Class _:£S..M_o7_ Book TfeS ^Tj^- Gopyri^htN°. 1-^7 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE AND OTHER POEMS BY RUTH CROSBY DIMMICK CHICAGO W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 1907 ■ot ,^'>;^' t^^A LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Cooles Received MAY 23 I90r s^ Copyright Entry '''-M . J. j;, / ^ 6 7; CLASS /i XXc, No." /7-i-oo U COPY B. Copyright, 1907, by RUTH CROSBY DIMMICK ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. f^ THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED To one whose hand, outstretched, has helped me o'er The hills and valleys when the way was dark; Whose voice has called: "Go, plume thy wings and soar; Gaze on the stars; strive to outwing the lark." To one who, when Vve faltered by the way. Has come and said: "Now rest thee from thy task; Remember, 'Rome was not built in a day.'" To one whose kindly smile is all I ask. —THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS PAGE. Sunlight and Darkness 13 My Guiding Star 14 A Dream 15 The Time of Times 17 My Vows 19 Useless 20 Comparisons 21 Mysticism 22 A Parting 23 Incomprehensible 24 Aftermath 25 Fickleness 26 Old St. Augustine 31 Dear Days ^^ What Would It Mean ? 34 A Request 35 Longing 35 Between the Sunlight and the Dew 36 The First Sweetheart 40 Unequalled 41 A Doubter 42 Life 43 A Dream of You 44 To A Ghost 45 A Memory 46 The Rose That Decked Her Bonnet 47 Your Answer 48 Miss Nancy 49 The Days That Can Never Be 51 PAGE. The End 52 An Accommodating Moon 53 At Twilight 54 Changed 57 Dan Malone 58 Dead Love 61 MYTHOLOGICAL LOVE TALES Endymion 65 Apollo and Daphne 67 Echo and Narcissus 69 Admetus and Alcestis 71 MISCELLANEOUS Nobody Knows 77 Arrabell Leigh 78 An Autumn Sunset 80 Only a Sawdust Doll 83 Every Back Its Burden 87 God's Masterpiece 88 Too Late 88 Childhood on the Farm 89 What Does It Matter? 90 The Builder 91 We May Not Know 92 Little Bess 95 The Village Store 96 The Wanderer 121 Home 122 New Year's Eve 125 Evening Star 126 Hope 127 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE. Ruth Crosby Dimmick Frontispiece "The Day Has Been So Dreary" 1 1 Marie 29 "In the Evening when the Shadows Flit About Among the Trees" 37^ "We Used to Gather Flowers in the Spring" 55"^ "I've Been Waiting, Waiting, Waiting" 59 "^ "Poplar and Ash Their Branches Twined" 81 "The Little Girl's Heart was Well-Nigh Broke" 85'^ "Four Years Old and Naughty" 93 '^ "The Village Store that Autumn Night" 97 "^ "And Often Got into Trouble" "3 "The Little Home Way Back in Days of Childhood" 123 "The Day Has Been so Dreary" POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE. SUNLIGHT AND DARKNESS The day has been so dreary And long and dark and weary Because the sunhght, dearie, Of your face, Has not come with its gladness And witchery and madness To lift the gloom of sadness From the place. Ah, love, when we're together It matters little whether The fog of dismal weather Dims the skies. But heaven would be dreary And cold and dark and weary Without the lovelight, dearie, Of your eves. 13 14 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE MY GUIDING STAR Through the dark ways of hfe thou art to be My guiding star and point the v/ay for me ; And through the vale where wearily I tread, I may look up and see thee overhead Shine radiantlv. And if, at last, when I have reached the light Out of the dark and dreariness of night. Thy voice should say: "Well done/' tho' near or far I'd be content to see thee, oh, my star, Smile radiantly. AND OTHER POEMS 15 A DREAM I closed my tired eyes until My head upon my pillow Fell heavily : the world grew still And presently a mingled trill Of nightingale and whippoorwill Came from some far-off hollow. 'Twas soothing, at the close of day, After my work was over, To hear the evening birds at play. In fancy I was far away 'Midst scented fields of new-mown hay And meadow beds of clover. The tinkle of a nearby stream And croak of frogs came to me, Soft blended in a golden dream Beneath the moonlight's mellow gleam. While in my heart love reigned supreme And joy thrilled through and through me. With lithesome step I strayed into An old enchanted wildwood Where violets of azure blue And buttercups and daisies, too, Smiled up through crystled drops of dew As in the davs of childhood. 1 6 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE And once more in a distant land, In days now gone forever, I felt a mother's gentle hand As lightly fell a reprimand On ears that could not understand And ears that heeded — never. Again I roamed through life's glad spring Without a sigh or sorrow, Not knowing that a vip'rous sting Close follows where sweet kisses cling, Just knowing that the birds could sing, Not caring for the morrow. On, on I went 'neath summer skies. Through long dream days of gladness, Looked once more into laughing eyes. Found once again the paradise That later life somehow denies. Ah, me! the days of madness. And then, alas! the first sunbeam Danced to the housemaid's ditty Across my face: there was no gleam Of silv'ry moon, no tinkling stream, And I had only had a dream Amidst a noisy city. AND OTHER POEMS 17 THE TIME OF TIMES There are times when I think that my heart has grown Indifferent, blase. There are times when it seems that I do not care How goes the hour of day Just so long as the weary old world wags on And lets me go my way. There are times, now and then, when I would give all If I could only be Far away from the haunts of the world of men "Where I might never see Human face; that I might never know the sound Of human voice near me. At such times not the smile of a kindly friend Is welcome — even you On my soul seem to pall- -with yot:r gentle ways — No matter what you do. At such times is my life a nonentity, A great void through and through. But again there are times when I know my heart Is like a furnace fire. When I long for the world and my spirits bound To heights from out the mire ; When my whole being thrills and I seethe and surge With passion and desire. 1 8 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Then I want but you, dear, with those Hps of yours, And feel I could abide For eternity held in your tender arms. No matter what betide, For a love like the love that consumes my soul Must needs be satisfied. And tonight is the time when my heart beats high — I want to feel you near. Come to me in the dark, in the dark alone. Your voice I want to hear— Come to me, ah, make haste, for of all the times Tonight I want you, dear. AND OTHER POEMS 19 MY VOWS I have said I would nevermore see you, And I swore it with firmest intent. I have said I would no longer love you And both of these vows I have meant. I have sworij by the gods to forget you Whose memory only brings pain. I have sworn it at midnight and noonday And over and over again. But, ah! when this spell is upon me Not the fear of my God nor the threat Of hell and eternal perdition Could make me one moment forget That the heaven for me is your bosom; That the only perdition I fear Is this, that you'll one day forget me While I shall remember you, dear. 20 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE USELESS I know there is nothing in it, I know it can never be, But I Hke to close my eyehds And fancy your arms 'round me; And all through my dreams you follow And watch with your loving eyes Until the dawn of the morrow Breaks through the eastern skies. I know it is very foolish And much like a child at play, But I like to fancy you with me All through the dreary day. You sit in a chair beside me And watch as I work the while And the day is ever the brighter Because of your fancied smile. I know you are farther from me Than are the stars and the moon, That our paths are as wide asunder As days of December from June. And while I know it is useless And know it can never be, Still I like to close my eyelids And fancy your arms 'round me. AND OTHER POEMS COMPARISONS Oh! the smile of your mouth! The smile of your mouth! It is as a rose from the sweet-scented South Where bright sunlight plays Through all the long days, Yet never so bright as the smile of your mouth. Oh! the touch of your lips! The touch of your lips! It is as the honey the bumblebee sips From sweet, clinging vine And white columbine, Yet never so sweet as the touch of your lips. Oh! the dream of your eyes! The dream of your eyes! It is as a light in the far-away skies That comes gleaming through The violet blue. Yet never such light as the dream in your eyes. Oh! the sound of your voice! The sound of your voice! It is as the notes when the song birds rejoice Where clear waters flow And soft breezes blow, Yet never such notes as the sound of your voice. 