Chari^es Wii^i^iam Hkathcote. 
 
T5 3 S I ^ 
 
 \ ^ A- 
 
 REALIZATION 
 A POEM 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARIvES WIIvLIAM HEATHCOTE. 
 
^ 
 
 LIBRARY of OONGRESS 
 TWO Copies Recelvwl 
 AUG 4 1904 
 C Oomnffflrt Entry 
 
 CLASS d XXe. Na 
 
 ' COPY B 
 
 Copyright 1904. 
 N. C. Barbehenn. 
 
To 
 
 My Sister 
 
 FLORENCE 
 
 This Volume is Affectionately 
 
 Dedicated. 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 In presenting this poem to the public I 
 have a living message for each one, a 
 message which appeals to ever}- human 
 heart. For over four years I have made 
 a careful study of ideals. I have found 
 men and women who have been able to 
 attain their ideals. Why? They had 
 principles consistent with life. It has 
 been claimed time and time again that no 
 ideal is able to be attained. My study 
 has led me to find that all ideals are at- 
 tainable where true consistent principles 
 of life exist. I trust kind reader this 
 poem may be a true message to you. 
 
 The Author. 
 
REALIZATION. 
 
 Love all that's divine, 
 
 Enter men's lives to shine, 
 
 Thou who rulest the world, 
 
 Help men find their dearest pearl ; 
 
 One can move along, 
 
 But with love gayer is the song, 
 
 Love the ruler of all affections, 
 
 Unites the world's divided sections. 
 
 In the beautiful months of spring, 
 J03' the flowers do bring. 
 When the chirp of the blue bird ga}- 
 Announces the dawn of another day. 
 Again the robin's plaintive song, 
 Is heard the whole day long, 
 No longer the snow covers the earth, 
 All nature blooms with new birth. 
 The babbling brook goes running on 
 On its course toward the setting sun, 
 In the former frozen field. 
 Now tender grass it yields. 
 All hearts seem light and free, 
 1 
 
Especially in this season of glee, 
 The birds perched on poplars tall 
 Issue to their mates their sweetest call. 
 
 How happy they seem to be, 
 
 Their hearts from sorrow free ! 
 
 Ah they too have their cares. 
 
 In shielding themselves from hunter's 
 
 snares. 
 Made to fill with love's sweet song, 
 The joy of life to prolong, 
 Made to make man's joy complete, 
 Yet their number he would deplete. 
 
 All lower animals seek the light, 
 To save themselves from blight. 
 Upward, upward is their way. 
 To behold the brighter day. 
 They live for themselves alone, 
 They have no power to atone, 
 Always themselves to maintain, 
 Not caring if their neighbors remain. 
 Perhaps they feel the joy of life, 
 Yet their lives are full of strife. 
 Power of love would in them glean, 
 
 2 
 
A spirit that couldn't be mean. 
 Ever in their lives increase, 
 The joy of living in peace, 
 Always doing what is right, 
 They would grow in might. 
 All would soon discern, 
 The kind of living to learn. 
 
 How oft 'tis with man, 
 To be always in the van, 
 Never caring for the rear, 
 In the upward growth of his career, 
 Never stopping to ask why, 
 So many troubled people cry. 
 Happy is he who in ambitious life 
 Has time to help those in strife, 
 Ready to do what is good. 
 To develop his noble manhood. 
 What is noble to attain. 
 He always seeks to gain, 
 For he always wins the prize, 
 For which the world cries. 
 Ever ready to do and dare. 
 Room for him the world doth spare, 
 3 
 
Yet there flows in his blood, 
 A spirit that bodes no good, 
 A longing in his soul to fill, 
 A feeling no heart can still. 
 He seeks to discover, 
 The cause of his discomfiture. 
 Honors he wins galore. 
 Still he strives for more, 
 There's in this world of care, 
 No one to help him share. 
 
 At last Cupid, God of Love, 
 Comes upon him like a dove, 
 Then it dawns upon him why. 
 His life though varied is dry ; 
 Armed with courage new, 
 To his old self he bids adieu, 
 Determined to find the ideal girl, 
 Who shall be his choicest pearl. 
 He starts new work more grand. 
 Resolved to take a nobler stand, 
 To travel everywhere if it must be, 
 To find the one to be his joy. 
 He knows she can be found, 
 4 
 
Somewhere the world 'round. 
 Though men may scoff and sa}% 
 That every ideal is far away, 
 Though some have found them, 
 That's not the fate of all men. 
 For every soul it is meted, 
 That a congenial soul was created. 
 Men in the on-rush of life, 
 Do not stop long in the strife, 
 To find who is the ideal, 
 That they could happy feel. 
 
