M I Class. Book. -E5_^53S. CopyrightN^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT AT THE SIGN OF THE GINGER JAR AT THE SIGN OF THE GINGER JAR SOME VERSES GAY AND GRAVE BY / RAY CLARKE ROSE CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1901 > 1 > > THE l.iBHARY OF Two Cur'Ibtf RtOKIVCD OCT. 12 1901 OOPVHIOMT SNTHY CLASS ^XXa No. COPY a ,70 1 Copyright A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1901 TO VICTOR F. LAWSON THIS HOOK IS GRATEFULLY INSCRliJKD CONTENTS Prologue PAGE II POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION Rondel . Patience Compensation . May Song Aftermath Serenade A Presentation Parting Song Homing Song . The Living Voice Memory . Sweet Clover Spring Song For the Sake of the Song The Tremolo . Nightingale's Serenade A Outrange She Came to Me Horace to Chloe Day Dreams The Place of Joy Lite Pendente My Poor Neighbor . Follies of the Wise A Child is Born An Old Lady Religion . Walt Whitman . Sacrifice NOCTURN True Love's Reward The Day's End . Faith Over the Way The Last Hope Jure Divino 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 22 24 26 28 29 30 31 32 34 3| 36 3? 38 39 41 42 43 44 46 48 49 50 51 53 54 VERSES PLAYFUL AND HUMOROUS Josephine Dolly in the Rain . My Lady of Easter Triolet . An "Old Maid" The Best Name With Daisy in the Rain Sour Grapes Rondel His Modest Wish Josephine's Hat . Triolets Under the Tree My Lady of Dawn Catalogued The Price of Absence . A Valentine . Art Institute Memories From Season to Season The Circus . Procrastination Fact Versus Fancy A Bachelor's Valentine The Maid Suburban In the Storm . We Met by Chance Rainy-Day Notes Flattery Triolets of Discretion When' Pay Day Comes . The Ring and the Heart A Place of Refuge Years After . Without Avail Piqued Would Be More Than Kin May and June . Chloe's Valentine Rondel— The Wood-Thrus Miss Diplomacy . A Valentine . Absence The Wedding-Time . A Christmas Wish My Valentine . At Graduation On the Street Across the Way . The Promenade If I Propose Kyrielle Her Letter Lays that Please Horace to Lydia A Lost Talisman Horace to Leuconoe page 'i 6i 64 65 66 69 70 71 73 74 77 78 II 81 82 8S 86 ^7 88 89 90 91 93 94 95 96 97 99 100 lOI 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 no III 112 "3 114 The Eclipse Madrigal At the Gate . . . Horace to Lydia Horace to Chloe Horace to Lydia . A Wail .... At the Concert . Same Old Sonnet Villanelle A Game of Tennis . Night Thoughts . Secrets .... St. Patrick's Day Warning My Lady An Autumn Carol The Dance Alone with Jane . Simple English page lis xi6 \\l 119 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 BALLADES AND RONDEAUS Ballade of the Mediocre ' Ballade of the Comic Muse Ballade of Old Navies A Valentine Ballade Harvest Apples . On Sunday Morn An Appeal . Come Kiss Me, Dear Behind the Scenes Be Wise in Time With Rod and Reel When One is Old In After Years . O Rose of June A Duplicate Game The Social Swim To You 1 Turn . In Lenten Garb When One Is Young The Rush and Whirl To Make One Song The Backward Look A Good Cigar 135 137 139 141 143 146 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 156 158 160 161 162 SONNETS Sleep . At Eighty Years A Trust I Keep Iack Frost Labor 164 165 166 167 To THE First Robin Calliope Erato Terpsichore Euterpe . Thalia Clio Broken Bonds The Mask of Mirth Woodland June . October . page i68 169 170 171 172 173 174 176 177 178 NATURE Midsummer Days Konuel .... Song of the Thistledrift The Lost Butterfly When the Cows Comb Home Chant of the Spring Rain In the Fading Year At Sunset Gay Spring Returns Spring Comes A-Calling . The Spring Fever 182 185 187 188 190 192 193 194 BITS OF CHILDHOOD Sleep Song Winter Butterflies Fairy Castles Sleep Song of Motherhood The First Year Star Tr a.cks The Toy Soldier's Valentine When Mary Sings The Nursery Sage . Going Away Army Diet A New Woman 196 196 197 198 199 200 202 203 205 206 207 10 Dear stranger, step Inside my shop; I have some curiosities To interest you if you stop — Rare antiques and monstrosities; Round masks with features humorous, A few with looks tyrannical; New toys, and nicknacks numerous. And some of them mechanical. Of posies, too, 1 have a few. Still fragrant of the country side; Also some laces — old and new — And woven patterns long and wide; Some girlish portraits that fnay chance To glance at you demurely; Some relics of old-time romance. All packed away securely. Of course I have sweetmeats to sell; My ginger dainties are unique. And all my goods are fresh and smell Of savory flavors far to seek. If chance you wish to patronize My shop, here'' s welcome to you; But if you should my wares despise. Pass on — / ' // never rue you! II POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION Love is a wanderer, wayward seeming. Like a bee that roams o'er the flowered plain; But aye with an eagerness almost pain He flies to his nest for rest and dreaming. On fancy's zephyrs, his gold hair streaming Like sunlight sifted through rifts of rain. Love is a wanderer, wayward seeming; But ever he comes to his own again! Cometh he, then, with his sweet eyes gleaming With a passionate joy he would not restrain; With increased treasure he comes amain. Love is a wanderer, wayward seeming. Like a bee that roams o'er the flowered plain. 13 at tt)e Sbm of tibf dMnqtx ^slv patience I put her letter by, because. With dimming eyes, I needs must pause To fashion somewhat of her smile From memory, a little while; To feel again the gentle touch That made me wonder overmuch If such a soft caress of love Were not for ransomed ones above. Instead of for my earthly bliss — This handclasp sweeter than a kiss. I put her letter by a bit To muse and marvel over it. As something rare beyond the ken Of common thought and mortal men; As something that the tender years Have traced with not ungrateful tears. 14 Stenti'ment anti l^efiwtion A sweet good-by, it is, to say- She '11 meet me "later in the day." And still I wait! And still I wait! The years have gone — the day is late I • A shrine of myrtle for her dust — A letter yellowed with the rust Of tears — a prayer to understand Her signal from the Peaceful Land. I put her letter by! — I know Its promise will be kept, and, so. Through misty eyes my soul shall smile And wait in patience yet awhile. €omj)en$?atton In the night of doubt and error Life assumes a shape of terror. Beside which death seems joy indeed; But in the dawn of truth and faith Despair becomes a helpless wraith — A cloud that shades us in our need. 15 at tf)e Sbm of t|)e (SJiitflcc gar iSl^ap ^ong The ardent woodbird seeks his mate And tells his hopes in trembling song; Dear love, my heart, no less elate. Sings of you all day long! The woodbird shapes his fragile nest Among the branches, leafless yet. Nor fears the maple will forget To shelter well its guest. I have no mansion grand for you; My hands must rear the home we share; With life so young, our nest so new. And love to make it fair. May we not trust that time will bring The richer shelter — that the days Will ever higher hopes upraise. And still our hearts may sing? The woodbird' s faith is firm and high; Joy wingeth ever by his side; Sweetheart, with your dear presence nigh, I fear not storm or tide. i6 Sentiment antr i^cflecti'on The summer cometh to eclipse With bloom and green the striving soil; Your smile shall garnish all my toil. And heaven kiss my lips! 3llftermatf) We laughed and loved as the summer went. And were content; We sighed when love and the year grew cold. That year of old. 