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Picked Poems 
 
 ELLA WHEELER \^aLCOX 
 
 "1 
 
 -/' 
 
 W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 1912 
 
^5 
 
 35^^ 
 
 Copyrighted, 1912 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 
 
 PICKED POEMS 
 
 CCLA330665 
 
This book is affectionately dedicated to 
 
 €J)cotio?ia aBarri^ott 
 
 (Mrs. Frederick Faulks) 
 
 IN APPRECIATION OF HER PATIENCE AND KINDNESS 
 
 IN READING THROUGH THE FOLLOWING BOOKS OF 
 
 VERSE, AND AIDING ME BY HER CRITICAL 
 
 JUDGMENT TO MAKE THESE 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 Poems of Passion 
 
 Poems of Pleasure 
 
 Poems of Power 
 
 Poems of Progress 
 
 Poems of Sentiment 
 
 Poems of Experience 
 
 Maurine 
 
 Three Women 
 
 Yesterdays 
 
 Kingdom of Love 
 
 The Beautiful Land of Nod ^ 
 
 The Englishman and Other Poems ^' 
 
 The Author 
 
 i 
 
I STEP ACROSS THE MYSTIC BORDER- 
 LAND 
 
 I step across the mystic border-land^ 
 And look upon the wonder-ivorld of Art, 
 How beautiful^ how beautiful its hills! 
 And all its valleys, how surpassing fair! 
 
 The winding paths that lead up to tJie heights 
 Are polished by the footsteps of the great. 
 The mountain-peaks stand very near to God: 
 The cho.sen few whose feet have trod thereon 
 Have talked with Him, and with the angels icalked. 
 
 Here are no sounds of discord— no profane 
 
 Or senseless gossip of unworthy things — 
 
 Only the songs of chisels and of pens. 
 
 Of busy brushes y and ecstatic strains 
 
 Of souls surcharged tvith music most divine. 
 
 Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief 
 
 For any day or object left behind— 
 
 For time is counted precious, and herein 
 
 Is such complete abandonment of Self 
 
 That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance 
 
 The beauty of the land where all is fair. 
 
 Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land. 
 
 Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here 
 
 Where the great artists of the world have trod— 
 
 The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth f 
 
 Only the singer of a little song; 
 
 Yet loving Art with such a mighty love 
 
 I hold it greater to have won a place 
 
 Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave, 
 
 Than in the outer world of greed and gain 
 
 To sit upon a royal throne and reign. 
 
» 
 
 PICKED POEMS 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 s 
 
 1 
 
 the way hard and thorny, oh, my 
 
 brother ? 
 Do tempests beat, and adverse wild 
 winds blow? 
 And are you spent, and broken at each nightfall, 
 
 Yet with each morn you rise and onward go ? 
 Brother, I know, I know! 
 I, too, have journeyed so. 
 
 Is your heart mad with longing, oh, my sister? 
 
 Are all great passions in your breast aglow ? 
 Does the white wonder of your own soul blind you, 
 
 And are you torn with rapture and with woe ? 
 Sister, I know, I know! 
 I, too, have suffered so. 
 
2 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Is the road filled with snare and quicksand, pil- 
 grim? 
 Do pitfalls lie where roses seem to grow? 
 And have you sometimes stumbled in the darkness, 
 And are you bruised and scarred by many a 
 blow? 
 Pilgrim, I know, I know! 
 I, too, have stumbled so. 
 
 Do you send out rebellious cry and question, 
 As mocking hours pass silently and slow, 
 
 Does your insistent 'wherefore' bring no answer, 
 While stars wax pale with watching, and droop 
 low ? 
 
 I, too, have questioned so. 
 
 But now I know, I know! 
 
 To toil, to strive, to err, to cry, to grow, 
 
 To love through all — this is the Avay to know. 
 
THE SQUANDERER 
 
 THE SQUANDERER 
 
 OD gave him passions, splendid as the 
 sun, 
 Meant for the lordliest purposes; a 
 part 
 
 Of Nature's full and fertile mother heart. 
 From which new systems and new worlds are spun. 
 And now behold, behold, what he has done. 
 In Folly's Court and Carnal Pleasure's Mart 
 He flung the wealth life gave him at the start; 
 This of all mortal sins, the deadliest one. 
 
 At dawn he stood, potential, opulent 
 
 "With virile manhood and emotions keen. 
 
 And wonderful with God's creative fire. 
 
 At noon he stands, all love's large fortune spent 
 
 In petty traffic, Yinproductive — mean — 
 
 A pauper, cursed with impotent desire. 
 
PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 
 
 ITH brooding mien and sultry eyes, 
 Outside the gates of Paradise 
 Eve sat, and fed the faggot flame 
 That lit the path whence Adam came. 
 (Strange are the workings of a woman's mind.) 
 
 His giant shade preceded him, 
 
 Along the pathway green, and dim; 
 
 She heard his sw^ft approaching tread. 
 
 But still she sat with drooping head. 
 
 (Dark are the jungles of unhappy thought.) 
 
 He kissed her mouth, and gazed within 
 Her troubled eyes; for since their sin, 
 His love had grown a thousand fold. 
 But Eve drew back; her face w^as cold. 
 (Oh, who can read the cipher of a soul.) 
 
 '^Now art thou mourning still, sweet wife," 
 
 Spake Adam tenderly, ''the life 
 
 Of our lost Eden? Why, in thee 
 
 All Paradise remains for me." 
 
 (Deep, deep the currents in a strong man's heart.) 
 
THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 5- 
 
 Thus Eve: ''Nay, not lost Eden's bliss 
 I mourn; for heavier woe than this 
 Wears on me with one thought accursed. 
 In Adam's life I am not first. 
 (0, woman's mind! what hells are fashioned 
 there.) 
 
 ''The serpent whispered Lilith's name: 
 (Twas thus he drove me to my shame) 
 'Pluck yonder fruit,' he said, 'and know, 
 How Adam loved her, long ago. ' 
 (Fools, fools, who wander searching after pain.) 
 
 ' ' I ate, and like an ancient scroll, 
 
 I saw that other life unroll; 
 
 I saw thee, Adam, far from here 
 
 "With Lilith on a wondrous sphere." 
 
 (Bold, bold, the daring of a jealous heart.) 
 
 ' ' Nay, tell me not I dreamed it all ; 
 
 Last night in sleep thou didst let fall 
 
 Her name in tenderness; I bowed 
 
 My stricken head and cried aloud. 
 
 (Vast, vast the torment of a self-made woe.) 
 
 "And it was then, and not before. 
 That Eden shut and barred its door. 
 Alone in God's great world I seemed, 
 Whilst thou of thy lost Lilith dreamed. 
 (Oh^ who can measure such wide loneliness.) 
 
6 PICKED POEMS 
 
 *'Now every little breeze that sings, 
 Sighs Lilith, like thy whisperings. 
 Oh, where can sorrow hide its face, 
 When Lilith, Lilith, fills all space?" 
 (And Adam in the darkness spake no word.) 
 
THE WHITE MAN 
 
 THE WHITE MAN 
 
 HEREVER the white man's feet have 
 trod 
 (Oh, far does the white man stray) 
 A bold road rifles the virginal sod, 
 And the forest wakes out of its dream of God, 
 
 To yield him the right of way. 
 For this is the law : By the power of thought, 
 For worse, or for letter, are miracles wrought. 
 
 Wherever the white man's pathway leads, 
 
 (Far, far has that pathway gone) 
 The earth is littered with broken creeds — 
 And always the dark man's tent recedes, 
 
 And the white man pushes on. 
 For this is the law: Be it good or ill, 
 All things must yield to the stronger will, 
 
 W^herever the white man's light is shed, 
 
 (Oh, far has that light been thrown) 
 Though nature has suffered and beauty bled, 
 f et the goal of the race has been thrust ahead, 
 
 And the might of the race has grown, 
 ^■"or this is the law : Be it cruel or kind, 
 %e Universe sways to the power of mind. 
 
PICKED POEMS 
 
 THAT DAY 
 
 HEART of mine, through all thef 
 
 perfect clays, 
 Whether of white Decembers or gree 
 Mays, 
 
 There runs a dark thought like a creeping snafo 
 Or like a black thread which by some mistake 
 Life has strung through the pearls of happy year$ 
 A thought which borders all my joy with tears. 
 
 Some day, some day, or you, or I, alone, 
 Jlust look upon the scenes we two have known, 
 Must tread the self-same path we two have trod 
 And cry in vain to one who is with God, 
 To lean down from the Silent Realms and say 
 ''I love you'' in the old familiar way. 
 
 Some day — and each day, beauteous though it b 
 Brings closer that dread hour for you or me. 
 Fleet-footed joy, who hurries time along, 
 Is yet a secret foe who does us wrong ; 
 Speeding us gaily, though he well dotli know 
 Of yonder pathway whence but one may go. 
 
THAT DAY 
 
 Ay, one will go. To go is sweet, I wis — 
 Yet. God must needs invent some special bliss 
 To make His Paradise seem very dear 
 To one who goes and leaves the other here. 
 To sever souls so bound by love and time, 
 For any one but God, would be a crime. 
 
 Yet death wdll entertain his ow^n, I think. 
 To one who stays life gives the gall to drink ; 
 To one who stays, or be it you or me, 
 There waits the Garden of Gethsemane. 
 dark, inevitable, and awful day. 
 When one of us must go and one must stay! 
 
10 
 
 PICKED POEMS 
 
 BROTHERHOOD 
 
 OD, what a world, if men in street and 
 mart, 
 Felt that same kinship of the human 
 heart, 
 
 Which makes them, in the face of fire and flood, 
 Rise to the meaning of True Brotherhood. 
 
THE DECADENT 
 
 THE DECADENT 
 
 11 
 
 MONG the virile hosts he passed along, 
 Conspicuous for an undetermined grace 
 Of sexless beauty. In his form and 
 face 
 God's mighty purpose somehow had gone wrong. 
 j Then on his loom he wove a careful song, 
 Of sensuous threads; a wordy web of lace 
 AVherein the primal passions of the race 
 And his own sins made wonder for the throng. 
 
 A little pen prick opened up a vein, 
 
 And gave the finished mesh a crimson blot — 
 The last consummate touch of studied art. 
 
 But those who knew strong passion and keen pain, 
 Looked through and through the pattern and 
 
 found not 
 One single great emotion of the heart. 
 
12 PICKED POEMS 
 
 DISARMAMENT 
 
 DREAMED a Voice, of one God-au- 
 thorized, 
 Cried loudly thro' the world, Disarm! 
 Disarm ! 
 
 And there was consternation in the camps; 
 And men who strutted under braid and lace 
 Beat on their medalled breasts, and wailed, ''Un- 
 done!'' 
 The word was echoed from a thousand hills. 
 And shop and mill, and factory and forge. 
 Where throve the awful industries of death, 
 Hushed into silence. Scrawled upon the doors. 
 The passer read, ' ' Peace bids her children starve, 
 But foolish women clasped their little sons 
 And wept for joy, not reasoning like men. 
 
 Again the Voice Commanded : ' ' Now go forth 
 And build a world for Progress and for Peace. 
 This work has waited since the earth was shaped : 
 But men were fighting, and they could not toil. 
 The needs of life outnumber needs of death. 
 Leave death with God. Go forth, I say, and 
 build.'' 
 
 I 
 
DISARMAMENT 13 
 
 And then a sudden, comprehensive joy 
 
 Shone in the eyes of men ; and one who thought 
 
 Only of conquests and of victories 
 
 Woke from his gloomy reverie and cried, 
 
 ' ' Ay, come and build ! I challenge all to try. 
 
 And I will make a world more beautiful 
 
 Than Eden was before the serpent came." 
 
 And like a running flame on western wilds, 
 
 Ambition spread from mind to listening mind, 
 
 And lo ! the looms were busy once again. 
 
 And all the earth resounded with men's toil. 
 
 Vast palaces of Science graced the world ; 
 Their banquet-tables spread with feasts of truth 
 For all who hungered. Music kissed the air, 
 Once rent with boom of cannons. Statues gleamed 
 From, wooded ways, where ambushed armies hid 
 In times of old. The sea and air were gay 
 With shining sails that soared from land to land. 
 A universal language of the world 
 Made nations kin, and poverty was known 
 But as a word marked ^^ obsolete," like war. 
 The arts were kindled with celestial fire; 
 
 New poets sang so Homer's fame grew dim; 
 And brush and chisel gave the wondering race 
 Sublimer treasures than old Greece displayed. 
 Men differed still; fierce argument arose, 
 
14 PICKED POEMS 
 
 For men are human in this human sphere; 
 But unarmed Arbitration stood between, 
 And reason settled in a hundred hours 
 What War disputed for a hundred years. 
 
 Oh, that a Voice of one God-authorized 
 Might cry to all mankind, Disarm! Disarm! 
 
ILLUSION 15 
 
 ILLUSION 
 
 OD and I in space alone 
 
 And nobody else in view. 
 ^^And where are the people, Lord," 
 I said, 
 
 *'The earth below, and the sky o'erhead, 
 And the dead who once I knew?" 
 
 ^^That was a dream," God, smiled and said — 
 
 *^A dream that seemed to be true. 
 There were no people, living or dead. 
 There was no earth, and no sky o'erhead; 
 There was only Myself — in you. ' ' 
 
 '^Why do I feel no fear," I asked, 
 
 ** Meeting you here this way? 
 For I have sinned I know full well ? 
 And is there Heaven, and is there hell, 
 
 And is this the judgment day?" 
 
 *^Nay, those were but dreams," the Great God 
 said, 
 
 ** Dreams, that have ceased to be. 
 There are no such things as fear or sin, 
 There is no you — ^you never have been — 
 
 There is nothing at all but Me." 
 
16 PICKED POEMS 
 
 EASTER MORN 
 
 TRUTH that has long lain buried 
 At Superstition 's door, 
 
 I see, in the da\™ uprising 
 In all its strength once more. 
 
 Hidden away in the darkness, 
 By ignorance crucified, 
 
 Crushed under stones of dogmas- 
 Yet lo ! it has not died. 
 
 It stands in the light transfigured, 
 It speaks from the heights above, 
 
 ^'Eacli soul is its own redeemer; 
 There is no law hut Love,'' 
 
 And the spirits of men are gladdend 
 As they welcomed this Truth re-born 
 
 With its feet on the grave of Error 
 And its eyes to the Easter Morn. 
 
WE TWO 17 
 
 WE TWO 
 
 E two make home of any place we go ; 
 We two find joy in any kind of 
 weather ; 
 Or if the earth is clothed in bloom 
 or snow, 
 If summer days invite, or bleak winds blow, 
 What matters it if we two are together? 
 We two, we two, we make our world, our weather. 
 
 We two make banquets of the plainest fare; 
 In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure; 
 
 We hide with wreaths the furrowed brow of 
 care. 
 
 And win to smiles the set lips of despair. 
 For us life always moves with lilting measure ; 
 We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure. 
 
 We two find youth renewed with every dawn; 
 Each day holds something of an unknown glory. 
 
 We waste no thought on grief or pleasure gone ; 
 
 Tricked out like hope, time leads us on and on, 
 And thrums upon his harp new song or story. 
 We two, we two, we find the paths of glory. 
 
18 PICKED POEMS 
 
 We two make heaven here on this little earth, 
 We do not need to wait for realms eternal, 
 We know the use of tears, know sorrow's worth, 
 And pain for us is always love's rebirth. 
 Our paths lead closely by the paths supernal; 
 We two, we two, we live in love eternal. 
 
