 
 Heart-glad, — akin to flower and clod. 
 We doubt no more. He smites, he saves. 
 And we are His and He is God. 
 
 180 
 
BLANCHARD 
 
 Come down the mountain road that leads 
 To this fair, inland, hill-girt town 
 
 Where bold above its blooming meads 
 You see Mount Russell's forest crown. 
 
 This mountain dominates the town. 
 
 Through all the green-walled valley sweet, 
 Farm-house and village nestle down 
 
 Around the grim, old monarch's feet. 
 
 And through this happy valley breaks 
 The bright Piscataquis, and here 
 
 A mirror for the hills it makes, 
 
 — The wooded hills that crowd so near. 
 
 This Shirley road will haunt your dreams 
 With witching glimpses wild and fair. 
 
 Below you here the river gleams. 
 
 The mountain looms above you there. 
 
 And here a quarry's ghastly seam. 
 And there a bower that hides the blue. 
 
 And here the pines where eagles scream, 
 The breath of balsam floating through. 
 
 The Blanchard meadows green and low, 
 Run in among the shadowy hills 
 
 Where miles of waving grasses blow. 
 Whose fragrance all the v«i<lley fills. 
 
 187 
 
And when you've reached the last hill crest 
 Above the sheltered village there, 
 
 You feel that here the soul may rest 
 With summer and forget its care. 
 
 The Moosehead trains sweep out and in, 
 And through the peaceful hills are heard 
 
 Wild echoes mimicking the din. 
 
 As though to sudden anger stirred. 
 
 All else is peace. The pretty town 
 Adream beneath the summer sky. 
 
 Escapes invasion and renown. 
 And lets the noisy world go by. 
 
 ISS 
 
CALLED HOME 
 
 Friend of my childish years ! to-night 
 In memory's clear and fadeless light 
 
 How the warm pictures rise and glow ! 
 A child I stand beside her knee, 
 Her hearth fires shine again for me 
 
 From out the land of Long Ago. 
 
 I dream till on my ear a bell 
 
 Tolls softly: 'tis the old year's knell, 
 
 And star and moon are shining bright. 
 Her lights are out, her hearth is cold ; 
 And she, no longer ill and old, 
 
 Has passed beyond our sight. 
 
 A year of pain ! She watched the snow 
 Fade slowly and the spring buds blow ; 
 
 — Soft-footed summer came and went,— 
 The golden leaves of Autumn fell 
 And winter whitened hill and dell 
 
 Ere Peace her angel sent. 
 
 Her glad faith grew as day by day 
 She felt the earth chains fall away 
 
 And waited for the call: 
 Long in the dark and dying year 
 Her listening spirit yearned to hear 
 
 The welcome message fall. 
 
 "I'm almost home," with trembling hand 
 She wrote, when violets starred the land 
 
 189 
 
And singing birds were come; 
 And now, the weary, waiting past, 
 How sweet to feel she finds at last 
 
 Her loved and lost — and home. 
 
 190 
 
CAMP SOLITUDE 
 
 The Spirit of the summer wilds 
 
 Sent down the day by breeze and bird, 
 A summons that our sad hearts heard, 
 
 (She soothes all sorrow with her smiles.) 
 
 And so we sought the sylvan shore 
 And healing waters still and lone. 
 That whisper of the loved and gone 
 
 Who seek with us these haunts no more. 
 
 Beside the lake they loved so well, 
 With plumy woods on either hand. 
 On a green bluff above the sand 
 
 We pitched our tent and here we dwell. 
 
 Here, points and islands wooded deep. 
 Below us, eastward softly break 
 The loYi blue waters of the lake 
 
 In coves and pools where shadows sleep. 
 
 The woods go north, far, green and dark, 
 O'er deep ravines and vales and hills. 
 At morn we trace their hidden rills 
 
 By mists that rise their course to mark. 
 
 Southward we hear, at break of day. 
 The cocks crow on the distant farms ; 
 The hound's deep bay wakes far alarms, 
 
 And cow bells tinkle as they stray. 
 
 191 
 
At noon the partridge beats tattoo ; 
 
 At dead of night when winds are rough, 
 The loons sail up below the bluff, 
 
 And wake us with their wild halloo. 
 
 From out the dells the chickadee 
 
 Comes forth to share our evening meal ; 
 The gull and fish hawk dip and wheel. 
 
 And blue jays call from cliff and tree. 
 
 From morn till eve the cricket sings ; 
 The fairest brook our eyes have seen 
 Comes murmuring down the dim ravine. 
 
 And to the lake its treasure brings. 
 
 And sky and water change like dreams. 
 Sometimes below our little boat 
 The cloud-strewn blue is seen to float. 
 
 Sometimes a sunset glory streams 
 
 Across the waters and they take 
 The rose and gold and purple on ; 
 Again the tender hues of dawn 
 
 Flow down and fill the dreaming lake. 
 
 And shower and storm and wind come o'er 
 The northern hills, by turns, and break 
 The waters into foam and shake 
 
 The shores and set the woods aroar. 
 
 And then, in breezy days of sun. 
 We lie for hours upon the steep 
 And watch the great cloud shadows sweep 
 
 The hills and down the waters run. 
 
 192 
 
This is the land of Afternoon ; 
 
 The golden hours bring time for thought ; 
 
 With rest, and peace, and meaning fraught, 
 We take them as a precious boon. 
 
 Here talk, nor toil, nor cares intrude. 
 On the calm tide we float and dream, 
 Down drifting gently with the stream, 
 
 Through the sweet haunts of solitude. 
 
 193 
 
THE SEEKER 
 
 (To E. L. M.) 
 
 Alone he walks the wintry wold, 
 The stars above, the snow below; 
 Before, whate'er the years may hold, 
 Behind, the joys of long ago. 
 
 His upward winging thought repeats 
 The old, old questions, whence? and why? 
 His upward seeking spirit meets 
 Only the calm, unanswering sky. 
 
 But ever round him year by year. 
 The silent wonders of the sod 
 Are worked — in darkness — Even here 
 From day to day he walks with God 
 
 And wots not what the days bequeath. 
 "Nearer than hands and feet" is He 
 In whom we live and move and breathe. 
 And sharers in His work are we. 
 
 Full soon, O, Brother, it is spring ! 
 Here with us is the Power that makes 
 The wild rose bloom, the wood thrush sing. 
 When out of sleep the world awakes. 
 
 Look into thine own soul to seek 
 In broken lights and starry gleams, 
 The One who rules our winter bleak. 
 And lifts the heart of man with dreams, 
 194 
 
DECEMBER FIRST 
 
 My Mother's birthday. O, my Friend, 
 Within my heart dear memories stir, 
 
 Dear memories of thee and her. 
 
 And one White Day that "hath no end." 
 
 The soft snow fell as 'round the fire 
 We sat and happy converse held, 
 
 While from thy lips love's sweetness welled, 
 And in thine eyes shone love's desire. 
 
 To-day I may not clasp thy hand 
 
 Or look into thy shining eyes, 
 But love o'erleaps the sea and land 
 
 And find its own beyond the skies. 
 
 195 
 
ELLIE WARREN 
 
 Sweet and bonny Ellie Warren, 
 Where the dandehons grow 
 
 By the wayside, in the Maytime, 
 Merrily you go ! 
 
 Cheeks aglow and brown eyes beaming. 
 
 Golden hair unbound ; 
 — Never fairer flower of springtime 
 
 Blooms above the ground. — 
 
 Other little maidens with you 
 
 Put on pretty airs. 
 And self-conscious scan each playmate 
 
 And the dress she wears. 
 
 But your hands are busy culhng 
 
 Every golden star. 
 And your heart is all unconscious 
 
 Of how sweet you are. 
 
 Angels guard you, little Ellie! 
 
 May you ever go 
 Finding all the common blossoms 
 
 That in God's garden grow. 
 
 And with clear eyes pure and fearless. 
 
 Innocent and free. 
 Look up in the world's face, smiling. 
 
 As you looked at me. 
 
 1% 
 
FOR FLORA'S WEDDING DAY 
 
 Dear Flora, through the falling snow, 
 Thy happy message came to me, 
 
 And lo, 
 The winds of Spring began to blow. 
 And birds to sing in every tree. 
 And voices in the snowy morn. 
 Sang clear and sweet, "Awake, bestir 
 Thine idle muse thou holdst in scorn, 
 
 And weave a pretty rhyme for her 
 
 This friend you love. — Let hope and joy, 
 
 And love and peace, and happiness. 
 
 Breathe music sweet without alloy. 
 
 Through every line. May heaven bless 
 
 Her wedding day." — How sweet they sang, 
 
 I cannot even hope to tell. 
 
 And ever like an alto, rang 
 
 Low deep and clear, a marriage bell. 
 
 The air was full of snowy wings. 
 
 My heart was full of happy song ; 
 
 All joyous, glad, and bright-winged things 
 
 Came trooping in a merry throng 
 
 To aid my task. I could but sing 
 
 A little song — heartfelt and free. 
 
 And full of wishes kind, to bring. 
 
 My friend, and offer here to thee. 
 
 Let joy go round. The year is young. 
 The lands are robed in bridal white; 
 
 197 
 
The moon her silvery veil has flung 
 
 O'er all the hills and fields to-night. 
 
 But through our mirth and wedding cheer, 
 
 The breath and dream of Spring shall flow, 
 
 And Peace, the dove, shall nestle here. 
 
 To bless this home. — And clear and low 
 
 Shall angel voices blend with ours. 
 Unheard, and unseen faces bow 
 Beside this hearth, and fadeless flowers 
 Be wreathed in love around thv brow. 
 
 198 
 
FOXCROFT POOR FARM 
 
 How sad the words of that most touching song 
 Of thankless children, and heart-breaking wrong, 
 Where an old mother feeble, bent and grey. 
 Dumb, in the cheerless weather rides away 
 "Over the hills to the poor farm!" 
 
 These words were sounding through my idle brain 
 Their ceaseless, sorrowful and sad refrain 
 As we rode down in the rich sunset light 
 That first calm, beautiful October night, 
 "Over the hills to the poor farm." 
 
 No pauper dwells within these peaceful walls, 
 On these fair fields no blighting shadow falls : 
 But purple mountains in the distance rise. 
 And soft cloud shadows from the mellow skies 
 Float over Foxcroft Poor Farm. 
 
 All sights and sounds that make the twilight sweet. 
 Here in this valley round the bright Lake meet, 
 And the low hills that cluster to its brink 
 Gaze in the mirror where the cattle drink 
 Below the Foxcroft Poor Farm. 
 
 Far off grim Borestone Hfts his granite cone 
 And Slate and Whitecap their allegiance own : 
 A ring of rounded, richly wooded hills 
 North, east and west the near horizon fills 
 Around the Foxcroft Poor Farm. 
 199 
 
The yellow cottage and the barn roofs brown 
 In the green fields are softly nestled down, 
 A peaceful picture of a rural home 
 Which well might tempt some weary soul to come 
 And dwell at Foxcroft Poor Farm. 
 
 And there when Autumn dons her gala dress, 
 To pitch our tent beside the wilderness, 
 Gladly below the maple boughs aglow. 
 And up the aster-bordered roads we go 
 "Over the hills to the poor farm." 
 
 By sail or oar within our little boat 
 
 From Willimantic to Sebec we float: 
 
 From camp to Bowerbank : sure to turn the helm 
 
 And steer at nightfall for the Stedman elm 
 
 That crowns the Foxcroft Poor Farm. 
 
 » 
 
 Off shore the echoes catch the words we speak 
 And fling our calls about from peak to peak. 
 Till sinking, failing, with the fading light. 
 The faintest echo of our last "good night" 
 Dies over the hills of the poor farm. 
 
