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 jby Clyde ^lison Mann 
 
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 TtlE BlyUE SKT PRESS 
 CniCAGO 
 

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 THt Llbf;Af<Y OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 Twi-' Copies Received 
 
 JAN 5 1903 
 
 ^ .' C;vpyrigM Entry 
 
 CUSS PLx XXc. Ne. 
 
 • /V-, r s ? vT 
 
 ^ ■ ;COPY B. 
 
 Copyright I go 2 by 
 Clyde A. Mann 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 To A Canary 13 
 
 The Old Settlers* Picnic i 5 
 
 My Red Bird 18 
 
 Baby's First Birthday 19 
 
 A Question 20 
 
 The Westbound Train 21 
 
 When the Thresher Stops 22 
 
 The Washin' on the Line 24 
 
 Spring Bonfires 26 
 
 My Companion 28 
 
 Hope 30 
 
 When Beatrice Plays 31 
 
 A Lament 32 
 
 To A New Clock 33 
 
 Sehnsucht 34 
 
 To A Golf Stick 37 
 
 A Gust OF Winter 39 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
 \ 
 
TO A CANARY 
 
 Don Orsino, sing to Jane 
 
 Of the sunshine, of the rain 
 
 Of the April natal day, 
 
 Of her childhood, and its play ; 
 
 Of the evening lullaby es 
 
 When to sleep, with happy sighs. 
 
 She was sung. Bring to Jane 
 
 Her first birthdays back again. 
 
 Don Orsino, sing to Jane 
 Of the sunny days and rain 
 In the years that later came ; 
 Sing of dancing tongues of flame, 
 In a circle at the hearth 
 And the moving shadows swarth ; 
 Of the birthday cheer sing on, 
 Sing and sing, oh sweet voiced Don ! 
 
 13 
 
Don Orsino, sing away 
 Notes of every golden day 
 When the sun was shining high 
 From a cloudless, springtime sky 
 On my sweetheart Jane, and me 
 In an April ecstacy. 
 Sing Orsino, sing with zest, 
 Of the maid that I loved best ! 
 
 Don Orsino, sing it sweet. 
 
 Of a happiness replete ; 
 
 Trill your softest for the ear 
 
 Of the wondering baby near; 
 
 Sing of brooks and dancing foam 
 
 In your sun-drenched forest home — 
 
 Baby listens, you must sing 
 
 That the coming years will bring 
 
 More of sunny days than rain — 
 
 Don Orsino, sing to Jane ! 
 
 14 
 
THE OLD SETTLERS' PICNIC 
 
 The dust is on the ragweed, the cricket 
 
 singin' shrill, 
 There are ragged holes a-showin' in the 
 
 sunflower's yellow frill, 
 Katydids give warnin' that the summer 's 
 
 soon to end. 
 All out-doors is hummin' and its hum- 
 
 min's seem to blend ; 
 The solar system's blazin' its driest 
 
 August heat. 
 An' its time for us old settlers and 
 
 pioneers to meet ; 
 The barns are left to pigeons, the thrash- 
 er's roar is still. 
 For dust is on the ragweed, an' the 
 
 cricket singin' shrill ! 
 
 When speeches in the shady grove have 
 ended one by one, 
 
 When reports of th' committees an* elec- 
 tions are all done, 
 
 15 
 
With the teedlein' of the merry-go- 
 round a-pipin' through it all 
 
 An' the yellin' of the "weinie" man ; 
 **peanuts an' popcorn" call, 
 
 We *re hungrier than coyotes, an' the 
 cake that mother made 
 
 Tastes delicious after sandwiches an' 
 swigs o' lemonade ; 
 
 The band '11 play, there 's dancing, a 
 race '11 then be run — 
 
 But pioneers at picnics have a heartache 
 with their fun. 
 
 I watch the balloon ascension, an' I try 
 to ring a cane, 
 
 I look the racin' horses over from their 
 withers to their mane, 
 
 I bite a straw, stand gassin' about politics 
 an' crops, 
 
 Argy 'bout ^'imperialism" with demo- 
 crats and pops. 
 
 i6 
 
But there 's a solemn feelin' — that 
 memorial report 
 
 Brings up faces, not forgotten, that used 
 to watch the sport. 
 
 An' — I'm just a-sneezin' — I get a lone- 
 some thrill 
 
 When the dust is on the ragweed, and 
 the cricket singin' shrill ! 
 
 17 
 
MY RED BIRD 
 
 Out in the woods, in mossy nooks 
 The redbird sings of flickering brooks 
 That glide through glades, where up- 
 ward looks 
 The fern through rifts to the wheeling 
 
 rooks — 
 Oh ! the redbird's notes are sweet. 
 