AT FONTAINEBLEAU 19 
 
 AT FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 T Fontainebleau, I saw a little bed 
 Fashioned of polished wood, with gold 
 
 ornate. 
 Ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and 
 hate 
 Once battled there, above a childish head, 
 And there in vain grief wept, and memory plead. 
 It was so small ! but Ah, dear God, how great 
 The part it played in one sad woman's fate. 
 How wide the gloom, that narrow object shed. 
 
 The symbol of an over-reaching aim, 
 
 The emblem of a devastated joy. 
 
 It spoke of glory, and a blasted home: 
 Of fleeting honours, and disordered fame, 
 
 And the lone passing of a fragile boy. 
 
 It was the cradle of the King of Rome. 
 
20 PICKED POEMS 
 
 YOU WILL BE WHAT YOU WILL TO BE 
 
 OU will be what you will to be; 
 
 Let failure find its false content 
 In that poor word ^^environment/ 
 But spirit scorns it, and is free. 
 
 It masters time, it conquers space, 
 
 It cows that boastful trickster Chance, 
 And bids the tyrant Circumstance 
 
 Uncrown, and fill a servant's place. 
 
 The human Will, that force unseen, 
 The offspring of a deathless Soul, 
 Can hew the way to any goal, 
 
 Though walls of granite intervene. 
 
 Be not impatient in delay. 
 
 But wait as one who understands. 
 When spirit rises and commands. 
 
 The gods are ready to obey. 
 
 The river seeking for the sea 
 
 Confronts the dam and precipice, 
 Yet knows it cannot fail or miss; 
 
 You will be what you will to be! 
 
THE STORY 21 
 
 THE STORY 
 
 HEY met each other in the glade- 
 She lifted up her eyes ; 
 Alack the day! Alack the maid! 
 She blushed in swift surprise. 
 Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from lifting up 
 the eyes. 
 
 The pail was full, the path was steep — 
 
 He reached to her his hand; 
 She felt her warm young pulses leap, 
 
 But did not understand. 
 Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from clasping 
 
 hand with hand. 
 
 She sat beside him in the wood — 
 
 He wooed with words and sighs; 
 Ah! love in Spring seems sweet and good, 
 
 And maidens are not wise. 
 Alas ! Alas ! the woe that comes from listing lovers ' 
 
 sighs. . 
 
22 PICKED POEMS 
 
 The summer sun shone fairly down, 
 
 The wind blew from the south; 
 As blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown, 
 
 His kiss fell on her mouth. 
 Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from kisses on 
 
 the mouth. 
 
 And now the autumn time is near, 
 
 The lover roves away: 
 With breaking heart and falling tear, 
 
 She sits the livelong day. 
 Alas! Alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove 
 
 away. 
 
THE QUEEN ^S LAST EIDE 23 
 
 THE QUEEN'S LAST RIDE 
 (Written on the day of Queen Victoria's funeral) 
 
 HE Queen is taking a drive to-day: 
 They have hung with purple the car- 
 riage-way, 
 They have dressed with purple the 
 royal track 
 Where the Queen goes forth and never comes 
 back. 
 
 Let no man labour as she goes by 
 On her last appearance to mortal eye; 
 With heads uncovered let all men wait 
 For the Queen to pass, in her regal state. 
 
 Army and Navy shall lead the way 
 
 For that wonderful coach of the Queen's to-day, 
 
 Kings and Princes and Lords of the land 
 
 Shall ride behind her, an humble band; 
 
 And over the city and over the world 
 
 Shall the flags of all Nations be half-mast furled. 
 
 For the silent lady of royal birth 
 
 Who is riding away from the Courts of earth. 
 
 Riding away from the world's unrest 
 
 To a mystical goal, on a secret quest. 
 
24 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Though in royal splendour she drives through 
 
 town, 
 Her robes are simple, she wears no crown; 
 And yet she wears one; for, widowed no more, 
 She is crowned with the love that has gone before, 
 And crowned with the love she has left behind 
 In the hidden depths of each mourner's mind. 
 
 Bow low, your heads — lift your hearts on high — 
 The Queen in silence is driving by ! 
 
UNANSWERED PRAYERS 25 
 
 UNANSWERED PRAYERS 
 
 IKE some schoolmaster, kind in being 
 
 stern, 
 Who hears the children crying o'er 
 
 their slates 
 
 And calling, ''Help me, Master!" yet helps not. 
 Since in his silence and refusal lies 
 Their self-development, so God abides 
 Unheeding many prayers. He is not deaf 
 To any cry sent up from earnest hearts; 
 He hears and strengthens when He must deny. 
 He sees us weeping over life's hard sums; 
 But should he give the key and dry our tears, 
 What would it profit us when school v/ere done 
 And not one lesson mastered? 
 
 What a world 
 Were this if all our prayers were answered. Not 
 In famed Pandora's box were such vast ills 
 As lie in human hearts. Should our desires, 
 Voiced one by one in prayer, ascend to God 
 And come back as events shaped to our wish, 
 What chaos would result! 
 
26 PICKED POEMS 
 
 In my fierce youth 
 I sighed out breath enough to move a fleet, 
 Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied boons 
 Which were denied; and that denial bends 
 My knee to prayers of gratitude each day 
 Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayers 
 I rose always regirded for, the strife 
 And conscious of new strength. Pray, on, sad 
 
 heart, 
 That which thou pleadest for may not be given, 
 But in the lofty altitude where souls 
 ^Hio supplicate God's grace are lifted, there 
 Thou Shalt find help to bear thy daily lot 
 Which is not elscAvhere found. 
 
THE POET^S THEME 27 
 
 THE POET'S THEME 
 
 What is the explanation of the strange silence of Ameri- 
 can poets concerning American triumphs on sea and land ? 
 
 — Literary Digest. 
 
 HY should the poet of these pregnant 
 times 
 Be asked to sing of war's unholy 
 crimes ? 
 
 To laud and eulogise the trade which thrives 
 On horrid holocausts of human lives? 
 
 Mar was a fighting beast when earth was young, 
 And war the only theme when Homer sung. 
 
 'Twixt might and might the equal contest lay : 
 Not so the battles of our modem day. 
 
 Too often now the conquering hero struts, 
 A Gulliver among the Liliputs. 
 
 Success no longer rests on skill or fate, 
 But on the movements of a syndicate. 
 
 Of old, men fought and deemed it right and just. 
 To-day the warrior fights because he must, 
 
28 PICKED POEMS 
 
 And in his secret soul feels shame because 
 He desecrates the higher manhood's laws. 
 
 Oh! there are worthier themes for poet's pen 
 In this great hour, than bloody deeds of men 
 
 Or triumphs of one hero (though he be 
 Deserving song for his humility) : 
 
 The rights of many — not the worth of one; 
 The coming issues— not the battle done; 
 
 The awful opulence, and awful need; 
 The rise of brotherhood— the fall of greed. 
 
 The soul of man replete with God's own force, 
 The call ' ' to heights, ' ' and not the cry ' ' to horse, ' '— 
 
 Are there not better themes in this great age 
 For pen of poet, or for voice of sage 
 
 Than those old tales of killing? Song is dumb 
 Only that greater song in time may come. 
 
 When comes the bard, he whom the world waits for, 
 He will not sing of War. 
 
A MAN^S IDEAL 29 
 
 A MAN'S IDEAL 
 
 LOVELY little keeper of the home, 
 Absorbed in menu books, yet erudite 
 When I need counsel ; quick at repartee 
 And slow to anger. Modest as a flower, 
 Yet scintillant and radiant as a star. 
 Unmercenary in her mould of mind, 
 While opulent and dainty in her tastes. 
 A nature generous and free, albeit 
 The incarnation of economy. 
 She must be chaste as proud Diana was. 
 Yet w^arm as Venus. To all others cold 
 As some white glacier glittering in the sun; 
 To me as ardent as the sensuous rose 
 That yields it sweetness to the burrowing bee. 
 All ignorant of evil in the world. 
 And innocent as any cloistered nun. 
 Yet wise as Phryne in the arts of love 
 When I come thirsting to her nectared lips. 
 Good as the best, and tempting as the worst, 
 A saint, a siren, and a paradox. 
 
30 
 
 PICKED POEMS 
 
 MORNING PRAYER 
 
 ET me to-day do something that shall 
 take 
 A little sadness from the world ^s vast 
 store : 
 And may I be so favoured as to make 
 
 Of joy's too scanty sum a little more. 
 Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed 
 
 Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend: 
 Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need. 
 Or sin by silence when I should defend. 
 However meagre be my worldly wealth, 
 
 Let me give something that shall aid my kind — 
 A word of courage, or a thought of health, 
 
 Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to findj 
 Let me to-night look back across the span 
 'Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscienc^ 
 say— 
 Because of some good act to beast or man, 
 *^The world is better that I lived to-day." 
 
THE RIVER 31 
 
 itv^ 
 
 THE RIVER 
 
 AM a river flowing from God's sea 
 Through devious ways. He mapped 
 
 my course for me ; 
 I cannot change it ; mine alone the toil 
 To keep the waters free from grime and soil. 
 The winding river ends where it began; 
 And when my life has compassed its brief span 
 I must return to that mysterious Source. 
 So let me gather daily on my course 
 The perfume from the blossoms as I pass, 
 Balm from the pines, and healing from the grass, 
 And carry down my current as I go 
 Not common stones but precious gems to show; 
 And tears (the holy water from sad eyes) 
 Back to God's sea, from which all rivers rise, 
 Let me convey, not blood from wounded hearts 
 Nor poison which the upas tree imparts. 
 "When over flowery vales I leap with joy. 
 Let me not devastate them, nor destroy, 
 But rather leave them fairer to the sight; 
 Mine be the lot to comfort and delight. 
 And if down awful chasms I must leap, 
 
PICKED POEMS 
 
 Let me not murmur at my lot, but sweep 
 On bravely to the end without one fear, 
 Knowdng that He who planned my ways stanc 
 
 near. 
 Love sent me forth, to Love I go again, 
 For Love is all, and over all. Amen. 
 
THE WOELD'S NEED 33 
 
 THE WORLD'S NEED 
 
 many gods, so many creeds, 
 
 So many paths that wind and wind, 
 While just the art of being kind, 
 
 Is all the sad world needs. 
 
34 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE OPTIMIST 
 
 HE fields were bleak and sodden. Not a 
 wing 
 Or note enlivened the depressing 
 wood ; 
 
 A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood 
 Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering 
 Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting 
 Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed 
 Forth plaintive pleadings for the Earth's green 
 food. 
 No gleam, no hint of hope in anything. 
 
 The sky was blank and ashen, like the face 
 
 Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too 
 fast. 
 
 Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling 
 
 About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace, 
 Smiling with promise in the wintry blast, 
 
 The optimistic Willow spoke of spring. 
 
IF — 
 
 35 
 
 
 IV— 
 
 F I were a raindrop, and you were a leaf, 
 I would burst from the cloud above 
 you 
 And lie on your breast in a rapture 
 of rest, 
 And love you, love you, love you. 
 
 If I were a brown bee, and you were a rose, 
 I would fly to you, love, nor miss you; 
 
 I would sip and sip from your nectared lip, 
 And kiss you, kiss you, kiss you. 
 
 If I were a doe, dear, and you were a brook, 
 Ah, what would I do then, think you? 
 
 I would kneel by the bank, in the grasses dank, 
 And drink you, drink you, drink you. 
 
36 PICKED POEMS 
 
 LIFE'S LESSON BOOK 
 
 IFE is a ponderous lesson-book, and Fate 
 The teacher. When I came to love's 
 
 fair leaf 
 My teacher turned the page and bade 
 me wait. 
 ''Learn first/' she said, ''love's grief"; 
 And o'er and o'er through many a long tomorrow 
 She kept me conning that sad page of sorrow. 
 
 Cruel the task; and yet it was not vain. 
 
 Now the great book of life I know by heart. 
 In that one lesson of love's loss and pain 
 
 Fate doth the whole impart. 
 For, by the depths of woe, the mind can measure 
 The beauteous unsealed summits of love 's pleasure. 
 
 Now, with the book of life upon her knee, 
 Fate sits! the unread page of love's delight 
 
 By her firm hand is half concealed from me, 
 And half revealed to sight. 
 
 Ah Fate! be kind! so well I learned love's sorrow. 
 
 Give me its full delight to learn tomorrow. 
 
THE WORLD-CHILD 37 
 
 THE WORLD-CHILD 
 
 WJ^ 
 
 M T times I am the mother of the world; 
 /8b ^^^ mine seem all its sorrows, and 
 
 its fears. 
 That rose, which in each mother's 
 heart is curled, — 
 The rose of pity, opens with my tears, 
 And, waking in the night, I lie and hark 
 
 To the lone sobbing, and the wild alarms. 
 Of my World-child, a-wailing in the dark: 
 
 The child I fain would shelter in my arms. 
 I call to it (as from another room 
 
 A mother calls, what time she cannot go) : 
 * Sleep well, dear World; Love hides behind this 
 gloom. 
 There is no need for wakefulness or woe. 
 The long, long night is almost past and gone, 
 The day is near. ' And yet the World weeps on. 
 
 Again I follow it, throughout the day. 
 
 With anxious eyes I see it trip and fall, 
 And hurt itself in many a foolish way: 
 
 Childlike, unheeding warning word or call. 
 I see it grasp, and grasping, break the toys 
 
38 PICKED POEMS 
 
 It cried to own; then toss them on the floor, 
 And, breathless, hurry after fancied joys 
 
 That cease to please, when added to its store. 
 I see the lacerations on its hands. 
 
 Made by forbidden tools; but when it weeps, 
 I also weep, as one who understands; 
 
 And having been a child, the memory keeps. 
 Ah, my poor World, however wrong thy part. 
 Still is there pity in my mother-heart. 
 
EEWAED 
 
 39 
 
 REWARD 
 
 ATE used me meanly; but I looked at 
 her and laughed; 
 That none might know, how bitter was 
 the cup I quaffed. 
 Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I 
 
 sat; 
 Saying, *'I came to see what you were laughing 
 at/' 
 
40 PICKED POEMS 
 
 
 THE HEIGHTS 
 
 CRIED, ^^Dear Angel, lead me to the 
 
 heights, 
 And spur me to the top/' 
 The Angel answered, ''Stop 
 And set thy house in order; make it fair 
 For absent ones who may be speeding there. 
 Then we will talk of heights." 
 
 1 put my house in order. ' ' Now lead on ! " 
 
 The Angel said, ''Not yet; 
 
 Thy garden is beset 
 By thorns and tares; go weed it, so all those 
 Who come to gaze may find the unvexed rose; 
 
 Then we will journey on." 
 
 I weeded well my garden. "All is done." 
 
 The Angel shook his head. 
 
 "A beggar stands," he said, 
 "Outside thy gates; till thou hast given heed 
 And soothed his sorrow, and supplied his need, 
 
 Sav not that all is done." 
 
THE HEIGHTS 41 
 
 The beggar left me singing, ' ' Now at last— 
 
 At last the path is clear/' 
 
 *^Nay, there is one draws near 
 Who seeks, like thee, the difficult highway. 
 He lacks thy courage ; cheer him through the day. 
 
 Then we will cry, At last!" 
 
 I helped my weaker brother. ^*Now the heights; 
 
 Oh, guide me, Angel, guide!" 
 
 The Presence at my side, 
 With radiant face, said, ''Look, where are we 
 
 now?" 
 And lo ! we stood upon the mountain 's brow — 
 
 The heights, the shining heights! 
 
42 PICKED P0EM8 
 
 ATTRACTION 
 
 HE meadow and the mountain with 
 desire 
 Gazed on each other, till a fierce 
 unrest 
 
 Surged 'neath the meadow's seemingly calm 
 breast, 
 And all the mountain's fissures ran with fire. 
 