'Twixt the laugh and the sigh was a paradise Aglow with the light of your radiant eyes — A place of cloudless dreams and skies. Till we were wise! Still summer comes with its balminess. But my heart brims over with vague distress; I miss the summer past and, yes. Your old caress. Dear love of old, is your heart as true As mine to you? Is to-day the past's equivalent — Are you content? 17 at tf^t Sififn of tt)f ©iitflcr fat ^erenatie From mountain heights fair Echo calls And bids the world rejoice; Thus on my thought's high places falls The echo of your voice. In cavern deeps the crystal light Of day seems strangely fair; Your love illumines my heart's sad night. As if God placed it there. The south wind comes with its caress. And joy springs into bloom; Your kisses melt my cold distress And rose-tint all its gloom. The myriad stars of night's vast blue Are spotless and divine; Each represents a gift that you Possess, sweetheart of mine. I have no kingly realm — no gold — No hosts at my command; Yet all the world is mine to hold. When I but hold your hand. i8 Sentiment antr i^eflection A minstrel's frail, discordant notes Are all my lips can give; My love would fill a thousand throats With song that aye should live. % ^tt^mtatim Here 's a clove carnation, dear. Brightest blossom of the year; Short of stalk, but blooming well In my overcoat lapel. Let me put it in your hair. Like a kiss imprinted there — Like a blushing, shy caress. Simply that — and nothing less ! 'T is of color hard to tell; Say a scarlet-cardinal. Flaming with the fragrant fire Of a devotee's desire. Take it, lady, as a seal Of the interest I feel — Summer's token, and the same Of my heart's consuming flame ! 19 at tijf SSm of tf)e dMnqtx fat parting J)ong The moon elves dance upon the lake; The laughing wave crests lilt in play; A balmy zephyr blows to take My love away! My love, who sails across the tide In search of gold and gear for me — My love, and all my world beside — Across the sea! The night is spangled bright with dust Of worldshine in a silver shower. O gleaming stars, I put my trust In you this hour! By you my true love steers his bark; By you he pledged his troth to me. Oh, guide him truly to his mark Across the sea. A wild bird flickers through the night With intermittent mournful cry. And my sad spirit mocks its flight With many a sigh. 20 sentiment anti i^cflection Perhaps the wild bird is my heart. For, oh! I know 'tis gone from me — 'Tis gone to take my true love's part Across the sea. Dear zephyr, blow with tenderness. And kiss my dear love's bonny browj Dear stars, give him the long caress I waft you now. O nights, be brief, and brief the days That keep my love away from me. And heart, be near him while he strays Across the sea! Come back, my love, my sailor lad. For gold and gear are worthless dust. My long, long solitude is sad - Come back you must. Come back, sweetheart, on lightning wings. Though bringing but a kiss for me. Your smile is more than wealth of kings Across the sea! 21 at tf)t BiQri of tf)e QMmn far looming ^ong The waves come racing to my boat With messages from you, my love. And all their cadences denote You 're true, my love. Your soldier lad is sailing back To you and to his home again. No more to lead a fierce attack. Or roam again. No gold have I to buy you gear. No treasure save my heart for you. And wealth of kisses — kept, my dear. Apart for you. But ah! I know your hair is gold And turquoise are your eyes, my own. And in your love a worth untold There lies, my own. The tumult of the war has passed. The nations are at peace, my sweet; The tumult in my heart doth fast Increase, my sweet. 22 sentiment antj l^eflection For all the way is long and lone That I must travel yet to you. And oh! I hunger to the bone To get to you' My dearest one, be kind and wait As truly as I sigh for you. For I should deem it happy fate To die for you. My shoulder-straps and brave success Shall gather fame about you, dear. But they are less than nothingness Without you, dear. ocean, bear me back with speed To greet the girl who waits for me. And fortune fashion to my need The fates for me! 1 ask no gift beyond the ken Of humbleness — I miss my love; I only ask to see, and then. To kiss my love. 23 at if}t SCflrt of ifit ©(ttfler gar €i)e Etbtng l^oice Her voice! Like a tone from a thread of gold On a shield of silver it thrills the soul — Like the sigh of the sea when the night is old And the dawn star floats in its purple bowl — Like the crooning night adrift in the spray Of crimson and gold on the shores of day! Her voice, like a theme of passionate things — Like a song in a dream of delight, unguessed — Like the mythical music of angels' wings. Seems like a strain from a hymn of the blessed — Seems like an echo of the voice of her The first man loved as a worshiper! May her dear voice sing to me so through the years. With its melody marvelous, always new — With its music, distilled of delight and tears. As the days are dark or the skies are blue — May it be such a song as Eve first sung To the love of her love when the world was young! 24 Sbtntimmt ariH ^tfitttion 0^emorti When first we quaffed love's jeweled cup Its golden nectar, bitter-sweet. Seemed sparkling with life's ardent heat In deathless brilliance flaming up. We vowed the future should not hold A joy, a grief, a hope unshared By our twin souls, and calmly dared The Fates to make our love turn cold. An empty cup, upturned, I keep — A broken trinket, jewel-set — No more with brimming nectar wet; No more with fragrant promise deep. We drained the glass too fast, I fear; We vowed too often and too much. And so, we find we may not touch The thrilling draught once rich and near. Still, in the broken cup I prize A gleaming jewel that outshines The glow of love's resplendent wines. The passion of your magic eyes. 25 ^t tJ)e S)m of (fje dMriQtx fat *Tis memory, set in burnished gold. And burning with a changeless fire Caught from love's slowly fading pyre; The sunset of the days of old. J>toeet ong For the sake of the song would I sing to-day. As the goldfinch warbles its notes awing. As the brown thrush hides in the brush to sing And the bluebird pipes in the fields of May. Let the prophet voices preach and pray Where the wheels and heels of traffic ring; For the sake of the song would I sing to-day As the goldfinch warbles its notes awing. Ay, free as the mist in a sun-kissed bay. When the dawn peeps over the hills of spring. Would my soul rise high to its caroling — For the sake of the song would I sing to-day. As the goldfinch warbles its notes awing! 29 at t^t Sbm oi tije (ffiingfc gat €i)e €remolo I have seen her to-night in a vision. Pour out from her beautiful hands A torrent of music elysian That my innermost self understands. In a whirlpool of harmonic rapture My senses were swept with delight. And my heart, singing loud at its capture. Became her glad captive to-night. With the joy of a sanctified spirit I cling to the glorious dream; And the song — I forever shall hear it. And thrill with the throb of its theme! For the trend of its cadence uplifted My mind from the sordid and vile. Till my soul seemed unfettered, and drifted At peace in the dawn of her smile. Oh, those hands so insistent and slender! Would they nestle in mine at repose? Oh, her face, so bewitching, so tender. And sweet as the first fragile rose ! 30 Sentiment anli i^eflection Will it ever light up with high pleasure To greet me, to welcome, caress? Would she be my dear love and my treasure? I doubt, in distress. 