 Out in the woods, through grassy glens 
 My baby calls to the echo dens, 
 And laughs aloud in leafy lairs 
 As loitering, she onward fares, 
 And my redbird's laugh is sweet. 
 
 Snug in our nest, yes, thine and mine, 
 Our redbird sleeps, our babe, yes thine. 
 And drifts through dreams a-glint, 
 
 a-shine 
 With radiant love, oh love divine — 
 Ah ! my redbird babe, sleep sweet ! 
 
 i8 
 
BABY'S FIRST BIRTHDAY 
 
 Out of the land of age-by-months, 
 
 To the land of one-year-old, 
 
 My baby drifts all cosily 
 
 As roses of June unfold. 
 
 And drowsy drone of summer's song, 
 
 Of bees a-loitering by, 
 
 Of bird and breeze and tree top leaf, 
 
 Sing her birthday lullaby. 
 
 Out of a land of eat-and-sleep 
 To a realm of creep-around. 
 My baby slips so sleepily 
 In a world all lullabye sound. 
 Does she sigh for the world she left 
 
 behind, 
 As she wearily snuggles to rest. 
 When the one red taper has sputtered out 
 And the rose has Teft the west ? 
 
 19 
 
A QUESTION 
 
 Oh is it true, as it seems to be. 
 
 The sob in my baby's cry 
 
 Is the sob unheard, with the tear unseen 
 
 Of her mother's last goodbye ? 
 
 Oh, is it real, as it seems to be. 
 The anguish her mother bore 
 Is aching yet in my baby's heart, 
 Or is that pain no more ? 
 
 Oh baby dear, were it really true. 
 Were heartache yours, a sigh. 
 The God who ordered thus would rule 
 That buds, ere blooms, must die. 
 
 20 
 
THE WEST-BOUND TRAIN 
 
 A sod house on the broad brown miles, 
 Our home — on a prairie farm — 
 Scant pleasure there the heart beguiles 
 Till the night train's shrill alarm. 
 
 Afar looms smoke o'er snow-flecked 
 
 grass — 
 Lights gleam from crowded cars — 
 A glimpse of life as train sounds pass, 
 Then the sod house — and the stars. 
 
 Thoughts fly fast to the old home place, 
 To a face through a lamp-lit pane, 
 Far east through dusk whence flashed 
 
 the race 
 Of the west-bound, roaring train. 
 
 From our cabin to the stars we turn, 
 Fade drudgery and pain. 
 The lights of hope do freshly burn 
 New kindled by a train. 
 
 21 
 
WHEN THE THRESHER STOPS 
 
 The sun sinks to the prairie, its blazing 
 colors spread, 
 
 The yellow straw turns ruddy from the 
 radiance overhead. 
 
 Not a word is spoken but the bundles, 
 grimly fed. 
 
 Make of golden dust a halo, where spin- 
 ning grain is sped ; 
 
 Shadows stretch far over stubble, then 
 the stubble turns to brown 
 
 And the thresher's roaring stops — when 
 the August sun is down. 
 
 A clatter of a windmill ; puff of breezes, 
 
 sweet 
 With fragrant harvest odor from yon 
 
 miles of new-cut wheat. 
 
 24 
 
Sprawled on grassy door-yard, I hear the 
 
 big trees purr, 
 See all the stars come blinking — just 
 
 don't want to stir; 
 Forget the ache of threshing, as Care 
 
 forgets to frown. 
 Want to lie here just a-dreaming, as the 
 
 August night comes down. 
 
 23 
 
THE WASHIN' ON THE LINE 
 
 There wus somethin' real uncanny in its 
 antics in the wind, 
 
 Flannels all a-writhin', as though tor- 
 tured, havin' sinned; 
 
 White sheets flutterin' mildly, with eerie 
 flop an' sway 
 
 Thet were even quite unsettlin' at the 
 middle of the day ! 
 
 But when the dusk of ev'nin' came steal- 
 in' over things 
 
 Those empty arms began to make some 
 twitchy sort o' flings. 
 
 Seemed as if they beckoned at you with 
 direful, sped:ral sign. 
 
 Used to fairly scare me, the washin' on 
 the line ! 
 