22 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE MYSTICISM Why did you come to me at dark of night And bring me that for which I dared not pray — Why did you come, but only, when 'twas Hght, To go away? That which you freely gave I did not try To gain, and though I thirsted hungrily And drained the cup, I knew, not knowing why, It could not be. What was the profit of that night ; the cost ? that the Sphinx inscrutable would speak And tell me whether I have gained or lost And how to seek. I know but this: you came without my call; 1 know that which you gave was most complete, I know — though since the world has seemed to pall- That night was sweet. AND OTHER POEMS 23 A PARTING 'Twas down by the sea on a summer's day, The waves dashed high on the cool, white sand; He was going away and had come to say Good-by, and he held my hand. The moan of the waves and the pines close by Let the sob from my heart slip out unheard. My glance met his as he sought my eye, But we neither spoke a word. There were things that we might have said, perchance, And things that we might have done, and yet — We understood in that silent glance And there's nothing to regret. Yet I never see the waves dash high Nor the tall pine trees as they bend and sway But what I think of that last good-by And the day he went away. 24 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE INCOMPREHENSIBLE I never could explain it And never understand Why the touch of gentle fingers Or clasp of a soft hand Can set my veins a-tingle With wildest ecstasy And open wide the portals Of paradise for me. I cannot comprehend it And never will know why A voice that is but tender, A glance from loving eye Can lift the gloom of sorrow, Unweave the tangled skein And bring the joy of living Back into life again. AND OTHER FORMS 25 AFTERMATH If I had never seen your wond'rous eyes, Wherein the joy of all my being Hes, If I had never seen them lovingly, Full of a mellow Ught, look down on me, I would not care. If I had never known the tenderness Of your dear Ups, nor felt their warm caress Over my own drag sweetness Hngeringly, This weary aftermath then would not be So hard to bear. 26 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE FICKLENESS When the summer turns to autumn and the moonhght nights grow long; When the sad , gray boughs are sighing and the birds have ceased their song ; When the day is still and dreamy and the leaves come softly down, And the green hues of the summer turn to crimson, gold and brown; Then, as fall the dead leaves downward, fall my dead hopes of the spring That were brightened into beauty by the summer's whispering. Hopes, so few of which were full blown, that grew beauti- ful and true. Most of them were half buds stunted and worm-eaten through and through. And as the leaves lie buried 'neath the dead grass and the rain, I have covered o'er the memory of the things that give me pain — All except one hope that lingers like the last leaf clinging on In among the barren branches after all the rest are gone. AND OTHER POEMS 27 'Twas the fairest hope that blossomed under sunny sum- mer skies ; 'Twas a hope that Hved and flourished in a pair of wond'rous eyes. Eyes of brown, with love light glowing, oft come back to look at me As I sit among the shadows in the autumn silently. Wend their way into my chamber wdien the troubled world is still, And through weary hours haunt me, haunt me sore against my will. And I strive to put them from me, but soft lips come to caress 'Til I quite forget my anger in their loving tenderness. Then the old-time hungry longing and the aching, hurting pain If the hope I buried deepest, for a time, comes back again. Yet 'tis but a fading mem'ry, a mere phantom, that is all. For the hope itself was buried when the leaves began to fall. But when autumn turns to winter and the spring again comes on. When the leaf that to the old tree clung so tenderly is gone. Those dark eyes will then have left me, buried hopes will be no part Of my life, unless to strengthen slender cords that bind my heart, 2 8 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE As the leaves that lay all winter covered o'er with sleet and snow Will enrich the ground and make it so that buttercups may grow. And when moonlight turns to sunlight and the birds come back to sing 'Mid the blossoms in the treetops, at the dawn of glowing spring ; When the day is clear and balmy and the sky an azure blue, Save the golden glowing circle where the sun comes burning through, Then my heart will, like the sapling, fill with hopes whose tendrils sprout As the old tree dons his verdure and the tiny leaves come out. And where sparkled once the brown eyes, laughing blue wdll look at me And the world will ring with gladness and my heart sing joyfully Until comes again the autumn when the moonlight nights grow long. When the dead leaves fast are falling and the birds have ceased their song. Marie AND OTHER POEMS 31 OLD ST. AUGUSTINE Down in old St. Augustine, where the moonUght's silv'ry sheen Falls in beauty o'er the Plaza, lighting up the verdant green ; I have watched its mellow rays coming slantwise through the maze Of branches, making diamonds where the public foun- tain plays. Old St. Augustine by night is to me the fairest sight Mine eyes have ever yet beheld and once 'twas my delight To seek out petite Marie, who was all the world to me, And 'neath the stars go strolling on the wall that guards the sea. Ah! it seemed like heaven then and my heart was happy when I held her little hand in mine, forgetting world and men; And as bending pines would sigh and the waters mur- mur by I'd whisper that I loved her as her voice made low reply. But in old St. Augustine things are not as they have been. Though the moon shines just as brightly and the Plaza lies as green 32 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE As in days of long ago, but 1 miss the thrilling glow Of eyes that smiled up into mine and voice that whis- pered low. Yet my mem'ry somehow clings and my fancy often brings Those bygone evenings back to me, and as the old bell rings I walk down the narrow street, listening to hear her feet. Then out upon the old sea wall where we were wont to meet. But no tiny step is heard, though perchance a mocking- bird Sings out to me from some palm tree and tells me I'm absurd. As I sit down silently gazing out toward the sea And hear the sobbing of my heart come bounding back to me. AND OTHER POEMS 33 DEAR DAYS Dear days, dead days, past and gone forever. Only in my faint heart lives the mem'ry still. Moonlight, starlight, you and I together Gathering apple blossoms on a far-off hill. Pale-faced half-moon, mocking me in sorrow, How your sick light haunts my empty, aching dreams, My poor, worn heart, oh, why do you harrow. Calling up the dead past with your cold, white gleams ? Long since forgotten are the old vows plighted, Apple blossoms withered, ripened fruits are dead, Parted our ways are, ne'er to be united, Summer-time is over and the birds have fled. Dear days, dead days, how your mem'ry haunts me. Kisses sweet as heaven linger with me yet. Pale-faced half-moon, hide your sick light from me So I cannot see you, that I may forget. 34 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE WHAT WOULD IT MEAN? I have heard of a city all made of gold On a scale indescribably grand; Of a wonderful sea I have oft been told And a beautiful promised land; And all this were mine if I willed it, dear, Yet what would it mean to me If I could not feel that you were near. If your face I could not see ? I have heard of the angels around the throne, Of the flowers that bloom alway; How that sorrow, dear heart, were never known In the light of an endless day. Yet how could I dwell in this promised land — Oh, what would it mean to me If you were not there to hold my hand, If your face I could not see ? AND OTHER POEMS 35 A REQUEST I ask but one thing of thee, dearest, 'Tis this, that thou settest apart A wee httle space that is nearest The tenderest cord of thy heart. And keep there, secluded forever. Away where the world may not see, The memory of one who will never. While life remains, cease loving thee. LONGING If, on this night of darkness, I could see, Through the dim light, your face look out on me, Or if your voice but faintly I could hear. Low, as of old, upon my famished ear, Longing would cease. If I could hold you for a little while Close in my arms, sweetheart, and see your smile. Or if your lips but softly I might touch. Whose sweetness, dear, I, knowing, miss so much- 'Twould bring me peace. 36 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE BETWEEN THE SUNLIGHT AND THE DEW In the evening when the shadows flit above among the trees And the sun sinks slowly down toward his home beyond the seas, Oft I sit in idle fancy and I half-way close my eyes While the god of necromancy weaves strange visions in the skies. I see faces that are fairer than the flowers Eden grew, I see jewels that are rarer than King Solomon e'er knew, And the faintest, sweetest music fills the quiet, balmy air, While innumerable fairies lightly dance about my chair. Many friends come back to visit and converse in voices low And recall the things that happened in the days of long ago. Some are full of life and joyful, there are some morose and sad; Some would rank among the angels, others class among the bad. 