0tqfytmqalt'0 ^ttmaht A song in my heart pipes ever and ever So sweet ! So sweet ! But a song that my voice may never, ah ! never Repeat ! repeat ! Oh, the love of my love is in every beat Of the song that my voice may never repeat. My sweet ! My sweet ! Over your bower I sing tonight. My own ! My own ! But the song is a wraith of our old delight. For lone, alone ! I flutter and sigh in the starry zone, I flutter and sing alone, alone. My own ! My own ! 31 at tfje ^m of tf)t ©mger fat 31 O^utrance When rhymsters prate With words elate Of sweethearts upright and sedate, And warble of The ones they love As if they hailed from realms above, The wise enough have eyes enough To sec through all that sort of stuff. Say, why should I sing of an angel of light When my heart is aflame with the fires of earth; When the girl I adore is a sprite of the night — Just a child of the flesh in a garment of mirth ? Away with conventional praises, and such ! To the thrill of her kiss will I fashion my song; To the passionate glance of her eyes and the clutch Of her beautiful arms, so insistent and strong ! To the maid of my dreams, when to dream is to live With the red pulse resistlessly making the pace. Will I drain this ripe cup of my wishes, and give The whole of my soul for a single embrace ? 32 sentiment antj i^eflwtion Nay, lisp me no words of a love that is calm. Of devotion that feeds upon cereal food; 'T is the hypocrite's song, and I long for the psalm Of my dear when she calls in her amorous mood. You will find her, I know, in the drawing-room's glare. Where she poses, immaculate, sexless and wise. Save for the red glow that burns low in her hair And the imperious gleam of her glorious eyes. But, at last, when the flight of the dance is at best. Ah ! Then will I hold her, and mold her, and tease; And she 'II tremble and glow like the rose at her breast — Like an ardent red rose in a tropical breeze ! 33 ^t tijf Sign of tlje ©ingei 3Jac ^l)e €amc to ^t She came to me Like a vision of immortality ! Out of the night Of my sorrowful search and earthly blight; She came like a dream of the far-off sea That silvers the shores of eternity — God's angel came. And my soul leaped high in a vestal flame. But my face burned red With the scarlet fires of new-lit shame; For sweet were the loving words she said. And pure the trust I read in her eyes; For lo ! she was love's great sacrifice ! There in the night Of my evil past she sang to me — Sang to my heart of a new delight; And never a word could I make reply. And never a word could I answer why; For my shame choked high and death became A coveted balm to soothe my shame ! 34 SentCment antj i^eflection She sang of love that purifies Till my soul, at the gates of paradise, Burned white in the light of her golden eyes. And the past was lost in the radiant flame ! I^orace to €{)Ioe (Book I., Ode XXIII.) Nay, Chloe, child ! be not so wild. Nor, like a frightened fawn, thus fly me! No wild beast I to rend you — why, I 'm harmless, dear one, only try me ! No young doe strayed in hill-top glade. Far from its mother, would be wilder Than you are now; and yet, I vow. My wishes hardly could be milder ! So, Chloe, dear, pray do not fear. But heed my harmless tendernesses And learn that you may well eschew A mother's care for Love's caresses ! 35 at tf^t 5ifl»i of ti)e ^inQtt fat 2Dap 2DreamiB? What time is like the glad springtime, When all the trees are green and shady. And whisper with a balmy chime Above where you 're asleep, my lady? What dreams are like the sweet day-dreams That drift into your sylvan bower, Waywardly, like the light that gleams In intermittent golden shower? What song is like the wild bird's note That lilts from where he sings above you? The song he sings with swelling throat But tells, sweetheart, how much I love you. The arbor vine its tendrils throws Across your hammock softly swinging, And from your curls a faded rose Has dropped and in the grass is clinging. What wonder that the arbor vine Should strive to clasp its arms about you? What wonder that the rose should pine And droop and die at last without you? 36 Sintim^nt antr i^pawti'on With bashful touch the zephyr twines Its fingers in your tangled tresses. Near where your red lips' curving lines Reflect the sunlight's warm caresses. The sunlight steals you kisses, dear; To do the same I have a craving. The zephyr has your curls, I fear; But one, I hope, for me you 're saving. Awake, my love! the dial's hand Is racing toward the evening hours. Awake and leave the wonderland Of dreams for this fair world of flowers. €f)e ^lace of S^op The pilgrim sought the garden of delight And wandered through doubt's desert lands and night. Until, heartsore and broken by the quest. He moaned the cynic's creed of earthly blight. Then spake the Voice: **Be satisfied and rest; Then will the long-sought goal be manifest — Joy blooms not in the vale or on the height Until contentment blossoms in the breast." 37 at tJje Sifln of tf^t ©mfier far Eite ^entiente The leaves lie dead about my feet — Fair summer's mantle cast aside; And shrill the glooming winds repeat The moaning of my heart's sad tide. I know not where the days have sped; I only know that long ago A dear One kissed my lips and fled. The blinding sleet of winter's woe Beats on me with a friendly touch. And mingles with my tears, that flow Unceasingly and overmuch — A joy of old each tear I shed; But may it be through tears I '11 see The sunshine and be comforted? Dead, all the bloom and harvest time. And all the hopes and high delight; And, over all, the fatal rime Of winter's chill and love's sad night- Oh, tell me, lost one! dost thou tread The joyous ways of perfect days. Or art thou, as thou seemest, dead? 38 SStntimtnt antJ i^eflection a^p ^oor l^eigPoc My neighbor hath a lordly pile — A palace reared of polished stone. In which he lives in lavish style. Alone. I look upon his wealth and smile In rare content, while on my knee A wee one rides and crows at me — My own! My neighbor's is a regal place; But, oh! it hath no laughing face Of childhood there for sympathy. My neighbor's garden blooms are fine; They rise in hedges topped with gold. And all their radiance is mine. I see their blossom sheaths unfold; I breathe their fragrance day by day. And, aye, they nod and smile my way. Though I be poor. My neighbor's lawn is green and wide. And here and there a lofty tree With spreading arms stands to divide Its store of graceful shade with me; 39 at tf^t 5ign of i^t ©inger far And oh! I'm sure That when the verdant days are gone New charms will greet me from the lawn! My neighbor hath a host of cares. For he must guard his costly wares And golden hoard; While I, crowned with domestic bliss. May gain a fond parental kiss He can't afford. I and my neighbor never meet. An alley separates our lands; My house is in a modest street. His on the drive — see, there he stands! Poor man; he's naught but gold and gear; While I have home — and you, my dear! 40 S)tntimmt mti Kefiecti'on follies of tfje Wi^t A man is a fool in his youth, my son. And none is wise till his course be run; For a woman's eyes or the gleam of gold Will dazzle his wits till he 's old — so old! And the flirt of a skirt or the thrill of a song Will soften his heart for long — so long! And a woman's sighs or a woman's tears Will make him a slave for years and years. A man is a fool at worst — and best — And his life is a grim and a guilty jest. With a gush of joy or a gasp of pain. And the round of his labor, and over again; But his toil grows less and his griefs depart When he feels the throb of a comrade heart. And his life is a beautiful vision while He lives in the light of a loved one's smile. A man is a fool, for his pride and greed Will take him beyond his farthest need. And the bauble of wealth or the bubble fame Will he seek to his grief or lasting shame; 41 at tf)e ^(fln of tf)c (Singer far But a woman's love is of all the earth Man's rightful gift and of greatest worth. And who studies the world in his dear love's eyes Is happy indeed, and wise — so wise! 311 Cljifti iiEf 2B>oni "A child is born!" the magi cried, and then The Voice spake sofdy in the hearts of men: "A child is born whose heritage is such That he who sees and knows must love Him much. And he who doth obey this Prince of Peace Shall know the law that rules the soul's increase. The Many saw the Child but turned away And said: "A plaything for an idle day!" The Few looked in his eyes and saw therein The sum of life and death, of good and sin. Then spake the Voice: "This is the Savior — Love, Lord of the earth beneath and heaven above." 