 200 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN 
 
 Gardener, let the scarlet poppies grow ! 
 
 Keep the marigolds, the hollyhocks and phlox; 
 Leave the beds of purple pansies blooming low, 
 
 With the bright little pinks and four-o'clocks. 
 
 Spare a place for the southernwood and balm, 
 For the mint and the tansy and the sage ; 
 
 We would not have these treasures come to harm 
 That cheered and soothed her feeble, failing age. 
 
 Through these trim little aisles she used to walk. 
 In the fresh early mornings of the spring. 
 
 And welcome every shoot and budding stalk, 
 And teach these morning-glories how to chng. 
 
 I do not care for airy Sago palm, 
 
 For cactuses or Spanish bayonet. 
 These foreign grandees on the old home farm 
 
 Would weed-like make poor Grandma's Bouncing Bet, 
 
 Here are roses dewy, fragrant, white and red ; 
 
 Here are lilies dainty-chaliced, fair and tall. 
 Were there ever sweeter, richer perfumes shed? 
 
 Were there ever fairer blossoms made to fall.? 
 
 The world is wide, and in the farthest lands 
 Are lovely things that blossom in the dew ; 
 
 But these — why, they grew beneath her hands ! 
 We still will keep them sacred, — would not you? 
 
 Wl 
 
HAIL AND FAREWELL! 
 
 (An Hour at Alton)" 
 
 O LONELY lot, with frosty bloom ablaze ; 
 
 The slanting beams that set thy leaves ashine, 
 
 The far-off hills bedimmed with purple haze, 
 
 The melancholy music of the pine 
 
 Fill the soft air with many a mystic sign 
 
 To which my sad, remembering heart replies. 
 
 Within, where crickets sing, a sacred shrine 
 
 Ls set, — and soon the mellow moon will rise, 
 
 And the stars we loved shine out in these familiar skies. 
 
 sinking sun, while fails thy farewell light 
 
 On these dear graves among the grasses brown, 
 
 Thou art shining on two wanderers, to-night, 
 
 In the far west, — one in an inland town, 
 
 And one beyond the green coast ranges' crown. 
 
 — On eager wings we fain would follow thee 
 
 While the fields darken and the night comes down. 
 
 One hour amid Chicago's din to be. 
 
 The next to watch thee fade o'er lonesome leagues of sea. 
 
 O sad, old home, whose gray roof dim and dark, 
 
 Across the fields looms faintly, like a dream, 
 
 Hail and farewell ! Mars lights his crimson spark 
 
 Which mingles with the full moon's milder beam. 
 
 Farewell, for though the throbbing moments teem 
 
 With holy memories, we must be gone. 
 
 A white mist rises from the distant stream 
 
 Shrouding the dreary flats and woodlands wan. 
 
 And out of the darkening south the iron horse comes on. 
 
 20^ 
 
HELEN 
 
 Sad mother bowed before a shrine 
 A stranger's heart is drawn to thine, 
 By tender chords of love and pain, 
 That tremble to a sorrowing strain. 
 
 Thy gentle child was dear to me. 
 This gives me right to send to thee, 
 O'er silvery waves and lifted hills, 
 A little song of love, which fills 
 My heart with tears the while I sing. . 
 When a sweet spirit taketh wing. 
 Our dearest hopes will sometimes fail. 
 But could we see beyond the veil 
 Which Helen's hand has lifted now, 
 Perhaps our doubting souls might bow 
 Before the truth which bringeth rest, 
 That all is ordered for the best. 
 
 Twice in the noontide of the year, 
 When tropic lilies blossomed here, 
 And fields with burning bloom were set, 
 She came as comes the violet. 
 A maiden modest, pure and wise. 
 With tranquil brow and heavenly eyes. 
 In whose sweet guise we seemed to see 
 An angel of humility. 
 And to my thoughts she bringeth yet, 
 The fragrance of the violet. 
 To those lost days, her vanished face 
 Hath lent a sacred, tender grace. 
 Which coming summ.ers will repeat. 
 Like lingering echoes, faint and sweet. 
 203 
 
Dear heart, I know the path you go, 
 I learned to walk it long ago. 
 I've seen my loved to burial borne. 
 My idols from the hearthstone torn. 
 The comfort is, that Love's own smile 
 Lighteth the dark. A little while. 
 And what our loved ones' clear eves see 
 Shall be beheld by you and me. 
 
 204 
 
IN JENNIE'S ROOM 
 
 From this deep window down I see 
 
 The place her warm heart loved so well ; 
 
 Field, orchard, forest, lake and lea, 
 Safe sheltered in a mountain dell. 
 
 Hills near and green, hills purpled deep 
 By distance, wall the valley round. 
 
 In deeps of blue the white clouds sleep ; 
 Their shadows cool the fragrant ground. 
 
 The brook she loved goes singing by 
 
 To seek the silver lake below. 
 
 Her wild birds sing in field and sky, 
 Uncaring that she loved them so. 
 
 She loves them yet. Her presence sweet 
 
 Is in this room, — in all I see. 
 Up these green woodland paths her feet 
 
 Have pressed so oft, she walked with me 
 
 This day ! I felt it ! Joy would rise 
 Within me as we climbed the steep. 
 
 The tears were in my sister's eyes 
 Thinking of her. I could not weep. 
 
 My heart grew patient, glad, and strong 
 To wait. Her dark and tender eyes 
 
 Are speaking yet. Her life's lost song 
 Is sweeter sung beyond the skies. 
 205 
 
Life holds so much we cannot say. 
 
 There are no words to make it known. 
 But, O, these blue skies speak to-day, 
 
 And these green hills so still and lone ! 
 
 20f> 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 The name she earned while yet she walked our earth 
 
 Was Gentle Heart. 
 Her deeds of love and peace and modest worth 
 
 Were done apart 
 In quiet ways where loud and fulsome fame 
 
 Can enter not ; 
 Home-loving hearts alone will keep her name 
 
 All unforgot. 
 
 Her smile was peace ; the touch of her kind hand 
 
 Could soothe like balm; 
 Her low tones linger yet like echoes fanned 
 
 From Heaven's own calm. 
 She was a queen, clothed purely, all in sweet 
 
 Humility 
 Nor dreamed she of the crown she went to meet 
 
 So meek was she. 
 
 But O, blest angel, from your pure abode 
 
 So far above. 
 You still will lean to light the earthly road 
 
 Of those you love ! 
 And those who love you, at the shining gate 
 
 Will surely meet 
 Your gentle smile again ; — for these you wai 
 
 With welcome sweet. 
 
 ^07 
 
IN OUR OLD HOME 
 
 A Rondel 
 
 In our old home beyond the sea, 
 (Dear Mother Land, our gift to thee,) 
 
 A sweet bride makes a new home nest. 
 
 Our hearts go with her from the west, 
 For love will follow such as she. 
 
 How fair the May in Maine may be 
 She will remember loyally 
 When hawthorn lanes with bloom are drest 
 In our old home. 
 
 The daisy on the dewy lea. 
 
 The skylark's joyous melody. 
 
 Protecting love wherein to rest 
 
 And youth and hope shall make her blest. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 O, nightingale, sing sorrow-free 
 In our old home. 
 
 i 
 
 208 
 
IN VISIONS OF THE NIGHT 
 
 Robbie came through a wintry path 
 Where firs were thick and met above. 
 The timid hares were not afraid, 
 His looks were full of love. 
 
 He waved his little hand and smiled. 
 A light was on his golden head. 
 But rushing tears were blinding me, 
 (A month he had been dead.) 
 
 He called my name. I tried to speak 
 And fly to clasp him where he stood. 
 — The glory of his golden hair 
 Made sunshine in the wood. — 
 
 I fell and stumbled as I ran 
 And strove to meet him as he came ; 
 But could not touch his garment's hem, 
 Or speak his precious name. 
 
 I prayed of death to take me, too ! 
 "Now I have found him let me stay !" 
 "For this is surely he, — and I" 
 "Have sought him night and day !" 
 
 A white hare nestled in his arms, 
 As smiling still he went away. 
 — Strange that a vision of the night 
 Should seem so real to-day! 
 
 ^09 
 
LINES FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING 
 
 Here in the mild October day, 
 
 While golden leaves are on the sward, 
 
 Clear golden chimes begin to play 
 Within our hearts in sweet accord. 
 
 And wedding bells from far away, 
 Are ringing down the years serene, 
 
 Binding a past and present day. 
 That fifty autumns fall between. 
 
 And many friends are gathering here, 
 To honor worth and love and truth 
 
 In faithful hearts that many a year 
 Have kept the honest vows of youth. 
 
 For now their Indian summer falls. 
 With gold of leaf and ripened grain. 
 
 And sunlight on the low, home walls. 
 Wherein calm joys for age remain. 
 
 A Golden Wedding — It is well; 
 
 The gold of many hallowed years 
 Is in these lives where sorrow fell, 
 
 And ripened virtue with her tears. 
 
 Six hundred mellow moons have shed 
 Soft radiance on their wedded way : 
 
 Ten thousand days of sun have fed 
 The gladness that defies decay. 
 210 
 
Then ring, O bells, — your low refrain, 
 'Mid louder songs is sweet to hear : 
 
 Would that the world of greed and gain 
 Might pause and learn your meaning clear. 
 
 Might learn, that kindly, honest loves, 
 
 In quiet homes by hill and lea. 
 Send out a silent force that moves 
 
 The world as Luna moves the sea. 
 
 That faded hair and toil-worn hands. 
 
 And kind old faces pass away. 
 And we, upon their ancient lands 
 
 Rise up and toil from day to day. 
 
 But that their silent work of love 
 
 Is like a circle in the sea. 
 And widens ever, 'till above 
 
 'Tis merged in God's eternity. 
 
 Then ring, prophetic bells, and tell 
 
 Of peaceful winter yet to be ; 
 Ring out life's year, and rise and sw<>li 
 
 To blond with Heaven's melody 
 
 2V 
 
ALICE'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 Alice was born on the twelfth of May, 
 And the early wildflowers know the day. 
 Hepaticas, violets, windflowers, sweet, 
 Lift their faces her steps to greet. 
 And O, the singers ! Sparrow and thrush, 
 Robin and bluebird ! Hush, O hush ! 
 While the red buds burst and the warm spring weaves 
 Over the forest a mist of leaves. 
 Now they pour their glad hearts out in song 
 Over and over all day long. 
 The brooks and the rivers go singing, too. 
 On to the sea, and the sky is blue, 
 And the white clouds sail and the soft winds stray 
 "Over the hills and far away." 
 O, let us follow, while days grow long, 
 Into the land of laughter and song. 
 Where the fairies are ringing their silver bells. 
 The land of Childhood where Alice dwells. 
 
 212 
 
MESSENGERS 
 
 From time to time a white dove leaves 
 Mj hand, and speeds away to you ; 
 
 Back, in response, another cleaves 
 A thousand miles of blue. 
 
 Light-flitting birds that lightly bind 
 Two ancient friends of olden days, 
 
 Bearing brave words from mind to mind 
 Across the deep world's maze. 
 
 Some day if you should pass beyond 
 
 The unreturning quiet sea, 
 What word or sign of severed bond 
 
 Would find its way to me? 
 
 Or if I first should go to dwell 
 
 Among our lost on that calm shore, 
 
 Silence and time alone would tell 
 These doves could fly no more. 
 
 Patience and Peace ! Life hath no end. 
 
 What if some eve the western skies 
 Should open softly, and your friend 
 
 Should smile upon you angel wise.'* 
 
 213 
 
WITH PANSIES 
 
 "These are for thoughts." What clear dews steep 
 These purple splendors dark and deep? 
 These lovely hearts are touched with gold 
 With many a mystic line enrolled. 
 "These are for thoughts." 
 