'Tis a sort of retrospective or kaleidoscopic view Which I get among the branches 'twixt the sunlight and the dew, 'In the Evenintr when the Shadows Fht Aliout Amonir the Trees' AND OTHER POEMS 39 And from out the long procession that gUdes by me and away, There is only one who has the bold temerity to stay. She, with all her old assurance and her ever- winning grace , Stands persistently before me with a smile upon her face, And that smile would lure the godlike out of heaven into hell, 'Tis no wonder I, a weakling, to its charms a victim fell. And I reach into the gloaming and I touch her slender hand And v.e talk of things that no one else could ever under- stand ; Things the ignoramus classes in the catalogue of sin. And we bask in reminiscence 'til the dampness drives me in. Ah! if only I could see her in reality, not dreams. Although in the evening shadows very near her presence seems As I watch the hazv phantoms of the past glide slowlv by ' While the god of necromancy weaves strange visions in the skv. 40 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE THE FIRST vSWEETHEART One afternoon, at the old Bijou, I sat in the pit; my vacant stare Was fixed on the stage, but saw far through The scene and the play enacted there. And backward over the hazy past My truant fancy traveled fast And left the noise and glare. For when I had turned to glance upon The audience, my fleeting gaze In that swift moment sought out one Who, in innumerable ways. Reminded me of one whom I Had known well in the years gone by And loved in olden days. My face flushed hot at the memory As, turning back, I saw the glow Of footlights burst forth radiantly And heard the music faintly grow Into a wail and softly die. And from my heart there came a sigh For the things of long ago. Then into a retrospective mood I sank so deep the time and place Were quite forgot ; I never could Recall what happened in that space, AND OTHER POEMS 41 But onward in my reverie I wandered reminiscently, Following one dream face. And then the old first love divine, And scores of others I have known Arranged themselves in memory's line, But this first love came forth alone. And then I knew, although each face Had held my fancy for a space, I never loved but one. Ah! we all recall that first sweetheart; It matters not who comes betAveen, We look back o'er the days that part The now from then, and through the sheen Of faded days and vanished years. Of sunny smiles and stormy tears The first sweetheart is seen. UNEOUALLED There never were eyes like yours, Nor hair with such wavy flow There never were lips like yours. Nor kisses like vours, I know. 42 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE A DOUBTER Often you have smiled and doubted When I said I thought of you ; Eyes have told me, if you spoke not, That you scarce believed it true, And I tried not to convince you For you never would believe — Words are useless with a douV)ter And 'tis easy to deceive. But I wish sometimes you knew it, That your heart could realize How I some days sit in silence Looking out upon the skies, Longing just to have you with me, Longing but your face to see. And would give the world to know that You were thinking then of me. Thoughts of you are with me always — When awake, and in my dreams I can even feel your kisses On my lips, and strange it seems That when friends are gathered 'round me, Friends I number by the host, With so much to make me happy It is then I miss you most. AND OTHER POEMS And above the sweetest music And the murmur of the throng I can hear you say, "I love you," And it thrills me like a song. And I turn to seek seclusion From the staring, noisy crowd, Lest they see and read my secret. Lest my heart should speak aloud. Then I try to think of others ; Of the things I have to do ; But my mind can never wander Very far awav from vou. And as like the flash of lightning Flashes back the wayward thought That dwells only for an instant On the days when you w^ere not. 43 LIFE A little touch of joy and love, A little touch of gladness, A little glimpse of heaven above And then a world of sadness. A little smile, a little kiss, A frown to keep us guessing; Ah! life is half of bitterness That we may know a blessing. 44 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE A DREAM OF YOU I dreamed of you at the break of day, At the close of a weary, sleepless night, You had come to me with the moon's last ray And I kissed your red lips white. I held you close in exquisite bliss While near to my cheek your soft hair fell ; My soul caught fire upon your kiss And surged like a flame from hell. And you, with your proud and haughty way, My love, with the insolent, beautiful face, Forgot the role that you had to play And melted in love's embrace. Ah, God! it was only a dream I had On my lonely cot at the break of day. It was only a dream, but it drove me mad To wake and find vou away. And I knelt by my cot and prayed, I swear — A thing that I never was known to do — And I asked God to grant, if he heard my prayer, But one more dream of you. AND OTHER POEMS 45 TO A GHOST Why do your eyes come to me yet? Eyes that I buried long ago — - Why can you not let me forget, You, who have hurt me so, Are you not satisfied at last — Ghost of a dead that will not lie Low in your grave, but with the past Come back my soul to try ? Surely you've had it all your way (Surely you ought to be content) From that first hour of that first day When our first kisses blent. Am I no more of peace to know? Will your eyes always look at me ? Mercy, I pray you, dear, now go Back to your grave and let me be. 46 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE A MEMORY I remember a night when the air was filled With a fragrant, sweet perfume; I remember a night when a song bird trilled On the casement of your room; I remember the stars in the far-off skies And the distant silv'ry moon; I remember the light in your tender eyes On a bygone night in June. In the stillness of night I cannot forget, And at noon your face 1 see. Like the odor that clings to the mignonette, 'Round my heart clings a memory. I remember it all, dear, and that is all Now left of that night in June — Just a memory of the song bird's call, Of vour face, the stars and the moon. AND OTHER POEMS 47 THE ROSE THAT DECKED HER BONNET Oft the faint, sweet odor of a flower Or a strain of music, soft and low. Will bring to our mind a faded picture Of the days we cherished long ago ; But today I saw an Easter bonnet With ribbons bright and flowers covered o'er, And a rosebud nestled down upon it Took me back to dear old days of yore. 'Twas but a rose that decked an Easter bonnet That perched above a pair of laughing eyes; 'Twas but a rose, but it recalled a summer And made me live again 'neath sunny skies. One day, 'way back in my dingy attic Where for years I'd had no heart to go, I chanced upon a box of faded flowers, One there was that I had cause to know And I held the faded rose before me, Weaved it in the meshes of her hair. Basked beneath the sunlight of her glances Saw the little hat she used to wear. 'Twas but a rose that decked an Easter bonnet That perched above a pair of laughing eyes ; 'Twas but a rose, but it recalled a summer And made me live again 'neath sunny skies. 48 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOIE YOUR ANSWER Do I miss you, you ask, dear; well, "missing" Is scarcely the word to express The closeness that smothers my being. My feeling of heart hungriness. Am I lonely without you, you question; Well, "lonely" could never impart To you so you'd half understand it, The longing that gnaws at my heart. Do I want you? Ah, love, can you doubt it? Does the sand on the plain want the rain After a long, arid season? If it does, then I want you again. AND OTHER POEMS 49 MISS NANCY Miss Nancy, on a summer's day, Went gaily forth a-walking. She met young Jonathan and they Continued walking — talking. Said he: "Miss Nancy, marry me, You need a partner stronger." "No, thank you, not just now," said she, "I'll wait a little longer." And then Miss Nancy straggled back Unto her lonely cottage ; She hung her bonnet on a rack And cooked a mess of pottage. Her kitten scratched its scrawny side Against the three-legged table. Said Nancy: "Here alone I'll bide As long as I am able." Again, upon a day in spring. Young Jonathan met Nancy And forth they went a-marketing To purchase Fashion's fancy. 50 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Said Jonathan "Come, marry me, Or tell me what's the reason." "No reason, I just can't," said she, "I'll wait another season." Then back at eve she trudged alone Unto her lonely cottage ; She threw her cat a marrow bone And cooked a mess of pottage. The years have flown, and now she sits Beside her hearthstone knittin'. While 'round her ball of yarn there flits That kitten's kitten's kitten. AND OTHER POEMS 51 THE DAYS THAT CAN NEVER BE Oh! for the days that can never be, The days of old, the days of gold. For the face of my lost sweetheart to see And her v,arm, soft hand to hold. Oh! for the old serenity When skies were blue and hearts were true, For the trust and faith in humanit}^ And the happiness I once knew. And if our blind eyes could but read Beyond the fears, beyond the years. Could see in time how hearts may bleed. There would be fewer tears. But, oh, for the days that can never be, The days of old, the days of gold. For the face of my long-lost love to see And her warm, soft hand to hold. 52 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE THE END So you call this the end of it, do you? Well, it would be best if 'twere so. Perhaps now if I thought as you do I, too, could as well let it go. And our love has been only amusement To while 'way the hours for you? And the pleasure was such an inducement That you toyed with a heart that was true? Well, go, and I'll try to forget you. Ah! yes, I will try to forget, But I wish, dear, I never had met you For the end has not come to me yet, AND OTHER POEMS 53 AN ACCOMMODATING MOON One night a big, round, shining moon Went saiUng out over the sea And softly and tenderly gazed down upon A loving young couple whose fond hearts were one As at twilight they crossed o'er the lea. 