43 Sbtntimtnt antj ^tfitctian ^n mh Eatip I know an old lady of over fourscore. Who is sweet as the blossoms that bloom by her door. Though the frost of her winters has silvered her hair. It still has some lusterful shadows to spare; And the light that burns low in her spectacled eyes Will often blaze up in a way to surprise; For there 's youth in her heart, though there 's age in her face. And her mind retains all of its maidenly grace. This charming old lady resides in a town Where the flowers look up and the maples look down. And the homes have their orchards and vineyards and lawns. And the days have most radiant sunsets and dawns; There 's a maundering river that ceaselessly rills And a lake like an opal set low in the hills; There 's a one-story cot in an old apple grove. And there lives this darling old lady I love. The yield of her low-laden trees and her vines Is rarer than tropical fruits and fine wines; 43 at tf)( S(fln of if)t BinQtt fat For she gives it a flavor with smile and kind thought That is free as the sunshine, but cannot be bought. Her flowers grow gayly in shadow or sun. But the rose in her cheek is the prettiest one. And her delicate heart that has blossomed for years Sheds fragrance distilled from her joys and her tears. ^IIeli5ion ** My heart is dead to love," I said. And then in study bowed my head; But where I sought the higher thought I found that loveless life was naught. In starry sphere or frailest spear Of grass was love, serene and clear; Then, on the clod where grief had trod, I knelt in fervent love of God. 44 sentiment anti Meflcction Walt IBljitman [A Monologue.] I am no slender singing bird That feeds on puny garden seed! My songs are stronger than those heard In ev'ry wind-full, shallow reed! My pipes are jungle-grown and need A strong man's breath to blow them well; A strong soul's sense to solve their spell And be by their deep music stirred. My voice speaks not, in lisping notes. The madrigals of lesser minds! My heart tones thunder from the throats Of throbbing seas and raging winds; And yet, the master-spirit finds The tenderness of mother earth Is there expressed, despite the dearth Of tinkle tunes like dancing motes! My hand strokes not a golden lyre Threaded with silver — spider spun! The strings I strike are strands of fire. Strung from Earth's center to the Sun! 45 ^t tije Sbm of tl)e (Ifimgct far Thrilled deep with passion, ev'ry one! With songs of forest, corn, and vine; Of rushing water, blood, and wine; Of man's conception and desire! But listen, comrade! This I say: In all of all I give my heart! With lover's voice I bid you stay To share with me the better part Of all my days! nights! thoughts! and start With far-spread arms to welcome you. And we will shout a song so true That it shall ring for aye and aye. ^acriftce There are no heights we may not reach; There are no depths we may not touch; And aye the Sacred Voice shall teach: "Who rises high shall forego much! " For long I wooed my First Desire — It foiled me in its teasing flight; And then I left it, to aspire — It came and joined me on the Height! 46 sentiment anti i^eflectton l^octum Whispering voice of the modest night. Soft as the sigh of a falling leaf. Sad like the sob of a new-born grief Lulled in the bosom of delight; Voice of the starry wilderness. Lost in the ancient aisles of light — Lingering there in a museful flight — Speak to me now with your old caress. Voice of the night and voice of my own. Kiss from my soul its wan distress; Lull my heart to joy's excess With the charm of a lover's monotone! Is it a dream, this voice serene. Whispering down from the starry zone. Crooning of love for me alone — Love of my love for my heart's dead queen? Speak to me, voice of the years untold. Echo the thoughts of your olden trust. Of men and women turned to dust And nations lost in burial mold. 47 at tije Sign of tf^t QStinQU 3ax Speak to me out of the dreamful past. When life was a song from a hoop of gold. And say, O night! shall mine eyes behold The face of my love again — at last? €rue Hobe'^ lUetDarti Love, walking in the garden of the king. Beheld a queenly lily blossoming. Then fondly stooped to pluck it for his breast; But said the Voice: **Is this thy cherishing?" **Behold !" the Voice spake on; "Love's truest test Would leave the blossom where it thrives the best." So Love bent down and kissed the chaste, white thing. And lo ! the king made him an honored guest. 48 Btntimmt antJ UtfLutian €8e 2Dap'jef €nh Boys, I 've been out in the clearin' Choppin' up some second-growth. And, I swan, it's mighty cheerin' When the frost is interferin' With yer seein' and yer hearin' And yer natchral feelin's, both. To hear yer sister's voice a-callin': ** Supper, pa; the boys is all in! " Then I drop my ax and listen, Makin' out I didn't hear. For I knew a voice like this 'n^ Which fer years I've been a-missin'. And I seem to catch the glisten Of two girlish eyes — it 's queer. But yer ma lives in yer sister As she was when first I kissed her. You remember her as turnin* Thirty odd, and all wore out; But them days when we was burnin* Walnut firewood and earnin' 49 at tf)e Sign of t\)t (Singer far This old farm jest sets me yearnin' That the years could turn about And yer ma would call me to her From the days when first I knew her. Seems to me I didn't treat her With the care I should have took; Such a faithful wife, and neater Than a hummin' bird, and sweeter — God forgive me! if I meet her There, she '11 wear a lovin' look And forgive me — she '11 be callin': *' Come in, pa, the night is fallin' ! " faitl) In thought's black caves the wanderer cries: "Bring forth a light to feed mine eyes. That on the husks of darkness starve ! The light ! the light ! O God, the Wise !" And then the Voice speaks, calm and low: " My son, thine eyes would perish so; The light is fierce and blinds the weak. Grope with thy hands and thou shalt know !" 