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COLLECTED 
 POEMS 
 
 HAROLD ERl^EST WANDS 
 

 COPYRIGHTED 1920 
 HAROLD E. WANDS 
 
 Uuu "^* •^'-'^ 
 
 ©•:!.A571916 
 
 The Salisbury Press 
 Newark - New Jersey 
 
REVEILLE 
 
 •^^ The mist in the valley is rising slow, 
 
 j^ Upward to Heaven's deep blue; 
 
 The brook ripples on in its ceaseless flow, 
 ^'^ Light as the glistening dew. 
 
 Then reveille, calling at break of day, 
 
 Clear, as the sun climbs higher, 
 Re-echoes it's song in the hills away 
 While the dawn comes up like fire. 
 
 The sun now is sinking in western hills, 
 
 Silver is turned to gold. 
 The bird of the forest soft music trills. 
 
 Singing his song of old. 
 That joy of the woodland may come again 
 
 There where I long to he. 
 And reveille echoes shall sound again 
 
 At last bringing joy to me. 
 
A WOODLAhlD MQHT SONQ 
 
 The twilight shadows gently fall 
 On field and hill and stream; 
 
 Oh harken now to the woodland call 
 And come to the land of dream. 
 
 Soft moonlight falls on waters still 
 Where silver clouds float by; 
 
 The whippoorwill sings from the hill 
 To answer the white owl's cry. 
 
 The glittering starlight slowly fades - 
 
 Another day is born; 
 The birds awake in the forest glades, 
 
 Awake then - awake, . . . 'tis morn. 
 
A SONG OF CAMP 
 
 In the ruffled stir of morning 
 Rippling waves caress the shore, 
 
 Call us from our cots at dawning, 
 Unknown lands we shall explore. 
 
 Through the waters we are gliding, 
 
 Hills above us tow'ring rise 
 To the summits - there abiding 
 
 In the splendor of the skies. 
 
 Day is here in all it's fullness, 
 
 Lightly now our paddles lift; 
 Rich the fragrance, deep the coolness 
 
 Through the woodland where we drift. 
 
 In the mellow glow of sunset 
 
 Night bird from it's nest now flies; 
 
 O'er the calm and silent lakelet 
 Darkness creeps and daylight dies. 
 
 On the bank there shines the moonlight, 
 Time of day we love the best; 
 
 'Round the camp-fire in the warmlight- 
 Time for story, song - and rest. 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 Who has said that joy was dead 
 Or all the skies were gray ?. . . . 
 
 Surely not he who cares to see 
 A glorious autumn day, 
 
 The. sun's bright ray awakes the day 
 
 And chase off the dew; 
 The sunlight thrills and warms and fills 
 
 The very heart of you. 
 
 Moonlight plays it's silver rays 
 
 Far over field and hill, 
 And floods with light a perfect night 
 
 When all the world is still. 
 
 The northwind sighs as daylight dies. 
 
 But what have we to fear; 
 Or what care we where summer be 
 
 As long as love is here. 
 
IDOLATRY 
 
 Her hair like strands af purest gold 
 All woven 'round her dainty head, 
 
 As fairies in those days of old 
 That ages since are dead. 
 
 Her eyes twin pools of heavenly blue 
 That sparkle in the darkest night, 
 
 Searching the very soul of you 
 And flooding it with light. 
 
 Her cheeks like rosebuds sweet and fair 
 As any in the garden grew - 
 
 So fresh and fragrant blooming there 
 Await a kiss from you. 
 
SlTTm 'ROVhID THE FIRE 
 
 The stars are bright in the sky tonight, 
 The golden moon creeps higher; 
 
 Our hearts are Ught and our eyes are bright 
 A'Sittin' 'round the fire. 
 
 A tale is told from the days of old - 
 
 Of these we never tire; 
 Of pirates bold and buried gold 
 
 A'Sittin' 'round the fire. 
 
 And through the years let he who hears 
 
 Know this is my desire: 
 To dry my tears and ^alm my fears 
 
 A'Sittin' 'round the fire. 
 
OH STARS: OH SUMMER NlQHi: 
 
 Shine on, oh radiant stars, in silent skies, 
 Glitter and gleam in thy celestial splendor, 
 
 Glow on, oh stars, from time the sunlight dies 
 When Venus, wafted through the skies, shall 
 bend her 
 
 Immortal form before her God on high. 
 