'Twas a beautiful evening and fair, The sea breeze was balmy and warm And toyed with the strands of the maid's golden hair And tenderly blew out a curl here and there As she clung to the youth's manly arm. And he sung her an old, time-worn song. And he said: "Many moons I have tried To make }-ou my ow^n, can it be I am wrong Can it be I have waited in vain all along In the hope I might claim you my bride?" Lo! the look that came OA-er her face Was a wonderful sight for the moon, Who then dipt quickly under a cloudlet of lace Just to leave them in gloom for a wee little space That they might have a fair chance to spoon. And he stayed 'neath the cloudlet of lace Long enough, yet I know that a smile, When he heard the first kiss, dimpled over his face, As it shot like a bomb through the echoing space And sent the joy many a mile. 54 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE And the great whitecaps joyously sprang And bounded in glee on the sea, And the deep, rolling waves of the dark ocean rang With the old, time-worn song that these new lovers sang As at midnight they crossed o'er the lea. AT TWILIGHT I sit alone, from all the world apart. And dream of olden days — a foolish dream — I fancy once again my old sweetheart Has come to me and in the dark I seem To feel his touch and hear his bated breath And whispers that could lure me through the stream Of life to death. Ah, me! I would 'twere not a twilight dream; I would that bygone days could once return, That I might see again the lovelight gleam In eyes that made the flame of passion burn Within me, ah! to hold again his hand — To have him now, I think, perhaps, we'd learn To understand. 'We Used to Gather Flowers in the Spring' AND OTHER POEMS 57 CHANGED I wonder if the flowers bloom as fair As in the days of old, sweetheart, when we Walked hand in hand together everywhere And you were all in all this world to me. I wonder if the birds still sing in tune And if as brightly in the evening skies, Through clouds of tinted azure, burns the moon, As when its rays reflected in your ej^es. We used to gather flowers in the spring And oft together watched the bright sunset. And I took keen delight in everything A little while ago, dear one, and yet — Today I wandered by the old seaside Where we once walked, and there a while alone I watched the sun set o'er an ebbing tide, But all the beauty of the scene had gone. Last evening as I sat among a throng A singer struck the notes of a refrain, And sang throughout an old-time, well-loved song. But I detected discord in each strain. God pity me! I've no abiding place. I lost the world, sweetheart, in losing you. And earth is but an empty, dreary space That my sad, aimless spirit wanders through. 58 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE DAN MALONE Dan Malone, do you remember? Can it be that you've forgotten, Have forgot the vow you pHghted On that day you went away? On that day, one white December When the log's last dying ember Room and hearthstone dimly lighted At th.e close of twilight gray? I've been waiting, waiting, waiting, Dan Malone, are you ne'er coming? Ah! it's just to hear your blarney That I dream my life away — All the little birds are mating While I'm w^aiting, waiting, waiting For your coming to Killarney As you promised me that day. O my heart has grown so weary Of its empty, gnawing hunger. But I'll wait me just to greet you 'Til the end of life draws near; For I know so well, my dearie, You'll return some sad day dreary And you'll need me then to meet you Dan Malone, so hurry, dear. "I've Been Waiting, Waiting, Waiting" AND OTHER POEMS 6i DEAD LOVE Love, once 'tis dead, can nevermore Return to its full bloom again. And all the soul's deep enterprise To bring it back is vainly wrought, For never can it spring afresh From out the heart's clear depths as when At first it bounded into light With all the bliss of hope new-found. And strange it is this thing called love Can set the whole wide world agog; Strange that on httle Cupid's wing A soul may soar to Paradise. Strange that when once 'tis found and dies, The heart it leaves seeks evermore And seeks in vain for its return, Or searches for a newer love, Which, in the finding, though 'tis well, Can never fully satisfy. MYTHOLOGICAL LOVE TALES MYTHOLOGICAL LOVE TALES ENDYMION Diana, by some, was said to be cold Where affairs of the heart were concerned, But those who were in a position to know. By watching her, very soon learned That she was quite fond of a beautiful youth, Endymion, who on the steep, Rocky side of a mountain pastured his flocks And spent many hours in sleep. One night, in the pale, golden glint of the moon, Diana looked down from above And saw him asleep with his head on his breast And soon she was madly in love. Then softly she slipped off from heaven and came And kissed his warm lips as he slept And stayed by his side and over his^-flocks — A close, loving vigil she kept. And many an evening thereafter she came, But absence so much from the skies Soon caused in the minds of the deities there Suspicions to form and arise a 6n 66 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE As to whether she really was off on the chase Or spending her time with the youth, And as she was more and more frequently gone 'Twas difficult hiding the truth. So soon it was known and it made Venus glad, For many a time had she been Reproached for her fondness for beautiful youths By this very chaste Huntress Queen. But now when old Jupiter heard of the case. He, thinking the honor too great That had been extended to this simple youth, Decided to settle his fate. And so he submitted a choice between death And youth with eternal repose. Endymion's choice was the latter, of course. And he now sleeps in deep comatose In his Carian cave, and each night, from the moon, Diana guards him and his sheep, Increasing his flocks that he may not have loss IncurreJd by his long, endless sleep. AND OTHER POEMS 67 APOLLO AND DAPHNE Apollo loved so many, 'twas rather hard to tell Which one he loved the dearest, for each he loved full well. His ways were very winning and great success he had In most of his adventures, though one of them was sad. In his romance with Daphne he was unfortunate And Cupid here played havoc — in manner up to date. It seems the god Apollo would sometimes laughing poke Great fun at this small fellow, who watched his chance to joke. The time soon came and Cupid, with a mischievous look, High up on Mount Parnassus, his lookout station took, And drew from out his quiver two arrows ; one with lead Was tipped — a love repellent; the other arrow had A tip of gold; this latter would draw love to the heart, And steadily the rascal now aimed this little dart At young Apollo's bosom, while with the leaden one He shot the heart of Daphne — and then began the fun. At once the god was stricken and love his bosom fired, While Daphne in an instant was with great fear inspired. Apollo saw her beauty, her eyes so clear and bright; He saw her lips of sweetness and longed with all his might For her, and went a- wooing, but she flew through the air And ran away in terror, her heart filled with despair. On, on o'er hill and valley it seemed she almost flew, And poor Apollo followed — 'twas all he now could do. 68 POEMS OF EMOTIOXAL LOVE He cried: "Ah! stay, my Daphne, I am no foe, no clown, I am the son of Zeus, of great fame and renown; I am the god of sunshine and versed in music's art. My arrows all fly swiftly, but one has pierced my heart More deadl)^ than mine own are and leaves a malady No balm I fear can e'er heal, oh, Daphne, I love Thee." The chase continued madly, but finally Daphne knew That he was slowly gaining, for soon his hot breath blew Upon her hair; then fainting, she sank upon the sod And Peneus, her father, a famous river god, She called: "Oh, father, open the earth and close o'er me Or quickly change my being which brings me misery." Now scarcely had she spoken when lo! a trunk of wood With waving boughs and branches — a laurel tree she stood. Ah! but the god of sunshine was most amazed at this, Yet clung he to the laurel and gave it many a kiss Which caused the leaves to wither, yet not abashed, said he: "If thou wilt not my wife be, thou then shalt be my tree. And for a crown I'll wear thee and with thy graceful boughs. When come the Roman Conquerors, I'll decorate their brows. And as all youth eternal is mine, thou shan't decay." The laurel waved its branches, but had no word to say. AND OTHER POEMS 69 ECHO AND NARCISSUS Echo was a maiden fond of hills and woodland, Favored by Diana whom she followed in the chase; Beautiful and witching, charming in her manner. But the noisy tongue she had brought her sore dis- grace. Juno so disliked her for her constant chatter That she took her tongue away, left the little maid With no means of talking, save as she replied to Questions that were asked her or mimicked what was said. Echo loved Narcissus, who was very handsome, But she could not tell him as she wished to do. Though she often sought him, and when once he shouted, "Let's join one another," off she fairly flew. Crossed the river to him and, with arms extended, Started to embrace him in her joyous glee. "Hands off!" said he rudely, and his manner altered, "I would rather perish than thou shouldst have me." "Have me," answered Echo, but he would not listen. Went away and left her lone and sore and sad. Then she turned and wandered over hill and mountain, Pined away 'til nought was left save what voice she had. 70 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Now this young Narcissus was so self-conceited That he shunned all maidens, as in Echo's case; But the foolish fellow, stooping o'er a river. One day saw the image of his own sweet face. He became enamored, struggled to embrace it, Laughed to it and talked to it and languishingly sighed. And when he grew weary of his vain endeavor. Knowing nought would come of it, in his grief he died. And it is related as his shade was passing Down the Stygian river, dark and deep and wide. Death had not diminished in the least his passion. For his phantom leaned and looked o'er the vessel's side Just to catch a fleeting glimpse of its fair image As it softly glided down the water's crest. And when he had left them, all the pretty maidens Who had loved him mourned for him — Echo with the rest. And they, being anxious to cremate his