 A mighty river rolled between them there. 
 What could the mountain do but gaze and burn f 
 What could the meadow do but look and yearn, 
 
 And gem its bosom to conceal despair? 
 
 Their seething passion agitated space, 
 
 Till lo! the lands a sudden earthquake shook. 
 The river fled, the meadow leaped, and took 
 
 The leaning mountain in a close embrace. 
 
SUNSET 
 
 43 
 
 SUNSET 
 
 SAW the Day lean o'er the world's 
 
 sharp edge 
 And peer into Night's chasm, dark 
 and damp. 
 
 High in his hand he held a blazing lamp, 
 Then dropped it, and plunged headlong down the 
 ledge. 
 
 ^w^ 
 
 1 
 
 With lurid splendour that swift paled to grey 
 I saw the dim skies suddenly flash bright. 
 'Twas but the expiring glory of the light 
 Flung from the hand of the adventurous Day. 
 
44 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE CREED 
 
 HOEVER was hegotten by pure love, 
 And came desired and welcomed into 
 
 life, 
 Is of immaculate conception. He 
 Whose heart is full of tenderness and truth, 
 Who loves mankind more than he loves himself, 
 And cannot find room in his heart for hate, 
 May be another Christ. We all may be 
 The Saviours of the world, if we believe 
 In the Divinity which dwells in us 
 And worship it, and nail our grosser selves, 
 Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims, 
 Upon the cross. Who giveth love to all. 
 Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns, 
 And lends new courage to each fainting heart, 
 And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad, 
 He, too, is a Redeemer, Son of God. 
 
SONNET 45 
 
 SONNET 
 
 E THINKS ofttimes my heart is like some 
 bee 
 That goes forth through the summer 
 day and sings, 
 And gathers honey from all growing things 
 In garden plot, or on the clover lea. 
 When the long afternoon grows late, and she 
 Would seek her hive, she cannot lift her wings, 
 So heavily the too sweet burden clings. 
 Prom which she would not, and yet would, fly free. 
 So with my full fond heart; for when it tries 
 To lift itself to peace-crowned heights, above 
 The common way where countless feet have trod, 
 L/O ! then, this burden of dear human ties, 
 This growing weight of precious earthly love, 
 Binds down the spirit that would soar to God. 
 
46 PICKED POEMS 
 
 PROGRESS 
 
 ^ET there be many windows to your soul. 
 That ail the glory of the universe 
 May beautify it. Not the narrow pane 
 Of one poor creed can catch the radiant 
 rays 
 
 That shine from countless sources. Tear away 
 The blinds of superstition; let the light 
 Pour through fair windows broad as Truth itself 
 And high as God. 
 
 Why should the spirit peer 
 Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope 
 Along dim corridors of doubt, when all 
 The splendour from unfathomed seas of space 
 Might bathe it with the golden waves of Love? 
 Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths; 
 Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs, 
 And throw your soul wide open to the light 
 Of Reason and Knowledge. Tune your ear 
 To all the wordless music of the stars 
 And to the voice of Nature, and your heart 
 Shall turn to truth and goodness, as the plant 
 
PROGRESS 47 
 
 Turns to the sun. A thousand unseen hands 
 Reach down to help you to their peace-crowned 
 
 heights, 
 And all the forces of the firmament 
 Shall fortify your strength. Be not afraid 
 To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole. 
 
48 PICKED POEMS 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 ASTER of sweet and loving lore, 
 Give us the open mind 
 To know religion means no more, 
 No less, than being kind. 
 
 Give us the comprehensive sight 
 That sees another's need; 
 
 And let our aim to set things right 
 Prove God inspired our creed. 
 
 Give us the soul to know our kin 
 That dwell in flock and herd; 
 
 The voice to fight man 's shameful sin 
 Against the beast and bird. 
 
 Give us a heart with love so fraught 
 
 For all created things. 
 That even our unspoken thought 
 
 Bears healing on its wings. 
 
 Give us religion that will cope 
 
 With life's colossal woes, 
 And turn a radiant face of hope 
 
 On troops of pigmy foes. 
 
A PRAYER 49 
 
 Give lis tlie mastery of our fate 
 In thoughts so warm and white, 
 
 They stamp upon the brows of hate 
 Love's glorious seal of light. 
 
 Give us the strong, courageous faith 
 That makes of pain a friend, 
 
 And calls the secret word of death 
 ''Beginning," and not ''end." 
 
50 
 
 PICKED POEMS 
 
 LAST LOVE 
 
 HE first flower of the spring is not so 
 
 fair 
 Or bright as one the ripe midsummer 
 
 brings. 
 
 The first faint note the forest warbler sings 
 Is not as rich with feeling, or so rare 
 As when, full master of his art, the air 
 Drowns in the li(juid sea of song he flings 
 Like silver spray from beak, and breast, andwings. 
 The artist's earliest effort, wrought with care. 
 The bard's first ballad, written in his tears, 
 Set by his later toil, seems poor and tame, 
 And into nothing dwindles at the test. 
 So wdth the passions of maturer years. 
 Let those who will demand the first fond flame, 
 Give me the heart's last love, for that is best. 
 
TIME'S GAZE . 51 
 
 TIME'S GAZE 
 
 IME looked me in the eyes while passing 
 by 
 The milestones of the year. That 
 piercing gaze 
 Was both an accusation and reproach. 
 No speech was needed. In a sorrowing look 
 More meaning lies than in complaining words, 
 And silence hurts as keenly as reproof. 
 
 Oh, opulent, kind giver of rich hours, 
 
 How have I used thy benefits ! As babes 
 
 Unstring a necklace, laughing at the sound 
 
 Of priceless jewels dropping one by one, 
 
 So I have laughed while precious moments rolled 
 
 Into the hidden corners of the past. 
 
 And I have let large opportunities 
 
 For high endeavour move unheeded by, 
 
 While little joys and cares absorbed my strength. 
 
 And yet, dear Time, set to my credit this: 
 
 Not one white hour have I made Mack ivith hate. 
 
 Nor wished one living creature aught hut good. 
 
52 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Be patient with me. Tliougli the sun slants west, 
 The day has not yet finished, and I feel 
 Necessity for action and resolve 
 Bear in upon my consciousness. I know 
 The earth's eternal need of earnest souls. 
 And the great hunger of the world for Love. 
 I know the goal to high achievement lies 
 Through, the dull pathway of self-conquest first; 
 And on the stairs of little duties done 
 We climb to joys that stand thy test. Time, 
 Be patient ^dth me, and another day, 
 Perchance, in passing by, thine eyes may smile. 
 

 THE SPUR 53 
 
 THE SPUR 
 
 ASKED a rock beside the road 
 What joy existence lent. 
 It answered, ^^For a million years 
 My heart has been content/' 
 
 I asked the truffle-seeking swine, as rooting by 
 
 he went, 
 ^ ^ What is the keynote of your life ? ' ' He grunted 
 
 out, ^'Content." 
 
 I asked a slave, who toiled and sung, just what his 
 
 singing meant. 
 He plodded on his changeless way, and said, ^ ^ I am 
 
 content. ' ' 
 
 I asked a plutocrat of greed, on what his thoughts 
 
 were bent. 
 He chinked the silver in his purse, and said, ^^I 
 
 am content.'' 
 
 I asked the mighty forest tree from whence its 
 
 force was sent. 
 Its thousand branches spoke as one, and said, 
 
 ^'From discontent." 
 
54 PICKED POEMS 
 
 I asked the message speeding on, by what great 
 
 law was rent 
 God's secret from the waves of space. It said, 
 
 ''From discontent/' 
 
 I asked the marble, where the works of God and 
 
 man were blent, 
 AVhat brought the statue from the block. It 
 
 answered, ''Discontent." 
 
 I asked an Angel, looking down on earth with 
 
 gaze intent, 
 How man should rise to larger growth. Quoth he, 
 
 "Through discontent." 
 
DECEMBER 55 
 
 DECEMBER 
 
 PON December's windy portico 
 
 The Old Year stood, and looked out 
 
 where the sun 
 AVent wading down the West, through 
 drifting clouds. 
 ' ' I, too, shall sink full soon to rest, ' ' he sighed, 
 ''And follow where my children's feet have trod; 
 Brave January, beauteous May and June, 
 My lovely daughters, and my valiant sons. 
 All, all save one, have left me for that bourne 
 Men call the Past. It seems but yesterday 
 I saw fair August, laughing with the Sea, 
 Snaring the Earth with her seductive wiles, 
 And making conquest, even of the Sun. 
 Yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn." 
 Then spake December from an open door: 
 ''Father, the night grows cold; come in and rest. 
 Sit with me here beside this glowing grate ; 
 I have not left thee ; thou art not alone ; 
 My house is thine; all warm with love and light, 
 And bright with holly and with cedar sweet. 
 My stalwart arm is thine to lean upon; 
 
56 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Tlie feast is spread, I only wait for thee; 
 God smiles upon thy dead, smile thon on me.'' 
 Then through the open door the Old Year passed 
 And darkness settled on the outer world. 
 
THE LEADER TO BE 57 
 
 THE LEADER TO BE 
 
 HAT shall the leader be in that great day 
 "When we who sleep and dream that 
 
 we are slaves 
 Shall wake and know that Libert^^ is 
 ours ? 
 Mark well that word — not yours, not mine, but 
 
 ours. 
 For through the mingling of the separate streams 
 Of individual protest and desire. 
 In one united sea of purpose, lies 
 The course to Freedom. 
 
 When Progression takes 
 Her undisputed right of way; and sinks 
 The old traditions and conventions where 
 They may not rise, what shall the leader be? 
 
 No mighty warrior skilled in crafts of w^ar, 
 Sowing earth's fertile furrows with dead men 
 And staining crimson God's cerulean sea. 
 To prove his prowess to a shuddering world. 
 
58 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Nor yet a monarcli with a silly crown 
 Perched on an empty head, — an inbred heir 
 To sensek^ss titles and anemic blood. 
 
 No ruler,, purchased by the perjured votes 
 
 Of striving demagogues w^hose god is gold. 
 
 Not one of these shall lead to Liberty. 
 
 The weakness of the world cries out for strength. 
 
 The sorrow of the world cries out for hope. 
 
 Its suffering cries for kindness. 
 
 He who leads 
 Must then be strong and hopeful as the dawn 
 That rises unafraid and full of joy 
 Above the blackness of the darkest night. 
 He must be kind to every living thing; 
 Kind as the Krishna, Buddha and the Christ, 
 And full of love for all created life. 
 Oh, not in war shall his great prowess lie. 
 Nor shall he find his pleasure in the chase. 
 Too great for slaughter, friend of man and beast. 
 Touching the borders of the Unseen Kealms 
 And bringing down to earth their mystic fires 
 To light our troubled pathways, wise and kind 
 And human to the core, so shall he be, 
 The coming leader of the coming time. 
 
TO THE WEST 59 
 
 
 IN AN OLD ART GALLERY 
 
 EFORE the statue of a giant Hun, 
 There stood a dwarf, misshapen and 
 
 uncouth. 
 His lifted eyes seemed asking: ^^Why, 
 in sooth. 
 Was I not fashioned like this mighty one? 
 Would God show favour to an older son 
 
 Like earthly kings, and beggar without ruth 
 Another, who sinned only by his youth? 
 Why should two lives in such divergence run?'' 
 
 Strange, as he gazed, that from a vanished past 
 No memories revived of war and strife. 
 Of misused prowess, and of broken law. 
 
 That old Hun's spirit, in the dwarf re-cast, 
 Lived out the sequence of an earthly life. 
 Jt was the statue of himself he saw! 
 
60 PICKED POEMS 
 
 INTERMEDIARY 
 
 HEN from the prison of its body free, 
 My soul shall soar, before it goes to 
 
 Thee, 
 Thou great Creator, give it power to 
 know 
 The language of all sad, dumb things below. 
 And let me dwell a season still on earth 
 Before I rise to some diviner birth: 
 Invisible to men, yet seen and heard. 
 And understood by sorromng beast and bird- 
 Invisible to men, yet always near. 
 To whisper counsel in the human ear: 
 And with a spell to stay the hunter's hand 
 And stir his heart to know and understand; 
 To plant within the dull or thoughtless mind 
 The great religious impulse to be kind. 
 
 Before I prune my spirit wings and rise 
 To seek my loved ones in their paradise. 
 Yea! even before I hasten on to see 
 That lost child's face, so like a dream to me, 
 I would be given this intermediate role. 
 And carry comfort to each poor, dumb soul : 
 
INTEEMEDIARY 61 
 
 nd T3ridge man's gulf of cruelty and sin 
 By understanding of his loA\^er kin. 
 ^Twixt weary driver and the straining steed 
 On wings of mercy would m^^ spirit speed. 
 And each should know, before his journey's end, 
 That in the other dwelt a loving friend. 
 (From zoo and jungle, and from cage and stall, 
 I would translate each inarticulate call, 
 Each pleading look, each frenzied act and cry, 
 And tell the story to each passer-by; 
 And of a spirit's privilege possessed. 
 Pursue indifference to its couch of rest, 
 And w^hisper in its ear until in awe 
 It woke and knew God 's all embracing law 
 Of Universal Life — the One in All. 
 
 'A' ^ W '>? '<■? '<■>' w w 
 
 Lord, let this mission to my lot befall. 
 
62 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE OPAL 
 
 HE sunbeam loved the Moonbeam, 
 And followed her low and high, 
 But the Moonbeam fled and hid her 
 head, 
 She was so shv — so shv. 
 
 The Sunbeam wooed Avith passion; 
 
 Ah, he was a lover bold! 
 And his heart was afire with mad desire 
 
 For the Moonbeam pale and cold. 
 
 She fled like a dream before him, 
 Her hair was a shining sheen, 
 
 And oh, that Fate would annihilate 
 The space that lay between! 
 
 Just as the day lay panting 
 In the arms of the twilight dim, 
 
 The Sunbeam caught the one he sought 
 And drew her close to him. 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE OPAL 63 
 
 But oUb of his warm arms, startled 
 And stirred by Love's first shock, 
 
 She sprang afraid, like a trembling maid. 
 And hid in the niche of a rock. 
 
 And the Sunbeam followed and found her 
 And led her to Love 's own feast ; 
 
 And they were wed on that rocky bed. 
 And the dying day was their priest. 
 
 And lo! the beautiful Opal, 
 
 That rare and wondrous gem. 
 Where the Moon and Sun blend into one, 
 
 Is the child that w^as born to them. 
 
64 PICKED POEMS 
 
 . THE GULF STREAM 
 
 'KILLED mariner, and counted sane and 
 wise, 
 That was a curious thing which 
 chanced to me, 
 So good a sailor on so fair a sea. 
 With favouring winds and blue unshadowed skies, 
 ^Led by the faithful beacon of Love's eyes, 
 
 Past reef and shoal, my life-boat bounded free 
 And fearless of all dangers that might be 
 Under calm waves^ where many a sunk rock lies. 
 
 A golden dawn; yet suddenly my barque 
 
 Strained at the sails, as in a cyclone 's blast ; 
 
 And battled with an unseen current's force. 
 
 For we had entered when the night was dark 
 
 That old tempestuous Gulf Stream of the Past. 
 
 But for Love 's eyes, I had not kept the course. 
 
DISCONTENT 65 
 
 DISCONTENT 
 
 HE splendid discontent of God 
 With chaos made the world, 
 Set suns in place, and filled all space 
 With stars that shone and whirled. 
 
 If apes had been content with tails, 
 
 No thing of higher shape 
 Had come to birth : the king of earth 
 
 To-day w^ould be an ape. 
 
 And from* the discontent of man 
 The world's best progress springs. 
 
 Then feed the flame — (from God it came)- 
 Until you mount on wings. 
 