 He travel'd o'er moor and fen. 
 O'er tortuous rock and flowery glen, 
 Though despaired and foot sore. 
 And when life to him seemed a bore, 
 The vision of his ideal appeared, 
 By it he would be cheered. 
 His spirit of love renewed, 
 New hopes his pathway strew'd, 
 IvOve divine urged him on 
 Not to give up what he'd begun. 
 True love which true men seek, 
 Life to them ne'er seems bleak, 
 5 
 
Love's depths he ne'er could measure, 
 
 Faintly gaining them in his pleasure. 
 
 The spirit of sacrifice he found, 
 
 Was the best joy the world 'round. 
 
 Thus did love in him exist, 
 
 To gain true love he did persist. 
 
 Where could he find his ideal ? 
 
 Oh surely he would not fail 
 
 Patience, patience must he feel 
 
 Time alone would reveal. 
 
 How sad he often felt. 
 
 His heart within seemed to melt. 
 
 Oh how the time had flown, 
 Since he left his dear old home. 
 Many ladies he knew and met, 
 His ideal hadn't appeared yet. 
 Now he returned home dejected. 
 With none of his hopes perfected. 
 One cold December day, 
 As he drove along in his sleigh. 
 The sun shown bright upon the snow, 
 The cold made people's faces glow. 
 Not far from his home, 
 6 
 
He beheld walking alone 
 
 A lady, whom he saw before 
 
 Who never bothered him more. 
 
 The thrill that now touched his heart, 
 
 Words can ne'er impart. 
 
 At last his ideal was revealed, 
 
 His joy was not concealed, 
 
 He wished to shout and cry. 
 
 His throat was parched and dry, 
 
 He knew her for years, 
 
 Why didn't she before appear ? 
 
 Now all sadness seemed to part, 
 
 Full of joy was his heart. 
 
 Oh how beautiful she appeared, 
 
 Would she accept him he feared ; 
 
 Those soft bright eyes of brown. 
 
 Would his highest efforts crown. 
 
 Her beautiful golden hair, 
 
 None with her could compare, 
 
 Her very being was divine, 
 
 In his heart she'd now shine. 
 
 He could ever happy be. 
 
 If his ideal she would be. 
 
There arose in his mind 
 Thoughts of old Dante kind, 
 How he struggled in vain, 
 His beautiful ideal to gain. 
 How Beatrice dear to his heart, 
 Ne'er her love did impart, 
 How he for her yearned 
 Always by her spurned. 
 Then he sought her from afar, 
 And his heart's door ajar 
 He left for her to enter 
 To feed his soul her splendor. 
 In reality he failed to attain, 
 
 In spirit she would remain. 
 
 Oh unhappy, unhappy Dante, 
 
 Must I too be like thee, 
 
 Unhappy forever be, 
 
 Not to win my ideal lady ? 
 
 I will, I can, I must, 
 
 True love to all is just, 
 
 For this is my ambition, 
 
 Since she has my dearest affection. 
 
 I will tell her of my love, 
 
 Her heart as gentle as a dove, 
 8 
 
Her soul so pure and divine. 
 
 Must consent to be mine. 
 
 I'll always true to her remain, 
 
 If I can only her attain. 
 
 Oh how happy I'll be, 
 
 When once I can tell thee 
 
 That thee alone I love, 
 
 To win thee how I strove. 
 
 Of all the sorrows I felt, 
 
 With the dark side of life I dealt. 
 
 How far I roamed, 
 
 My fate of life I moaned, 
 
 I could never happy be, 
 
 Until I found thee, 
 
 Thus he mused driving along, 
 
 lyife now seemed a merr}' song. 
 
 When he reached home, 
 He wished to be alone, 
 For a time with its thoughts to dwell. 
 Now he wished no one to tell, 
 For a while he liked to dream. 
 To think of his new found queen. 
 His parents in him beheld, 
 9 
 
A new life lately dwelt, 
 Always of a serious mood, 
 Gayety now in him brewed. 
 His friends were in the dark, 
 Why he was happy as a lark. 
 His walks and talks with her, 
 Few such pleasures shared, 
 That she was his ideal, 
 Truly now^ did he feel. 
 