body. Learned on looking everywhere it could not be found. That instead a flower of a beauteous color, Where his form had vanished, sprang from out the ground. And thus the Narcissus, full of grace and beauty, Waving in the sunshine, into being came, And throughout the ages has this little flower Flourished to his mem'ry, honoring his name. AND OTHER POEMS 71 ADMETUS AND ALCESTIS Admetus, King of Thessaly, Went suing for the hand Of Alcestis, the maid he deemed The fairest in the land. Her father oft had made the boast His daughter should but wed The man who in a chariot came, By boars and lions led. This feat the King accomplished Through Apollo's timely aid, And thus became most happily Possessor of the maid. But soon the King grew pale and ill. Death seemed to hover near, And now the god came forth again And prayed the Fates to hear. He wrung from them, at length, consent That, if another died In place of this beloved King, They would be satisfied. Now 'twas a task to seek out one, For though man risked his head In battle-fields, he scarce would care To choose a feverish bed, 72 POEMS OF EMOTIOXAL LOVE Brave warriors and servants old, In turn they one and all Refused to die, his parents, too, Declined to heed the call. Then Alcestis, devoted wife, Came quickly forth to give Her life to save the King that he Might gain his health and live. Admetus, though he loved his life (With credit be it said). Desired not to keep it then At cost of her fair head. But the condition had been met; The Fates were satisfied. And as Admetus gained in health Alcestis failed and died. Now scarcely had the funeral Gone forward when there came A man unto the palace gates — One Hercules by name. Of mighty strength he was possessed, And as he loved the King, He swore that he would conquer Death And back the loved one bring. Then after he had made the vow He turned and went away And now the Thessalians mourned And waited many a day. AND OTHER POEMS But, lo! at last did he return, And to the King he went — • Who sat in grief and solitude, His head in sorrow bent. The form and brow of Hercules, This man of power and might, Bore many a battle mark and scar, But he had won the fight. And through the damp upon his face, A smile as if of pride Came flitting through as close he pressed An object at his side. 'Admetus," said he, "take and keep This woman 'til I come;" But King Admetus liked no thought Of woman in his home. Then finally, said Hercules: "Take hold of her, mine host, And see if she resembles not The wife whom thou hast lost." The King looked up: his speech was dumb, As on the form he gazed; He could not quite believe his eyes And sat as one amazed. Alcestis yet had scarcely moved And not a word she spoke, And for a time the King believed Some god had played a joke. 73 74 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Some cruel god, who thought, perhaps, The shock might end his Ufe, But Hercules came to his aid And told him of his strife. Told him how he had fought with Death And how he won the day. Then, seeing that his work was done. He went upon his way. MISCELLANEOUS MISCELLANEOUS NOBODY KNOWS Nobody knows until night's gloomy cover Drops like a pall, what the day may disclose; And until after a cloud passes oyer, What it will bring to us, nobody knows. Nobody knows — and the soothsayers fail us — What will appear ere the coming year goes ; Whether with sorrow and woe 'twill assail us, Or lightened with pleasure, nobody knows. Nobody knows what lies over the river, • That dark, mystic river which endlessly flows, Bearing away our beloved ones forever To an eternity — nobody knows. Nobody knows, and 'tis well, for the knowing Never would lighten our burden of woes ; But that good fruit springeth out of good sowing Ere the bright season wanes, every one knows. 77 yg POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE ARRABELL LEIGH 'Way down in the old apple orchard, Under the shade of a tree, Deep in the tall, waving grasses, They've buried my Arrabell Leigh. The wind wails a dirge through the branches, A cloud hides the sun overhead And the boughs bend to earth with their weeping Because my poor dolly is dead. Most every one loved her who knew her. For she was so gentle and sweet From the very tip-top of her forehead Right down to the soles of her feet. But then she was old, and my mother Said: "Arrabell better be dead Than live the sad life she is living With all of those holes in her head.' * One eye she had lost, for my brother When shooting his little toy gun Aimed right at her head, "accidentally," Then laughed when he saw what he'd done. AND OTHER POEMS 79 Last summer she fell from her hammock And, striking her beautiful arm, She broke it in three different places. Which caused me the greatest alarm. Not long after that she was sitting Alone in her own rocking-chair When Towser got hold of the darling And tore off her beautiful hair. I slipped with her once on a wood-pile And let her fall square on an axe, Which left a great hole in her forehead. Though I tried to remove it with wax. But now all her troubles are over, She lies 'neath the old apple tree, And there at her head stands a tombstone Reciting that Arrabell Leigh Died of old age; that while living She had always been gentle and good And lived all her life like a lady, As every real good dolly should. I know now, at last, she is happy, And if so, that I ought to be, But somehow or other the knowledge Is poor consolation to me. While the wind wails a dirge through the branches. And a cloud hides the sun overhead And the boughs bend to earth with their weeping Because my poor dolly is dead. POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE AN AUTUMN SUNSET Set in a sea of crocus blue, Like a ball of gold, the sun Far in the west sinks out of view, Warmth dies, and the day is done. Tawny above the hill supine In silhouette bow the trees; Poplar and ash their branches twine And sigh and sob in the breeze. And sweeping over the silent plain. Softly the leaves come down. Making the earth a counterpane Of molten yellow and brown. 'Poplar and Asli Their Branches Twined' AND OTHER POEMS 83 ONLY A SAWDUST DOLL Little Kathleen, scarcely five years old, With a kissable mouth and golden hair, Who is worth twice over her weight in gold, Came up to my rocking-chair. Held in her arms was a dear little mite Of a pale-faced doll, with its broken wrist Hung in a sling and bound 'round tight In a handkerchief I had missed. The little girl's heart was well-nigh broke And the pretty blue eyes were filled with tears. While the face that peeped from the faded poke Bore a careworn look of years. "What is the matter, dear?" said T. "Come, sit on my lap and tell me all. It is foolish indeed for you to cry This way o'er a broken doll. "For soon we can get you another one That will close her eyes and nod her head And say 'Mamma,' and, oh! what fun We'll have with her," I said. 84 POEMS OF EMOTIOXAL LOVE But her sobs increased, and she cried, "Ah, me! To think she is only a sawdust doll, And I have tried so carefully To keep her from a fall. "And that is the reason why I feel So bad; it is breaking my heart, you see, Because my dolly isn't real And flesh and bones like me." Poor little dear! In her sore distress She had come to me with a broken heart To be comforted, but I must confess That I badly played my part. For I only rumpled the curls of hair And suddenly turned my face away And said: "Well, sweetheart, don't yovi care. But run on out and play." And I thought how often w^e older ones Waste the best of life on a sawdust doll Only to find no flesh and bones When we chance to let it fall. "The Little Girl's Heart Was Well Nigh Broke' AND OTHER POEMS 87 EVERY BACK ITS BURDEN Every life has its own secret sorrow, Every back its burden has to bear, Every heart is hopeful that the morrow May end doubt or vanquish pain and care. Every man, no matter what his station, Yearns for something just beyond his clasp And would yearn, no doubt, though all creation Were but held within his conquering grasp. Step by step we climb life's rugged mountain, Thirstily we grope across the plain. Yet when reached, the summit or the fountain Is not all that we had hoped to gain. Life is past our power of conceiving. And 'tis useless for us to contend. But there is a comfort in believing That a vict'ry waits us in the end. If we smile through tears that nearly blind us, And bend low to pass beneath the bars, If we falter not to look behind us. But with faith climb on toward the stars. 