66 PICKED POEMS 
 
 ONE OF US TWO 
 
 HE day will da\\Ti when one of us shall 
 hearken 
 In vain to hear a voice that has ^own 
 dumb. 
 
 And morns \^dll fade, noons pale, and shadows 
 darken, 
 "While sad eyes watch for feet that never come. 
 
 One of us two must sometime face existence 
 Alone with memories that but sharpen pain. 
 
 And these sweet days shall shine back in the 
 distance 
 Like dreams of summer dawns, in nights of rain. 
 
 One of us two with tortured heart half broken, 
 Shall read long treasured letters through salt 
 tears. 
 Shall kiss with anguished lips each cherished 
 token, 
 That speaks of these love-crowned, delicious 
 years. 
 
ONE OF US TWO 67 
 
 One of us two shall find all light, all beauty, 
 All joy on earth, a tale forever done; 
 
 Shall know thenceforth that life means only duty. 
 God ! God ! have pity on that one. 
 
C8 PICKED POEMS 
 
 LOVE'S MIRAGE 
 
 IDWAY upon the route, he paused 
 athirst ; 
 And suddenly across the wastes ^of 
 heat, 
 
 He saw cool waters gleaming, and a sweet 
 Green oasis upon his vision burst. 
 A tender dream, long in his bosom nursed. 
 Spread love's illusive verdure for his feet; 
 The barren sands changed into golden wheat; 
 The w^ay grew glad that late had seemed accursed. 
 
 She shone, the woman wonder, on his soul; 
 The garden spot, for which men toil and wait; 
 The house of rest, that is each heart 's demand ; 
 But when, at last, he reached the gleaming goal, 
 He found, oh, cruel irony of fate. 
 But desert sun upon the desert sand. 
 
FAITH 09 
 
 FAITH 
 
 WILL not doubt, though all my ships 
 at sea 
 Come drifting home with broken masts 
 and sails ; 
 
 I shall believe the Hand which never fails, 
 From seeming evil worketh good for me; 
 
 And though I weep because those sails are 
 
 battered. 
 Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered, 
 
 ^^I trust in Thee.'' 
 
 I will not doubt, though all my prayers return 
 Unanswered from the still, white Eealm above; 
 I shall believe it is an all-wise Love 
 
 Which has refused those things for which I yearn ; 
 And though at times I cannot keep from grieving, 
 Yet the pure ardour of my fixed believing 
 
 Undimmed shall burn. 
 
70 PICKED POEMS 
 
 I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain, 
 And troubles swarm like bees about a hive; 
 I shall believe the heights for which I strive 
 Are only reached by anguish and by pain; 
 
 And though I groan and tremble with my 
 
 crosses, 
 I yet shall see, through my severest losses. 
 
 The greater gain. 
 
 I will not doubt; well anchored in the faith, 
 Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every 
 
 gale ; 
 So strong its courage that it will not fail 
 To breast the mighty unknown sea of Death. 
 Oh, may I cry Avhen body parts with spirit, 
 ^ * I do not doubt, ' ' so listening worlds may hear it. 
 
 With my last breath. 
 
EECRIMINATION 71 
 
 RECRIMINATION 
 
 AID Life to Death, ^^Methinks if I were 
 
 you, 
 I would not carry such an awesome 
 
 face 
 
 To terrify the helpless human race. 
 And, if, indeed, those wondrous tales be true 
 Of happiness beyond, and if I knew 
 About the boasted blessings of that place, 
 I would not hide so miserly all trace 
 Of my vast knowledge. Death, if I were you. 
 But like a glorious angel I would lean 
 Above the pathway of each sorrowing soul, 
 Hope in my eyes, and comfort in my breath. 
 And strong .conviction in my radiant mien. 
 The while I whispered of that beauteous goal. 
 This would do, if I were you, Death!" 
 
 II 
 
 Said Death to Life, *^If I were you, my friend, 
 I would not lure confiding souls each day 
 With fair false smiles, to enter on a way 
 So filled with pain and trouble to the end. 
 
72 PICKED POEMS 
 
 I would not tempt those whom I should defend,] 
 Nor stand unmoved and see them go astray. 
 Nor would I force unmlling souls to stay 
 AVho longed for freedom, were I you, my friendJ 
 But like a tender mother I would take 
 The weaxy world upon my sheltering breast 
 And wipe away its tears, and soothe its strife. 
 I Avould , fulfill my promises, and make 
 My children bless me as they sank to rest 
 Where now they curse — if I were you, Life!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 Life made no answer; and Death spoke again: 
 
 *^I would not woo from God's sweet nothingness 
 
 A soul to being, if I could not bless 
 
 And crown it with all joy. If unto men 
 
 My face seems awesome, tell me. Life, why then 
 
 Do they pursue me, mad for my caress. 
 
 Believing in my silence lies redress 
 
 For your loud falsehoods? (So Death spoke again.) 
 
 "Oh, it is well for you I am not fair, 
 Well that I hide behind a voiceless tomb 
 The mighty secrets of that other place. 
 Else would you stand in impotent despair 
 While unfledged souls straiglit from tlie mother's 
 
 woml) 
 Rushed to my arms, and spat upon your face." 
 
TRUE CHARITY 73 
 
 
 TRUE CHARITY 
 
 GAVE a beggar from my little store 
 Of well earned gold. He spent the 
 
 shining ore 
 And came again, and yet again, still 
 cold 
 And hungry as before. 
 
 I gave a thought, and through that thought of mine 
 He found himself, the man, supreme, divine ! 
 Fed, clothed, and crowned with blessings mani- 
 fold 
 And now he begs no more. 
 
74 PICKED POEMS 
 
 mmmtsma 
 
 FREEDOM 
 
 CARE not who were vicious back of me, 
 No shadow of their sins on me is shed. 
 
 My will is greater than heredity. 
 
 I am no worm to feed upon the dead. 
 
 My face, my form, my gestures and my voice, 
 May be reflections from a race that was. 
 
 But this I know, and knowing it, rejoice, 
 I am Myself, a part of the Great Cause. 
 
 I am a spirit ! Spirit would suffice. 
 
 If rightly used, to set a chained world free. 
 
 Am I not stronger than a mortal vice 
 
 That crawls the length of some ancestral tree? 
 
THE DISAPPOINTED 75 
 
 THE DISAPPOINTED 
 
 HERE are songs enough for the hero 
 Who dwells on the heights of fame; 
 I sing for the disappointed — 
 
 For those who have missed their aim. 
 
 I sing with a tearful cadence 
 For one who stands in the dark, 
 
 And knows that his last, best arrow 
 Has bounded back from the mark. 
 
 I sing for the breathless runner, 
 
 The eager, anxious soul. 
 Who falls with liis strength exhausted, 
 
 Almost in sight of the goal; 
 
 For the hearts that break in silence, 
 With a sorrow all unknown. 
 
 For those Avho need companions, 
 Yet walk their ways alone. 
 
 6 
 
76 PICKED POEMS 
 
 There are songs enough for the lovers 
 Who share love's tender pain, 
 
 I sing for the one whose passion 
 Is given all in vain. 
 
 For those whose spirit comrades 
 Have missed them on their way, 
 
 I sing, with a heart overflowing. 
 This minor strain today. 
 
 And I know the Solar system 
 Must somewhere keep in space 
 
 A prize for that spent runner 
 Who barely lost the race. 
 
 For the plan would be imperfect 
 
 Unless it held some sphere 
 That paid for the toil and talent 
 
 And love that are wasted here. 
 
 ^ 
 
THE BED 77 
 
 THE BED 
 
 HARSH and homely monosyllable, 
 Abrupt and musicless, and at its hesi 
 An inartistic object to the eye. 
 Yet in this brief and troubled* life of 
 man 
 How full of majesty the part it plays! 
 It is the cradle which receives the soul, . 
 Naked and wailing, from the Maker's hand. 
 It is the throne of Love's enlightenment; 
 And when death offers back to God again 
 The borrowed spirit, this the holy shrine 
 Prom which the hills delectable are seen. 
 Through all the anxious journey to that goal 
 It is man's friend, physician, comforter. 
 When labour wearies, and when pleasure palls, 
 And the tired heart lets faith slip from its grasp, 
 'Tis here new courage and new strength are found, 
 While doubt and darkness change to hope and 
 
 light, 
 [t is the common ground between two spheres. 
 Where men and angels meet and converse hold, 
 [t is the confidant of hidden woe 
 
78 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Masked from the world beneath a smiling broT\ 
 Into its silent breast young wakeful joy 
 Whispers its secret through the starlit hours. 
 And, like a white-robed priestess, oft it hears 
 The wild confession of a crime-stained soul 
 That looks unflinching in the eyes of men. 
 A common word, a thing unbeautiful. 
 Yet in this brief, eventful life of man 
 How large and varied is the part it plays! 
 
WAR SONNETS 79 
 
 WAR SONNETS 
 
 I 
 
 A.R is destructive, wasteful, brutal, yet 
 The energies of man are brought to 
 play, 
 And hidden valour by occasion met 
 Leaps to the light, as precious jewels may 
 When earthquakes rend the rock. The stress and 
 strain 
 Of war stirs men to do their worst and best. 
 Heroes are forged on anvils hot with pain, 
 
 And splendid courage comes but with the test. 
 Some natures ripen and some virtues bloom 
 Only in blood-red soil ; some souls prove great 
 Only in moments dark with death or doom. 
 This is the sad historic jest which fate 
 Flings to the world, recurring time on time — 
 Many must fall that one may seem sublime. 
 
 II 
 
 A.bove the chaoes of impending ills, 
 Through all the clamour of insistent strife, 
 
 Mow while the noise of arming nations fills 
 Each throbbing hour with menaces to life, 
 
80 PICKED POEMS 
 
 I hear the voice of Progress! Strange indeed 
 
 The shadowed pathways that lead up to light. 
 But as a runner sometimes will recede 
 
 That he may so accumulate his might, 
 Then with a will that needs must be obeyed 
 
 Rushes resistless to the goal with ease, 
 So the whole world seems now to retrograde ; 
 
 Slips back to war, that it may speed to peace; 
 And in that backward step it gathers force 
 For the triumphant finish of its course. 
 
THE COST 81 
 
 THE COST 
 
 OD finished woman in the twilight hour 
 And said, ^^ To-morrow thou shalt find 
 
 thy place : 
 Man's complement, the mother of the 
 race 
 With love the motive power — 
 The one compelling power.'' 
 
 All night she dreamed and wondered. With the 
 
 light 
 Her lover came, and then she understood 
 The purpose of her being. Life was good 
 
 And all the world seemed right — 
 
 And nothing was, but right. 
 
 She had no wish for any wider sway: 
 
 By all the questions of the world unvexed, 
 
 Supremely loving and superbly sexed, 
 
 She passed upon her way — 
 
 Her feminine fair way. 
 
82 PICKED POEMS 
 
 But Grod neglected, when he fashioned man, 
 To fuse the molten splendour of his mind 
 With that sixth sense He gave to womankind. 
 
 And so He marred His plan — 
 
 Ay, marred His own great plan. 
 
 She asked so little, and so much she gave, | 
 
 That man grew selfish : and she soon became, 
 To God's great sorrow and the whole world's shame, 
 
 Man's sweet and patient slave — 
 
 His uncomplaining slave. 
 
 Yet in the nights (oh! nights so dark and long) J 
 She clasped her little children to her breast 
 And wept. And in her anguish of unrest 
 
 She thought upon her wrong — 
 
 She knew how great her wrong. 
 
 And one sad hour, she said unto her heart, 
 ''Since thou art cause of all my bitter pain, 
 I bid thee abdicate the throne : let brain 
 
 Rule now, and do his part — ■ 
 
 His masterful, strong part." 
 
 She w^ept no more. By new ambition stirred 
 Her ways led out, to regions strange and vast. 
 Men stood aside and watched, dismayed, aghast, 
 
 And all the world demurred — 
 
 Misjudged her, and demurred. 
 
THE COST 83 
 
 Still on and up, from sphere to widening sphere, 
 Till thorny paths bloomed with the rose of fame. 
 Who once demurred, now followed with acclaim: 
 
 The hiss died in the cheer — 
 
 The loud applauding cheer. 
 
 She stood trium_phant in that radiant hour, 
 
 Man's mental equal, and competitor. 
 
 But ah! the cost! from out the heart of her 
 
 Had gone love's motive power — 
 
 Love's all compelling power. 
 
84 PICKED POEMS 
 
 FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE 
 
 FTER the fierce midsummer all ablaze 
 Has burned itself to ashes and ex- 
 pires 
 In the intensity of its own fires, 
 There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days 
 Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. 
 So after Love has led us, tiir he tires 
 Of his own throes, and torments, and desires. 
 Comes large-eyed friendship ; mth a restful gaze, 
 He beckons us to follow, and across 
 
 Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. 
 Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? 
 Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? 
 We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; 
 And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete. 
 
SIRIUS 85 
 
 SIRIUS 
 
 ''Since Sirius crossed the Milky Way, sixty thousand years 
 have gone." — Garrett P. Serviss, 
 
 INGE Sirius crossed the Milky Way 
 Full sixty thousand years have gone, 
 Yet hour by hour, and day by day, 
 This tireless star speeds on and on. 
 
 Methinks he must be moved to mirth 
 
 By that droll tale of Genesis, 
 Which says creation had its birth 
 
 For such a puny world as this. 
 
 To hear how One who fashioned all 
 Those Solar Systems, tier on tiers, 
 
 Expressed in little Adam's fall 
 The purpose of a million spheres. 
 
 And, witness of the endless plan. 
 
 To splendid ^\T*ath he must be wrought 
 
 By pigmy creeds presumptuous man 
 
 Sends forth as God's primeval thought. 
 
86 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Perchance from half a hundred stars 
 He hears as many curious things; 
 
 From Venus, Jupiter and Mars, 
 
 And Saturn with the beauteous ring«, 
 
 There may be students of the Cause 
 
 Who send their revelations out, 
 And formulate their codes of Laws, 
 
 With heavens for faith and hells for doubt. 
 
 On planets old ere form or place 
 
 Was lent to earth, may dwell — who knows — ' 
 A God-like and perfected race 
 
 That hails great Sirius as he goes. 
 
 In zones that circle moon and sun, 
 
 'Twdxt world and world, he may see souls 
 
 Whose span of earthly life is done. 
 Still journeying up to higher goals. 
 
 And on dead planets grey and cold 
 
 Grim spectral souls, that harboured hate 
 
 Life after life, he may behold 
 Descending to a darker fate. 
 
 And on his grand majestic course 
 
 He may have caught one glorious sight 
 
 Of that vast shining central Source 
 
 From which proceeds all Life, all Light. 
 
SIRIUS 87 
 
 Since Sirius crossed the Milky "Way 
 Full sixty thousand years have gone. 
 
 No mortal man may bid him stay, 
 No mortal man may speed him on. 
 
 No mortal mind may comprehend 
 What is beyond, what was before; 
 
 To God be glory without end, 
 Let man be humble and adore. 
 
88 PICKED POEMS 
 
 REMEMBERED 
 
 IS art was loving; Eres set his sign 
 Upon that youthful forehead, and he 
 
 drew 
 The hearts of women, as the sun draws 
 dew. 
 Love feeds love 's thirst as wine feeds love of wine ; 
 Nor is there any potion from the vine 
 Which makes men drunken like the subtle brew 
 Of kisses crushed by kisses; and he grew 
 Inebriated Avith that draught divine. 
 
 Yet in his sober moments, when the sun 
 Of radiant summer paled to lonely fall, 
 
 And passion's sea had grown an ebbing tiole, 
 From out the many, Memory singled one 
 
 Full cup that seemed the sweetest of them all — 
 The warm red mouth that mocked him and 
 denied. 
 