 By matchless art in curve and sweep 
 The rune is writ. Dull mortals weep, 
 But cannot this fair harvest reap. 
 Angels alone this wealth can hold. 
 "These are for thoughts." 
 
 They grew for you ; and while you sleep 
 Perchance in dreams you may o'erleap 
 The earthly barriers manifold, 
 And learn what sage has never told, 
 — The secret that the blossoms keep. 
 "These are for thoughts." 
 
 514 
 
EPITAPHS 
 LITTLE FRED 
 
 Heart blossom pure and sweet, 
 
 All loveliness was thine. 
 Thy sweetness leaves the earth more sweet 
 And sets in Heaven to light our feet 
 
 A little star to shine. 
 
 LITTLE EDNA 
 
 Heaven sent with little Edna 
 
 Love and tears. 
 Love as deep as life eternal, 
 
 Shining through the years. 
 Tears that deepen all life's meaning, 
 
 Holy, blessed tears ! 
 Through them shine the stars of morning 
 
 When the shadow clears. 
 
 215 
 
BLIND LOTTIE 
 
 In the twilight here as she sits and sings, 
 While over the keys her fingers stray, 
 She gives the listening spirit wings 
 To follow far on a shining way. 
 
 Wide horizons uplift and lure, 
 As over the shadowy seas we sail. 
 And faces of angels, rapturous, pure. 
 Part the radiant star-sown veil. 
 
 Song and laughter of long ago. 
 
 Sad and sweet as a far blown flute, 
 
 Echo low in the music's flow 
 
 And the shadows listen and winds are mute. 
 
 Children's faces and flowers of light. 
 The sunset rose and the rainbow spray 
 And stars of the morning illume the night 
 As we sail to the shores of dawn away. 
 
 And the olden lays of the golden days 
 We hear again, and the nightingale 
 Is singing near in the leafy ways 
 Of the unforgotten shores we hail. 
 
 O, Sweet musician, whose touch can bring 
 
 These voices back from the vanished years ! 
 
 O, heart of sorrow ! We hear her sing 
 
 And the night stars brighten through falling tears. 
 
 216 
 
TO MY FATHER 
 
 I MISS thy hand clasp warm, 
 O, strong protecting form 
 Low moldering in the dust ! 
 But O, thy love I knew, 
 Divinely deep and true ! 
 On this I build my trust — 
 And believe in Love Divine 
 Because I have known thine. 
 
 211 
 
MOTHER 
 
 MoTHEu ! Mother ! what is this ? 
 Hearse and plume and sad array 
 O'er the coffin and the clay ! 
 
 On my lips still rests thy kiss — 
 
 Thou wert mine but yesterday. 
 Yesterday we talked of death 
 With this fleeting mortal breath, 
 Thou and I ; — and now I plead 
 With wildest words my utter need 
 
 For the life and light I miss. 
 
 Never didst thou turn away, 
 
 Mother, from thy sorrowing child ; 
 But now, bereft, I wander wild, 
 
 Groping blind, too weak to pray 
 
 Save to thee, O Mother mild ! 
 
 In the darkness death doth bring. 
 Here I faint and fall, and chng 
 To this hope, that love like thine, 
 Deep, unquenchable, divine. 
 
 Lives above in deathless day. 
 
 Mother love hath source and birth 
 In Eternal founts of love. 
 Maker, Giver, and doth prove 
 
 God forgetteth not His earth. 
 
 But thou art lost in light above, 
 And the winds of darkness blow 
 Over me and crush me low. 
 Life's first, hohest love hath flown 
 Beyond the reach of prayer or moan, 
 
 And henceforth I suff'er dearth. 
 218 
 
OLD HOME WEEK 
 
 "Come home, come home," the pine trees sang, 
 
 And we would fain obey, 
 "Home, home, old home," the echoes rang, 
 
 And here we are to-day. 
 
 Clasp hands and sing of happy days. 
 
 The golden days of yore. 
 Though minor strains steal though our lays 
 
 For those who come no more. 
 
 Sing of the friendship, love and cheer 
 That lights this summer day. 
 
 Sing for the true hearts gathered here 
 Hail and farewell to say. 
 
 Sing for the love we bear this land. 
 
 Of mountain, lake and pine. 
 Sing for the tie that binds our band 
 
 To the days of auld lang syne. 
 
 219 
 
OUR NEIGHBOR 
 
 Across the frosty fields to-night 
 There shines, as erst, her lamp's soft ray; 
 But she who fed its cheering light 
 From our dim sight has passed away. 
 
 The faithful hands are folded now, 
 
 The willing feet f ore'er at rest ; 
 
 Clay cold the unresponsive brow. 
 
 And chill the hushed and pulseless breast. 
 
 But O, warm-hearted friend ! we know 
 You are not now this senseless dust! 
 The soul that set your eyes aglow. 
 Lives yet and loves, for God is just. 
 
 We still are wrapped in mists of earth 
 That hide the shining heights above. 
 And hearts that miss you suffer dearth 
 Of dear companionship and love. 
 
 To-night the tender stars look down 
 Upon the saddened home you left. 
 The trees are bare, the fields are brown, 
 Of song and light and bloom bereft. 
 
 But underneath this seeming death 
 The miracle of life is wrought, 
 The mystery that gives us breath 
 And shames man's wisdom into naught. 
 
 220 
 
And through the long December night, 
 We journey forward to the morn 
 Below the Christmas stars that hght 
 The httle world where Christ was born. 
 
 221 
 
oONNET 
 
 (Dedicated to William of Averill of Ipswich, Mass. (1637) 
 
 William of Ipswich! Art is long, 
 And swift as a shuttle the full years flee ; 
 And we fain would question the shadowy throng 
 That peoples the distance from us to thee. 
 In the halls of Silence we stand and wait 
 For far, faint echoes. We vainly peer 
 Through faded records of ancient date 
 To learn of the kindred whose names are here. 
 O, vanished Immortal! How soon shall we 
 Emerge from the shadows and meet with thee, 
 William of Ipswich .f* 
 
 i 
 
 2f2S 
 
THE HAIL STORM 
 
 (August 18th, 1878) 
 
 "For the shouting for thy summer fruits and for thy 
 harvest is fallen. 
 
 And gladness is taken away and joy out of the plentiful 
 field." 
 
 Isaiah, xvi. 9-10. 
 
 At morn it was the summer tide : 
 
 The gold of sunrise met the glow 
 Of billowy plains of golden grain, 
 
 Like sunlight spread below. 
 The corn upon a hundred hills 
 
 Shook out its banners to the breeze. 
 And goodly apples far and wide 
 
 Loaded the orchard trees. 
 The fields were sweet with growing crops, 
 
 Fair, rich, slow ripening hour by hour. 
 The lanes were bright with August bloom, 
 
 The gardens were in flower. 
 The farmer looked abroad — his heart 
 
 Was gladdened by the promised boon ; 
 He had gone forth with hope to sow, — 
 
 His harvest days were coming soon. 
 
 • ••••• • 
 
 At night the breath of winter blew 
 
 Across the fields where icy hail 
 Amidst the ruined crops were heaped ; 
 
 The skies were dim and cold and pale. 
 The rifled trees were torn and bare. 
 
 The flowers were dead. O'er earth and air 
 
 223 
 
The farmer looked abroad and saw 
 
 A more than autumn sadness there. 
 — O friends more favored, North and South 
 
 And East and West, pray tell us true, 
 Saw ye our Summer as she passed? 
 
 And doth she linger still with you? 
 She hath withdrawn her face from us ; 
 
 We seek her vainly far and near. 
 — And kindly Autumn : — Heart of mine ; 
 
 How we shall miss his face this year. 
 
 224 
 
THE MINISTER'S GARDEN 
 
 In the dear old days of long ago, 
 
 We children went in the merry May 
 To beg for beautiful seeds to sow, 
 In the fullest faith that they all would grow 
 And flower for us in a future day. 
 
 O'er hill and hollow the road was long 
 
 To the minister's house, but the world was sweet 
 With the breath of Spring and the sound of song, 
 And all the beautiful thoughts that throng 
 To the heart of a child with love replete. 
 
 We climbed to the cot, on the terrace high, 
 
 The dark little cot in its garden set ; 
 The clouds were soft in the warm, blue sky. 
 The breath of the apple blooms blew by. 
 And the face at the door — I see it yet ! 
 
 O, kind old face ! the graveyard grass 
 Has grown above it for many a May, 
 
 For we all do fade as a leaf ! Alas ! 
 
 But love nor faith nor hope shall pass 
 Forever and aye from the world away. 
 
 Kind hands were laid on our childish heads, 
 The seeds were given our hearts to cheer ; 
 And we walked by the brown and mellow beds 
 That we knew would blossom in blues and reds 
 And white and gold in the growing year. 
 
 225 
 
O, long lost friend ! some words you said 
 
 Were seeds that fell in the heart's warm mould ; 
 
 And afar in the days when you are dead. 
 
 With the dew of tears on their petals shed, 
 They grow and blossom with hearts of golf' 
 
 S526 
 
" From the dear old village street." 
 
THE OREGON EXILE'S SONG 
 
 (To E. S. C.) 
 
 Dark is my east and I wait 
 
 Under the fading sky, 
 Eager and late at the garden gate 
 
 Till the postman blithe comes by. 
 
 What will he bring me to-night? 
 
 Poetry, fiction and art; 
 Wisdom and nonsense, heavy and light, 
 
 And news from the mine and the mart. 
 
 Magazines, dailies, placards. 
 
 Reviews from over the sea. 
 Letters and cards from beggars and bards 
 
 But none of them all for me. 
 
 Till I've read the paper from home, — 
 — The long-known, well-loved sheet 
 
 That over the prairies and peaks has come 
 From the dear old village street. 
 
 Sweeter than story or song 
 
 Are the pictures and dreams it brings 
 Of the people and homes I knew so long 
 
 Down where the Piscataquis sings. 
 
 And I turn from science and art. 
 From politics, fashion and fun, 
 
 To the old "Observer" that holds my heart. 
 And I name it Number One! 
 227 
 
THE THOMPSON FREE LIBRARY 
 
 Among the blessings showered down 
 Upon this pleasant, prosperous town, 
 Is not this thoughtful gift the crown? 
 A bond of faith for you who keep 
 Secure and high the trust and reap 
 Its rich rewards — a heritage 
 To hold with honest pride — a pledge 
 Of love too pure for jealous fears, 
 Growing and ripening with the years. 
 
 To us who love the quiet street. 
 How like a dream it seems to see 
 On this familiar site a neat 
 And solid pile of masonry, 
 Holding a free town library. 
 As in a dream we seem to see 
 The throngs who come in days to be 
 For help and pleasure, peace and rest 
 To this retreat. These shall attest 
 The far felt good of this bequest. 
 
 Long may the donor's sight be cheered 
 By this memorial he has reared 
 Of her whose life of truth and worth 
 Makes glad for us this spot of earth. 
 
 This treasure house its wealth shall yield 
 To all who call dear Dover home. 
 Egypt and India, Greece and Rome, 
 The orient and the Occident, 
 Stars, seas, rocks, mountain, wood and field 
 Within these walls shall be revealed. 
 
 228 
 
o 
 
 E c 
 
 in ~^ 
 
 C 
 
 Eb 
 
If so you choose you here may bring 
 The best of every age and cHme. 
 Homer and Virgil here may sing 
 With Dante, Goethe and the ring 
 Of noble English bards whose chime 
 With all earth's sweetest echoes blent 
 Goes echoing down the shores of time. 
 
 Cervantes, Aristophanes, 
 
 Holmes, Hunt and Lamb your cares may ease 
 
 With ripe and mellow pleasantries. 
 