38 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE GOD'S MASTERPIECE Of all the things God ever made, Inanimate or human, His fairest piece of handiwork Has been a perfect woman Lo! in a world all beautiful, To her a place is given. Highest upon love's pinnacle, Pointing the way to heaven. Fairer than is the Kohinoor, Priceless beyond all measure, She reigns, God's greatest Masterpiece And earth's supremest treasure. TOO LATE "All things come to those who wait," I have heard wise heads declare; Well, it may be so, but they come so late, Sometimes, that we do not care, AND OTHER POEMS CHILDHOOD ON THE FARM I am lonesome today; the folks are gone, And I feel from all the world alone. The clock on the shelf ticks on and on, It ticks and tells me the folks are gone And I feel awfully all alone. The day has been chilly, clear and cold And the north wind whistles fierce and bold; It sounds so angry and seems to scold The sun who has often the clouds unrolled And tried the earth in its warmth to fold. But the wind throws shadows across the sun And taunts me to madness here alone, While the clock on the shelf ticks on and on And ticks and tells me the folks are gone And I feel awfully all alone. What a terrible thing it is to be Lonesome and in such company As the north wind howling in fiendish glee, The cricket chirping mournfully And the old clock ticking down on me. 90 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE WHAT DOES IT MATTER? What does it matter when the Hghts are out If rooms are bare? What does it matter if the walls are torn? Why, don't you care. Don't settle back in deep despair and weep, Don't let it worry you at night and keep Dreams from your tired eyes, but go to sleep And don't you care. What does it matter when the end has come If friends are rare? What does it matter if your gods prove false? Why, don't you care. Drown out the moanings with a cheery tune. After the sun has set riseth the moon. Laugh just a little, for the end comes soon, And don't you care. AND OTHER POEMS 91 THE BUILDER A little boy builded a house one day Upon the sand ; He carried the stones and worked away And shaped and planned And moulded the turret and rounded dome After the style of his own grand home, With his small hand. Then calling his playmates one by one He bade them see This marvelous thing which he had done So cleverly. And coming, with awe in their childish eyes, They gazed on his work in great surprise All wonderingly. And then as they watched beside the door, The sun's last ray Went sloping across the white sand floor At close of day. And the heart of the builder thrilled with pride. With his day's work he was satisfied And went away. That night in his sleep he tossed about And restless lay 'Til rose the sun as the tide went out At break of day. 92 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Then eagerly to the beach alone He hurried, but lo! his house of stone Had washed away. And all of his dreams were shattered there — The joys he'd planned. Why, he could not know in his despair, Nor understand; But he learned full well as the years went past That a house, though of stone, could never last Built on the sand. WE MAY NOT KNOW We may not know and cannot see That rough roads prove the best. And often 'tis impossible To feel that we are blest When things turn out so difTerent From what we wish them to And bring us disappointments When we long for joys but few. 'Four Years Old and Naught}- AND OTHER POEMS 95 LITTLE BESS Face all dirt and dimples, matted curls of hair, Eyes — one scarce can see them for the mischief there. Mouth made just for kisses and my happiness. Four years old and naughty is my little Bess. Mud pies spill their juices on the pure white gown, Chubby cheeks show traces where the tears run down, Fearful lest I'll chide her for her carelessness, Yet I only clasp and kiss my little Bess. Ah! I spoil my darling as each day goes by And the wee one knows it just as well as I; Yet she's such a baby, and I must confess There was ne'er another quite so sweet as Bess. And I look beyond her into future years. See a woman's sorrow and a woman's tears. When there'll be no mother's soft hand to caress And to wipe the tear-stained cheeks of little Bess. So I like to watch her when she's "havin' fun" Playing in the garden in the shining sun. And if in the mud pies she finds happiness, I have not the heart to scold my wayward Bess. 96 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE THE VILLAGE STORE November's sun dropt o'er the crest Of distant hills and left the west A crimson hue, and everywhere Sweet autumn odors filled the air. The far-off trees, grown thick and high, Stood dark and bold against the sky, And 'way down in the valley all The evening birds began to call. The village maidens, after tea. Strolled forth the village sights to see, The while the youth who lived about Lit corncob pipes and ventured out. The mothers tidied up indoors And did a dozen little chores, And when their earnest prayers were said, Before 'twas dark had gone to bed. The village store, this autumn night. Presented quite a pleasing sight; The old stove, standing half-way back, Spit fire from out each time-worn crack. Spreading a warmth about the room. Doing to death the monster gloom. The ceiling overhead was seared -And seamed where it had been repaired. And here and there where plaster fell A hole was left the tale to tell. 'The Village Store that Autumn Night" AND OTHER POEMS gg A large oil lantern, from a beam Suspended, shed a ruddy gleam On shelves and boxes in a row Which brightly shone beneath its glow. There, as the eve grew on, were found The village masters gathered 'round To hear the news and take a smoke And turn by turn the fire poke. The keeper of the store was there And stood erect, with haughty air, As though he were a King whose court Had gathered for an evening's sport. There sat the Blacksmith, big and stout, Who shoed the horses 'round about; The Doctor, with his chest of pills. Who tended to the village ills. There was the burly City Clerk Who drew a salary without work; The Teacher of the public schools, Who wielded birch and taught the rules, The County Judge, with squeaky shoes, Who fairly reeked with latest news. The Parson, too, had happened in And though he recognized the sin Of gossiping, would seldom fail. When called upon, to tell a tale. The lantern seemed to shine more bright Than usual, somehow, tonight. A feeling of good-fellowship And right congenial comradeship LOfa loo POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Seemed, on this eve, to permeate The atmosphere and penetrate The hearts of all ; each smiling face Lent brighter radiance to the place. A circle had been formed about The cracking stove ; the wind without Had risen to a dismal wail, 'Twas time some one should start a tale ; But hold! the door swings open wide; In walks a man with measured stride — One who though last to come was not The least important of the lot. For he was one of runs and rhymes — The village Poet who, at times. Presided o'er the meeting there. At once was placed another chair. He sat him down and smiling bright Said: "Well, my friends, what's up tonight?" "Why, nothing yet," the Doctor cried; "We needed you," the Host replied. "Ah, not tonight," the Poet said, With mournful toss of tawny head, "I would not have you think me rude. But really, I'm in fearful mood." "Where have you been?" asked Parson Brown, "We have not seen you in the town These many days — is aught awry?" The Poet's answer was a sigh. "Come," said the Parson then, "cheer up! We'll pass about the loving cup." The cup was filled ; the honored Host Was called upon to give a toast. AND OTHER POEMS loi The gourd he took complacently And bowed an old-time courtesy. "My friends," said he, "I take delight In seeing you again tonight. The summer days have come and gone And winter now is drawing on. And as the seasons come and go As ocean has its ebb and flow, So do our lives unfalt'ringly Flow onward to eternity. So here's a Toast to Death, the friend Who claims us when our seasons end : Toast to Death Here's to the cup in the mystic clutch Of the unseen hand of Death, Whose nectar no man's lips may touch Except with his last faint breath. And here's to the hope that when at last I drink to my soul's release And the dregs from the cup my lips have past- I may find eternal peace. "Good!" cried the list'ners, with accord, And then the Poet grasped the gourd And sadly said: "As for my part, I'll drink to that with all my heart." The Parson plucked the Doctor's sleeve, "Unless appearances deceive. POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE He whispered low, "our Poet there Has had a touch of heart affair." Now 'round the circle went the cup, And after each had taken sup The Blacksmith rose upon request And bowing low to host and guest, Began: "This season of the year, When holidays are drawing near, Brings to my mind an episode Which happened near the Old Bend Road- Not many miles away from here — About this very time last year. Then told he, in a sing-song way, A story of Thanksgiving Day. Thanksgiving 'Twas the day before Thanksgiving, and the greatest wild alarm Prevailed amongst the feathered fowl that dwelt upon our farm. Acceptances had been received, which numbered near a score, From invitations we had sent a day or two before, Informing all the neighbors that the best that could be had Would be set out before them in a grand and glorious spread. AND OTHER POEMS 103 I was walking through the barnyard, when I chanced to hear a row Raging very fast and furious beside the brindle cow, Between an old game rooster and a gobbler, big and fat, And witnessed by the chicks, the turks, the pig, the dog, and cat. The feathers flew about me 'til the air was fairly blue. As I stopped a while to listen and to see the rumpus through. Now it seems the argue started all about the hens at first, As to which one had the finest harein or which had the worst. "Now, I'll tell you," said the rooster, and he cock-a- doodle-dood, "Of all the females in this world I have the finest brood." " 'Tis not so," replied the gobbler, "they're the worst I ever saw," And he tried to stick his long spurs into Mr. Rooster's craw. Then the game cock's wrath grew awfvd, and he felt in duty bound To get even with the gobbler, with his hens all standing 'round ; So he bristled up his feathers and he grazed the gob- bler's cheek In a manner quite astounding, with his razor pointed beak. Then the harems were forgotten as the fury grew apace, And all the little audience went flying from the place. I04 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Said the gobbler: "You old rooster with your cock-a- doodle-do, You are not so very much, sir, I'm three times as big as you." "That's all right," returned the rooster, "you