ARISTARCHUS 89 
 
 ARISTARCHUS 
 
 (The Name of the Mountain in the Moon) 
 
 ]T was long and long ago our love began ; 
 It is something all unmeasured by 
 time 's span : 
 In an era and a spot, by tlio Modern 
 World forgot, 
 We were lovers, ere God named us, ]\Iaid and 
 Man. 
 
 Like the memory of music made by streams, 
 All the beauty of that other lifetime seems; 
 But I always thought it so, and at last I know, 
 I know, 
 We were lovers in the Land of Silver Dreams. 
 
 When the moon was at the full, I found the 
 
 place ; 
 Out and out, across the seas of shining space. 
 On a quest that could not fail, I unfurled my 
 
 Memory — sail 
 And cast anchor in the Bay of Love's First 
 
 Grace. 
 
90 PICKED POEMS 
 
 At the foot of Aristarchiis lies this bay, 
 (Oh! the wonder of that mountain far away!) 
 And the Land of Silver Dreams all about it shines 
 
 and gleams, 
 AVhere we loved before God fashioned night or 
 
 day. 
 
 We were souls, in eerie bodies made of light ; ■{ 
 We were winged, and we could speed from height 
 
 to height. 
 And we built a nest called Hope, on the sheer 
 
 Moon Mountain Slope, 
 Where we sat and watched new worlds wheel 
 
 into sight. 
 
 And we saw this little planet known as Earth, 
 
 When the mighty Mother Chaos gave it birth; 
 
 But in Love's conceit we thought all those worlds 
 
 from space were brought, 
 
 For no greater aim or purpose than our mirth. 
 
 And we laughed in love 's abandon, and we sang, 
 Till the echoing peals of Aristarchus rang, 
 As hot hissing comets came, and white suns burst 
 
 into flame. 
 And a myriad worlds from out the darkness 
 
 sprang. 
 
ARISTAECHUS 91 
 
 I can show you, when the Moon is at its best, 
 Aristarchus, and the spot we made our nest. 
 Oh ! I always wondered why, when the Moon w^as 
 
 in the sky 
 I was stirred with such strange longing and 
 
 unrest. 
 
 And I knew the subtle beauty and the force 
 Of our love was never bounded by Earth's 
 
 course. 
 So with Memory's sail unfurled, I went cruising 
 
 past this world, 
 And I followed till I traced it to its source. 
 
92 PICKED POEMS 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 Y life's long radiant Summer halts at 
 last, 
 And lo ! beside my pathway I behold 
 Pursuing Autumn glide ; nor frost nor 
 cold 
 Has heralded her presence; but a vast 
 Sweet calm that comes not till the year has passed 
 Its fevered solstice, and a tinge of gold 
 Subdues the vivid colouring of bold | 
 
 And passion-hued eniotions. I will cast 
 
 My August days behind me with my May, 
 Nor strive to drag them into Autumn's place, 
 Nor swear I hope when I do but remember. 
 Now violet and rose have had their day, 
 I'll pluck the soberer asters with good grace 
 And call September nothing but September. 
 
OUE SOULS 
 
 93 
 
 OUR SOULS 
 
 UR souls should be vessels receiving 
 The waters of love for relieving 
 The sorrows of men. 
 
 For here lies the pleasure of living: 
 In taking God's bounties, and giving 
 The gifts back again. 
 
y4 PICKED POEMS 
 
 REINCARNATION 
 
 E slept as weary toilers do, 
 She gazed up at the moon. 
 He stirred and said, ^'Wife, come to 
 bed;'' 
 
 She answered, ''Soon, full soon." 
 (Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's 
 face.) 
 
 Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth 
 
 Was lifted like a cup, 
 The moonful night dripped liquid light : 
 
 She seemed to quaff it up. 
 (Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.) 
 
 Her life had held but drudgery : 
 
 She spelled her Bible thro'; 
 Of books and lore she knew no more 
 
 Than little children do. 
 (Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.) 
 
REINCARNATION 95 
 
 Her youth had been a loveless waste, 
 
 Starred by no holiday. 
 And she had wed for roof, and bread; 
 
 She gave her work in pay. 
 (Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and 
 dear.) 
 
 She drank the night's insidious wine, 
 
 And saw another scene: 
 A stately room — rare flowers in bloom, 
 
 Herself in silken sheen. 
 (Oh! vast the chambers of the moon, and wide.) 
 
 A step drew near, a curtain stirred; 
 
 She shook with sweet alarms. 
 Oh ! splendid face ; oh ! manly grace ; 
 
 Oh! strong impassioned arms. 
 (Oh! silent moon, what secrets do you hide!) 
 
 The warm red lips of thirsting love 
 On cheek and brows were pressed; 
 
 As the bees know where honeys grow. 
 They sought her mouth, her breast. 
 
 (Oh! the dead moon holds many a dead delight.) 
 
 The speaker stirred and gruffly spake, 
 ''Come, wife, where have you been?'' 
 
 She whispered low, ''Dear God, I go — 
 But 'tis the seventh sin." 
 
 (Oh! the sad secrets of that orb of white.) 
 
96 
 
 PICKED POEMS 
 
 AN EPISODE 
 
 LONG a narrow lloorish street 
 A blue-eyed soldier strode. 
 (Ah, well-a-day) 
 Veiled from her lashes to her feet 
 She stepped from her abode, 
 (Ah, lack-a-day). 
 
 1 
 
 Now love may guard a favoured wife 
 Who leaves the harem door; 
 (Ah, well-a-day) 
 But hungry hearted is her life 
 When she is one of four. 
 (Ah, lack-a-day). 
 
 If black eyes glow with sudden fire 
 And meet warm eyes of blue — 
 (Ah, well-a-day). 
 The old, old story of desire 
 Repeats itself anew. 
 (Ah, lack-a-day.) 
 
AN EPISODE 97 
 
 When bugles blow the soldier flies — 
 Though bitter tears may fall 
 (Ah, lack-a-day). 
 A Moorish child with bluej hlue eyes 
 Plays in the harem hall. 
 (Ah, well-a-day.) 
 
98 PICKED POEMIS 
 
 TO MEN 
 
 IRS, when you pity us, I say 
 You waste your pity. Let it stay, 
 Well corked and stored upon your 
 
 shelves. 
 Until you need it for yourselves. 
 
 We do appreciate God's thought 
 In forming you, before He brought 
 Us into life. His art was crude, 
 But oh, so virile in its rude 
 
 Large elemental strength; and then 
 He learned His trade in making men; 
 Learned how to mix and mould the clay 
 And fashion in a finer way. 
 
 How fine that skillful way can be 
 You need but lift your eyes to see; 
 And we are glad God placed you there 
 To lift your eyes and find us fair. 
 
TO MEN 99 
 
 Apprentice labour though you were, 
 He made you great enough to stir 
 The best and deepest depths of us, 
 And we are glad He made you thus. 
 
 Aye! We are glad of many things. 
 God strung our hearts with such fine strings 
 The least breath moves them, and we hear 
 Music where silence greets your ear. 
 
 We suffer so? but women's souls, 
 Like violet powder dropped on coals, 
 Give forth their best in anguish. Oh, 
 The subtle^ secrets that we know, 
 
 Of joy in sorrow, strange delights 
 Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights, 
 And mysteries of gain and loss 
 Known but to Christ upon the Cross! 
 
 Our tears are pitiful to you? 
 Look how the heaven-reflecting dew 
 Dissolves its life in tears. The sand 
 Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand. 
 
 How could your pity find a place 
 For us, the mothers of the race? 
 Men may be fathers unaware, 
 So poor the title is you wear, 
 
lUO PICKED POEMS 
 
 But mothers — ? who that crown adorns 
 Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns; 
 And she whose feet that path have trod 
 Has walked upon the heights with God. 
 
 No, offer us not pity's cup. 
 There is no looking down or up 
 Between us; eye looks straiglit in eye 
 Born equals, so we live and die. 
 
THE MESSENGER 101 
 
 THE MESSENGER 
 
 HE rose up in the early dawn, 
 
 And white and silently she moved 
 About the house. Four men had gone 
 To battle for the land they loved, 
 And she, the mother and the wife. 
 Waited for tidings from the strife. 
 How still the house seemed! and her tread 
 Was like the footsteps of the dead. 
 
 The long day passed, the dark night came; 
 
 She had not seen a human face. 
 Some voice spoke suddenly her name. 
 
 How loud it echoed in that place 
 Where, day by day, no sound was heard 
 But her own footsteps! ''Bring you word, ^' 
 She cried to whom she could not see, 
 ''Word from the battle-plain to me?" 
 
n 
 
 102 PICKED POEMS 
 
 A soldier entered at the door, 
 
 And stood within the dim firelight: 
 
 ''I bring you tidings of the four/' 
 
 He said, ''who left you for the fight/' 
 
 ''God bless you, friend,'' she cried; "speak on! 
 
 For I can bear it. One is gone?" 
 
 "Aye, one is gone!" he said. "Which one?" 
 
 "Dear lady, he, your eldest son." 
 
 A deathly pallor shot across 
 
 Her withered face; she did not weep. 
 She said : "It is a grievous loss, 
 
 But God gives his beloved sleep. 
 What of the living — of the three? 
 And when can they come back to me ? ' ' 
 The soldier turned away his head: 
 "Lady, your husband, too, is dead." 
 
 She put her hand upon her brow; 
 
 A wild, sharp pain was in her eyes. 
 "My husband! Oh, God help me now!" 
 
 The soldier heard her shuddering sighs. 
 The task was harder than he thought. 
 "Your youngest son, dear madam, fought 
 Close at his father's side; both fell 
 Dead, by the bursting of a shell," 
 
THE MESSENGER K)3 
 
 She moved her lips and seemed to moan. 
 
 Her face had paled to ashen grey; 
 *^Then one is left me — one alone," 
 
 She said, *^of four who marched away. 
 Oh, overruling. All-wise God, 
 How can I pass beneath Thy rod ! ' ' 
 The soldier walked across the floor. 
 Paused at the window, at the door, 
 
 Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek 
 
 And sought the mourner's side again. 
 ^'Once more, dear lady, I must speak: 
 
 Your last remaining son was slain 
 Just at the closing of the fight; 
 'Twas he who sent me here to-night.'' 
 ^'God knows," the man said afterward, 
 ''The fight itself was not as hard." 
 
104 PICKED POEMS 
 
 ON SEEING ^'THE HOUSE OF JULIA AT 
 HERCULANEUM'' 
 
 OT great Vesuvius, in all his ire, ^ 
 
 Nor all the centuries, could hide your 
 
 shame. 
 There is the little window where you 
 came, 
 With eyes that woke the demon of desire, 
 And lips like rose leaves, fashioned out of fire; 
 And from the lava leaps the molten flame 
 Of your old sins. The walls cry out your name — 
 Your face seems rising from the funeral pyre. 
 
 There must have dwelt within your fated town, 
 Full many a virtuous dame, and noble wife 
 Who made your beauty seem as star to sun; 
 How strange the centuries have handed down 
 Your name, fair Julia, of immoral life. 
 And left the others to oblivion. 
 
THE WATCHEE 105 
 
 THE WATCHER 
 
 THINK I hear the sound of horses' feet 
 Beating upon the graveled avenue. 
 Go to the window that looks on the 
 street, 
 
 He would not let me die alone, I knew." 
 Back to the couch the patient watcher passed, 
 And said: ''It is the wailing of the blast." 
 
 She turned upon her couch and, seeming, slept. 
 The long, dark lashes shadowing her cheek; 
 
 And on and on the w^eary moments crept, 
 
 When suddenly the watcher heard her speak: 
 
 ''I think I hear the sound of horses' hoofs—" 
 
 And answered, ' ' 'Tis the rain upon the roofs. ' ' 
 
 Unbroken silence, quiet, deep, profound. 
 
 The restless sleeper turns : ' ' How dark, how late ! 
 What is it that I hear — a trampling sound? 
 
 I think there is a horseman at the gate. ' ' 
 The watcher turns away her eyes tear-blind: 
 ''It is the shutter beating in, the wind." 
 
106 PICKED POEMS 
 
 The dread hours passed ; the patient clock ticked on : 
 The weary watcher moved not from her place. 
 
 The grey dim shadows of the early dawn 
 
 Caught sudden glory from the sleeper's face. 
 
 * * He comes ! my love ! I knew he would ! ' ^ she cried ; 
 
 And, smiling sweetly, in her slumbers, died. 
 
 I 
 
so MANY WAYS 107 
 
 
 E 
 
 % 
 
 43y 
 
 so .MANY WAYS 
 
 ARTII has so many ways of being fair; 
 
 Its sweet young Spring, its Summer 
 elothed in Jight, 
 
 its regal Autumn trailing into sight 
 As summer wafts lier last kiss on the air; 
 Bold, virile Winter with the wind-blown hair, 
 And the broad beauty of a world in white. 
 Mysterious dawn, high noon, and pensive night, 
 And over all God's great worlds watching there. 
 The voices of the })irds at break of day; 
 The smell of young buds bursting on the tree ; 
 The soft, suggestive promises of bliss, 
 Uttered by every subtile voice of May; 
 And the strange w^onder of a mighty sea. 
 Lifting its cheek to take the full moon\s kiss. 
 
 » 
 
 Love has so many ways of being sweet; 
 The timorous, rose-hued dawning of its reign 
 Before the senses waken; that dear pain 
 3f mingled doubt and certainty; the fleet, 
 
 8 
 
108 PICKED POEMS 
 
 First frightened moment when tlie clasped hands 
 
 meet 
 In wordless eloquence; the loss and gain 
 When the strong billoAvs from the deeper main 
 Submerge the valleys of the incomplete. 
 The restless passion rising into peace; 
 The growing beauty of two paths that blend 
 Into one perfect way. The glorious faith 
 That feels no fear of life's expiring lease; 
 And that majestic victory at the end 
 When love unconquered triumphs over death. 
 
THE EDICT OF THE SEX 109 
 
 THE EDICT OF THE SEX 
 
 WO thousand years had passed since 
 Christ was born 
 When suddenly there rose a mighty 
 host 
 
 Of women, sweeping to a central goal 
 As many rivers sweep on to the sea. 
 They came from mountains, valleys, and from 
 
 coasts, 
 And from all lands, all nations, and all ranks, 
 Speaking all languages, hut thinking one. 
 And that one language— Peace. 
 
 ^ ^Listen,'' they said. 
 And straightway was there silence on the earth. 
 For men were dumb with wonder and surprise. 
 ^'Listen, mighty masters of the world. 
 And hear the edict of all womankind: 
 Since Christ His new commandment gave to men, 
 Love one another^ full two thousand years 
 Have passed away, yet earth is red with blood. 
 The strong male rulers of the world proclaim 
 Their weakness, when we ask that war shall cease. 
 
110 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Now will the poor weak women of the world 
 Proclaim their strength, and say that war shall end 
 Hear, then, our edict: Never from this day 
 Will any woman on the crust of earth 
 Mother a warrior. We have sworn the oath 
 And will go barren to the waiting tomb 
 Rather than breed strong sons at war's behest 
 Or bring fair daughters into life, to bear 
 The pains of travail, for no end but war. 
 Aye! Let the race die out for lack of babes: 
 Better a dying race than endless wars! 
 Better a silent world than noise of guns 
 And clash of armies. 
 