50 Sentiment anti i^eflection #ber t^t Wap Over the way of your dreams, my boy. Are wondrous things for your eyes to see. And wonderful paths to a world of joy. And the marvelous land of the Ought-to-Be. There is gold in the dust that your feet will tread. And diamonds gleam on the wayside grass. And wreaths of laurel to grace your head Hang waiting to crown you as you pass. There are marble castles and broad estates. And servants to every wish fulfill. And armored hosts at the castle gates Stand ready and eager to do your will. There are living springs to renew your youth. And dreamful shades for your least repose. And breezes to fan you with love and truth. And gardens that blossom like the rose. 51 at tf)c Sijin of tte ©ingec far There are wildwoods ringing with songs of birds; There arc sumptuous feasts where friends are met To greet you with tender and honest words. And never a theme that you might regret. Ah! over the way of your dreams it lies — This land of the Ought-to-Be, so fair; This paradise of the cloudless skies. Where the Best and Right are everywhere. Your childhood lives in this happy land. And the loved ones lost in the years ago In the glow of the glorious sunlight stand And tenderly beckon you there, I know. What care if your present path is bleak And the shadows clutch at your garments' hem? It 's over the way that your soul must seek For the light that will ever banish them. Just over the way of your dreams, my boy. Are wondrous things for your eyes to see. And wonderful paths to a world of joy And the marvelous land of the Ought-to-Bc. 52 Sentiment antj Utfitttion €&e 3ta-eft JJope Lord, in the gloom of my distress. When every earthly hope is fled. When joy within my heart lies dead. Nor Love may give me one caress — Then, Father, from the caves of Grief My chastened spirit seeks release; My soul pines for celestial peace Within Thy Temple of Belief ! Oh, fail me not, thou Christian God, As human promises have failed! I have not fled when sore assailed, I have not flinched beneath the Rod; For, in each scathing stroke of Fate, Has come to me Thy sacred Hope, A faith that bids me, though I grope In darkness still, to trust — and wait. And this last hope I keep, and dare The torments of life's heartless feud; The tortures of the devil's brood. The stinging serpents of despair; 53 ^t t!)e S^i'gn of tf^t (dinger ^at Jehovah Thou must be! — to steal The soul of man to bear his cross. Else Earth and Time were less than dross. And "death" were Life's supreme appeal. 3Fure 2Dtbmo Love is a draught from the lily's cup With summer's sweetness brimming up; Love is the tremulous, happy note That wells from the thrush's swelling throat; Love is the dawn, with its heart of fire High flaming with a great desire; Love is the sigh of the sea, the call To the clouds from the wandering waterfall — And oh, in the dawn, in the summer and sea Sings ever the love of my Love to me ! 54 VERSES PLAYFUL AND HUMOROUS Hark, the very birds are singing, *' Josephine ! " And within my heart is ringing ** Josephine! " Till my senses, all a-chime. Keep repeating, time and time, ** Have you seen Josephine, Sweet, sweet, pretty, sweet Josephine ? *' O, she wears a crown of gold, Josephine, Though she isn *t very old, Josephine; But she 's growing, day by day. And we know that, anyway. She 's a Queen Josephine — Sweet, sweet, pretty, sweet Josephine. 55 ^t tf)t S>m of t^e (Bfinger far In your kingdom there are many, Josephine, And I am as poor as any, Josephine; But the bounty of your smile Would increase my wealth a pile — Won't you smile on me a while, Josephine — Sweet, sweet, petite Josephine ? 2Doflp in tl)e Msdn When Dolly tiptoed in the rain The shameless sun peeped out to see — Well, certain charming things were plain When Dolly tiptoed in the rain! I peeped out, too; but with disdain The saucy maiden glanced at me. When Dolly tiptoed in the rain The shameless sun peeped out to see. 56 ^lagful anti J^umorous ^^ Sati|i of <^a^ttt The lilies that lean by the altar Are pale as My Lady appears. And the notes of the choristers falter And fall on unlistening ears. For her face is more luring and fairer Than the loveliest lily unfolded. And her grace is more rhythmical, rarer. Than by music e'er molded. In the pride of her piety, stately. Unbending, she moves in the aisle. With eyes looking downward sedately. With lips uncaressed by a smile. She's a saint, from the sole of her sandal To the crown of her burnished bronze hair- With my heart on her shrine for a candle I'd worship her there. Well I know why all nature aspires And spring's jewels we crush at our feet. Why the sun spills the gold of its fires And it lies unobserved in the street — 57 at tf)p Sbm of tfit a&inger ^ax 'Tis because from her saintly seclusion My Lady emerges, reborn. To dazzle, and dare our intrusion. And lure us with scorn. She comes with her heritage olden; Like a sorceress swaddled in smiles She will charm us again, unbeholden To aught but her womanly wiles. She bewilders and blinds, and her voice is Like a heavenly promise enthralling. We adore her and — well, she rejoices That love is our calling! €rioIet The days pass by and still I wait. With all my love for you unspoken. I dally with relentless fate ; The days pass by and still I wait In hope that from your high estate You '11 give me some assuring token. The days pass by and still I wait. With all my love for you unspoken. 5S ^lagful antf ?^umorous %n ''mn la^aiti ff There's a spinster of thirty-some years whose abode Is at number some hundreds in Sheridan road. And the peach-and-cream lassies who live thereabout Trip by in gay dresses with many a flout. And giggle and whisper they're "really afraid" This time-tempered lady will die an *'old maid"! Great heavens! just think what a terrible fate — To live and to die a forlorn celibate! Now, the worst of all this is the evident truth That this "lone" maiden lady keeps much of her youth. Seems ever contented and never to fret. And laughs and is gay as if free from regret! There are men at her elbow and men at her feet. And men in fine turn-outs wait out in the street; But, alas! this poor lady will certainly grow Much older, and she is unmarried, you know! Too bad! 'T is a pity! She's such a nice girl — Or spinster — a man must, indeed, be a churl Who would fail to discover her beauty and charm! 59 at tf)t ^m of tf)c ©tnger 3^t Still, the oddest of all is she shows no alarm For this horrible fate that impends — can it be That she'd rather not marry? She said so to me — This is quite confidential: I asked for her hand And she didn't seem just to — well, you understand! €lje 23e^t i^ame When writing verses, dear, to you. As swains enamored often do. No matter then what name I use To keep you in a fair disguise From idly prying public eyes. There is one privilege I choose: Whatever name, or famed or fine. You bear, I still must call you Mine. 60 ^lapful ana ?^umorou0 Wit^ 2Dat3ESp in t^t Main There are many occupations Which may fascinate and charm By their pleasing operations And their teasing spice of harm; There is sitting in a street car With a lady in the aisle. When you hide behind your paper With a guileful, guilty smile. But this truth is very plain To my mildly maddened brain. There is nothing to compare, . Any time or anywhere. To walking home with Daisy in the rain. When the scintillating shower Drizzles in the dingy street. There 's a certain subtle power In pedestrians you meet. There 's a tantalizing promise In each lowly lifted dress That is apt to keep you dodging Like a shadow, I confess. 