 Gleam on, oh kindly stars, of summer night; 
 
 Let this, oh night of nights, most glorious be; 
 That I might bathe in thy soft, silvery light, 
 
 Windows of Heaven, windows of Heaven, 
 open now to me. 
 
THE CALL 
 
 Someday thou shalt call to me 
 
 Far over the azure, boundless waste, 
 And in low, cold tones thou shalt call me; 
 
 **Come, come, it is I, - make haste !" 
 
 But I shall answer, "Ah, not now, 
 
 For earth is far too sweet." . . . 
 Ah, how I dread thee, . . thy cold, dark brow 
 
 Bends o'er me . . . but I stand - upon my feet. 
 
 Someday thou shalt call to me 
 
 Out of the cold, cold gray, 
 When all sunshine is hidden from me . . . 
 
 Farewell oh earthly way. 
 
 As I have lived and loved thee, oh earth, oh flowers, 
 
 Oh glorious skies of immortal blue; 
 As 1 have lived and loved thee, oh happy hours, 
 
 So Death, sweet Death shall 1 love thee too. 
 
SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Master of noble art, 
 
 Thou who didst do thy part 
 In days, of yore; 
 
 To thee, most noble sage, 
 We, of a later age, 
 
 Bow down before. 
 
 King of all mystery, 
 
 Glorious in history, 
 TKy praises sing; 
 
 We of all creeds and birth, 
 Children of all the earth. 
 
 Tribute we bring. 
 
 Thou bard of mirth and rhyme. 
 Lasting to end of time 
 
 Shall be thy fame; 
 
 On through the distant years. 
 
 Where'er life's vessel steers, 
 Laud we thy name. 
 
FOLK SONQ 
 
 Should i meet her tripping o'er the meadow 
 
 In the stillness ot the dawn, 
 All my heart would fill with sunshine 
 
 And the glory of the morn. 
 
 Should I meet her sitting by the brookside 
 
 Weaving flowers in garlands fair, 
 Could I e*er describe the beauty 
 
 Of her flowing, golden hair ? 
 
 Should I meet her roaming through the woodland 
 
 In the happy light of day, 
 Would she see me, would she know me, 
 
 Would she call. . . .and bid me stay ? 
 
 Should I meet her standing in the garden 
 
 Caught in moonbeams silvery lair, 
 I shall hold her, tenderly enfold her, 
 
 Should I find her waiting there. 
 
SOMEDAY' 
 
 Someday along that dusty trail 
 
 That leads to lands unknown, 
 The column presses onward, but 
 
 Our thoughts are turning home. 
 
 Someday upon some foreign field 
 
 Where shrapnel bursts in air. 
 We make the charge and say a prayer 
 
 For home. . .far 'over there'. 
 
 Somenight when stars are shining bright 
 
 Upon some field of France, 
 From out the trench, on 'no man's land' 
 
 We cautiously advance. 
 
 Someday if they should find me there, 
 
 Dust to dust concealed, 
 They'll know that I, for Country's sake, 
 
 My life would gladly yield. 
 
 But think not this shall all come true 
 
 And when I'm far away, 
 Have courage. . .when the mists have cleared, 
 
 I'm coming home. . .someday. 
 
ET la LUNE DESCEhID sur VEQLISE 
 
 Night . . . and the glory of Heaven fills the sky, 
 Soft wind, and a leaf goes fluttering by; 
 
 Safe in the hills and dormant lies the town; 
 
 High o'er the church, the moon is shining down. 
 
 Night . . . and the dear little town is asleep; 
 
 Moon, through the long hours, her vigil shall keep; 
 Tenderly watching above the ivied wall 
 
 Where, on the hill, the church stands . . . over all. 
 
 Night . . . and in silhouette against the sky, 
 
 Seems then the church to commune with Thee on 
 high; 
 
 Earth seems part of Heaven, close is all that's dear; 
 Peace reigns here tonight and God is very near. 
 
 France y 1918. 
 
SVhISHlhlE 
 
 Sunshine, sunshine everyv/here 
 
 And all the skies are blue, 
 May happiness, like flowers fair. 
 
 Bloom in the heart of you. 
 
 Don't you fret or worry, dear; 
 
 Just try each little while 
 To dry away that glist'ning tear 
 
 In the sunlight of your smile. 
 
 As down the little winding lane 
 
 Of life you travel through. 
 Look up, . . through clouds of care and pain 
 
 Are shining skies of blue. 
 