 Long we asked for peace 
 And oft you promised — but to fight again. 
 And last you told us, war must ever be 
 While men existed, laughing at our plea 
 For the disarmament of all mankind. 
 Then in our hearts flamed such a mad desire 
 For peace on earth, as lights the world at time: 
 With some great conflagration; and it spread 
 From distant land to land, from sea to sea. 
 Until all women thought as with one mind 
 And spoke as with one voice ; and now behold ! 
 The great Crusading Syndicate of Peace, 
 Filling all space with one supreme resolve. 
 Give us, men, your word that war shall end 
 
THE EDICT OF THE SEX 111 
 
 Disarm the world, and we will give you sons — 
 
 Sons to construct, and daughters to adorn 
 
 A beautiful new earth. 
 
 Where there shall be 
 
 Fewer and finer people, opulence 
 
 And opportunity and peace for all. 
 
 Until you promise peace no shrill birth-cry 
 
 Shall sound again upon the aging earth. 
 
 We wait your answer." 
 
 And the world was still 
 While men considered. 
 
112 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE EMPTY BOWL 
 
 HELD the golden vessel of my soul 
 And prayed that God would fill it 
 
 from on high. 
 Day after day the importuning cry 
 Grew stronger — grew, a heaven-accusing dole 
 Because no sacred waters laved my bowl. 
 *^So full the fountain, Lord, wouldst Thou deny 
 The little needed for a soul's supply? 
 I ask but this small portion of Thy whole." 
 Then from the vast invisible Somewhere, 
 A voice, as one love-authorized by Him, 
 Spake, and the tumult of my heart was stilled. 
 *'Who wants the waters must the boAvl prepare; 
 Pour out the self, that chokes it to the brim, 
 But emptied vessels, from the Source are filled." 
 
WILL 
 
 113 
 
 WILL 
 
 HERE is no chance, no destiny, no fate. 
 Can circumvent or hinder or control 
 The firm resolve of one determined 
 sonl. 
 
 Gifts count for little — will alone is great; 
 All things give way before it, soon or late. 
 What obstacle can stay the mighty force 
 Of the sea-seeking river in its course, 
 Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait? 
 
 Each well-born soul must win what it deserves. 
 
 Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate 
 Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves. 
 Whose slightest action or inaction serves 
 
 The one great aim. 
 
 Why, even death stands still. 
 
 And waits an hour sometimes for such a will. 
 
114 PICKED POEMS 
 
 TIME\S DEFEAT 
 
 IME has made conquest of so many things 
 That once were mine. Swift-footed, M 
 eager youth " 
 
 That ran to meet the years; bold 
 brigand health, 
 That broke all laws of reason unafraid, 
 And laughed at talk of punishment. Close ties 
 
 Of blood and friendship, and that joy of life, 
 Which reads its music in the major key 
 And will not listen to a minor strain — 
 These things and many more are spoils of time. 
 
 Yet as a conqueror who only storms 
 The outposts of a town, and finds the fort 
 Too strong to be assailed, so time retreats 
 And knows his impotence. He cannot take 
 My three great jewels from the crown of life; 
 Love, sympathy, and faith; and year on year 
 He sees them grow in lustre and in worth. 
 And glowers by me, plucking 2 t nis beard, 
 And dragging as he goes, a useless scythe. 
 
TIMERS DEFEAT 115 
 
 Once in the dark he plotted with his friend 
 Grim death, to steal my treasures. Death replied : 
 ''They are immortal, and beyond thy reach: 
 I could but set them in another sphere, 
 To shine with greater lustre/' 
 
 Time and Death 
 Passed on together, knowing their defeat; 
 And I am singing by the road of life. 
 
iU) 
 
 PICKED rOEMS 
 
 HE THAT LOOKETH^' 
 
 EA, slio and I have broken God's eoiii 
 luand. 
 And in His siii'ht are branded Avitli ou 
 shame. 
 And yet I do not even knoAv her name, 
 Nor ever in my life have touched her hand 
 Or brushed her garments. But I chanced to stan 
 Beside her in the throng! A sweet, swift flam 
 Shot from her flesh to mine — and hers the blame 
 Of willing looks that fed it ; aye, that fanned 
 The glow within me to a hungry fire. 
 There was an invitation in her eyes. 
 Had she met mine with coldness or surprise, 
 I had not plunged down headlong in the mire 
 Of amorous thought. The flame leaped high and 
 higher ; ■ 
 
 Her breath and mine pulsated into sighs. 
 And soft glance melted into glance kiss-wise. 
 And in God's sight both yielded to desire. 
 
 I 
 
MY SHIPS 117 
 
 MY SHIPS 
 
 P all the ships I have at sea 
 
 Should come a-sailing home to me, 
 From sunny lands, and lands of cold, 
 Ah, well! the harbour could not hold 
 
 So many sails as there would be 
 
 If all my ships came in from sea. 
 
 If half my ships came home from sea, 
 
 And brought their precious freight to me, 
 
 Ah, well ! I should have wealth as great 
 
 As any king who sits in state. 
 
 So rich the treasures that would be 
 
 In half my ships now out at sea. 
 
 If just one ship I have at sea 
 
 Should come a-sailing home to me, 
 
 Ah, well! the storm clouds then might frown, 
 
 For if the others all went down, 
 
 Still rich and proud and glad I'd be, 
 
 If that one ship came back to me. 
 
118 PICKED POEMS 
 
 If that one ship went down at sea, 
 
 And all the others came to me, 
 
 Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, 
 
 With glory, honour, riches, gold, 
 
 The poorest soul on earth I'd be 
 
 If that one ship came not to me. 
 
 skies be calm! Tvdnds blow free- 
 Blow all my ships safe home to me. 
 But if thou sendest some awrack 
 To never more come sailing back. 
 Send any — all that skim the sea — 
 But bring my love ship home to me. 
 
GOD^S MEASUEE 119 
 
 GOD'S MEASURE 
 
 OD measures souls by their capacity 
 For entertaining his best Angel, Love. 
 Who loveth most, is nearest kin to God, 
 Who is all Love, or Nothing. 
 
 He who sits 
 And looks out on the palpitating world, 
 And feels his heart swell within him large enough 
 To hold all men within it, he is near 
 His great Creator 's standard, though he dwells 
 Outside the pale of churches, and knows not 
 A feast-day from a fast-day, or a line 
 Of Scripture even. What God wants of us 
 Is that outreaching bigness that ignores 
 All littleness of aims, or creeds. 
 And clasps all Earth and Heaven in its Embrace. 
 
120 PICKED POEMS 
 
 SLEEP AND DEATH 
 
 HEN Sleep drops down beside my Love 
 and me, 
 Altliough slie wears the countenance of 
 a friend, 
 
 A jealous foe we prove her in the end. 
 In separate barques far out on dreamland's sea, 
 She lures our wedded souls. "Wild winds blow free, 
 
 And drift us wide apart by tides that tend 
 Tow'rd unknown worlds. Not once our strange 
 
 ways blend 
 Through the long night, while Sleep looks on in 
 glee. 
 
 Death ! be kinder than thy sister seems, 
 
 "When at thy call we journey forth some day, 
 Through that mysterious and unatlased strait. 
 To lands more distant than the land of dreams; 
 Close, close together let our spirits stay. 
 Or else, with one swift stroke annihilate ! 
 
 n 
 
THE PAST 121 
 
 ^^^"^^^^ 
 
 1 
 
 THE PAST 
 
 FLING my past behind me, like a robe 
 AVorn threadbare in the seams, and out 
 
 of date. 
 I have outgrown it. Wherefore should 
 I weep 
 And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes 
 Of Oriental splendour, .or complain 
 That I must needs discard it? I can weave 
 Tf'pon the shuttles of the future years 
 A fabric far more durable. Subdued, 
 It may be, in the blending of its hues. 
 Where sombre shades commingle, yet the gleam 
 Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through, 
 While over all a fadeless lustre lies; 
 And starred with gems made out of crystalled 
 
 tears, 
 My new robe shall be richer than the old. 
 
122 PICKED POEMS 
 
 CREDULITY 
 
 I 
 
 
 F fallacies come knocking at my door, 
 I 'd rather feed, and shelter full a score, 
 Than hide behind the black portcullis, 
 doubt, 
 And run the risk of barring one Truth out. 
 
 And if pretension for a time deceive, 
 And prove me one too ready to believe, 
 Far less my shame, than if by stubborn act, 
 I brand as lie, some great colossal Fact. 
 
 On my soul's door, the latch-string hangs outside; 
 Within, the lighted candle. Let me guide 
 Some errant follies, on their wandering way. 
 Rather, than Wisdom give no welcoming ray. 
 
SOXGS OF LOVE AND THE SEA 123 
 
 SONGS OF LOVE AND THE SEA 
 
 HEN first we met (the Sea and I), 
 Like one before a King, 
 I stood in awe ; nor felt nor saw 
 The sun, the winds, the earth, the sky. 
 Or any other thing: 
 God's Universe, to me, 
 Was just the Sea. 
 
 When next we met, the lordly Main 
 
 Played but a courtier's part; 
 Crowned Queen was I; and earth and sky. 
 And sun and sea were my domain; 
 Since love was in my heart; 
 Before, beyond, above, 
 Was only Love. 
 
 II 
 
 Love built me, on a little rock, 
 A little house of pine. 
 
 At first, the Sea 
 
 Beat angrily 
 About that house of mine; 
 (That dear, dear home of mine). 
 
124 PICKED POEMS 
 
 But when it turned to go away 
 Beyond the sandy track, 
 Down o'er its wall 
 The house would call, 
 Until the Sea came back; 
 (It always hurried back). 
 
 And now the two have grown so fond, 
 (Oh, breathe no word of this). 
 
 When clouds hang low, 
 
 And east winds blow, 
 They meet and kiss and kiss: 
 (At night, I hear them kiss). 
 
 Ill 
 
 No man can understand the Sea, until 
 He knows all passions of the senses ; all 
 The great emotions of the heart ; and each 
 
 Exalted aspiration of the soul. 
 Then may he sit beside the sea and say : 
 *I, too, have flung myself against the rocks, 
 And kissed their flinty brows wdth no return ; 
 
 And fallen spent, upon unfeeling sands. 
 I, too, have gone forth yearning, to far shores, 
 Seeking that something which would bring content : 
 
 And finding only what I took away ; 
 And I have looked up, through the veil of skies, 
 When all the world was still, and understood 
 That I am one with Nature and with God.' 
 
SONGS OF LOVE AND THE SEA 125 
 
 IV 
 
 The Dawn was flying from the Night; 
 
 Swift as the wind she sped; 
 Her hair was like a fleece of light ; 
 
 Her cheeks were warm and red. 
 
 All passion pale, the Night pursued; 
 
 She fled away, away; 
 And in her garments, rainbow hued, 
 
 She gained the peak of day. 
 
 And then, all shaken with alarms, 
 She leaped down from its crest; 
 
 Into the Sea's uplifted arms, 
 And swooned upon his breast. 
 
126 PICKED POEMS 
 
 JUST YOU 
 
 LL the selfish joys of earth, 
 I am getting through — 
 That which used to lure and lead 
 Now I pass and give no heed; 
 Only one thing seems of worth — 
 Just you. 
 
 Not for me the lonely height, 
 
 And the larger view; 
 Lowlier ways seem fair and wide, 
 
 While we wander side by side. 
 One thing makes the whole world bright- 
 Just you. 
 
 Not for distant goals I run. 
 
 No great aim pursue; 
 Most of earth's ambitions seem 
 
 Like the shadow of a dream. 
 All the world to me means one — 
 Just you. 
 
THE SUlTOEd 127 
 
 THE SUITORS 
 
 HERE is a little Bungalow, 
 Perched on a granite ledge ; 
 And at its feet two suitors meet ; 
 (I watch them, and I know.) 
 'One waits outside the casement edge ; 
 One paces to and fro. 
 
 The Patient Rock speaks not a word ; 
 The Sea goes up, and down. 
 And sings full oft, in cadence soft. 
 (I listen, and have heard) 
 Again he wears an angry frow^n 
 By jealous passion stirred. 
 
 This dawn, the Rock was all aglow ; 
 Far out the mad Sea went; 
 Beyond the raft, like one gone daft; 
 (I saw them, and I know) 
 While radiant and well content 
 Smiled down the Bungalow. 
 
128 PICKED POEMS 
 
 That was at Dawn ; ere day had set, 
 The Sea with pleading voice 
 Came back to woo his love anew; 
 (I saw them when they met) 
 And now I know not which her choice- 
 (The Rock's gray face was wet). 
 
IN ENGLAND 129 
 
 IN ENGLAND 
 
 jN England, there are wrongs no doubt, 
 Which should be righted ; so men say. 
 Who seek to weed earth's garden out, 
 And give the roses right of way ; 
 Yes, right of way, to fruit and rose. 
 Where now but poison ivy grows. 
 
 In England, there is wide unrest. 
 
 They tell me who should know; and yet 
 
 I saw but hedges, gayly dressed. 
 And eyes where love and kindness met ; 
 
 Yes, love and kindness, met and made 
 
 Soft sunshine even in the shade. 
 
 In England, there are haunting things 
 
 Which follow one to other lands ; 
 Like some pervading scent that clings 
 
 To laces touched by vanished hands; 
 Yes, touched by vanished hands, which made 
 A fragrance that defies the grave. 
 
130 PICKED POEMS 
 
 lu England, centuries of art 
 
 Give common things a mellow tone; 
 
 And wake old memories in the heart 
 Of other lives the soul has known ; 
 
 Yes, other lives in some past age 
 
 Start forth from canvas, and from page. 
 
 In England, there are simple joys. 
 The modern world has left all sweet; 
 
 In London's heart, are nooks where noise 
 Has entered but with slippered feet ; 
 
 Yes, entered softly. Friend, believe, 
 
 To part from England is to grieve. 
 
WAKNED 131 
 
 WARNED 
 
 HEY stood at the garden gate. 
 By the lifting of a lid 
 She might have read her fate 
 In a little thing he did. 
 
 He plucked a beautiful flower 
 Tore it away from its place 
 
 On the side of the blooming bowser, 
 And held it against his face. 
 
 Drank in its beauty and bloom, 
 In the midst of his idle talk; 
 
 Then cast it down to the gloom 
 And dust of the garden walk. 
 
 Ay, trod it under his foot, 
 
 As it lay in his pathway there ; 
 
 Then spurned it away with his boot, 
 Because it had ceased to be fair. 
 
132 TICKED POEMS 
 
 Ah! the maiden might have read 
 The doom of her young life then ; 
 
 But she looked in his eyes instead, 
 And thought him the king of men. 
 
 She looked in his eyes and blushed, 
 She hid in his strong arms' fold; 
 
 And the tale of the flower, crushed 
 And spurned, was once more told. 
 
IN" INDIA \S DREAMY LASl) 
 
 133 
 
 IN INDIA'S DREAMY LAND 
 
 N India's land one listens aghast 
 
 To the people who scream and' bawl ; 
 For each caste yells at a lower caste, 
 And the Britisher yells at them all. 
 
 KANGOON 
 
 UST a changing sea of colour 
 Surging up and flowing down; 
 And pagodas shining golden, night and 
 noon; 
 
 And a sun-burst-tinted throng 
 Of young priests that move along 
 Under sun-burst-hued umbrellas through the town. 
 That's Rangoon. 
 
134 PICKED POEMS 
 
 
 THE CALL 
 
 N the banquet hall of Progress 
 God has bidden to a feast 
 All the women in the East. 
 
 Some have said, ^We are not reaay, 
 We must wait another day. ' 
 
 Some with voices clear and steady, 
 'Lord we hear, and we obey.' 
 
 Others, timid and uncertain. 
 
 Step forth trembling in the light. 
 
 Many hide behind the curtain 
 With their faces hid from sight 
 
 In the banquet hall of Progress 
 All must gather soon or late, 
 And the patient Host will wait. 
 