6i at tf)t Sign of tf)t CSiitfler far But how easy to restrain All the ardor that you feign For the stranger, when you find That your journey is confined To walking home with Daisy in the rain. While from street to street you wander. With her little dimpled hand Resting on your arm, you ponder If she Ml ever understand Why you like a small umbrella Hardly large enough for two. And you make the journey longer Than you really ought to do. And you hardly can refrain From attempting to explain What the trouble is about; But you always, always doubt When walking home with Daisy in the rain. 62 ^lagful anti J^umocous M>om (iBxape^ I never cared the least for Lou, Of course; and yet I listened to Her girlish chatter With pleasure that suggested quite A charming quest for one who might Take up the matter. I will admit I saw the child And kissed her hand — whereat she smiled - Well, almost daily; But Lou was passing sweet and young. And then, you know, she laughed and sung. Ah me ! so gayly ! I kissed her hand, and more, perhaps; But just to pique the younger chaps Who were so plenty. Well — I am one-and-forty now, While Lou — dear me, I must allow She's won, and twenty! 63 ^t tfie Sifltt of tf^t (Smsec far That gawky son of Banker Rich Has gained the dimpled prize for which The town was sighing. And I — I have the cards she sent. A woman's modes of punishment Are very trying. JHontiei You pass beneath my window, dear. Garbed in your suit of modest brown; You don't look up, but I look down. Half in delight and half in fear. Fear that you might behold me here And greet my glances with a frown — You pass beneath my window, dear. Garbed in your suit of modest brown. Alas, 't is truly most severe That you, of all the girls in town. Should be to me a Proper Noun — No more! though daily through the year You pass beneath my window, dear. 64 ^lagful ant J^umorous Jji^er ^ohm wm I know, alas, fair dame, that you May well deride this slender ditty. And laugh to scorn the rhymester who Now scorns to laugh, more is the pity! But Cupid treats me with disdain When in your neat suburban cottage; And so his favor I would gain By means of this small bit of pottage. I met you first at Madame Fine's And watched your dancing through the german. Your feet were lighter than her wines; You juggled with my heart like — Herrmann! You wore a flower coronet Whose blooms were dimmed by those below it; The blossoms crowned you queen, and yet You needed no such mark to show it. Your white arms were twin scepters such As no queen ever had save Venus; And could I once but feel their touch No monarch would dare come between us! 65 at tf)t Sifin of tf^t ©inflec gfac And this, dear queen, is what I ask — Nor could a vassal wish be fairer — On bended knee I pray the task: Oh, let me be your scepter-bearer! What a gay array of hats! Some are mysteries, but that's Josephine's! I'm certain, by the crown — Not a smarter one in town — It's a queen's! Yet it only gives a trace Of the grace and charm of face Which it shades. For our Josephine is sweet As the rarest bloom you '11 meet. Ere it fades. Underneath the hat she knows She *s as winsome as a rose In a bower Where the sun and shade coquet- Oh! how I would love to get Such a flower! 66 ^lagful anti J^umotous €rioleti0f S^ntier tje €ttt^ Out under the trees There are wonderful fancies. When one is at ease. Out under the trees. All the world seems to please Like your sweet, roguish glances. Out under the trees There are wonderful fancies. In some of them, dear, I dream that you love me; But I tremble and fear In some of them, dear. That you 're fickle, and veer Like the gay leaves above me. In some of them, dear, I dream that you love me. In the tree is a nest. Where a mother-bird hovers. With a song in her breast. In the tree is a nest; 67 at ifit Sifin of tf)t ©iitflft; far And is this not the best For birds, dear, or lovers? In the tree is a nest Where a mother-bird hovers. My roof-tree, my sweet. Has a nest I have made you. To this sheltered retreat — My roof-tree, my sweet — Will you come — from the heat Of the world it will shade you? My roof-tree, my sweet. Has a nest I have made you. From my heart a love song Shall I sing for your pleasure; Yes, all our life long. From my heart a love song Shall gush pure and strong In victorious measure. From my heart a love song Shall I sing for your pleasure. 68 ^lagful &nti ^^umovoug flt^p HaUp of 2Dattjn She pattered down the garden walk And hummed an ancient ballad; She paused, and sighed, and plucked a stalk Of lettuce for the salad! My Lady rises with the day. The Morning runs to greet her; But vexed Diana flies away — The "Maid is so much sweeter! Down flowered paths My Lady trips On trimmest feet and slender. Her gown held up by finger tips Like roses, pink and tender. She lifts her skirts so prettily And shows such ankles, truly, I long to comment wittily And praise perhaps unduly. With laughter in her wooing voice She sings, and all around her The song birds of the Dawn rejoice Because, at last, they 've found her. 69 ^t if)t Sign of tf)c BinQtx far Where'er she treads the grasses bow Devotedly before her With gifts of jeweled dew — I trow She has one more adorer! The blossoms are old-fashioned — yes. And she the rarest of them. She plucks them, and — I must confess- Because they 're hers I love them. Catalogueti **What is love like?" you ask. I guess Love wears a chic, beribboned dress Of softest, lightest, sunny blue — The very kind that best suits you. Love has a bonny smile, a face That mirrors every maiden grace. Gray eyes that read my dearest thought. Hair from the golden sunshine caught. And charms too numerous to tell. Save that they make us love her well. In fact, you know — of course you do — That love is you! 70 ^lagful antr ?^umorous €|)e ^rice of W^^tntt He writes: '*In spite of summer's green. The town has lost its diarm, Nadine, Since you migrated; The drive is wan, the flower beds Seem lonely, and their drooping heads Emaciated, Their dewy blooms were fair to see When last you smiled on them — and me! "1 '11 swear the sky was bluer then. But now — I don't see it till ten — My ' blues ' outdo it. I think you might come back at least A week to cheer a lonely beast — You 'd never rue it! That Norton girl, the chic brunette With saucy eyes, is with us yet. "Of course I see her more or less; The town is talking some, I guess — 71 at tfit Sign of tfit <&inQtt 3Jac These gossips bore one! She's good enough when you're away. But you know well that, come who may, I still adore one/ I haven't seen Miss N to-night. And have, at last, a chance to write." MORAL Poor man must be amused One way or t'other, And suns one maid is used To court another ! 72 i^lagful antj ?^umorou0 % t^alentme Here 's a heart for you, lady, which Cupid Has used for a target; the dart That remains is the last one the stupid Winged at it — impaled it — poor heart ! The arrow is topped with a feather You wore in that ravishing hat When first we went walking together; Now, truly, what think you of that ? The rest of the missile discloses A shaft of your wit, with a tip As fine as the tint of your roses And bright as the red of your lip. Is Cupid your archer, then, tell me ? If he aims by the light of your eyes He needs must shoot true and compel me To fall at your feet as a prize. As a valentine, lady, I send you The dart, and the heart that it struck; In return I implore and intend you To give me your own for — good luck ! 73 at tfit S^iQU of tf)e ©mger far And then, I 'm so grasping and greedy. Another arrangement I 've planned; That, in manner befitting and speedy. You '11 give me your wee little hand. 3Ilrt gPn^titute a^emoric^ It seems so long since she and I, Among the throng of passers-by. Stood reading in each other's eyes The secret of love's mysteries. The summer sunlight kissed her lips And filtered through her finger tips As, one by one, they brushed away The curls upon her brow that day. Her fair hair mocked the summer shine. Her cheeks were red as scarlet wine. Her eyes were blue as skies of spring. When all the wilds are blossoming. And yet, withal, she was so fair, I loved and left her hanging there; Because, alas! this charming dame Was but a picture in a frame. 