RErROSPECT 
 
 Summer: 
 
 And the skies all blue and fair; 
 Flowers, pregnant with the incense of the Gods 
 
 And, wafted gently on the wings of night, 
 Comes a faint perfume from a land afar. 
 
 And then . . you came, 
 
 Fresh and fragrant as dew upon the flowers, 
 Lovely as a child arising with the dawn; 
 
 A joyous, living being . . filled with a love 
 That could but be endowed by Heaven. 
 
 You came: 
 
 And your dear smile flooded my path 
 with sunshine 
 That I might tread where happiness alone should 
 reign; 
 And there, in that sweet-scented forest . . . 
 Boardering on the uncertain edge of night. 
 The soft, warm glow of the waning sun 
 Enveloped and penetrated my soul with it's golden 
 light. 
 
 Then your dear hands, how gently clasped in mine; 
 
 Thrilled by their touch I stand enraptured, thralled; 
 1 am enthroned in a glorious little heaven 
 
 That holds me, folds me gently in a maze of ecstatic 
 delight; 
 Your eyes have told me of the love you bore 
 
 As deep I gazed into their love-lit depths 
 
And saw. . . .your very soul. 
 
 When, in the night, I came and found you. 
 sleeping. 
 How softly did I lay my cheek on thine, 
 How gently, tenderly did I kiss thy lips. 
 
FALLEN 
 
 I found him " 
 
 Lying. . .full length on the ground, 
 Just as he had fallen, forward and face 
 down; 
 
 His helmet, battered and thick with mud, 
 Lay just beyond his reach. . . 
 
 Oh, could he but grasp it - it is so near - 
 And struggle onward by my side. 
 
 I knelt there -• 
 
 And, Oh God, the touch of his hair 
 That glistened in the noonday sun; 
 
 With what tenderness did I clasp that 
 form, 
 So beloved here, surely as welcome There, 
 
 And lovingly did I close those eyes 
 In which the light had gone. 
 
 And which gazed but did not see. 
 Opened but did not smile. 
 
 I wept there - 
 
 For, in the pitifully meager soul of me, 
 There was no thought except of self; 
 
 I had lost, and there arose within me 
 An overwhelming power of unconquerable 
 hate; 
 
 Close to my breast I held his form 
 And pressed my burning cheek to his cold 
 hands 
 
 That 1 might warm them into life. 
 
I arose ' 
 
 And there in the west gleamed the last ray 
 Of the low, descending sun - 
 
 He had 'gone west* and, for one sacred 
 moment. 
 All earth seemed refulgent with the light of 
 Heaven; 
 And so, dear God, shall I fare onward, 
 For I have seen the working of Thine All-wise 
 Hand; 
 Thou hast given to me the Peace of 
 Understanding, 
 And to him, . . . .Eternal Rest. 
 
 France, 1918 
 
WHITE THZNQS 
 
 Alar off in the land of yesteryear 
 
 There was a lovely garden; 
 A tiny Eden of winding paths and scented flowers, 
 
 And ever was it bathed in the warm light 
 Of the golden sun, 
 While little white sunbeams danced 
 
 From clematis to purple aster. 
 
 Safely hidden among the hills of dream 
 
 Lies a little lake, 
 Set as some precious, sparkling gem 
 
 In the emerald of the pines. 
 Where the full moon rides high 
 
 Through the infinite space above 
 And the lakelet welcomes with joy 
 
 The dainty white moonbeams that glide about 
 hi the phosphorescent glow. 
 
 Beyond the utmost path of the dying moon. 
 And hurled onward into the adyssmal 
 
 Depths of the Unknown, 
 Is the white Stardust that is whirled about 
 
 On vast heights and the extreme hills of heaven, . 
 Onward, onward through the purple depths 
 
 That I have known only in my 
 Land of dream. 
 
 Rising high above the fertile Valley of Desire 
 
 Are the rugged and wind-swept peaks 
 That are clad in perpetual snow 
 
Here does the rampant wind 
 Scurry the tiny snowflakes in reckless abandon 
 
 But, with unfailing certainty, finds for them 
 A resting place at last. 
 
 All these things have I seen and known, 
 And my greatest desire is, when at last 
 I am laid away, that my soul shall rise 
 
 As motes do in the moonbeams, 
 To the place from where all lovely White Things 
 come: 
 The sunshine, the moonshine, the starshine 
 And the snow. 
 