 The gentle nature lovers, too, 
 
 Old Izaak Walton, White, Thoreau, 
 
 From sweet retreats of fern and dew 
 
 Shall lead you where still waters flow. 
 
 Here may the eager student pore 
 O'er tomes of scientific lore 
 That bears his soaring thoughts afar 
 To sweep the heavens from star to star, 
 Or aids his quickened sight to view 
 The wonders of a drop of dew. 
 
 The legacies of ages wait 
 To drop into your favored hands ; 
 The wise and witty, good and great 
 Shall gather here from many lands ; 
 The stores of human thought amassed, 
 The tales of human deeds that last 
 Are garnered here for you and yours 
 To have and hold while life endures. 
 
 Be thankful. Bless the generous thought 
 That gave this goodly gift, and keep 
 
 229 
 
The trust reposed in you with deep 
 And sacred care. Let nothing blot 
 The wise design the giver traced. 
 So shall your unborn children bless 
 With glad and heartfelt thankfulness 
 The name above this portal placed. 
 
 rso 
 
SILVER WEDDING RHYMES 
 
 Dear friends, with joyful hearts we bring 
 To you pure friendship's offering 
 Of love and gifts and social cheer 
 Here in the falling of the year, 
 And wishes warm, sincere and true 
 For all the future holds for you. 
 
 How swiftly memory bears us back 
 Along the brightly shining track 
 Of happy, vanished years that bless 
 This home with peace and happiness. 
 
 How swift indeed we backward whirl ! 
 And Jennie is a merry girl 
 With big, blue eyes and curly pate. 
 Though here to-night she sits sedate 
 Beside her sober household mate. 
 Whose solemn look belies the fun 
 With which his comic yarns are spun. 
 
 And Colby was a soldier true 
 
 Who worthily wore his country's blue, 
 
 In those old days so far away 
 
 Which we retrace this happy day. 
 
 A hunter too, he was of fame. 
 
 Ere Jennie changed her maiden name. 
 
 Even now, his farm work neatly done, 
 Each autumn Colby takes his gun 
 And bids his home a short adieu 
 While he goes for moose and caribou 
 
 ^31 
 
Into the wilds, o'er hill and plain, 
 
 For he loves the woods and lakes of Maine. 
 
 But a quarter of a century flies 
 And who are these that greet our eyes? 
 Two lovely girls and a growing boy 
 To give their home its crowning joy. 
 — And one of these a wife ! Alas, 
 How swift the pictures rise and pass ! 
 
 And life is beautiful and good 
 Within this pleasant neighborhood 
 For you, dear friends, whose union here 
 We celebrate with love and cheer 
 And silver chimes of peace and joy, 
 — A silver wedding without alloy. 
 
 O, may you spend long years of calm 
 
 Upon this peaceful smiling farm 
 
 With life's best fruitage ripening sweet 
 
 To render your old age complete. 
 
 Where "Honor, love, and troops of friends" i 
 
 For earth's worst trials make amends. 
 
 And earnestly we hope and pray 
 
 That Heaven may bless your earthly way 
 
 Beyond your Golden Wedding day. 
 
 232 
 
THE VILLAGE NE'ER-DO-WEEL 
 
 Once when the woods and sods of spring were brown, 
 A Rip Van Winkle came to our town 
 
 And took up his abode: 
 Not in the Kaatskills, fairy-haunted, deep, 
 Among enchanted dells, has been his sleep. 
 
 But on the common road 
 
 Of daily Hfe, haunted by busy men, 
 The hum of happy toil within his ken. 
 
 With lazy, open eyes 
 He has looked on asleep, and watched men go 
 To win their meeds, while he was chuckling low 
 
 Over his mellow lies. 
 
 Falstaffian is his humor, with a spice 
 
 Of droll Sam Lawson's shrewdness and device, 
 
 And by the kitchen fires 
 Most marvelous, long tales he will unfold 
 In which he always figures, famous, bold. 
 
 The prince of Gadshill squires. 
 
 Quaint ballads he can troll — and tell of wars 
 Wherein he claims to have inflicted scars 
 
 On many a rebel gray ; — 
 And yet, 'tis said, to many a sufferer's bed 
 And into children's hearts, by kindness led 
 
 He finds an easy way. 
 
 His ire is seldom raised, he will declare, 
 Except by doubting souls who sometimes dare 
 
 2SS 
 
Question his deeds sublime; 
 These he is wont most woefully to use 
 When he invokes his dark, satiric muse 
 
 And vents himself in rhyme. 
 
 iTnconscious all ahke of loss or lack, 
 His rusty rags loose hung upon his back 
 
 And yellow dog at heels, 
 He swings along, content, quite free from all 
 Society's restraints that fret and gall, 
 
 Prompt only at his meals. 
 
 — Sometime he shall be rich, — this is his dream. 
 Slow moving down time's steady rolling stream, 
 
 And while we mildly scorn 
 The happy sluggard drifting aimlessly. 
 But, with us, tending toward the unknown sea. 
 
 He may awake some morn. 
 
 231< 
 
TO F. L. M. 
 
 Afloat among the lily fleets 
 Lulled is all sense of loss and pain. 
 The pulse of peace here softly beats, 
 For lo ! the lotus blooms in Maine. 
 
 On silent summer winds its breath 
 Was blown to us this very hour, 
 And we have found rest f olloweth 
 The fragrance of the lotus flower. 
 
 More potent than the Af ric bloom. 
 Its charm is wrought in sweeter ways. 
 Farewell forever, dole and doom! 
 Life is a dream of summer days. 
 
 £35 
 
TO FOXCROFT ACADEMY 
 
 From the old school house brown and low, 
 
 I came to thee, oh, long ago, 
 
 With awesome, reverential heart. 
 
 Thou stoodst apart here on the green, 
 
 Aristocratic, and serene, 
 
 And chilled me with thy lofty art. 
 
 San Marco's fair fa9ade to-day 
 Might crush me with its grand array. 
 As did thy tower and gable then ; 
 And the band stand beneath a tree, 
 "Fearfully made, and wondrously/' 
 Was architecture's last amen ! 
 
 Majestic seemed thy state to me. 
 Thy rites a solemn mystery. 
 Thy far-heard bell a call of doom ; 
 Thy very maples seemed to shed 
 Austerely on my alien head, 
 Oppressive, intellectual gloom. 
 
 That term when I had come as far 
 In Latin as all joy to mar. 
 And in my Greek had come to grief, 
 I flitted home, — My classic lore 
 Weighed heavy on my heart, and sore ; 
 — My Academic course was brief. 
 
 And yet it gives me right to bring 
 To thee this humble offering. 
 And rank myself among thy brood. 
 
 ^36 
 
" The winds tliat breathe among thy boughs 
 Are winds of home — " 
 
— One memory of that ancient time 
 Comes all unbidden into rhyme ; 
 If thou'lt accept it, well and good. 
 
 Within thy pleasant upper room, 
 The autumn sunshine banished gloom ; 
 Sweet faces soothed my homesick mood; 
 But when the bell clanged "Class below," 
 — Ah, me ! — perhaps Dante did go 
 Below with less of hardihood. 
 
 For the rogue of all the school was there, 
 
 And like a lion in his lair 
 
 He seemed to many a timid child. 
 
 He stole our wraps, mislaid our books. 
 
 Mimicked our ways, our words and looks. 
 
 While older boys looked on and smiled. 
 
 I never shall forget the day 
 We saw him in my cloak of gray, 
 Go smirking down the village street. 
 His head was red, his name was Jim ; 
 (Long since the world has sobered him, 
 A doctor, dignified, discreet.) 
 
 Ah, welladay ! since that old time 
 Thy bell has taken a softer chime. 
 And thou art dearer far to-day. 
 And nearer, too, (by many a mile) 
 Than when thy cold, "imposing pile," 
 First took my breath away. 
 
 SBT 
 
TO H. A. K. 
 
 Dear friend, to-night my thoughts go back, 
 
 Like birds to a forsaken nest, 
 Over a faintly shining track, 
 
 Within the shadowy past to rest. 
 The sunset leaves the west aglow, 
 The soft bright clouds are fading slow, 
 And in the east the moon is low, 
 And large, and golden. Long ago 
 
 On such an eve as this, we two 
 
 Were singing in the failing light, 
 A dear old hymn, quaint, tender, true, 
 
 A welcome to the coming night. 
 One tiny star shone in the blue. 
 And trembled like a drop of dew. 
 And all the song birds homeward flew. 
 As deep the shadows round us grew. 
 
 To-night within your foreign home. 
 Your little children at your knee, 
 I wonder when the shadows come. 
 
 If they will bring you thoughts of me ; 
 Or in the dusk if you should hear 
 Shrill, childish voices ringing clear, 
 It would not bring the past more near, 
 The tender past so dim, so dear. 
 
 I hear the drowsy murmurous stream 
 That swirls and ripples in the reeds ; 
 
 I see the red ripe strawberries gleam 
 Among the grass and meadow weeds; 
 238 
 
And in my dreams the pine trees sing, 
 And round the spot old memories cling, 
 Like fading echoes lingering 
 Around the cliffs from which they spring. 
 
 The shadows gather dim and soft. 
 And on the air the voice of bells 
 Slow pealing from the belfry loft, 
 
 The hour of evening worship tells. 
 One star has come ; night f alleth soon. 
 And in my heart still rings the tune 
 That on a far off eve of June, 
 We sang beneath the golden moon. 
 
 239 
 
TO MARY 
 
 Of all the sweet names women wear, 
 The sweetest is the one you bear. 
 — As common as the clouds of air, 
 It keeps a charm so fresh and rare 
 That queen and peasant, dark and fair, 
 The wide world over everywhere. 
 From hut to palace still may share 
 Its airy sweetness, all unworn 
 As songs of birds, or hues of morn. 
 
 MO 
 
TO N. W. W. 
 
 These fair forget-me-nots I prize, 
 That came to-day ; and warm of heart, 
 My new and late found friend, thou art 
 Who givest me this sweet surprise. 
 
 Amid the New Year bells I hear 
 A soft and thrilling note of bliss : 
 It ringeth low and telleth this — 
 Another friend is growing dear. 
 
 She wins my love with gentle art — 
 The thought of what the years may hold. 
 The fruit of friendsliip tried and old, 
 Makes happy music in the heart. 
 
 For 'neath the skies that softly bend 
 To bless us with the boon of day. 
 No other word we worldlings say 
 Is sweeter than the name of friend. 
 
 S41' 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS 
 
ALL FOOLS' DAY 
 
 When the thawing sod is seen 
 
 Steaming through the running snow, 
 And the shghtest tint of green 
 
 On the slopes begins to glow, 
 When the warm mist rises up 
 
 Into clouds of pearl and gray. 
 And the crocus lifts her cup 
 
 Brave and golden to the day, 
 When the frogs are holding court 
 
 In the far-off melting pools, 
 Then comes in a day of sport, 
 
 When the wisest men are fools. 
 
 Then the parson stoops to seize 
 
 Coins that glitter at his feet. 
 Vainly picks on bended knees. 
 
 By broad daylight in the street. 
 Till he hears the small boys rail 
 
 'Round some corner, hidden quite. 
 And with a splinter 'neath his nail 
 
 Walks off meekly out of sight. 
 
 Then the strangest missives fly 
 
 Hither, thither, through the mail. 
 Which when opened meet the eye. 
 
 Empty-hearted, blank and pale. 
 Save a tantalizing date. 
 
 Mocking many a heart athirst. 
 Strange, misleading, dark as fate. 
 
 Like this : "All Fools' town, April first.' 
 
 m5 
 
Then the children run and shout 
 
 That a flock of cranes go by, 
 But I cannot spy them out 
 
 Though I search with glass the sky ; 
 And the scholars go to school, 
 
 With white pennons floating free 
 From their backs, and "April Fool" 
 
 Written where they cannot see. 
 