74 ^lagTul anti l^umorous from ^ca^on to ^ea^tfan But yesterday I walked with Fay Among the lilac hedges; We strayed about A mile, no doubt, A-plucking blooms, and — pledges. The day was fair. The lilacs there Seemed nodding gayly to us; The mating birds Piped loving words To us as if they knew us. I held her hand — You understand I did it for protection; We, at each pause. Discussed the laws Of "natural selection." 75 iat tf)e 5)1811 of tijc QUrnQn 3Jai; Hcigho! the year Is not yet sere. And spring but lately tarried; I haunt the hedge. But glean no pledge. For Fay has gone and married! €{)e CircujBf In my purse there was gold. But Grace went to the circus. Till the tickets were sold In my purse there was gold. Ah, 'tis sad to behold How our dear sisters work us! In my purse there was gold. But Grace went to the circus. 76 ^lai)ful anlJ jtt^umocous ^procrastination My Lady wears a big bouquet She calls a bonnet. And, oh! you ought to see the way She dotes upon it. She fluffs it out with gauze cerise And pats each pufF and dainty crease Until I fear she '11 never cease Her unctuous toying. But if I venture to complain She does the whole thing once again. And pouts, and murmurs with disdain: "You 're so annoying! " My Lady's milliner is high In price and standing, And scorns my protests when 1 try. In tones commanding. To make her cut her bill in two; She laughs and answers: "Apres vous! Monsieur! she vears zose charms for you Monsieur's so tasteful! " 77 at ti)e Sifin of tf)f Ginger '^ax *'Vain man! " think I, but pay the bill And let My Lady have her will. Content to hold my tongue until — She grows more wasteful. fact \s€v^u^ f ancp When last I strolled these ways with Grace We chatted of a country place And light expenses; A cottage framed in flower beds. Yard trees of fir — with close-cropped heads — And rustic fences. Then Love was ever to be king And all the days with songs should ring. And we would sing them; Or I might play the rustic squire And read the classics by the fire — If luck would bring them. A market gardener keeps the cot. And beets adorn the garden spot — So much for fancies! Grace wedded, some two years ago, A millionaire — she chanced to know His circumstances! 7S ^lagful antj ?^umorou0 % 25acJjelor*j0i l^almtme If I were younger, Mary Jane Would not so gayly flout me. Or if she did I 'd make it plain She could not do without me. She will not be my valentine. Forsooth, the maids are plenty — I '11 venture that she would be mine If I were one-and-twenty ! Why, forty years ago there were A score I could have married. And every one outfavored her; But then, of course, I tarried Till Ann and Lou and Susie, too. And all the rest, I mind me. Dropped me because, they said, they knew They knew not where to find me. But as it is the Widow Black, Thank heaven, has some reason. And knows that men, like fruit, don't lack In worth if out of season. 79 ^t tf)t ^m of tf)c ©inget far To her I '11 send a billet-doux And state my fortune clearly — Some thousands, I '11 admit to you — And she will love me dearly! I must confess that I 'm afraid To meet the stunning urban maid In all her frills and finery; I fear I 'd love her at first sight. But, in despair, would take to flight And go to a repinery. But in the suburbs there are those Who wear the quaintest quiet clothes. And manners quite to match them. These maids smile sweetly and we love- We love to muse and ponder of Some happy way to catch them. The town girl has a regal way. And, during her triumphant day. Will hardly bear a curb on. She 's urban and she makes things hum. But for to-day and time to come Give me the sweet suburban! 80 ^lagful anti ?^umorous 5Fn tljc ^torm My child, your hero may not be. In truth, a hero all the time; Remember, it must chance that he Shall still have rugged steeps to climb. Don't place him on too high a plane In fancy; then he will not fall In your esteem and may attain To something noble after all. My boy, don't think your sweetheart bears A halo on her golden hair; A crown of purity she wears. And you must help to keep it there. But she will have her trying moods. And be not always kind and sweet; These are life's nerving interludes — Sad pitfalls for unwary feet. You both are far from perfect yet. And quarrels will, unhaply, come — Both may be wrong; so don't forget. In anger's blind delirium, 8i ^t tijc *(Qn oC tl)f e.fmjfi ^iat That sweet concessions each must make And tender promises renew; Or else a loving heart may break Aiul sorrow come to dwell with you. Wc ^f^ft tip €ltanfc Wc nu't \i\ chaiuc! Yes, 1 recall I foiiiul lu-r wailing in the h.ill Of Mine. Dainty's charming flat. She wore a jaunty Dresden hat Above a lace that might enthral An anciiorilc. A gau/.y shawl or while hall hid her charms; and all Tiic vision told nic iliat Wc met by chance! As in an angle ol ihc w.dl She stood -- dressed lor a liniev ball. Perhaps — a blushing shepherdess, With ribboned crook, 1 could but look A love that 1 dared not cximcss. Yet, in her eyes, as from a book, 1 read consent; then walked away, Because tiiis maid 1 met to-day Was porcelain, exquisite, small — Wc met by chance! 83 ^|Jla;i^ul antj }l^umoiou0 iriaiini^2Dap |>otc^ The rasping rain runs duwii (lie pane; The wliolc- liigliway is flooded; The elms sol) low, and weep, althi^ijdi Their leaves wiili gems arc studded. The postman plods with dripping odds And ends (^fmail- I MI warrant Some tender nole (rom parr-i remote Is deluged by the torrent. Some dainty maid, nrj doiilii, (•■.saycd With III mo;, I care and nealnesH I he note to pen, and mailed it, then. In all its pristine sweetness; And fondly she imagines lie Will get it in its glory — The fates vclu the plan, and so 'T is just the same old story! Alas! tlie years must have their tears — Those heart rains so distressing; The storms that mar life's joys and arc Bound aye to kcej) us guessing. 83 at tilt Si'fln of tte (SiinQtt §at The message yet, though soiled and wet, A joyful heart may capture; And may not we through sorrow see. Anon, some hint of rapture? flatterp You tease for a rhyme That will "tickle and flatter"; Must I write every time You tease for a rhyme. Little woman? Well, I 'm Quite enthralled by your chatter • You tease for a rhyme That will "tickle and flatter." 84 ^lapful anil ?^unnn;ou0 €mltt^ of 2Di^cmion She drew her little hand away And, pouting, warned me **not to tease." Was it in truth, or just in play. She drew her little hand away. That rare and radiant summer day. When we sat side by side at ease ? She drew her little hand away And, pouting, warned me not to tease. He drew his little hand away And scanned it with inquiring eyes; Remarking, '♦ It takes five to stay." He drew his little hand away. And left me guessing how to play. The while I stared in awed surprise. He drew his little hand away And scanned it with inquiring eyes. *• Two bluffs were those," perhaps you '11 say. I thought so, too, but did n't ''call"; I did n't clearly see my way. "Two bluffs were those," perhaps you'll say; 85 at t|)e Sifln of ti)t (GXingec ^ax But if they were n't ! — I must betray A shrinking from the "marble fall." *'Two bluffs were those," perhaps you'll say; I thought so, too, but did n't " call." I©l)cn JBap 2Dap €omt^ When pay day comes what transports thrill The o'ercharged soul and seem to fill The whole wide world with blissfulness! Each stranger face smiles a caress; The rustle of the crisp bank bill Sounds sweeter than the blithesome trill Of spring's first songster, and a still. Deep sense of riches we confess V/hen pay day comes. Whereas despair was rife, the skill Of hidden forces works until Our cherished griefs grow strangely less - Are lost in raptures that possess The citadels of mind and will When pay day comes! 