WEST WlhID 
 
 The moon's shining bright on our billet tonight 
 And the wind's coming straight from the west; 
 
 It's a wind that I love, sent from Heaven above 
 For it comes from the land I love best. 
 
 And I like to believe that 1 never need grieve 
 
 Be it summer or deep winter snows; 
 But wherever I roam, I shall know that at home 
 
 All is well when the western wind blows. 
 
 It speaks to me now as it sighs through the bough 
 
 Of a tall, stalwart evergreen tree; 
 In the same glowing light, I am sure that tonight 
 
 They are praying and waiting for me. 
 
 So small is the voice, yet it seems to rejoice 
 And there's nothing that's dismal or sad; 
 
 For it's calling to me from that land 'cross the sea 
 All cheery, contented and glad. 
 
 God himself only knows how sweet that wind blows 
 And how much of my dream it's a part; 
 
 How it brings very near all the things that are dear 
 And quickens the beat of my heart. 
 
 Oh hasten the day when from far, far away 
 It shall bring a sweet message. . .and then 
 
 The great war shall cease, the world be at peace 
 And my footsteps turn homeward again. 
 
A SOhlQ FOR YOU 
 
 I want to sing you a rollicking song, 
 
 One that will please you well; 
 The sentiment in it must not be strong, 
 
 It would never do to make it long. 
 Although there is much to tell. 
 
 Be it just to remind you, dear old friend, 
 Of the sunny springtime weather, 
 
 And the days that all too soon would end. 
 As along that path our way would wend, 
 
 To the hills o' dream together. 
 
 And this be the wish of my little rhyme: 
 Though we're sometimes far apart, 
 
 May the joy of youth remain sublime, 
 
 The glory and warmth of the summertime. 
 
 Be always in your heart. 
 
SOLDJERINQ 
 
 Away back in civilian life 
 
 I used to think it fine 
 To watch the soldiers marching 
 
 Down the street in perfect line, 
 And though it was a common sight 
 
 To see them every day, 
 I always added my applause 
 
 And with the crowd v/ould say 
 "Gee, but it's great to be a soldier/' 
 
 And then they came around one day 
 
 And got me in it too; 
 The 'non coms' 'jazzed' me all around 
 
 And told me what to do; 
 Double timed us 'round the field 
 
 Beneath a sizzling sun. 
 They were'nt content to work us hard 
 
 But liked to see us run . . . 
 Gee, but it's tough to be a soldier. 
 
 Some boys went on sick report 
 
 And tried to dodge the drills 
 But no matter what was wrong 
 
 They only got more CC pills; 
 Heat a hundred in the shade 
 
 So who would call it strange 
 That several completely 'flopped' 
 
 Out at the rifle range. . . 
 Gee, but it's tough to be a soldier. 
 
With rifle, bayonet, gas, close order- 
 
 This is how we trained; 
 We worked hard in the hottest sun 
 
 And harder when it rained; 
 Learned all the tricks of soldiering 
 
 And when they'd taught us these, 
 They packed us in a dirty boat 
 
 And shipped us overseas. . . 
 Gee, but its tough to be a soldier. 
 
 Then finally we landed 
 
 In a place called 'Sunny France'; 
 It's mis-named because the rain 
 
 Don't ever give the sun a chance; 
 They quartered us in places 
 
 Far too dirty for a cow 
 And were never very generous 
 
 In handing out the chow . . . 
 Gee, but it's tough to be a soldier. 
 
 Hiked us over many miles 
 
 Out in the mud and rain, 
 And when they'd got us there they 
 
 Simply hiked us back again; 
 Gave us picks and shovels 
 
 Then they sent us out to dig . . 
 At first the ditch was too darned small 
 
 And, afterward, too big. . . 
 Gee, but it's tough to be a soldier. 
 
 But now the war is over and 
 
The time is coming when 
 To the land of life and sunshine 
 
 We are going home again; 
 Each of us has suffered, but 
 
 We all have done our part 
 And, to a man, each one will say 
 
 Deep down within his heart 
 "Gee, but it's great to be a soldier." 
 
ro MABLE 
 
 Sunshine of summer day 
 
 Your heritage; I pray - 
 
 Never to go away, 
 
 Dear httle girl. 
 
 Ah flowing, golden hair 
 
 That nestles softly there 
 
 On your dear brow so fair, 
 Dear little girl. 
 