THE CALL 135 
 
 If to-day, or if to-morrow, 
 
 If in gladness, or in woe, 
 If with pleasure, or with sorrow, 
 
 All must answer, all must go. 
 They must go with unveiled faces, 
 
 Clothed in virtue and in pride. 
 For the Host has set their places. 
 
 And He will not be denied. 
 
136 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE SPINSTER 
 
 ERE are the orchard trees all large with 
 
 fruit ; 
 And yonder fields are golden with 
 
 young grain. 
 In little journeys, branchward from the nest, 
 A mother bird, with sweet insistent cries, 
 Urges her young to use their untried wings. 
 A purring tabby, stretched upon the sward, 
 Shuts and expands her velvet paws in jo.y, 
 "While sturdy kittens nuzzle at her breast. 
 
 mighty maker of the Universe, 
 Am I not part and parcel of Thy "World, 
 
 And one with Nature? AVherefore, then, in me 
 Must this great reproductive impulse lie 
 Hidden, ashamed, unnourished, and denied, 
 Until it starves to slow and tortuous death? 
 
 1 knew the hope of spring-time ; like the tree 
 Now ripe with fruit, I budded, and then bloomed ; 
 We laughed together, through the young May 
 
 morns : 
 
THE SPINSTER 137 
 
 We dreamed together, through the summer moons; 
 
 Till all Thy purposes within the tree, 
 
 Were to fruition brought. Lord, Thou hast heard 
 
 The Woman in me crying for the Man; 
 
 The Mother in me crying for the Child; 
 
 And made no answer. Am I less to Thee 
 
 Than lower forms of Nature, or in truth 
 
 Dost Thou hold Somewhere in another Realm 
 
 Full compensation and large recompense 
 
 For lonely virtue forced by fate to live 
 
 A life unnatural, in a natural Avorld? 
 
 II 
 
 Thou who hast made for such sure purposes 
 The mightiest and the meanest thing that is — 
 Planned out the lives of insects of the air 
 With fine precision and consummate care. 
 Thou who hast taught the bee the secret power 
 Of carrying on love 's laws 'twixt flower and flower. 
 Why didst Thou shape this mortal frame of mine, 
 If Heavenly joys alone were Thy design? 
 Wherefore the \vonder of my woman's breast. 
 By lips of lover and of babe unpressed. 
 If spirit children only shall reply 
 Unto my ever urgent mother cry ? 
 Why should the rose be guided to its own, 
 And my love-craving ]ieart beat on alone? 
 
138 PICKED POEMS 
 
 III 
 
 Yet do I understand ; for Thou hast made 
 Something more subtle than this heart of me ; 
 A finer part of me 
 To be obeyed. 
 
 Albeit I am a sister to the earth, 
 This nature self is not the whole of me ; 
 The deathless soul of me 
 Has nobler birth. 
 
 The primal woman hungers for the man; 
 My better self demands the mate of me; 
 The spirit fate of me, 
 Part of Thy plan. 
 
 Nature is instinct with the mother-need; 
 So is my heart ; but ah, the child of me 
 Should, undefiled of me, 
 Spring from love's seed. 
 
 And if in barren chastity, I must 
 
 Know but in dreams, that perfect choice of me, 
 
 Still will the voice of me 
 
 Proclaim God just. 
 
SOXGS OF A COUXTRY HOME 
 
 139 
 
 kSongs of a country home. 
 
 I 
 
 HO has not felt his heart leap up, and 
 glow 
 AVhat time the tulips first begin to blow, 
 Has one sweet joy, still left for him to 
 know. 
 
 It is like early loves' imagining; 
 
 That fragile pleasure, which the Tulips bring. 
 
 When suddenly we see them, in the Spring. 
 
 Not all the gardens later royal train. 
 
 Not great triumphant Roses, when they reign, 
 
 Can bring that delicate delight again. 
 
 II 
 
 One of the sweetest hours is this; 
 
 (Of all I think we like it best;) 
 
 A little restful oasis. 
 
 Between the breakfast, and the post. 
 
 Just south of coffee, and of toast, 
 
 Just north of daily task and duty ; 
 
 Just west of dreams, this Island gleams, 
 
 A fertile spot of peace and 1)eaut3\ 
 
 10 
 
140 PICKED POEMS 
 
 We wander out across the lawn; 
 
 We idle by a bush in bloom; 
 
 The Household pets come following on; 
 
 Or if the day is one of gloom, 
 
 We loiter in a pleasant room 
 
 Or from a casement, lean and chatter. 
 
 Then comes the mail, like sudden hail, 
 
 And off we scatter. 
 
 Ill 
 
 When roses die, in languid August days, 
 We leave the Garden, to its fallen ways ; 
 And seek the shelter of wide porticos, 
 Where Honeysuckle, in defiance blows 
 Undaunted by the Sun's too ardent rays. 
 
 The matron Summer, turns a wistful gaze 
 Across green valleys, back to tender Mays; 
 And something of her large contentment goes, 
 When roses die. 
 
 Yet all her subtle fascination stays 
 To lure us into idle sweet delays. 
 The lowered a\\Tiing, by the hammock shows 
 Inviting nooks for dreaming and repose ; 
 Oh, restful are the pleasures of those days 
 When roses die. 
 
SONGS OF A COUNTRY HOME , 141 
 
 IV 
 
 The summer folk, fled back to town. ; 
 
 The green woods changed to red and brown; 
 
 A sound upon the frosty air 
 
 Of windows closing everywhere. 
 
 And then the log, lapped by a blaze. 
 Oh, what is better than these days; 
 With books and friends and love a-near; 
 Go on, gay world, but leave me here. 
 
U2 PICKED POEMS 
 
 ON AVON'S BREAST I SAW A STATELY 
 
 SWAN 
 
 NE day when England's June was at 
 its best, 
 I saw a stately and imperious swan 
 Floating on Avon's fair untroubled 
 breast. 
 Sudden, it seemed as if all strife had gone 
 Out of the w^orld ; all discord, all unrest. 
 
 The sorrows and the sinnings of the race. 
 Faded away like nightmares in the dawTi. 
 
 All heaven was one l)lue background for the .grace 
 Of Avon's beautiful, slow-moving swan; 
 
 And earth held nothing mean, or commonplace. 
 
 Life seemed no longer to be hurrying on 
 With unbecoming haste; but softly trod. 
 
 As one who reads in emerald leaf, or lawn. 
 
 Or crimson rose, a message straight from God. 
 
 On Avon's breast 1 saw a stately swan. 
 
A BALLAD OF THE UNBOEN DEAD 143 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE UNBORN DEAD 
 
 HEY walked the valley of the dead; 
 Lit by a weird half light ; 
 No sound they made, no Avord they said ; 
 And they were pale with fright. 
 Then suddenly from unseen places came, 
 Loud laughter, that was like a whip of flame. 
 
 They looked, and saw, beyond, above, 
 
 A land where wronged souls wait; 
 (Those spirits called to earth by love. 
 
 And driven back by hate.) 
 And each one stood in anguish dumb and wild, 
 As she beheld the phantom of her child. 
 
 Yea, saw the soul her wish had hurled 
 
 Out into night and death ; 
 Before it reached the Mother world. 
 
 Or drew its natal breath. 
 And terrified, each hid her face and fled. 
 Beyond the presence of her unborn dead. » 
 
144 PICKED POEMS 
 
 And God's Great Angel who provides, 
 
 Souls for our mortal land, 
 Laughed with the laughter that derides 
 
 At that fast-fleeting band 
 Of self-made barren women of the earth. 
 (Hell has no curse that withers like such mir 
 
 i 
 
 rth. ) 
 
 ''Oh, Angel, tell us who they were 
 
 That down below us fared ; 
 Those shapes with faces strained and gray, 
 
 And eyes that stared and stared; 
 Something there was about them, gave us fear ; 
 Yet are we lonely, now they are not here. ' ' 
 
 Thus spake the spectral children; thus 
 
 The Angel made reply : 
 ''They have no part or share with us; 
 
 They were but passersby. '' 
 ' ' But may we pray for them ? ' ' the phantoms plead. 
 ' ' Yea, for they need your prayers, ' ' the Angel said. 
 
 They went upon their lonely way; 
 
 ' (Far, far from Paradise;) 
 Their path was lit with one wan ray; 
 
 From ghostly children's eyes; 
 The little children who were never born. 
 And as they passed, the Angel laughed in scorn. 
 
CLAKA MORRIS 145 
 
 CLARA MORRIS 
 
 (Written for a Benefit Given Mrs. Morris) 
 
 HE Radiant Ruler of Mystic Regions 
 Where souls of artists are fitted for 
 birth, 
 Gathered together their lovely legions 
 And fashioned a woman to shine on earth. 
 They bathed her in splendor 
 They made her tender : 
 They gave her a nature both sweet and wild. 
 They gave her emotions 
 Like storm stirred oceans, 
 And they gave her the heart of a little child. 
 
 These Radiant Rulers (who are not human 
 
 Nor yet divine like the gods above) 
 Poured all their gifts in the soul of a woman 
 That fragile vessel meant only for love. 
 
 Still more they taught her, 
 
 Still more they brought her — 
 Till they gave her the world for a harp one day, 
 
 And they bade her string it — 
 
 They bade her ring it. 
 While the stars all wondered to hear her play. 
 
146 PICKED POEMS 
 
 She touched the strings in a master fashion, 
 
 She uttered the cry of a world's despair. 
 Its long-hid secret, its pent-up passion, 
 She gave to the winds in a vibrant air. 
 
 For ah ! the heart of her, 
 
 That was the art of her. 
 Great with the feeling that makes men kin. 
 
 Art unapproachable, 
 
 Art all uncoachable. 
 Fragrance and flame from the spirit within. 
 
 I 
 
 The earth turns ever an ear unheeding 
 
 To the sorrows of art, as it cries for more : 
 And she played on the harp till her hands were 
 bleeding 
 And her brow was bruised by the laurels she 
 wore. 
 
 She knew the trend of it. 
 She knew the end of it. 
 Men heard the music and men felt the thrill. 
 Bound to the altar 
 Of art, could she falter? 
 Then came a silence — the music was still. 
 
 And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it 
 
 In waves unbroken it circles the earth : 
 And we catch in the light of her dauntless spirit 
 
CLARA MORRIS 147 
 
 A gleam from the center that gave her birtli. 
 Still is the fame of her 
 Felt in the name of her. 
 But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her 
 strain. 
 
 No hand has taken it, 
 No hand can waken it — 
 For the soul of her art was her secret of pain. 
 
148 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THREE AND ONE 
 
 OMETIMES she seems so helpless and so 
 mild, 
 So full of sweet unreason and so 
 weak, 
 
 So prone to some capricious whim or freak; 
 Now gay, now tearful, and now anger-wild, 
 By her strange moods of waywardness beguiled 
 And entertained, I stroke her pretty cheek, 
 And soothing words of peace and comfort speak ; 
 And love her as a father loves a child. 
 
 Sometimes when I am troubled and sore pressed 
 On every side by fast-advancing care, 
 She rises up Avith such majestic air, 
 
 I deem her some Olympian goddess-guest, 
 
 Who brings my heart new courage, hope, and rest. 
 In her brave eyes dwells balm for my despair, 
 And then I seem, while fondly gazing there, 
 
 A loving child upon my mother's breast. 
 
THKEE AND ONE 149 
 
 Again, when her warm veins are full of life, 
 And youth's volcanic tidal wave of fire 
 Sends the swift mercury of her pulses higher, 
 
 Her beauty stirs my heart to maddening strife, 
 
 And all the tiger in my blood is rife; 
 I love her with a lover's fierce desire, 
 And find in her my dream, complete, entire, 
 
 Child, Mother, Mistress — all in one word — ^^^ife. 
 
150 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE ENGLISHMAN 
 
 ORN in the flesli, and bred in the Iwne, 
 Some of US harbour still 
 A New World pride : and Ave flaunt or 
 hide 
 
 The Spirit of Bunker Hill. 
 "We claim our place, as a separate race, 
 
 Or a self-created clan : 
 Till there comes a day when Ave like to say, 
 ^^We are kin of the Englishman/' 
 
 For under the front that seems so cold, 
 
 And the voice that is wont to storm. 
 We are certain to find a big, broad mind 
 
 And a heart that is soft and warm. 
 And he carries his woes in a lordly way, 
 
 As only the great souls can: 
 And it makes us glad when in truth we say, 
 
 **We are kin of the Englishman.'' 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN l5l 
 
 He slams his door in the face of the world, 
 
 If he thinks the world too bold. 
 He Avill even curse; but he opens his purse 
 
 To the poor, and the sick, and the old. 
 He is slow in giving to woman the vote, 
 
 And slow to pick up her fan ; 
 But he gives her room in an hour of doom, 
 
 And dies — like an Englishman. 
 
152 PICKED POEMS 
 
 THE CURE 
 
 OU may talk of reformations, of the 
 Economic Plan, 
 That shall stem the Social Evil in 
 its course ; 
 But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in 
 
 THE MAN. 
 
 If you want to cleanse a river, seek the source. 
 
 Ever since his first beginning, Man has had his 
 way, in lust. 
 He has never learned the law of Self-Control ; 
 And the World condones his sinning, and the Doc- 
 tors say he must. 
 And the Churches shut their eyes, and take his 
 toll. 
 
 And the lauded 'Lovely Mothers,' send the son 
 
 out into life 
 
 With no knowledge-welded armour for the fight ; 
 
 'He \\'ill make his wa^^ like others, through the Oat 
 
 field, to the Wife;' 
 
 'He will somehow be led onward, to the light.' 
 
THE CURE 153 
 
 Yes, his leaders, they, shall find him. On the high- 
 ways at each turn, 
 (Since you did not choose to counsel or to warn,) 
 They shall tempt him, then shall bind him ; they 
 shall blight, and they shall burn, 
 Down to offspring and descendants yet unborn. 
 
 It can never end through preaching; it can never 
 end through laws; 
 This social sore, no punishment can heal. 
 If must he the mother's teaching of the purpose, 
 and the cause, 
 And GocVs glory, lying under sex appeal. 
 
 She must feel no fear to name it to the children it 
 has brought; 
 She must speak of it as sacred and sublime ; 
 She must beautify, not shame it, by her speech and 
 by her thought; 
 Till they listen, and respect it, for all time. 
 
 From the heart they rested under ere they saw the 
 light of day, 
 Must the daughters and the sons be taught this 
 truth ; 
 Till they think of it with wonder, as a holy thing 
 alway ; 
 While love 's wisdom guides them safely through 
 their youth. 
 
154 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Oh, the world has made) its devil, and the Mothers 
 let it groAv ; 
 And the Man has dragged their thoughts down 
 to the earth. 
 There will be no Social Evil, when each waking 
 mind shall know 
 All the grandeur and the beauty hid in 1)irth. 
 
 When each Mother sets the fashion to win confi- 
 dence, and trust, 
 And to teach the mighty lesson, Self-Control, 
 We can lift the great Sex passion from the dark- 
 ness and the dust. 
 And enshrine it, on the altar of the soul. 
 
ON SEEING THE DIABUTSU 155 
 
 ON SEEING THE DIABUTSU— AT 
 KAMAKURA, JAPAN 
 
 ONG have I searched, Cathedral shrine, 
 and hall, 
 To find a symbol, from the hand of art, 
 That gave the full expression (not a 
 part) 
 Of that ecstatic peace which follows all 
 Life's pain and passion. Strange it should befall 
 This outer emblem of the inner heart 
 Was waiting far beyond the great world's mart — 
 Immortal answer, to the mortal call. 
 