 Now I have a longin' for that sight of 
 
 boyhood days 
 And for the sudsy odors thet washdays 
 
 alius raise ; 
 24 
 
I want to see familiar duds a-dryin' in 
 the air — 
 
 Blouses, nightshirts, all the things we 
 fellows used to wear, 
 
 And frocks o' checked blue gingham my 
 little sisters wore 
 
 With shawls pinned on behind a-trailin* 
 on the floor ; 
 
 I'm lonesome fur the playmates of child- 
 hood days of mine, 
 
 When swung at midday, years ago, the 
 washin' on the line. 
 
 25 
 
SPRING BONFIRES 
 
 Stare up at the treetops, robins chirrup- 
 ing there; 
 
 Break the twigs of maples ; sap and some 
 to spare ; 
 
 Look for buds and grass-blades, sit bask- 
 ing in the shine 
 
 Of moonlight all delicious, sun as mel- 
 low as old wine — 
 
 World is all a-singing, glad on foot and 
 wing. 
 
 And the sweetest sign of the world's re- 
 vival is the bonfires every spring. 
 
 Oh, the fragrance of the blazes when the 
 
 spring wakes up the world 
 With magic in the smoke haze, as from 
 
 wizard's urn it curled, 
 Awakens childhood day-dreams, all the 
 
 joys of joyous youth. 
 Loved faces peer in memory from garden 
 
 hats uncouth 
 26 
 
As the figure of the father moves again 
 with sturdy swing 
 
 Raking for the bonfire of a dear and by- 
 gone spring. 
 
 27 
 
MY COMPANION 
 
 With my shadow for comrade I walked 
 
 in the morn ; 
 The sun shimmered frost on stalks of the 
 
 corn 
 And cock crowed to cock far clarion 
 
 glee — 
 But silent the comrade that Death left 
 
 for me. 
 
 With my shadow I walked at radiant 
 
 noon, 
 The world was all drowsy with Autumn's 
 
 low croon, 
 And calls of young mothers to children 
 
 at play 
 Made my comrade's drear silence more 
 
 heavily weigh. 
 
 28 
 
With my shadow I walked when near 
 was the dusk, 
 
 Bright sun had thawed stubbles, whose 
 incense of musk 
 
 Conjured pidures for me of a hope- 
 lighted past 
 
 That faded as vanished my shadow, at 
 last. 
 
 My shadow my comrade forever must be. 
 Walking and working — fast wedded are 
 
 we 
 While springs turn to summers, while 
 
 autumns grow bleak, 
 Till, winters all ending, my sweetheart 
 
 shall speak. 
 
 29 
 
HOPE 
 
 There is no night ; the sun may sink 
 
 from sight 
 And end resplendent day, but ere its final 
 
 ray 
 Hath faded quite there gleams above, 
 
 less bright, 
 The even's stars, to stay till dawn doth 
 
 show its grey 
 Of a new and different day. 
 
 There is no death ; the final mortal 
 
 breath. 
 And then behold ! New light to those 
 
 who hold that moment blight. 
 New courage in the dread hour told to 
 
 wait, to work, to fight. ' 
 The heart is new-cast in bereavement's 
 
 rigid mold. 
 For a world both grey and cold. 
 
 30 
 
WHEN BEATRICE PLAYS 
 
 The lilt and laugh of a light refrain 
 Flung by from flying fingers — 
 Flecks of sun in flow'ry lane 
 Where summer ev'ning lingers, 
 Thrushes thrills of melodies. 
 Morns of glittering dew — 
 Dancing dust of harmonies 
 When Beatrice plays to you. 
 
 Largo lull, then a low lament 
 Brave in major phrasing, 
 Sorrows' song so simply blent 
 With Fate's and Fortune's praising 
 Voiced is dark of forest dense 
 Andserenest rift of blue; 
 Bass despair to hope intense. 
 When Beatrice plays to you. 
 
 Rattle and rush and roar of rain. 
 Crescendo notes in a minor ; 
 Estatic eddies of swift refrain 
 Flood fuller and free and finer — - 
 31 
 
Call you out from a catacombed coast 
 To be lulled on the rippling blue, 
 To dream the dreams you like the 
 
 most — 
 While Beatrice plays to you. 
 
 A LAMENT 
 
 Death, who com'st to some like sleep 
 That doth o'er some so gently creep 
 None may morn the memory — 
 Why may this not always be ? 
 
 Why comest ever in horrid guise 
 To close so roughly weary eyes ? 
 When victor, oh vaunt not power to us 
 Why, if God-sent, comest thus ? 
 
 3^ 
 
TO A NEW CLOCK 
 
 Good clock, new upon the wall. 
 Astir with life, be kindly as you count 
 
 the hours; 
 A month, a year, Spring, Summer, Fall, 
 And Winter, in living the life that 's ours. 
 Give no heed when death is yearned 
 For need there is to live and strive, but 
 
 tune thy voice 
 To gladdest note when death is earned 
 And we with our loves rejoice. 
 