 And in your deep blue eyes 
 
 I gaze as through the skies 
 To gates of Paradise, 
 Dear little girl. 
 
 Ah with what tender grace 
 
 Rested your lovely face 
 
 'Gainst mine in fond embrace, 
 Dear little girl. 
 
 Would you were here tonight 
 That once again I might 
 
 Kiss you - and say goodnight, 
 Dear little girl. 
 
NlQHr. ON rHE LAKE 
 
 Night. . .you and 1 are alar 
 
 From the noise and strife 
 Of the sounding town, 
 
 Out where even the trees uplft 
 Their arms in adoration, 
 
 And glowing Stardust shimmers down. 
 
 Night. . .and the curtains o( darkness 
 
 Fall tenderly about us, 
 Fold us in a mystic haze; 
 
 Comes across the hills 
 A soft, sweet-scented wind, 
 
 Murmuring of happy summer days. 
 
 Night. . .and the windows of Heaven 
 
 Reflect as sparkling gems 
 Upon the water's blue, - 
 
 And oh, the gorgeous splendor 
 Of the wind-swept sky, - 
 
 Night. . . ,and the stars, . . .and you. 
 
YOUR PICTURE 
 
 When as I gaze upon thy likeness, dear, 
 Though far away, I feel thy presence near. 
 
 Oft through the long hours 
 
 Of hardship and pain, 
 I find, in thy sweet smile, 
 
 My courage again. . . 
 
 When in your dear eyes 
 
 I see the light shine, 
 That is tender with love 
 
 As they gaze into mine - 
 
 No lovelier vision 
 
 Shall ever, it seems. 
 Come into my life or 
 
 Inhabit my dreams. 
 
 So, dear little picture, 
 
 We never shall part 
 And wherever I go 
 
 You will rest near my heart. 
 
 When as I gaze into thy likeness, dear. 
 Though far away, I feel thy presence near. 
 
 France, igi8. 
 
HIKE - HIKE ' HIKE 
 
 Hike, hike, hike along the hard turnpike. 
 
 The packs upon our backs can't dull the joys; 
 
 Hike, hike, hike along the hard turnpike. 
 
 Oh Tm happy when I'm hiking with the boys. 
 
 Passing by the rolling meadows 
 
 And beyond the distant hill 
 Where the skyline fades into a maze of green, 
 
 On across a rippling brooklet 
 That recalls another rill, 
 
 And another happy hike that's all a dream. 
 
 Though it's hard to keep on smiling 
 
 As the distant miles go by. 
 We will carry on for Country and for Right; 
 
 Though our uniforms be dusty. 
 And our throats are parched and dry 
 
 As we're toiling on 'neath noonday's burning light. 
 
 Carry on . . . keep that the watchword; 
 
 Through the column let it ring . . . 
 Shout it loudly so that all the world may know. 
 
 And forget that packs are heavy, 
 Hearts are light, so let us sing, 
 
 For the Sammy boys are out to meet the foe. 
 
 After all it's but a gamble 
 
 In a great and glorious game. 
 And we're here to take our chance and play it 
 square; 
 
When the last long hike is over, 
 Well . . . we'll hike it back again; 
 Back to home - our native country - over there. 
 
 Hike, hike, hike along the hard turnpike, 
 
 The packs upon our backs can't dull the joys; 
 
 Hike, hike, hike along the hard turnpike. 
 Oh I'm happy when I'm hiking with the boys. 
 
DEAR LITTLE HOUSE ON THE HILL 
 
 On across the broad meadow, the far rolling hills, 
 
 And beyond the dull roar of the sea; 
 Oh dear little place, what a memory it fills, 
 
 And I know it is waiting for me; 
 Out there where the bright sun seems ever to shine 
 
 On scenes that are peaceful and still... 
 Oh nearest and dearest to this heart of mine 
 
 Is that dear little house on the hill. 
 
 And beyond the dim vistas of far reaching years 
 
 I see as through mist-cpvered folds, 
 All the joys that are ever dispelling the tears 
 
 With the infinite love that it holds; 
 Oh whst happiness reigns in it's sheltering walls, 
 
 With what echoes of joy do they fill. 
 And how welcome the soft voice within me that 
 calls 
 
 From that dear little house on the hill. 
 
 I can hear the dear voices as soft, patt'ring rain 
 
 That falls on the rafters above. 
 Rejoicing the day I shall be there again 
 
 Among the dear ones that I love; 
 Oh soft, glowing mem'ries more valued than gold, 
 
 How wonderfully sweet is the thrill 
 That awakens within me a longing untold 
 
 For that dear little house on the hill. 
 