 Unknown the artist, vaguely known his creed: 
 But the bronze wonder of his work sufficed 
 To lift me to the heights his faith had trod. 
 For one rich moment, opulent indeed, 
 I walked with Krishna, Buddha, and the Christ, 
 And felt the full serenity of God. 
 
 11 
 
156 PICKED POEMS 
 
 SLEEP'S TREACHERY 
 
 the grey twilight tiptoed down the 
 
 deep 
 And shadowy valley to the day's dark 
 end, 
 
 She whom I thought my ever faithful friend, 
 
 Fair-browed, calm-eyed and mother-bosomed Sleep, 
 
 Met me with smiles. 'Poor longing heart, I keep 
 
 Sweet joy for you, ' she murmured. I will send 
 
 One whom you love, with your own soul to blend 
 
 In visions, as the night hours onward creep.' 
 
 I 
 
 I trusted her ; and watched by starry beams, 
 I slumbered soundly, free from all alarms. 
 Then not my love, but one long banished came. 
 
 Led by false Sleep, down secret stairs of dreams 
 And clasped me, unresisting in fond arms. ■ 
 Oh, treacherous sleep— to sell me to such shami! 
 
SONG OF THE RAIL 157 
 
 SONG OF THE RAIL 
 
 H, an ugly thing is an iron rail, 
 Black, with its face to the dust. 
 But it carries a message where winged 
 things fail; 
 
 [t crosses the mountains, and catches the trail. 
 While the winds and the sea make sport of a sail ; 
 Oh, a rail is a friend to trust. 
 
 j 
 
 The iron rail, with its face to the sod, 
 
 Is only a bar of ore ; 
 
 Yet it speeds where never a foot has trod ; 
 
 A.nd the narrow path where it leads, grows broad ; 
 
 And it speaks to the world in the voice of God: 
 
 That echoes from shore to shore. 
 
 .tlhough the iron rail, on the earth down flung, 
 
 Seems kin to the loam and the soil. 
 
 Wherever its high shrill note is sung. 
 
 Out of the jungle fair homes have sprung, 
 
 A.nd the voices of babel find one tongue, 
 
 [n the common language of toil. 
 
158 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Of priest, and warrior, and conquering king, 
 
 Of Knights of the Holy Grail, 
 
 Of wonders of winter, and glories of spring, 
 
 Always and ever the poets sing ; 
 
 But the great God-Force, in a lowly thing, 
 
 I sing, in my song of the rail. 
 
BEEAKING THE DAY IN TWO 
 
 159 
 
 BREAKING THE DAY IN TWO 
 
 HEN from dawn till noon seems one long 
 day, 
 And from noon till night another, 
 Oh, then should a little boy come from 
 play, 
 And creep into the arms of his mother. 
 Snugly creep and fall asleep, 
 
 Oh, come, my baby, do ! 
 Creep into my lap, and with a nap 
 We'll break the day in two. 
 
 When the shadows slant for an afternoon, 
 
 When the midday meal is over, 
 When the winds have swung themselves into a 
 swoon, 
 
 And the bees drone in the clover, 
 Then hie to me, hie, for a lullaby — 
 
 Come, my baby, do; 
 Creep into my lap, and with a nap 
 
 We 11 break the day in two. 
 
160 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Well break it in two with a crooning song, 
 
 With a soft and soothing number; 
 For the day has no right to be so long 
 
 And keep my baby from slumber. 
 Then rock-a-by, roek, may white dreams flock 
 
 Like angels over you ; 
 Baby's gone, and the deed is done, 
 
 We've broken the day in two. 
 
 1 
 
PEEPAKATION 161 
 
 PREPARATION 
 
 E must not force events, but rather make 
 The heart soil ready for their coming, as 
 The earth spreads carpets for the feet 
 of Spring, 
 
 Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost, 
 Prepares for Winter. Should a July noon 
 Burst suddenly upon a frozen world 
 Small joy would follow, even tho' that world 
 Were longing for the summer. Should the sting 
 Of sharp December pierce the heart of June, 
 What death and devastation would ensue! 
 All things are planned. The most majestic sphere 
 That whirls through space is governed and con- 
 trolled 
 By supreme law, as is the blade of grass 
 Which through the bursting bosom of the earth 
 Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor puny man 
 Alone doth strive and battle with the Force 
 Which rules all lives and worlds, and he alone 
 Demands effect before producing cause. 
 How vain the hope ! We cannot harvest joy 
 Until we sow the seed, and God alone 
 Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand 
 
162 PICKED POEMS 
 
 And watch the ground with anxious brooding eyes 
 Complaining of the slow, unfruitful yield, 
 Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves 
 Keeps off the sunlight and delays result. 
 Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire 
 Doth, like a sultry May, force tender shoots 
 To ripen prematurely, and we reap 
 But disappointment; or we rot the germs 
 With briny tears ere they have time to grow. 
 While stars are born and mighty planets die 
 And hissing comets scorch the brow of space 
 The Universe keeps its eternal calm. 
 Through patient preparation, year on year, 
 The earth endures the Travail of the Spring 
 And Winter's desolation. So our souls 
 In grand submission to a higher law 
 Should move serene through all the ills of life, 
 Believing them masked joys. 
 
THOUGHTS ON LEAVING JAPAN 163 
 
 THOUGHTS ON LEAVING JAPAN 
 
 CHANGING medley of insistent sounds^ 
 ITU^/flR Like broken airs, played on a Samisen, 
 p^^^^ Pursues me, as the waves blot out the 
 KSEs^— J shore, 
 
 The trot of wooden heels; the warning cry 
 Of patient runners ; laughter and strange words 
 Of children, children, children everywhere. 
 The clap of reverent hands, before some shrine; 
 And over all the haunting temple bells, 
 Waking, in silent chambers of the soul, 
 Dim memories of long forgotten lives. 
 
 But oh! the sorrow of the undertone; 
 
 The wail of hopeless weeping in the dawn 
 
 From lips that smiled through gilded bars at night. 
 
 Brave little people, of large aims, you bow 
 Too often, and too low before the Past ; 
 You sit too long in worship of the dead. 
 Yet have you risen, open eyed, to greet 
 The great material Present. Now salute 
 The greater Future, blazing its bold trail 
 
164 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Through old traditions. Leave your dead to sleep 
 In quiet peace with God. Let your concern 
 Be with the living, and the yet unborn ; 
 Bestow on them your thoughts, and waste no time 
 In costly honours to insensate dust. 
 Unlock the doors of usefulness, and lead 
 Your lovely daughters forth to larger fields, 
 Away from jungles of the ancient sin. 
 
 For oh! the sorrow of that undertone, 
 The wail of hopeless weeping in the dawn 
 From lips that smiled through gilded bars at night. 
 
LOVERS SUPREMACY 
 
 165 
 
 LOVE'S SUPREMACY 
 
 supreme con- 
 
 S yon great sun in his 
 dition 
 Absorbs small worlds and makes them 
 all his 0WJ.1, 
 So does my love absorb each vain ambition, 
 
 Each outside purpose which my life has known. 
 Stars cannot shine so near that vast orb'd splen- 
 dour ; 
 They are content to feed his flames of fire; 
 And so my heart is satisfied to render 
 
 Its strength, its all, to meet thy strong desire. 
 
 As in a forest when dead leaves are falling 
 
 From all save some perennial green tree. 
 So one by one I find all pleasures palling 
 
 That are not linked with or enjoyed by thee. 
 And all the homage that the world may proffer, 
 
 I take as perfumed oils or incense sweet, 
 And think of it as one thing more to offer, 
 
 And sacrifice to Love, at thy dear feet. 
 
166 PICKED POEMS 
 
 I love myself because thou art my lover, 
 
 My name seems dear since uttered by thy voice ; 
 Yet, argus-eyed, I watch and would discover 
 
 Each blemish in the object of thy choice. 
 I coldly sit in judgment on each error; 
 
 To my soul's gaze I hold each fault of me. 
 Until my pride is lost in abject terror, 
 
 Lest I become inadequate to thee. 
 
 Like some swift-rushing and sea-seeking river, 
 
 Which gathers force the farther on it goes. 
 So does the current of my love forever 
 
 Find added strength and beauty as it flows. 
 The more I give, the more remains for giving, 
 
 The more receive, the more remains to win. 
 Ah ! only in eternities of living 
 
 Will life be long enough to love thee in. 
 
AWAKENING 167 
 
 AWAKENING 
 
 HEY are waking, they are waking, 
 In the east, and in the west; 
 They are throwing wide their windows 
 to the sun; 
 And they see the dawn is breaking. 
 And they quiver with unt'est. 
 For they know their work is waiting to be done. 
 
 They are waking in the city, 
 
 They are waking on the farm; 
 They are waking in the boudoir, and the mill; 
 
 And their hearts are full of pity 
 
 As they sound the loud alarm, 
 For the sleepers, who in darkness, slumber, still. 
 
 In the guarded harem prison. 
 
 Where they smother under veils, 
 And all echoes of the world are walled away; 
 
 Though the sun has not yet risen. 
 
 Yet the ancient darkness pales. 
 And the sleepers, in their slumber, dream of day. 
 
168 PICKED POEMS 
 
 And their dream shall grow in splendour, 
 
 Till each sleeper wakes, and stirs; 
 Till she breaks from old traditions, and is free; 
 
 And the world shall rise, and render 
 
 Unto woman what is hers, 
 As it welcomes in the race that is to be. 
 
 Unto woman, God the Maker, 
 
 Gave the secret of His plan ; 
 It is written out in cipher, on her soul; 
 
 From the darkness, you must take her, 
 
 To the light of day, man ! 
 Would you know the mighty meaning of the scroll. 
 
HIGH NOON 169 
 
 HIGH NOON 
 
 IME'S finger on the dial of my Hfe 
 Points to high noon ! and yet the half- 
 spent day. 
 Leaves less than half remaining, for 
 the dark, 
 Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end. 
 
 To those who burn the candle to the stick. 
 The sputtering socket yields but little light. 
 Long life is sadder than an early death. 
 We cannot count on raveled threads of age 
 Whereof to weave a fabric. We must use 
 The warp and woof the ready present yields 
 And toil while daylight lasts. AVhen I bethink 
 How brief the past, the future, still more brief 
 Calls on to action, action ! Not for me 
 Is time for restrospection or for dreams, 
 Not time for self-laudation or remorse. 
 Have I done nobly? Then I must not let 
 Dead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame. 
 Have I done wrong? Well, let the bitter taste 
 Of fruit that turned to ashes on my lip 
 Be my reminder in temptation's hour, 
 And keep me silent when I would condemn. 
 
170 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Sometimes it takes the acid of a sin 
 
 To cleanse the clouded Avindows of our souls 
 
 So pity may shine through them. 
 
 Looking back, 
 My faults and errors seem like stepping-stones 
 That led the way to knowledge of the truth 
 And made me value virtue; sorrows shine 
 In rainbow colors o 'er the gulf of years, 
 Where lie forgotten pleasures. 
 
 Looking forth. 
 Out to the western sky still bright with noon, 
 I feel well spurred and booted for the strife 
 That ends not till Nirvana is attained. 
 
 Battling with fate, with men and with myself, 
 Up the steep summit of my life's forenoon, 
 Three things I learned, three things of precious 
 
 worth. 
 To guide and help me down the western slope. 
 I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save; 
 To pray for courage to receive w^hat comes. 
 Knowing what comes to be divinely sent ; 
 To toil for universal good, since thus 
 And only thus can good come unto me ; 
 To save, by giving whatsoe'er I have 
 To those who have not — this alone is gain. 
 
IN ENGLAND 171 
 
 ¥W 
 
 12 
 
 IN ENGLAND 
 
 N England, there are wrongs, no doubt, 
 Which should be righted; so men say. 
 Who seek to weed earth's garden out, 
 And give the roses right of way. 
 
 Yes, right of way to fruit and rose, 
 
 Where now but poison ivy grows. 
 
 In England there is wide unrest, 
 
 They tell me, who should know. And yet 
 
 I saw but hedges gayly dressed. 
 
 And eyes, where love and kindness met. 
 
 Yes, love and kindness, met and made 
 
 Soft sunshine, even in the shade. 
 
 In England, there are haunting things 
 Which follow one to other lands ; 
 Like some pervading scent that clings 
 Yes, touched by vanished hands, that gave 
 A fragrance which defies the grave. 
 
 In England, centuries of art, 
 
 Give common things a mellow tone ; 
 
172 PICKED POEMS 
 
 And wake old memories in the heart 
 Of other lives the soul has known. 
 Yes, other lives in some past age 
 Start forth from canvas, or from page. 
 
 In England, there are simple joys. 
 The modern world has left all sweet; 
 In London's heart are nooks, where noise 
 Has entered but with slippered feet ; 
 Yes, entered softly. 
 
 Friend, believe, 
 To part from England, is to grieve. 
 
 1 
 
ALL IN A COACH AND FOUR 173 
 
 ALL IN A COACH AND FOUR 
 
 HE quality folk went riding by, 
 All in a coach and four, 
 And pretty Annette, in a calico gown 
 (Bringing her marketing things from 
 town), 
 Stopped short with her Sunday store. 
 And wondered if ever it should betide 
 That she in a long plumed hat would ride 
 Away in a coach and four. 
 
 A lord there was, oh a lonely soul, 
 There in the coach and four. 
 His years were young but his heart was old. 
 And he hated his coaches and hated his gold 
 (Those things which we all adore). 
 And he thought how sweet it would be to trudge 
 Along with the fair little country drudge. 
 And away from his coach and four. 
 
 So back he rode the very next day 
 
 All in his coach and four, 
 
 And he went each day whether dry or wet, 
 
174 PICKED POEMS 
 
 Until he married the sweet Annette 
 (In spite of her lack of lore). 
 But they didn't trudge off on foot together, 
 For he bought her a hat with a long, long feather, 
 And they rode in the coach and four. 
 
 Now a thing like this could happen w^e know, 
 All in a coach and four; 
 But the fact of it is, 'twixt me and you. 
 There isn't a word of the story true 
 (Pardon I do implore). 
 It is only a foolish and fanciful song 
 That came to me as I rode along. 
 All in a coach and four. 
 
MEMOEY'S MANSION 
 
 175 
 
 MEMORY'S MANSION 
 
 Memory's Mansion are wonderful 
 rooms, 
 And I wander about them at will ; 
 And I pause at the casements, where 
 boxes of blooms 
 Are sending sweet scents o'er the sill. 
 I lean from a window that looks on a lawn; 
 Prom a turret thati looks on the wave. 
 But I draw down the shade when I see on some 
 
 glade 
 A stone standing guard by a grave. 
 
 To Memory's attic I clambered one day 
 
 When the roof was resounding with rain. 
 
 And there, among relics long hidden away, 
 
 I rummaged with heart ache and pain. 
 
 A hope long surrendered and covered with dust, 
 
 A pastime, out-grown and forgot, 
 
 And a fragment of love all corroded with rust. 
 
 Were lying heaped up in one spot. 
 
 And there on the floor of that garret was tossed 
 A friendship too fragile to last. 
 
176 PICKED POEMS 
 
 With pieces of dearly bought pleasures that cost 
 
 Vast fortunes of pain in the past, 
 
 A fabric of passion, once vivid and bright, 
 
 As the breast of a robin in Spring, 
 
 Was spread out before me — a terrible sight — 
 
 A moth-eaten rag of a thing. 
 
 Then down the deep stairway I hurriedly went, 
 
 And into fair chambers below; 
 
 But the mansion seemed filled with the old attic 
 
 scent 
 Wherever my footsteps would go. 
 Though in Memory 's House I still wander full oft, 
 No more to the garret I climb ; 
 And I leave all the rubbish heaped there in the loft 
 To the hands of the Housekeeper, Time. 
 
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