may think you're very fine. But just wait until tomorrow and we'll see which one will dine On the giblets of the other scattered all the yard about; That you'll be the victim, gobbler, I have not the slight- est doubt." Now the cow, who had been standing with her head down in a pail. Began to get excited and to switch her brindle tail. And she turned all of a sudden, with a kick — I do de- clare — That sent the cock and gobbler both high fl3''ing through the air With intense expostulations, in a treble minor key, Which bespoke the greatest discord and all things but harmony. Well, the sequel is: I happened to be strolling out that way. After heavily partaking of the feast Thanksgiving Day, And I spied the wily rooster, with his hens all gathered 'round Where the remnants of the gobbler had been scattered on the ground, And a turkey hen was pecking at, miCthinks, the very claw Which the day before the gobbler aimed at Mr. Roos- ter's craw. AND OTHER POEMS When he was done, the Parson smiled, The poet even seemed beguiled From care, and listened with intent. From first to last the Doctor lent Attention to this barnyard lore And called with husky voice for more. The old Judge muttered: "Ah! how true To human nature through and through, For is it not the case with men? They fight and die for women, then — When from the scene they're called away They are forgotten in a day." "Here! here!" the Clerk called," 'tis no place To hold post-mortem in the case : Let's fill the cup and wet our throats And have a few more anecdotes." "Well, then the next from you must be," Returned the Host, who tried to see That every one was treated fair And that in part each man took share. He tried to keep and had thus far, The spirit of the place at par. The gourd was filled and passed arouna And sipped in silence most profound, And when each one had quenched his thirst And ebbing fun was reimburst. They called upon the Clerk to see What he could do, and lazily. He stroked his smooth cheek, pale and wan, Glanced o'er the group and then began: "You know, boys, I, in solitude, Now live ; in manner rather crude ; You know — each man who's had a wife — 'Tis not the proper sort of life. 105 io6 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE And last eve, 'midst the forest's moan, I sat at home and mused alone, And now I'll tell, for your delight, The hearthstone dream I had last night. A Bachelor's Reverie In the pale glow of my hearth sat I, rocking, The coals turned to ashes, the wind to a moan; Half-way a-dreaming, my weary head nodding. As in retrospection my mind wandered on. Alone! all alone in the prime of my manhood, With no one to love me and no one to care. And I mused on the cause of my lonely condition As comfort I sought in the dying coals there. "Now there ought to be some one," thought I, "here be- side me. Some one to smooth the deep lines from my brow, Some one to love me and some one to chide me. And I miss her tonight — God only knows how. "Am I to blame?" thought I, "well, I believe it. Though I'd never own to the question before. I have looked for a girl more than humanly perfect And have thought 'I will find her some day to adore.* " AND OTHER POEMS 107 I have cared for some maids who have been worth the loving, But then I would think ere I got to the point, "I'm at peace with the world — she has faults, I am foolish, This last final act might put things out of joint." And so I'm alone, and it dawned on me clearly That I had been selfish e'en to the extreme. For in thinking of self I'd forgotten the woman. Forgotten she, too, might have her ideal dream. Then there in the grate I saw one coal left burning, Said I: "I will turn it and give it a chance; How it makes the room bright with a little deft turning And the pretty flames light up the wall in their dance." How cheerful it was! To return to my dreaming — There flashed then across me the image of Nell. "She was dear," I mused on, "and I loved her, she seeming To reciprocate fondly my kisses, ah, well! "It can now scarcely matter ; years have passed since I saw her, I hear she is single, but I'm not to blame. For though I remember her sweet, clinging kisses, 'Tis probable she has forgotten my name." Then I had a bright thought; said I, "I will write her, Write her a note in a half- joking way, Tell her by chance I might pass through her village And drop in and see her a moment some day. io8 POEMS or EMOTIONAL LOVE "Ask if she recalls how I once came a-wooing, And ask if she thinks she could — yes, I will write While the one little coal in the grate is left burning For soon 'twill be dead on this raw, dismal night. "And when her answer comes (for my coarse intuition Tells me 'twill be as I wish it to be), I will hasten to tell her of my desolation And how I have longed for her sweet face to see. "And I'll liken my life to the smouldering ashes With one spark of love for her throwing its rays, Bid her come into my life while it flashes And fan the pale glow deftly into a blaze. "I will own to the truth, for there's no use denying, Man never was made to live wholly alone. I hate the old grate and I hate the wind's sighing, It echoes the wail of my heart with its moan." The Clerk lolled backward in his chair And ran his fingers through his hair. And breathed a long and deep-drawn sigh; Then, glancing up, caught every eye Upon his face attentively And saw extended sympathy. "But," asked the Parson, "did you write The letter? You've not finished — quite." "Oh, yes, I wrote, although 'twas late, And mailed the letter at the gate." The Host stepped forward to extend Congratulations to his friend AND OTHER POEMS And said: "I wish you joy and wealth;" Then from the gourd all drank his health. 'Twas noticed now the Judge had sat Most of the evening with his hat Drawn o'er his face: once in a while He would look up and gravely smile. But then his mind seemed far away. He scarcely had a word to say. Which was not normal; usually The old man talked incessantly. The Poet saw his vacant stare And for some time had been aware That he, the general fount of fun, This evening was the quiet one. And so he nudged the Judge and said: "Why art thou pensive — some one dead?" The Judge looked up surprisedly, "Why, no," he answered falt'ringly, "None dead except a part of me, My youth is dead, as you can see." "What was your dream just now about?" Some one among the group called out. "Come, tell us, Judge," the Host chimed in And waited for him to begin. 109 no POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE An Old Man's Fancy And so — you would know where my thoughts have been ? Well, I have been thinking of long gone-bys, Of golden days that were all serene — When never a sorrow dimmed Hope's skies. I was thinking of times when I used to play In an old oak grove beside a stream, Where the fishes swam with my hooks away While I sat on the bank in a hopeful dream. I saw once again the dear old home, The grove of oaks, the little hill. The favored nooks I used to roam, And thought I was a youngster still. I heard my playmates' welcome call To come and join them o'er the way; I'd not miss this sport least of all, So off I ran for a holiday. I forgot for a time my snow-white beard. Forgot I had long since passed my prime, Forgot that my face, once fair, is seared And deeply lined by the rule of time. And I cannot go to my playmates now, But must sit in my easy chair and dream — ■ Dream of the dear old days and how I once could play beside the stream. AND OTHER POEMS The Parson spoke when he was through: "Well, Judge, I never thought that you Would fall into such pensiveness; I am surprised, I must confess. Of course you're getting old, but he Who lives must necessarily Grow old; and now just call to mind The few (and consolation find) Who've traveled on life's dusty road As far as you and borne their load As lightly as you have and show So little trace of care and woe." "Here!" cried the Clerk, "is this to be A sermon or a lecture free? Suppose we fill the gourd again And then perhaps a lighter vein Of humor may appearance make Before our homeward ways we take. The Teacher here, I know full well, Has many stories he can tell." The Teacher seemed to hesitate. "There's but one tale I can relate Which, just this moment, seems to me About as light as one might be. 'Twould please a child much more than you, But 'tis the best that I can do." "Proceed," the Host called urgingly, "And when you've done your part we'll see How much it may amuse a man." The Teacher smiled and now began: III 112 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE The Sauciest Little Fellow I knew a little chap, one time, The sauciest little fellow, His eyes were blue, his hair was just The yellowest kind of yellow. He played about from morn 'til night And often got in trouble. Which never seemed to worry him, But Vanished like a bubble. He ran away one day, but soon His mother followed after And found him in a neighbor's barn Suspended on a rafter. She called to him: "Come down from there. Ah! wait until I catch you: Come down this instant, do you hear? You awful little wretch you." He answered: "Well, I won't come down An' you can't reach the rafter, Now you jes' get me if you can." And then he roared with laughter And to the friendly beam he clung And clinched and held the tighter. His mother thought a while, then said, "Well, you can stay all night, sir." "And Often Got into Trouble" AND OTHER POEMS Then straightway she began to pull Away the crumbling ladder. She had him in a dreadful fix Just when he thought he had her. His smile began to fade away, His mouth began a-twitching, He knew not which he most preferred A dark night or a switching. Well, out the door his mother went And left her hopeful thinking, And as he thought, try as he might, He could not keep from blinking. The minutes dragged them into ten, His little breast was swelling, He gave a smothered sob and then The most unearthly yelling That ever came from mortal boy That youngster's lungs emitted, And those around who heard him thought He really should be pitied. Old Misses Jones and Katie Brown And Sis and Maggie Winters Rushed madly out and surely thouglt To find the boy in splinters. But when they found that he was whole And saw his queer location, And saw his mother hid — they knew At once the situation. 