 Thus through all the jovial day, 
 Wise and simple, grave and gay, 
 
 Piqued or puzzled, shocked or shamed. 
 Stumble blindly, halt and maimed. 
 
 Glad and sorry every one, 
 When the foolish day is done. 
 
 ^46 
 
A LOVE SONG 
 
 There are three little maids by the sunset shore 
 
 Three thousand miles away, 
 And I dream of them, sing of them, long for them sore, 
 
 Addie, ElHe and May. 
 
 Your pictured faces, my bonny three. 
 
 Smile here in the twilight gray. 
 And I sing to you, love you, and you love me 
 
 Addie, Ellie and May. 
 
 Sweet are your names to me, one by one, 
 
 I name you night and day. 
 Over and over, from sun to sun, 
 
 Addie, Ellie and May. 
 
 Red leaves are falling from woods aglow. 
 
 The birds are flying away. 
 But the westering sun broods warm and low 
 
 O'er Addie, Ellie and May. 
 
 When shall I see you, my dears, my doves? 
 
 — O, could I follow the day 
 Under the west and away to my loves, 
 
 Addie, Ellie and May! 
 
 ^iT 
 
A LITTLE MILKMAID 
 
 Our little buff cow, Buttercup, 
 Has large eyes, dark, and soft and meek ; 
 Her horns in pretty curves come up, 
 Her coat is fine and sleek. 
 
 Her limbs are slender like a deer's, 
 Her voice is like a mellow horn ; 
 Her tail is tufted, and her ears. 
 — I drive her night and morn. 
 
 All day upon the hills she loves 
 
 I hear her bell through brake and broom. 
 
 Her heart is gentle as a dove's. 
 
 Her breath is sweet as clover bloom. 
 
 These apples with the crumpled cheeks 
 That blush so dully in the tree, 
 I pluck for her. She never speaks 
 Her thanks, but she believes in me. 
 
 It is so deep in summer now 
 The pasture bars are almost hid 
 In daisies, where I call my cow 
 And listen to the katydid. 
 
 'Co, CO, come up dear Buttercup !" 
 I call, and soon her mellow "moo" 
 Across the flowers she follows up. 
 And we go homeward through the dew. 
 
 248 
 
 I 
 
CHERRY CHEEK 
 
 "Come Cherry Cheek," called mama, 
 "Leave snow-fort rink and sled! 
 
 Behold the snow peaks growing pink, 
 The sun is going to bed. 
 
 In our cosy supper room 
 I have drawn the curtains red, 
 
 And the firelight leapeth on the wall. 
 Come Cherry Cheek!" she said. 
 
 Then slowly up the steep 
 
 His tiny sled he drew ; 
 The whole round heavens were soft and calm. 
 
 With not a cloud in view ; 
 And afar on the edge of the world 
 
 One little silver spark 
 Came out alone in a great wide place 
 
 And waited for the dark. 
 
 And he heard in the frosty air 
 
 Of the still and fading day 
 His father's coming sleigh bells chime 
 
 A half a mile away. 
 O, happy little boy ! 
 
 And I heard him softly say. 
 "Dear God, what a beautiful world you've made ! 
 
 I am glad I was good to-day." 
 
 249 
 
DOGS IN DREAMLAND 
 
 I WENT vrithout the golden gate of dreams 
 And all our dogs came up to learn their fate. 
 
 Came dutiful and stood within the beams 
 That shone about the gate. 
 
 They crept to lick our hands and plead for life, 
 And in the middle distance stood a throng 
 
 Divided in the midst — and there was strife 
 And bickerings fierce and long. 
 
 One called aloud, "Hark, hark ! the dogs do bark 
 All night till morn, and lo, I cannot sleep !" 
 
 One answered, "I can sleep if it be dark. 
 But some dogs will kill sheep." 
 
 "Alas ! my worthy friend, and so do you 
 
 Kill sheep and eat them — ^but by wood and rock 
 On plains and pastures since the world was new 
 Dogs guard and save the flock. 
 
 "They bark by night to keep the thief away. 
 
 They love and serve you, though with whip and thong 
 You scourge them — Ah! my brothers — say who can 
 That human love, so tested, would keep strong. 
 
 Then from the background, where the shadows drew 
 
 Together and made violet the way. 
 Bright forms came trooping, and a soft wind blew, 
 
 And song and story held their gentle sway. 
 
 250 
 
And children came to plead, and beggars old, 
 And hunters bold, a goodly company — 
 
 More than the fair dream country well could hold — 
 And cried, "These friends who love us must not die.' 
 
 And when the votes were cast that told their fate, 
 The children gave a shout of joy to see 
 
 That a thousand men love dogs where one doth hate, 
 And lo, all dogs love men ! So mote it be. 
 
 S5J 
 
BLINDMAN'S BUFF 
 
 Like a rose in the heart of the winter night, 
 Was the ruddy room with its lamps ahght ; 
 Where the children gathered one by one 
 When lessons were over and day was done. 
 There was Floy so loving and sweet and wise, 
 And roguish Fred with his merry eyes. 
 And Gid and Gussie and dimpled Sue, 
 And Sammy and Kitty, a merry crew. 
 Never a star in the shrouded sky. 
 Never a sleighbell tinkhng by. 
 But soft snow falling and darkness deep 
 Over a still world going to sleep. 
 
 "I am not sleepy," Gideon said 
 
 Standing serenely upon his head, 
 "Nor I," laughed Fred, "Lets have some fun, 
 
 The good long evening is just begun!" 
 "What shall we play?" was shouted then. 
 "Intra mintra !" "Old Bear's Den !" 
 "Puss in the Corner !" "Hide the shoe !" 
 "O no," cried Gideon, "Hear me, do !" 
 
 Not one of these is jolly enough! 
 "Let's have a game of Blindman's Buff!" 
 
 Then Floy brought out a scarlet scarf 
 And covering his eyes with a gleeful laugh, 
 Asked him the number of cows he kept, 
 Whirled him three times, then slyly crept 
 Into the farthest corner and said, 
 "Look out for the blindman whose name is Fred." 
 One scampering rush and all is hushed, 
 
 ^52 
 
But O, how near Fred's fingers brushed 
 
 The golden knots on Sammy's head 
 
 As he pranced away with his arms outspread. 
 
 The play was a curious pantomime, 
 Grotesque and comic for some little time, 
 With figures a-tiptoe, lithe and light, 
 Wildly flitting in mock affright. 
 Silhouettes weird to mimic them all 
 Coming and going upon the wall, 
 A great commotion behind the door, 
 Roger scampering over the floor, 
 The cat with her back up under a chair, 
 Gideon sprawling, heels in the air, 
 And the Blindman plunging left and right 
 Till little Sue crowding with all her might 
 To make one more behind the door 
 Sets the room in a sudden roar. 
 
 And then hurra for the noise they made ! 
 Hurra for the glorious game they played! 
 Chairs came crashing, the tongs fell down, 
 Fred went over and bumped his crown. 
 Rover yelped till the game was o'er 
 And Sammy set up a smothered roar 
 When he and Kitty, blessed child ! 
 In with the wood like sticks were piled ! 
 
 But nobody came to spoil the fun 
 By crying "Be still !" till the play was done, 
 And all the children were tired and said 
 For once, they were willing to go to bed. 
 
 253 
 
CHILDREN'S DAY AT GRANDPA'S 
 
 At church, they don't keep Children's Day 
 In Grandpa's town, — ^but orchards blow 
 For miles and miles along the way. 
 And shower the roads with rosy snow, 
 And make a rosy roof. The bees 
 Have come from all the hives around, — 
 We walked to church beneath the trees, 
 And heard their happy humming sound ; 
 And Grandpa said that bird and bee 
 Sing Sabbath hymns as well as we. 
 
 My Grandpa's church is brown and small, 
 And all the folks are old, I think. 
 Outside you hear the robin's call. 
 And on the fence a bobolink 
 Looked in the window where I sat. 
 And sang so loud I couldn't hear 
 The prayer or text ; and after that 
 A bumblebee, so big and queer. 
 Played "drowsy, boozy, dizzy-brains" 
 All up and down the window-panes. 
 
 When we walked home. Grandpa and I, 
 White flowers were falling all the way. 
 Great flocks of butterflies went by, 
 And every one was white to-day. 
 The white clouds sailed so soft and high, 
 And Grandpa's hair is white as they. 
 (His eyes are blue, just like the sky, 
 And mine are like them, people say.) 
 So, if they don't keep Children's Day, 
 They have White Sunday up this way. 
 
 254 
 
DANDY LION 
 
 Dandy Lion was young and bold, 
 
 He danced in the grass when the bluebird sung. 
 Merrily wagging his beard of gold 
 
 Where the clearest dewdrops clung. 
 
 O a gay and a merry wight was he, 
 
 And the Butterflies lov'd him, — that was clear, 
 But he gave of his store to the begging bee, 
 
 And sheltered the violets growing near. 
 
 "What a flighty fellow" the Primrose said, 
 
 "God made him," answered the Wild Rose Tree, 
 
 "God loves him too" said Clover head. 
 And so do we. 
 
 The dandelion was grey and old, 
 
 He swayed in the wind and his v/hite beard blew. 
 And the sun was hid, and the day was cold 
 
 When along my merry boy, Dick came you. 
 
 And seizing him out from among them all 
 Cried, "wise old white head, tell me true. 
 
 If you can hear my mother call" 
 
 And then one breath upon him blew, 
 
 And his place in the grasses knew him no more. 
 "What a dreadful end," said Meadow Rue, 
 "We go in God's time" said the Thistle hoar, 
 And so must you. 
 
 255 
 
\J IN HAYING TIME 
 
 I GO to Grandfather's when school is done 
 
 In June and the haying is just begun ; 
 
 For when clover is red and the timothy tall 
 
 And purple, and silky, it has to fall. 
 
 When the wind blows over the grasses, they go 
 
 In waves and billows that seem to flow 
 
 Like the sea ; and then the great shadows will run 
 
 On the fields, and I watch them and lie in the sun. 
 
 In the walls there are woodchucks that squeak at Tray 
 
 When he goes to digging the stones away ; 
 
 And the birds fly over, and everything sings. 
 
 And the grass is all buzzing and whirring with wings. 
 
 As soon as 'tis sunrise the mowing machine 
 Is clicking away, and the grass that is green 
 In the early morning, at noon is dry. 
 And then Grandfather and Tray and I 
 Go into the fields. There are windrows as wide 
 As the v/idest field is from side to side; 
 And out of these there are tumbles to make. 
 Grandfather says one kind is made with a rake 
 And a fork, and another is made by me 
 And Tray — but that is his fun, you see. 
 For I like the smell of the new-mown hay. 
 And we tumble and roll in it — I and Tray. 
 
 And I ride on the heaped-up loads, and leap 
 On the mows and scaff'olds, and go to sleep 
 Sometimes in the heat with my head on Tray 
 Behind a tumble of sweet new hay : 
 
 ^56 
 
OrrT^W*" • — '^■Vi^lV— « — wi,M»w — " — w,-yvvvvwv— • —ivjVV*"— o 
 
 !:» — ^^(^>,f,/ — «— .^ifl^l^v-- — » -wY/".w» — o — <vvYVv'>*'— ^ 
 
And at sunset we go for the cows. 'Tis fun 
 To see Tray gather them, one by one, 
 And march them along in single file, 
 Wagging his tail at me the while, 
 As if he would say, "I can't romp now, 
 I'm so full of business ;" and every cow 
 Will march before him and mind him well, 
 The leader ahead with her tinkling: bell. 
 
 '& 
 
 When the men are milking I sit on the bars 
 And watch the fireflies and count the stars, 
 And smell the clover and wish that I 
 Could live in the counti'y till I die. 
 