 France, igiS 
 
ST. NAZAIRE 
 
 Down beside the rolling ocean 
 
 'Neath the sunny skies of France, 
 Where the sea in constant motion 
 
 Makes the little wavelets dance, 
 And the sunlight seems to always fill the air; 
 
 Where the river Loire is flowing, 
 Where the big transports are going, 
 
 Lies that little, quaint old town of St. Nazaire. 
 
 When the boulevard is thronging 
 
 In the light of afternoon, 
 Or the silvery bay belonging 
 
 To the kingdom of the moon. 
 And a gentle breeze is blowing everywhere; 
 
 There the sun and moon seem brighter. 
 Hearts of men are ever lighter, 
 
 In that little, quaint old town of St. Nazaire. 
 
 Down the narrow streets a-winding 
 
 Comes the never ceasing throng. 
 Bent on joy and pleasure finding 
 
 And the air is filled with song; 
 All the golden, glowing lights are shining there; 
 
 Where the joyous throng is singing, 
 Where the bells are softly ringing. 
 
 Lies that little, quaint old town of St. Nazaire. 
 
 And in distant years when dreaming 
 
 Of the time we trod those ways, 
 When the star of youth was beaming 
 
In those happy soldier days, 
 And we Uve again our service 'over there,' 
 
 Through it all our thoughts will wander 
 But remain content out yonder, 
 
 In that little, quaint old town of St. Nazaire. 
 
 France, 191 8 
 
LA PROMENADE FRANCAISE 
 
 In the soldier's leisure hours 
 
 Along the road to town 
 In pairs they stroll, the maid looks up, 
 
 The soldier gazes down; 
 With the aid of book and gesture 
 
 He has learned at last to say, 
 "Et vouloir vous aller a moi, 
 
 La promenade Francaise ?" 
 
 Though at first she does not comprehend, 
 
 (His emphasis is bad,) 
 At last she lifts her eyes to his 
 
 And all her face is glad; 
 Though he stammered on in falt'ring words. 
 
 He scarcely needed say, 
 ''Ah si vous uniquement venir 
 
 La promenade Francaise." 
 
 So they wander on through winding lanes 
 
 That lead to realms of love, 
 Where the carpet of earth is green below 
 
 And the sky all blue above; 
 Then it's here he whispers low to her, 
 
 Along that flowered way, 
 "Ah mon cheri, si tres jolie. 
 
 Nous promenade Francaise." 
 
 And through all the dim; far-distant years. 
 
 If something seems to lack, 
 That Yankee boy will always find 
 
A joy in looking back, 
 On the glorious soldier days in France, 
 
 And always will he say, 
 "Laisser moi vivre pres elle coeur. 
 
 La promenade Francaise." 
 
 France, 1918 
 
COME LAD 
 
 Come lad across the sunlit land, 
 
 Out where the leaflets, rustling in the breeze. 
 Are murmuring a message to you lad; 
 
 Come out to live and be a part of these. 
 
 Come lad across the wooded hills 
 
 And let us find what life out there will be; 
 
 A woodbird ofl^ on yonder hilltop trills, 
 With sheer delight, a woodland melody. 
 
 Come lad out on the moonlit stream - 
 There will we drift, not caring where we go; 
 
 And watch in Heaven above the starlight's gleam. 
 While all the world is silent here below. 
 
 Come lad as sunlight brings the day, 
 
 On 'cross the hills to Heaven's gate and through; 
 Come let us live our youth while yet we may, 
 
 And I'll walk side by side, my lad, with you. 
 
A DREAM 
 
 I slept and dreamed of moonlight, 
 
 A rippling lakelet too, 
 Whereon there shone a pathway 
 
 That led somewhere to you. 
 
 I dreamed of scented gardens, 
 0{ birds and flowers fair; 
 
 But oh, the joy and gladness 
 To wake . . . and find you there. 
 
YOUR BIRTHDAY 
 
 From out the distant mirage of the past, 
 Wafted gently on the wings of night. 
 
 Steals softly thoughts of you, -at last 
 Changing darkness into light. 
 
 On this glad day may warm sunshine 
 Caress thy flowers, sweet with dew, 
 
 And all the hope and joy be thine 
 That I can wish for you. 
 
mimmmmm^m^mmm