115 ii6 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE They saw, however, he was scared And for his sins repented. And helped his mother get him down — And even she relented. Although when he had reached the ground, She made him promise truly, Before them all, he never would Again be so unruly. He gravely told her he'd be good Forever ever after, Then hugged his mother tight and said: "Well, 'is jes' beats that rafter." His story done, the Teacher bowed Amidst applause that sounded loud. "Oh, that was not so very bad," Remarked the Parson, "and it had The merit, I am glad to state, Of novelty, at any rate." "Ah!" said the Judge, "it called to mind One of my capers of like kind." "Here!" cried the Clerk, "whate'er it is. We've heard your reminiscences." "Then, too," the Host said, "it grows late And shortly we must separate ; But I would like to hear before The bolt is turned upon the door What great calamity befell Our Poet, and if he will tell AND OTHER POEMS We'll treat the confidence in tnist. Of course, there's none of us but must Have noticed he has seemed depressed — And evidently much distressed."- The Poet, with a startled stare. Arose and stood beside his chair. "My friends," said he, "I would delight In entertaining you tonight With something which might added cheer Lend the congenial atmosphere. But I'm constrained again to say I've been in beastly mood today. I have no story at command, That is — that you might understand. For mine, should I tell in detail. Would simpl}^ prove an endless wail — A sort of dismal caterwaul For which you would not care at all. But, since I'm asked to do my part, I'll strive to please with all my heart. My effort will, as you shall see When I am finished presently, Be short and metaphorical — I doubt if even musical." He paused a moment, while his gaze Seemed wandering in far-off ways. Into his pockets then he thrust His hands and blew a speck of dust From off the lapel of his coat. And with slight effort cleared his throat. 117 ii8 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE Summer And Autumn It was summer; the birds were singing And the whole world seemed in tune. It was summer; the woods were ringing Deep with the flush of June, And the days were mild and balmy, Still bearing the breath of spring, And my heart was filled with a something Consuming and maddening. For some one had come without warning, As Cometh the flowers in May, Or Cometh the sun in the morning. Clearing the darkness away. And the gods irova their thrones unbending Seemed showering gifts o'er me. And I, in my joy, unending Fancied their grace might be. O the days when we roamed together, The days by the hills and streams; O the mornings of sunlit weather And the evenings of moonlit dreams; And my ship of hope had entered The port while I held the prow, And my cup of life was brimming. But the dregs were there — and now- - It is autumn ; the leaves are dying And the birds no longer sing. It is autumn; the trees are sighing And the winds come blustering; AND OTHER POEMS 119 And my ship of hope has vanished Over the crest of the sea, My cup is drained, and the bitter Is all that is left for me. The Poet sank into his chair And looked the picture of despair. A silence filled the crowded room Which seemed to drape itself in gloom. The tire for some cause burned low, The lantern lost its ruddy glow; In short, quite suddenly a cloud Seemed to have fallen o'er the crowd. And plainly, there was not a one Within the group who had not gone, At some remembered time of life, Through just this very kind of strife. Their hearts went out in sympathy To him who sat dejectedly. The Parson, in a manner sly, Winked when he caught the Doctor's eye. Which spoke as plain as words could do: "Remember what I said to you?" The Blacksmith was the first to speak; Said he: "Young man, you've had a streak Of luck that comes to every one Before his course in life is done. 'Tis something like the whooping-cough — Severe at first, but soon wears off." "Yes," said the Poet mournfully, "I realize my malady I20 POEMS OF EMOriOXAL LOVE Is not the kind that kihs outright, Though oft its victims wish it might. I have attacks most every year And each attack seems more severe." The Doctor, with an effort, tried A quickly deep'ning smile to hide; Howe'er, the Poet saw his face And caught the humor of his case. And laughed a rather sickly grin Which broadened as the rest joined in The Host now took from off its peg The gourd and filled it from a keg. "Let's drink," he said "to better cheer And better luck this time next year." Then as the gourd went 'round, the gloom Seemed, like a mist, to leave the room. The hour, though, was growing late, 'Twas nearly time to separate. So presently they rose and sang A parting song; the echoes rang About the cranies of the store From rafter-beam to well-Vv'orn floor. The autumn moon just showed liis face Through drifting clouds of silver lace As through the sign-bespattered door A noisy group came from the store And stood a moment in the street Deciding when again to meet. Then, through the town, the village heads Went home to seek their waiting beds. AND OTHER POEMS THE WANDERER O the path I came lay through rough ways, With craigs and rocks o'erlying, And it took many, many days To find the Hght through mystic maze Where black-winged bats were flying. Sometimes I slipped and fell and lay Amid the darkness, haunted By ghosts that followed on my way And laughed and mocked me day by day And sneered and gibed and taunted. But I arose and with my load Came onward, doubting never That through the vastness stretched a road Leading unto a calm abode Where I might rest forever. the path I came lay through rough ways Of horror, grief and sadness, But knew I not the dark of days 1 would not know how bright the rays Of sunlight, nor its gladness. POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE HOME When troubles come to worry and perplex me And loom, like phantoms, in the dark'ning gloam, When every little trifle seems to vex me, I long for home. The little home, 'way back in days of childhood. Set like a tiny gem, complacently, Amidst the blooming jasmine and wild wood, Calls out to me. No matter what the magnet or attraction That leads me on and onward for a space, I see, amidst the glamour and distraction. The old home place. I close my eyes and see my mother sitting, Rocking, in the old familiar chair Beside the hearth, the fitful lamplight flitting About her hair. Ah, me! the world is full of kindly faces And doors are ever open where I roam. And yet to me, the place of all dear places Is one called home. 'The Little Home Way Back in Days of Childhood" AND OTHER POEMS 125 NEW YEAR'S EVE O the minute hand on my Httle clock To twelve is wending its way, And ticks out the year with its wee tick, tock And closes the last dear day. And this wee tick-tock, in its tiny case, Seems faster around to fly As though it were trying to win a race In bidding the year good-by. But I'm in no hurry to see it go, And wish it were back again. But 'tis almost gone, and alas! I know My wishing is only vain. For I could not have, should I make request, Or call e'er so pleadingly, A day or an hour I have loved the best — Forever they've fled from me. And into the vortex of the dead past, Like a raindrop in the sea, How many a precious day I have cast That will bring no return to me. 126 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE And the wee tick-took, it is doing well, And the moment of death draws nigh, Soon the midnight bells will ring out the knell And then I must say good-by. And now the old year is dead and gone, But I'll grieve o'er the past no more, For I'm ushered into another one Through a new and open door. Farewell Father Time, as you pass me by; I hope this year to improve So much that when next you come this w^ay I'll be worthy of your love. But the chances arc I'll be mourning the dead The same as tonight I do. For resolves, you know, are easier said Than kept for a whole year through. EVENING STAR 0! star in yon sky above, thou art the star That looked down upon me away in the far Distant days of my childhood ; thou shinest as bright From thy little corner in heaven tonight As in the days of the long, long ago. Thou hast not altered, yet look! wouldst thou know That I am the maiden who once, happily. With dreams in her trusting eyes, smiled up at thee? AND OTHER POEMS 127 HOPE Hope! thou hast led me on for years, Promising fortune — ever — Hope! thou hast caused me naught but tears, Promises fulfilled — never. Yet, though thou leadest through dark ways, Though thou hast made me doubt thee, Through the long stretch of endless days I could not do without thee. Thou art the only friend I know Who, when the night is dreary. Comes to my aid with smiles a-glow, And lulls me when I am weary. So, while I know thy ways to be Fickle and all elusive, Still art thou all in all to me With thy vague dreams seducive. WAY 33 1907 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 907 130 3 4