 U7 
 
ON THE FARM 
 
 I GO wherever my grandpa goes, 
 
 And he calls me little Trippity Toes ! 
 
 We gather the apples and husk the corn, 
 
 And at dinner-time grandma blows the horn, 
 
 And we are so hungry ! The leaves that fall 
 
 From the great, bright trees, we gather them all 
 
 Into rustling heaps of red and gold 
 
 For the cattle's beds when the nights are cold. 
 
 The birds have gone to the South, they say. 
 
 But we heard a chickadee sing to-day. 
 
 And we winnowed the beans in the big barn floor. 
 
 And the wind came in at the open door. 
 
 And the yellow leaves from the old beech-tree 
 
 Came scampering over the floor to me. 
 
 In the granary grandpa lifted me 
 Into the biggest bin to see .; 
 
 A hundred bushels of silvery wheat, 
 Plump and shining and good to eat. 
 There are pumpkins here as yellow as gold. 
 In a pile as large as a room could hold. 
 And red-cheeked apples and russets and sweets, 
 And carrots and turnips and blood-red beets, 
 And tons of hay in the great, deep mows, 
 And a colt that capers, and calves and cows. 
 And horses and oxen and sheep and hens 
 And fat white pigs that they keep in pens. 
 There are kittens and doves, and the house-dog Tray 
 Is just as good as a boy to play. 
 Oh, I wish we could live with grandpa here 
 Winter and summer, the whole round year ! 
 
 258 
 
RALPH AT GRANDFATHER'S 
 
 Grandfather went to mill to-day, 
 And I went with him — I and Tray. 
 The wind was west by every vane. 
 We piled the sled with bags of grain, 
 And harnessed Jerry and journeyed down 
 With jingling bells to the little town. 
 
 The sparkling snow, the clear blue sky, 
 The green fir woods we glided by 
 Were good to see. But oh, the sight 
 We saw when coming home at night ! 
 Could you believe it.^^ Just beyond 
 A clump of trees beside the pond 
 There stood, outside the fence, quite near, 
 Where we drove by two live, wild deer ! 
 
 They tossed their heads and sniffed the air 
 
 Then leaped the fence — the pretty pair. 
 
 And bounded into the deep green wood ! 
 
 I jumped up on the sled and stood 
 
 And waved my cap and gave a cheer 
 
 To think I'd seen two real, live deer ! 
 
 Tray barked and bounced and frisked, half wild, 
 
 But grandfather just sat and smiled. 
 
 Men cannot shoot deer now for game, 
 'Tis "close time," and they get quite tame. 
 Grandfather says you'll often see 
 The deer in summer — two or three 
 Will come into the fields of grain 
 And eat their fill up here in Maine. 
 
 259 
 
DIFFERENT VIEWS 
 
 "I HATE to hear the frogs sing !" 
 Cried dainty httle lady May, 
 "They sound so sad and far away, 
 — The lonesomest of anything — 
 When the ground thaws in early spring. 
 They live in bogs 
 And roost on logs 
 And never sing in open light. 
 But only on the edge of night. 
 I hate to hear the frogs sing." 
 
 "I love to hear the frogs sing !" 
 Sang happy little Josephine. 
 "Before the sunniest banks are green. 
 When evening comes in early spring 
 You hear their jolly chorus ring, 
 Cheer up, er-ching ! 
 'T is spring! 'T is spring!" 
 And pussy-willow buds peep out 
 To hear the merry fellows shout — 
 I love to hear the frogs sing !" 
 
 260 
 

w^i 
 
 " — I now have grown up tall. 
 And shall be five years old next May," 
 
KITTY'S STORY 
 
 My name is Catherine but when 
 I was a baby, wee and small, 
 My papa called me Kitty. Then 
 Although I now have grown up tall. 
 And shall be five years old next May, 
 They call me Kitty still. And so 
 I call my kitties Pearl and Gray, 
 For it would never do you know, 
 To have two kitties named for me. 
 When Mama called, we'd come, all three. 
 
 Now I love stories — and I think 
 Perhaps you'd like to hear one too. 
 My Mama'll write it down in ink 
 For every word of it is true. 
 — Once on a time, the moon shone bright, 
 And I was in my little bed. 
 'Twas in the middle of the night. 
 And Pearl and Gray had both been fed. 
 At supper time, and tucked away 
 Into their nice warm nest to stay. 
 
 But O, they are such funny cats ! 
 It was so light they thought 'twas day. 
 Or they were playing hunt for rats, 
 I can't tell which, but as I lay 
 As sound asleep as ever was, 
 I dreamed I made a dreadful frown, 
 And that was when Pearl's little paws 
 Were patting both my eyelids down. 
 I woke so quick — and there she sat 
 Beside my cheek, that funny cat 
 
 261 
 
And Gray was rolled into a ball 
 
 And digging hard with both hind feet 
 
 Into my oldest dearest doll 
 
 Who lay beside me still and sweet. 
 
 Her eyes were shut — they always are 
 
 When she is lying down — She shows 
 
 The mark of claws though, still, a scar 
 
 Across her little waxen nose. 
 
 I rose to seize that naughty Gray, 
 
 But he hopped down and ran away. 
 
 And Pearl went scampering after too. 
 
 But pretty soon I had to doze. 
 
 And then they played at peek-a-boo. 
 
 And raced and chased across the clothes. 
 
 And chewed my hair ; and whisked their tails 
 
 Against my face until I woke 
 
 And watched them. When they have such gales. 
 
 No matter how severe you spoke 
 
 They wouldn't mind, they'd fiy about 
 
 Just so, till they were tired out. 
 
 But bye and bye Pearl found a place 
 Where she could crawl down into bed. 
 And then poor Gray began to race 
 And hunt that bed from foot to head. 
 He'd perch upon the headboard high 
 And peer so wistful all about — 
 But when he gave a little cry 
 His sister's head came poking out, 
 And then he ran with happy purr 
 Into that selfsame hole with her. 
 
 262 
 
And then I held those clothes so tight 
 
 They couldn't find that hole again. 
 
 I s'pose they couldn't sec the light, 
 
 And they thought 'twas dark as ever. Then 
 
 I was so sleepy I forgot 
 
 About them in a minute more — 
 
 I had a pretty boat, I thought, 
 
 A sailing to a golden shore. 
 
 Till all at once I heard a purr, 
 
 And day had come and there they were. 
 
 j^es 
 
V 
 
 GOING TO SLEEP 
 
 Cuddle close Golden Head, 
 
 Hide your light Starry Eyes, 
 
 Soft is your snowy bed, 
 
 Low are your lullabies. 
 
 Nestle deep rosy limbs 
 
 While the drowsy, golden moon 
 
 Floods the dusk — Vesper hymns 
 
 Mingle with the lulling croon 
 
 Floating o'er your pillow warm. 
 
 Falling sweet, dropping low. 
 
 Sinking slowly, losing form 
 
 Sound and sense as you go 
 
 On beyond to Wonder world 
 
 With your dream wings all unfurled 
 
 ^64< 
 
"A TRIUMPHAL PROGRESS" 
 
 George in Oregon, Maurice in Maine, 
 Each in a belfry, rope in hand. 
 Wait for the glad New Year 
 Out of the night to appear, 
 And they speak across the land. 
 
 Maurice in Maine to his cousin George : 
 
 "Hark to my peal ! He has come ! He is here ! 
 Nineteen hundred and four ! 
 Ring from the Oregon shore. 
 And greet the entering year !" 
 
 "I wait," comes over the quivering wire. 
 
 While the moon on the mountains is bright as day, 
 
 "Ring on till he comes to me 
 
 From the far off eastern sea 
 Three thousand miles away." 
 
 Then over the wide and beautiful land 
 The bells go pealing from east to west 
 Till Oregon answers Maine 
 When the year begins his reign. 
 And the music sinks to rest. 
 
 265 
 
OWL AND CHICKADEE 
 
 A Fable for Reformers 
 
 The drowsy owl in the shadow sits 
 Somber and silent, all day long, 
 
 Deep in the wood where the chickadee flits, 
 Ca,roling gaily her gleeful song. 
 
 "Why do you bustle and chatter all day, 
 Flying about with the sun in your eyes ?" 
 Says the owl to the chickadee. "Try my way. 
 And change your habits as I advise. 
 
 Adopt a diet of mouse and wren, 
 
 Try to be sober and seem more wise. 
 Retire by day from the haunts of men 
 
 And cultivate silence, and rest your eyes. 
 
 Forage in darkness with muffled flight. 
 Then if you'll practice my loud 'Tu whoo,' 
 
 You can curdle men's blood in the dead of night 
 And pass for a bear as I often do. 
 
 Follow these rules and be grumpy and sleep 
 
 Summer and winter, and you will be 
 Esteemed for wisdom, accounted *deep' ! 
 
 Why, I am an emblem ! Look at me !" 
 
 But he hears, as he stares through the shadows gray. 
 To see how impressed his hearer must be. 
 
 Out in the sunshine far away. 
 Only a jubilant ''chickadee deeH 
 
 9166 
 
A WINTER PICTURE 
 
 The wind blows bleak across the hill, 
 But at its base the mossy mill 
 
 Is nestled warm and brown : 
 The strong stream rushes swiftly by, 
 And shouts "Blow, Boreas ! I defy 
 
 Your power to chain me down !" 
 
 The miller stands in the dusty door, 
 The firelight glimmers on the floor 
 
 Behind him — and above 
 The naked elm-boughs creak — and down 
 From off the broad roof, low and brown. 
 
 Flutters a snow-white dove. 
 
 The miller's cot is just below. 
 
 There where the smoke-wreath rises slow,- 
 
 It is the twilight hour, — 
 And little Grace comes up to bring 
 Her father's supper; hear her sing, 
 
 "Sweet is my father's flour!" 
 
 •'He cannot leave his busy mill, 
 By daylight, and by lamplight still. 
 
 He grinds the golden wheat; 
 The willing waters work and sing 
 For him while days are darkening. 
 
 To bring us bread to eat." 
 
 267 
 
PICTURES IN THE FIRE 
 
 In the rainy winter night 
 
 All the world is black and white; 
 
 But within the cosy room 
 
 Warmth and cheer shall banish gloom. 
 
 And before the lamps are lit, 
 
 Little Milly, come and sit 
 
 Here with me before the grate. 
 
 Papa tarries in the town 
 
 Till the evening train comes down, 
 
 So, since supper must be late. 
 
 We'll be merry while we wait. 
 
 On the rug the kitten sleeps. 
 
 Rover through the window peeps, 
 
 Waiting for the step he knows. 
 
 And as ruddy as a rose 
 
 Is our elfish dancing fire, 
 
 Crackling, sparkling, leaping higher 
 
 O'er its bed of glowing coals. 
 
 Up to where its smoke-wreath rolls 
 
 Out of sight, and flies away. 
 
 — In the coals are pictures gay. 
 Can you see them? Here's a king 
 Sitting in a brilliant ring. 
 With a wondrous ruby crown, 
 — Ah ! poor king ; he's tumbled down ! 
 Here are monks and there's a nun. 
 Gray as ashes, every one. 
 Here's a hut upon a hill, 
 And an old man sitting still 
 On a stone; and close at hand, 
 ^68 
 
A ship is sailing on the land. 
 — Does the old man call it his? 
 What a funny world it is ! 
 There's a red bird on a tree 
 Where the flame flies over — see, 
 Now the old man fades away, 
 And the red bird turns to gray, 
 And the hut has fallen in, 
 And the ship is growing thin. 
 Pale, white embers that will be, 
 Now tell, Milly, what you see. 
 