 33 
 
 L.cFO. 
 
SEHNSUCHT 
 
 Ah, there was a maid whose dancing eyes 
 Look back to me neath summer skies, 
 Blue arched o'er hillside daisies : 
 Midst fields of white all drenched with 
 
 sun 
 Her eyes, aglow with love just won. 
 Laughed back at lover's phrases. 
 Then sung the wind that swept her hair 
 Of rapture of that future fair 
 Of sanguine love's fond dreaming ; 
 There blossoms billowed, gold and 
 
 white, 
 Bright butterflies winged a care-free 
 
 flight — 
 As gay as young life's seeming ! 
 
 Ah, my sweet bride ! welcoming word 
 And whispered love my wonder stirred 
 And love took graver rhythm ; 
 
 34 
 
Her eyes had depths all new to me — 
 That I as lover could not see — 
 Starlight and dew were i' them. 
 Warm lights shone at dusk from home 
 Their ruddy cheer through storm-blown 
 
 foam, 
 In calm serene were glowing. 
 But storm or calm, one brave sweet voice 
 Through ev'ry day acclaimed my 
 
 choice — 
 In sun our lives were flowing. 
 
 But came a day, a mother wept — 
 She could not hold her babe that slept — 
 Dragged weeks and months so grimly ! 
 Across our lives the shadow fell 
 Of pain I could not share nor tell. 
 Though I knew her love not dimly. 
 There is a mound neath giant elms ; 
 Below, a glen of sun-sought realms 
 
 3S 
 
Where ferns and flowers pierce leafy 
 
 mould 
 When life succeeds to death and cold ; 
 Oh, Death, she loved these ferns, loved 
 
 life. 
 Thou canst not claim my sweetheart- 
 wife! 
 Oh, maiden loved in summer sun 
 And wooed midst sylvan glory. 
 Whose life and mine were briefly one, 
 The grave ends not the story : 
 Though now, akin to sorrow's horde 
 I grieve at mourners' sombre pall. 
 In sifting rays of hope is stored 
 The broader human love, — for all ! 
 
 36 
 
TO A GOLF STICK 
 
 Made of hick'ry, iron heeled, 
 Friend indeed in midst of field, 
 Midiron yclept, stalwart stock 
 Hear me now, a hummer knock. 
 Put me in in barely two — 
 High and far, direction true ! 
 
 When with fav'rite middle I 
 Tramp the upland, blue the sky. 
 Mellow sunshine over all 
 Where the bobolinkums' call. 
 Brings to mind the freshest breeze 
 When thou drovest ball from upland 
 tees. 
 
 Sturdy golf stick, life is fair 
 When I swing thee in country air, 
 Loft the sphere from bunker lie, 
 Speed it where the hole flags fly — 
 Approaching shot with two to spare, 
 Then, oh then, the world is fair ! 
 
 37 
 
With clumsy topping, grubbing stroke, 
 Often thou my heart hast broke, 
 Won and lost we have together, 
 Foursome played in grewsome weather, 
 ■Dear thou art at times of winning, 
 Foozle thou, and thou go'st spinning ! 
 
 Mashie, driver, brassie, all 
 Have small skill in back-spin fall; 
 Lofter light and heavy one too 
 Have no charm with work to do ; 
 Skill and speed, ye midiron pet, 
 Show the rubber, shine or wet ! 
 
 Apt and sturdy, when you're whirled 
 What is needed show the world ; 
 Deftly done tliy hammer saokc, 
 Like heart of roses, arm of oak. 
 Learn from thee can all of men, 
 But is that why I love thee, then ? 
 
 38 
 
A GUST OF WINTER 
 
 Ho, ho, ho, heigho ! 
 Lustily, gustily the rough blasts blow. 
 Busily, dizzily the flakes whirl by, 
 Drifting and sifting neath a storm-night 
 
 sky; 
 Oh Wind, stop and tell me why. 
 Why not laugh — so woefully sigh ? 
 The wind stormed on, a life went by; 
 Years answered that question, his ques- 
 tion, "why" ? 
 
 39 
 
Here ends CLOVER ^ THISTLE 
 
 as written by Clyde Alison Mann. Made 
 into this, book by Langworthy & Stevens, at 
 The Blue Sky Press, 47 3 ^ Kenwood Ave- 
 nue, Chicago, in November, ig02. Of this 
 edition one hundred and fifty copies have 
 been printed, of which this is number /^y 
 
J903 
 
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