 Oh Beauty sung by bards of old, 
 To few thou didst unfold, 
 Thy charms so noble and divine, 
 Sought after by mankind. 
 When our race was young and green, 
 None of thy charms didst thou screen. 
 All nature thow didst impress. 
 And 'pon us thy sweet caress 
 Of love and handsomeness. 
 Thou thoughtst us forever blest. 
 When we forsook the good, 
 Thou leftst our abode, 
 With us no longer to dwell, 
 Since we from thee fell, 
 lo 
 
Oh fickle human race, 
 
 Why dids't thou fore'er debase 
 
 The bloom of thy youth 
 
 And select things uncouth ? 
 
 Oh Beauty why stand'st thou aloof ? 
 
 Thou hast given us enough reproof, 
 
 Come, again with us dwell, 
 
 More than heart can tell 
 
 We need thy spirit divine 
 
 To make true lives shine. 
 
 Wonderful power to thee was given, 
 
 We know by the angels of Heaven. 
 
 The rose tinted dawn of morn. 
 
 Tells of a new day born, 
 
 The myriads of twinkling stars, 
 
 The planets shining from afar, 
 
 Are the work of thy hands Oh Beauty, 
 
 Hands that ne'er forsake duty. 
 
 With thy lovingness nature teems, 
 
 And of thy power the race dreams. 
 
 Sometimes beauty comes to earth. 
 To true lives gives new birth, 
 Truly his ideal was beauty's temple, 
 II 
 
None her beauty could resemble. 
 His ideal's spirit so divine, 
 Was indeed beauty's shrine, 
 Her best beauty was her heart, 
 That beauty ne'er could part. 
 
 How he longed to tell his love, 
 But fate against him strove. 
 Oh Fate most cruel to men, 
 Wouldst thou my love condemn ? 
 Wilt thou keep me from her heart ? 
 Nor let me my love impart ? 
 Thou knowest I love her well, 
 With love my bosom swells. 
 Thou dost not my fate deplore, 
 That I can her love implore, 
 Thou knowest I've found my ideal, 
 Why dost thou with me thus deal ? 
 Thou knowest for her I sought, 
 With the world's troubles I wrought, 
 How I waited and waited in vain, 
 That her love I might gain, 
 Oh Fate 'tis not right, 
 To check love with thy might. 
 
 12 
 
Her spirit by angels bless'd, 
 
 Has awakened in my breast 
 
 A love for her so pure 
 
 That angels only knew before. 
 
 Oh Fate thou must yield, 
 
 The love in her life sealed. 
 
 Why art thou so cruel to me ? 
 
 Never have I wronged thee. 
 
 Ever thou dost love to tease, 
 
 In the end thou wilt please. 
 
 Thou hast not dealt right, 
 
 By keeping me in such a plight, 
 
 Thou knowest I love her well, 
 
 More than heart can tell. 
 
 The next time we meet, 
 
 Thou must let me greet 
 
 Her with love divinely sweet, 
 
 Such love I lay at her feet. 
 
 Thou must let me gain. 
 
 The ideal I'd attain. 
 
 For in my anticipation, 
 
 I find the object of realization. 
 
 Thus the battle iu him raged, 
 These thoughts his mind engaged, 
 ^3 
 
He knew her love for nature, 
 Her joy for her sweetest verdure, 
 Among nature he took her, 
 And of his love he told her. 
 The wide wide world o'er, 
 He sought her to adore, 
 That she was his ideal, 
 Now he would feel. 
 How he fought for her to gain, 
 Truly he didn't speak in vain, 
 That she must to him yield, 
 Not make his life congealed. 
 " Be my love," he cried. 
 Then her soul gladly sighed, 
 " Yes I will be thine. 
 Your love shall be mine. 
 Always have I loved thee. 
 Now I can't do without thee. 
 That our souls would meet, 
 I felt time would greet. 
 Never would I reveal 
 My love 'til you'd feel 
 A like love within thee 
 Bxisted there for me. 
 You always were my ideal, 
 14 
 
/^U6 4 1304 
 
 And your spirit so congenial, 
 How joyful I now feel, 
 Your love 3'ou did reveal." 
 
 Oh Happiness how delusive thou art, 
 With what would men not part, 
 To gain true rest, 
 To be forever bless'd. 
 Some in the world's luxury 
 Seek thee at the cost of drudgery, 
 Others in selfish ambitions 
 To better their own conditions. 
 Where thou deignest to dwell, 
 The selfish cannot tell, 
 Men noble, good and true, 
 Can tell what thou wilt do. 
 Contented and happy are they, 
 As they toil the whole day. 
 Carnal pleasures joys do not bring, 
 Virtuous living is the only thing, 
 Happiness dwells with true love, 
 Pure love like that above, 
 Inspiring noble ambitions, 
 To raise the world's conditions. 
 Not to live for self alone. 
 Helping others to the Golden Throne. 
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