 Milly, Milly, sound asleep! 
 Curled up in a little heap 
 Like the kitten on the floor. 
 Here's your papa at the door. 
 
 269 
 
PROPHECY 
 
 Last night, at eve, in the eastern sky, 
 
 A silver star shone clear ; 
 A wood-bird cleft the dusk and sang 
 
 "Summer is near, is near." 
 
 The breeze came by and kissed my cheek. 
 And whispered O, so low, 
 "I bring you a waft of Arbutus bloom, 
 'Tis hidden under the snow." 
 
 What's this you're telling me, bird and breeze, 
 While the trees are bare and gray. 
 
 While the fields are brown and the buds asleep ? 
 Summer is far away. 
 
 But the breeze came by and kissed me again. 
 
 And whispered sweet and low, 
 And the bird sang clear, "Summer is near," 
 
 Do you really think they know? 
 
 270 
 
ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 
 
 The gray dawn over the city breaks, 
 
 And broadens, and brightens and rosier grows, 
 
 And the bells clash out, and Margaret wakes 
 
 And rings for her maid with her dainty clothes, 
 
 And hurries down to the breakfast room 
 
 Under her plate to find — What do you think? — 
 
 Clouds of valentines bright as bloom. 
 
 Blue and silver and gilt and pink, 
 
 Scented with ottoes, inscribed with mottoes. 
 
 And sweet devices in radiant ink. 
 
 The gray dusk over the country steals. 
 
 Drowning the sunset's after glow, 
 
 Brooding over the dim, white fields 
 
 And the old, brown cottage thatched with snow 
 
 Where little Jane by the window sits 
 
 Pressing her face against the pane. 
 
 And watching a bird that chirps and flits 
 
 Outside. No valentine comes to Jane, 
 
 But the birds will be mating, the woods are waiting, 
 
 And spring is coming this way again. 
 
 27X 
 
SONG OF THE WHEAT 
 
 Over the wheat the oriole flew, 
 
 A flash of flame — and he shook the dew 
 
 From his wings and sang in the morn, so sweet. 
 Over the wheat, over the wheat. 
 
 Over the wheat the warm wind blew, 
 And flocks of swallows of dusky hue 
 
 Came in the twihght, wheeling fleet 
 Over the wheat, over the wheat. 
 
 Over the wheat the darkness flowed ; 
 
 And the twinkhng lamp of the fire-fly glowed 
 All night long in the hovering heat, 
 
 Over the wheat, over the wheat. 
 
 Over the wheat the soft rain fell. 
 
 The dust, the heat, and the drouth to quell: 
 Cool its murmurous pulses beat 
 
 Over the wheat, over the wheat. 
 
 Over the wheat the long hours passed 
 
 Till ripe for the harvest it stood at last. 
 
 So slow, so sure, so strange, so sweet, 
 Groweth in silence the golden wheat. 
 
 Over the wheat the silent sky 
 
 Opened out to the stars so high : 
 Under the wheat the silent ground 
 
 Deepened down to the dark profound. 
 
 2T2 
 
And the birds that over the wheat field jflew, 
 Could tell of its secret as much as you : 
 
 For never a wise man lived who knew 
 
 How out of the dark and the light it grew. 
 
 27S 
 
THE BLUEBERRY GIRL 
 
 Berries are ripe in marshes dun 
 
 That low and level in the sun 
 
 Reach east and west and south, away 
 
 To where the lake lies cool and gray. 
 
 Northward the hills in shadowy crowds 
 
 Roll off beneath the summer clouds 
 
 So far so purple and so dim 
 
 They seem to touch the round world's rim. 
 
 'Tis pleasant here at early day 
 When the pale night fogs float away 
 Rose-tinted from the gleaming lake, 
 For then the fringes of the brake 
 Droop soft and frail from out the mist, 
 And the rough marshes morning-kissed, 
 Seem fresh and glad, — baptized anew, — 
 And song birds sing while shines the dew. 
 
 But when the dawn-cool dews are dry 
 
 Slow, sultry hours swoon here and die; 
 
 The lake lies slumbering in the sun. 
 
 The purple gauze the morning spun 
 
 Fades on the hills and dies away 
 
 In noontide heat. No wild bird's lay 
 
 Floats from the far cool woods to me. 
 
 Only the bees drone drowsily 
 
 From dawn to dusk, — "Work, work away 
 
 While the day lasts," they seem to say. 
 
 And while I work my castles grow 
 With roseate dreamy light aglow ; 
 
 274 
 
-V^5« ^ 
 
 O >v>->vj^pfc^* = - 
 
 va 1 i-== 
 
 
 c 
 
 — «--^.tl-»- 
 
\ 
 
And I am fair in rich attire 
 And father works no more for hire, 
 But walks the world in peace and ease, 
 And mother looks from heaven and sees 
 How the old pain and poverty 
 Have fled afar and left him free. 
 
 I work and dream till I forget 
 
 That I am tired and toiling yet. 
 
 My mansion is like one adown 
 
 The broad white road that leads to town. 
 
 Where tender deer's eyes soft and dark 
 
 Gaze through the palings of the park 
 
 In gentle wonder as I go 
 
 To sell my fruit in the town below. 
 
 And I watch a curtain's full soft sweep 
 
 Within a window arched and deep, 
 
 For there a white hand scatters seed 
 
 A hundred circling doves to feed. 
 
 And oft I stay my hurrying feet 
 
 To catch a song that floateth sweet 
 
 O'er the old oak trees down the air 
 
 From that high chamber dim and fair. 
 
 But now the shrouded failing light 
 
 Dispels my dreams. 'Twill soon be night. 
 
 The lake is darkening. Cool winds creep 
 
 From the hill shadows where they sleep : 
 
 Low thunder rumbles in the sky. 
 
 The loon goes by with warning cry. 
 
 Father and home to you, I hie, 
 
 Lone waste, long day, good bye, good bye. 
 
 275 
 
THE BROOK'S SONG 
 
 PIere is the song that was sung to me 
 
 By the ripples that bubble and break and flee 
 
 Over the brook stones. 
 
 "Mysteries here 
 Are whispered. Listen : their meaning is clear 
 To the dreamers who love our songful tide 
 And long by our summer green banks abide. 
 Amber sparkles, crystal beams, 
 Laughing dimples, starry gleams 
 Change and vanish ! Hush and hear 
 Our liquid laughter low and clear, 
 And below there, babbling glee 
 And happy voices calling thee! 
 
 "Come, come down the valley wild! 
 
 Come ! you loved us as a child, 
 
 And we loved you ! Come away ! 
 
 All adown the dreamy day 
 
 Wander with us." . . . What is this.? 
 
 O, the lovely light, the bliss 
 
 Of forgotten days ! The flowers ! 
 
 And the long, long sunny hours ! 
 What should give you back again 
 Care and heartache, toil and pain? 
 Under green and fragrant gloom, 
 Balsam, willow, brake and broom. 
 We go singing. Where we sleep 
 In the clear pools calm and deep. 
 Heavenly pictures blue and still. 
 Rest, with forest rock and hill. 
 
 S76 
 
And the faces of your dreams 
 Flash and smile in broken gleams 
 Where we follow. Come away 
 To the world where children play. 
 
 Who can half its wonders tell? 
 Lotus bloom and asphodel 
 Fade before the flowers that grew 
 In that charmed world for you. 
 Leaping, dancing, free and wild 
 Through the kingdom of the child, 
 To all gladness giving tongue, 
 Lo, we are forever young ; 
 We, the waters of the spring. 
 Born a brook to laugh and sing." 
 
 J^77 
 
THE FIRST MARSH MARIGOLD 
 
 It was a day when south winds blew, 
 And tender tints were in the sky, 
 
 Of smoke, and pearl, and softest gray. 
 For rain was coming by and by. 
 
 The lane was sweet with budding thorn. 
 The woodland white with cherry bloom, 
 
 And trembling wind flowers nestled close, 
 In the green hollows sheltering gloom. 
 
 Beneath the boughs a little maid 
 
 Walked up and down with eager pace ; 
 
 The light wind lifting loose her hair. 
 And flowing softly in her face. 
 
 "The strangest thing!" she mused aloud, 
 •'Ned walked this morning in the wold. 
 And close beside the alder brook 
 He says he found a cup of gold." 
 
 "He did not touch it where it lay, 
 Gay glowing in the grasses green ; 
 But if I'd come alone, he said, 
 I'd find it where the alders lean. 
 
 My brother Ned is wise and grave, 
 
 A lie I'm sure he never told. 
 — O, if it should be what I think ; — 
 
 I almost know 'tis fairy gold." 
 278 
 
— Then tenderly the robin called, 
 
 And sweet the brook laughed as it slipped 
 Among the shining Caltha leaves, 
 
 And under alders tassel-tipped, 
 
 Where low within the dusky shade. 
 Upon its clear stem lifted up. 
 
 Rich, glowing, like a drop of sun. 
 She saw the Caltha's golden cup. 
 
 It made the gray, dark, dreamy place 
 Seem almost sunny where it grew, 
 
 She half believed the pensive day 
 
 Had smiled and let the sunlight through. 
 
 Long time she stood with thoughtful eyes, 
 And drooping head and folded hands. 
 
 — The robin hushed his tender song. 
 The brook slid softly o'er the sands. — 
 
 " 'Tis loveHer," then she whispered low, — 
 Than fairy's gift can ever be. — 
 And in the whole wide world, not one 
 Could make a cup like this for me." 
 
 279 
 
THE FIRST SORROW 
 
 O GREEN and sweet were the grasses, and the waters were 
 cool and clear, 
 
 Where the little lambs with their gentle dams roamed in 
 the flower of the year. 
 
 Through all the tender, blossoming May and the sum- 
 mer's luscious prime, 
 
 Till the leaves turned red and russet and gold in the 
 ripening autumn time. 
 
 In the mossy hollows among the knolls, in the cedar's 
 
 thickest shade, 
 They cuddled at night beside their dams, sheltered and 
 
 unafraid. 
 The dearest pets that little Beth loved! so innocent and 
 
 mild. 
 So playful and so beautiful that they won the heart of the 
 
 child ! 
 
 Through the great barred gate that shut the lane she 
 
 came each sunny day. 
 Came calling "Nanny, Nanny," to join them in their play. 
 They loved the sound of her happy voice, and when she 
 
 came in sight. 
 They would run with joyous bleatings and gambols of 
 
 delight. 
 
 To nibble her hands and sniff her face and frolic about 
 her free, 
 
 A merry troup of playfellows as sportive and glad as she. 
 
 Their breath was sweet with the fragrance of the honey- 
 suckle low 
 
 That starred the fresh green pasture sod with bloom like 
 drops of snow. 
 
 ^80 
 

 ^ '1 
 
 H 
 
 
 * '4 ■ 
 
 
 is^ ,a.^ 
 
 'tpBHJIJB^S^ V 
 
 
 
 a; 
 
 fac 
 
 OJ 
 
 
 SZ 7- 
 
 :::: 
 
 
 
 3J 
 
 
 -* OJ 
 
 
 
 5 j= 
 
 4_; 
 
 •- 
 
 w -^ 
 
 n 1 
 
 
 
 C5 
 
 =+-. 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 
 
 ii •- 
 
 
 
 
 ._ QJ 
 
 .^ 
 
 ■^ 
 
 ' '" > 
 
 
 
 
 ~ 
 
 ^ 
 
 u 
 
 • w 
 
 '" 
 
 J= q= 
 
 ^ 
 
 1 
 
 -+-I 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 J2 
 
 in 
 
 
And their fleeces were white as the summer clouds that 
 
 drift across the blue, 
 And she knew each meek, little face as well as the baby's 
 
 face she knew. 
 And her father said, "Why, little Beth, how fast your 
 
 lambkins grow ! 
 I wouldn't love them overmuch, for soon they'll have to 
 
 go." 
 
 "Go where," she wondered musingly, and loved them more 
 
 and more, 
 For every day they seemed to her more lovely than before. 
 But autumn came, and one sad morn the butcher's heavy 
 
 wain 
 With cages high to hold the lambs rolled up the pasture 
 
 lane. 
 And round it surged the mother sheep with piteous bleat- 
 
 ings loud. 
 As into it the lambs were packed a huddled, frightened 
 
 crowd. 
 
 And the butcher said, "They're beauties ! The finest lambs 
 
 I've found 
 From Bowerbank to Garland, in all the country round ! 
 They'll dress full sixty pounds apiece, and only four 
 
 months old ! 
 Good morning, little Blue Eyes ! Are you sorry to see 
 
 them sold?" 
 For mute and white stood little Beth beside the butcher's 
 
 cart. 
 Bewildered, watching it all, v/ith life's first shadow on her 
 
 heart. 
 
 281 
 
THE HAREBELL 
 
 See, Milly, what a pretty thing 
 Is nodding here above the spring, 
 
 Blue as your eyes now looking up. 
 A bluebell, swinging all alone, 
 Above the dripping mossy stone, 
 
 With clear drops in its tiny cup. 
 
 Nay, do not pluck it, little one. 
 
 Here, where the soft, clear waters run. 
 
 And fragrant cedars bend so low. 
 It grew, the hanging rock to grace ; 
 The little nook would miss its face, 
 
 Come, Sweet, away and leave it so. 
 
 282 
 
THE LETTER 
 
 Fly under the bending west 
 My white-winged carrier dove, 
 
 Afar over prairie and mountain, nor rest 
 Till you find the baby I love ! 
 
 In a land by the side of the sea 
 That flows to the setting sun, 
 
 In two rosy palms that are precious to me 
 Rest when your journey is done. 
 
 He will clasp you close, and his eyes 
 Are clear as the spring in the wood. 
 
 And blue as the bloom of the far-off skies 
 In summer's happiest mood. 
 
 Was it only a year ago 
 
 He played in the daisies here ? — 
 
 Can he forget us ? — We loved him so, — 
 How long to him is a year? 
 
 The darkness gathereth chill 
 On the fields of Maine to-night. 
 
 But he with his toys is busy still 
 In the rosy sunset light. 
 
 O dove, fly under the west 
 
 And sorrow not, but sing 
 To the baby boy in the warm home nest 
 
 The words that are under your wing ! 
 
 283 
 
THE MEADOW 
 
 Across the meadow, the barren meadow, 
 The crows come flying before the spring. 
 
 When the sky is shadowy, cold and sullen. 
 And none of the summer birds can sing. 
 
 Then over the meadow, the springing meadow, 
 The rain comes tripping with merry feet, 
 
 Waking the wild flowers, low in the grasses. 
 Out of their dreams with its kisses sweet. 
 
 And soon in the meadow, the gay green meadow, 
 The grasses bow when the breezes blow. 
 
 And happy birds, the wide land over. 
 Pipe and sing the long day through. 
 
 And down in the meadow, the sunny meadow, 
 Soon the silk of the corn is spun ; 
 
 Ripens the rose and burns the lily, — 
 Lo, the reaper! — Is summer done.^^ 
 
 For, O, the meadow, the flaming meadow. 
 Lies in a frost wreath fringed with fire ; 
 
 Drops the gold from the tuneless branches, 
 Southerly flies the silent choir. 
 
 And through the meadow, the purple meadow. 
 Hurry the winds with their rustling freight. 
 
 Out of the north the cold comes creeping. 
 Night falls soon. It is growing late. 
 
 ^84 
 
Still as a dream Is the waiting meadow, 
 Steadily southward goes the sun. 
 
 Under the shroud of the pure, white meadow. 
 Life will sleep till the winter is done. 
 
 285 
 
THE NIGHT MOTH 
 
 Light little sylph in the twilight air, 
 
 Fluttering silently, softly in. 
 You would lose the bloom that your white wings wear, 
 
 If one wee laddie his wish should win. 
 
 "Miller, O Miller," he calls to you, 
 
 "Fly over the lamp with your dusty toll, 
 And if you drop into it, then it is true 
 
 That the meal you carry is meal you stole I" 
 
 O hie away swift in the cool, dark air ! 
 
 He does not know you so well as I, 
 You are far too wondrously made and fair. 
 
 My pearly-winged sylph, in the flame to die. 
 
 For the meal you carry is silver dust; 
 
 Your delicate plumes are as white as snow. 
 Some time in the wonderful future, I trust, 
 
 This one, wee laddie your worth will know. 
 
 286 
 
TWO HUNTERS 
 
 In the middle of the day 
 
 Came a hunter to the wood. 
 "Here are fine fat deer to slay, 
 
 If I shoot one well and good." 
 So he hunted far and near, 
 
 Through the green and shadowy gloom, 
 Till at last a startled deer 
 
 Bounded forth to meet its doom. 
 And when its soft dark eyes were dim, 
 
 And still and stark in death it lay, 
 The hunter bound its pretty limbs 
 
 And dragged it o'er the stones away. 
 And men who met and passed him said : 
 
 "The hunter hath good luck to-day!" 
 
 In the middle of the night 
 
 Came a hunter to the farm. 
 His eager eyes were quick and bright. 
 
 His heart was beating in alarm. 
 For well he knew he risked his life ; 
 
 But in the dark and silent wood 
 His hungry children and his wife 
 
 Were waiting for a taste of food. 
 'Here is many a nice, plump hen. 
 
 Many a goose and gander, gray. 
 Sure I am these hoarding men 
 
 May spare the one I bear away." 
 But in the sunny morn men said: 
 
 "The wicked fox must die to-day," 
 
 287 
 
TWO PICTURES 
 
 Before a gust of whirling dust 
 
 Daint}^ Minnie and Millie flew, 
 Hurrying in from the coming shower, 
 
 For their pretty feathers and flowers were new. 
 And their curls would melt at a breath of mist, 
 
 (They guarded them even against the dew) — 
 And their ruffles would droop ; so on they pressed. 
 
 Till the wide doors opened and let them through. 
 
 Under the rainbow, after the shower, 
 
 Meg and Molly came to town; 
 Meg had tangles in her hair, 
 
 Molly wore a tattered gown. 
 Both had baskets scarlet heaped, 
 
 Their little feet were bare and brown. 
 And under the rims of their poor straw hats. 
 
 Their bashful eyes looked down. 
 
 The oriole sings in the dripping elm. 
 
 The west is gold and the east is gray. 
 And the wind is sweet, as I sit me down 
 
 To copy pictures as I may. 
 Two are fairer than I can draw. 
 
 Both are sweet in a diff'erent way. 
 And I wonder which one you would choose 
 
 If they were hung in the light of day. 
 
 288 
 
UNDER THE FLAG 
 
 Two dear little lads are Maurice and George, 
 And George looks east when the day is begun ; 
 "My cousin Maurice lives there," he sings, 
 "In Maine down under the rising sun." 
 
 They love each other, do Maurice and George, 
 And Maurice looks west when the day is done, 
 "My cousin George lives there," he sings, 
 "In Oregon, under the setting sun." 
 
 "The state of Maine is down by the sea. 
 You can sail to Cuba and San Juan, 
 And around the world," writes Maurice to George, 
 "I shall build a ship when I'm a man." 
 
 "The state of Oregon lies by the sea 
 
 Of the Sandwich Isles, — and away, away ! 
 Oh, you sail east and I'll sail west. 
 
 And we'll meet," writes George, "in Manila Bay." 
 
 289 
 
"WHAT'S IN A NAME?" 
 
 Rose is pale as January ; 
 Kitty Snow is bright as June ; 
 Lily is a darkey ; Mary 
 Carrol cannot sing a tune ; 
 Gower Cross is gay and merry ; 
 Solomon King is far from wise ; 
 Madame Grace is awkward, very ; 
 Polly Sharpe hath pleasant eyes ; 
 
 Elder White is black and shining; 
 Mrs. Black is light and fair ; 
 Samson Strong is weak and pining ; 
 Mistress Joy is full of care. 
 Though our names be fine or funny, 
 They can never make our fame ; 
 Loyal, loving, brave and sunny 
 We can be. "What's in a name.?" 
 
 ^90 
 
WHAT THE BIRDS SAID 
 
 In the elm-shaded street, 
 
 'J 
 
 Broad and dewy and cool, 
 Loitered two little feet 
 On their way to school. 
 And two wistful eyes 
 Watched the swift wings fly 
 Into the free blue skies 
 From the elm tops high. 
 
 "Heigho ! the fields are fair, 
 
 And the woods and the swirling brooks. 
 
 And the birds are free in the air," he said, 
 "What do I care for books?" 
 
 And all the happy birds 
 
 Sang loud his mood to share. 
 
 Sang bold and clear the words 
 "Tw whit! what do we care?*' 
 
 There came another day, 
 Fair and sunny and sweet. 
 And along the shaded way 
 There came the little feet. 
 But Oh, 'twas a rueful face 
 With eyes and cheeks aflame 
 Where tears had left their trace 
 And penitence and shame. 
 
 "Your wings should all be clipped 
 
 For the wicked things you say ! 
 
 I have been soundly whipped," he said, 
 "Because I ran away !" 
 
 S91 
 
And all the saucy birds 
 Sang loud his ire to dare, 
 Sang bold and clear the words, 
 ^^Tu whit! what do we care?^^ 
 
 ^92 
 
QUATRAINS 
 

MY COLORS 
 
 The blue in a baby's eyes, 
 The rose in the dawn of day, 
 
 The gold of the evening skies 
 And after the gold the gray. 
 
 OBLIVION 
 
 A WORD we coin to name the Past 
 
 That lies beyond our finite sense- 
 Eternal, infinite and vast, 
 Illumined by Omniscience. 
 
 THE SPHINX'S RIDDLE 
 
 It is said that the knowledge, grave sage, thou seekest 
 With darkened vision and mortal breath. 
 
 Is revealed to the lowliest and the meekest 
 
 Who pass each hour through the door of death. 
 
 295 
 
WE LOVE OUR PRISON LIFE 
 
 We love our prison life of toil and strife, 
 
 Chained to the ground, the body and the breath — 
 
 Unheeding all beyond, above; — The life 
 
 That broadens out to brighter worlds — we call it death. 
 
 LIGHT-BLIND 
 
 Blue Splendor fills the void — no deeps unclose 
 Beyond Day's glory to our dazzled eyes. 
 Night sweeps away the blinding veil and shows 
 The worlds that blossom in the infinite skies. 
 
 QUATRAINS 
 
 Father, we thank Thee for life and thought, 
 Mystical, measureless, flowing from Thee 
 
 Like the light that illumines the world, love fraught. 
 Our heavenly heritage, full and free. 
 
 II 
 
 Death's golden doors swing out for aye 
 To wider worlds. Beyond, Above, 
 "And life and thought have flown away" 
 To seek their Source in Light and Love. 
 
 S96 
 
ALONE AT DUSK I SIT BESIDE THE SEA 
 
 Alone at dusk I sit beside the sea, 
 Before me darkness and immensity. 
 
 But o'er the sands I hear the sparrows call, 
 And homes are near, and love is over all. 
 
 IN DARKEST DAYS 
 
 Though sorrow, loss and want befall 
 
 As through earth's darkest hours we grope, 
 
 The true heart overcometh all 
 By love and faith and hope. 
 
 297 
 
JUN 19 1908 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIOM 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 I III II I II II II nil II II,,., 
 
 018 604 466 6 VI 
 

 1. ::f 
 
 t 
 
 16 
 
 17 19 
 
 1.8 I 2b 
 
 21 I 23 
 22