86 ^lagful ant» ?^umotouss €lje Mmq anH tjje i^eart This ring I give to you, my dear. Is passing quaint and old and queer; Two golden serpents help enthrone Its deep, seductive heart of stone. Pray, if the golden snakes were gone Might not the jewel heart throb on With sympathetic beat and thrill — Be not, as now, cold, hard and still ? Sometimes about the human heart The serpents play their selfish part. And in the pulseless grip of gold The heart, poor thing, grows hard and cold- A jewel counterfeiting fire And flashing with entranced desire. That nevermore shall find a voice To make some kindred heart rejoice. Then let this talisman, this ring. Save you from such a deadly thing; Beware of golden snakes, and strive To keep your tender heart alive; 87 ^t tf)e Sign of tf)e dinger far And if you fear this may not be Without assistance, come to me. And in my love will I enshrine That deep, seductive heart of thine. % Pace of Refuge In this my den the haunting muse Sometimes my wayward thought pursues And leads it to a sylvan nook To rest beside a purling brook — The very spot that one would choose. Then what delight it brings to lose All consciousness of sounds that bruise The mind; of paper, pen and book In this my den. Outside, the city's thunders fuse In one dull roar, and passing shoes Squeak by my door; and if I look One moment from my dream the crook Of fate recalls me to^ " the blues " In this my den. 88 ^lagful anti ?^umorous iear^ %fttt The years upon you lightly lie. Your verve has carried all before it; And yet I must admit that I, Though thrice enchanted, half deplore it. I 've watched new gallants win your smiles And wished I might have done as they did. But knew, alas ! that all my wiles Were, like my coat, antique and faded. I see your golden hair has lost None of its sunny grace and luster; My locks have felt an early frost And but a sorry few I muster. Your eyes still challenge — do they not ? Those keen gray eyes which could be tender. Ah me ! you 've hardly changed a jot; Still, were you not a bit more slender ? 'Tis thus that fickle Time presumes To tease us in this life of ours; You still preserve your youthful blooms. And I preserve — some faded flowers! 89 ^t ti)t Sign of tf)e ©I'nger fat Oh, just a bit of summer-time, 'Tvvas many years ago you gave them; They serve to point a piece of rhyme. And that, of course, is w^hy I save them ! H^itftout 3Ilijail Without a veil I saw her stand Upon the calm lake's pebbled strand; The day was hot, the sun was bright And kissed with evident delight Her rosy cheeks — already tanned — With freedom I would fain command; She seemed a nymph of summer-land — A sylvan goddess robed in white Without a vale. She little knew the **coup" I'd planned! She smiled, her flossy tresses fanned By fragrant winds in playful flight; But when I spoke, with gay despite She told me I had sought her hand Without avail. 90 ^lagful anti ?t^itnorous ^iqueti For beauty's sake she lives. And, beauty's self, she gives A finer seeming To all the cloudless day; And as she trips my way I fall to dreaming That Goddess Flora's come Straight from elysium. She moves with rhythmic grace. And watchful eyes might trace A flash of stocking. The poetry of pose Is hers — the stocking shows A bit of clocking ! Those clocks are only fast In that she hurries past. The curls that veil her face Seem music held in space 91 ^t tf)t Si'fln of tf)t QMnQtx far By golden tether. And as she flouts her head — Curls, lips and airy tread All sing together. In laughter's lightest vein, A chorus of disdain ! Thus youth must have its fling And spring must laugh and sing. Scornful and joyous. We ancients are more wise. But, though we moralize. The laughs annoy us. I 'd have that youngster know She 's not the entire show ! 92 ^lagful antr ?^umorou0 H^oulti 25e ^ott €|jan l^m My Lady is most fair and kind When on the meads we stroll together. And breezy as the balmy wind And smiling as the sunny weather. The sun entangles in her hair. Her eyes reflect the skies above her. And tulips blush and blossom where There are two lips for some true lover. My Lady wears a muslin gown That flutters in a way engaging. And when she romps across the down She knows she sets my pulses raging; For her light feet are swift, indeed — In fact, I know no maid to match her — And, though I race with all my speed, I find, alas! I cannot catch her. My Lady's white, bejeweled hands Are fragile as they are entrancing, And still the reins she understands. And holds while steeds — and men — are dancing. 93 ^t if)t Sbm of t|)c dMnqtx far Dear lady mine, will you be kind. And give the ribbons to another — And me your hand — for, oh, I find I cannot bear to be your brother! 0^ap anti 5^une May trips in the dance. But June follows after. With a hint of romance May trips in the dance; But June comes with a glance Of love-making and laughter. May trips in the dance. But June follows after! 94 iPlagful anti ?^umotous €l)Ioe*^ l^alentine With growing sense of diffidence She pauses at the corner. Quite unaware her bashful air Doth passing well adorn her — A child of Eve, bound to achieve Her wish and post her letter. Though fearing lest some one has guessed The tremors that beset her. A valentine! — the lace design Upon the packet shows it. The address down for fear the town Will know it as she knows it. Well, little maid, a careless Blade May hold it in derision. Nor even guess the tenderness That prompted your decision! The paper lace may find a place Among his pipes and papers. Considered quite unique and bright — When folded into tapers! 95 at ti)e Bm of ti)t dinger SJar Ah, well-a-day! the maids must play At love and pay the piper. But youth shall prance a lively dance When Chloe's years are riper! lHonliel— €ljc IBooti^Cliru^fj In the twilight of the trees Hear the wood-thrush singing Low, sweet summer harmonies. In the twilight. Warbles he with wondrous ease. On a lithe branch swinging In the twilight of the trees. Bell-like tones the laden breeze From his throat is bringing — Lo, sweet summer harmonies In the twilight! 96 ^laj)ful antj J^umorous ^W SDiplomacp She read the long amusement list, Then sate her down to writing; This is the letter she dismissed — So tender and inviting: I 'm writing to you, dear, to-day Because I have so much to say That won't keep till to-morrow. But first, I want to whisper this — I send you back that foolish kiss You gave, or did I borrow? You naughty boy! I 'm quite ashamed To even have the subject named. Excepting in a letter. You must come up to-morrow night; I think that then, perhaps, I might Explain the matter better. Dear boy, you know I miss you so. Because — you surely ought to know The reason why; now, don't you? 97 at tf)e Sbm of tilt ©ingcc gar And when you come, bring up some creams - When were the last? How long it seems! You '11 bring them surely, won't you? You ought to see my "latest " gown; And, by the way, that play 's in town! The horrid one; I 'm dying To see the thing — it's quite the rage. I know you just abhor the stage; But, you 're so self-denying! Now, don't forget, you dear old thing. To bring the tickets — and, oh, bring That latest photograph of you — It looks so handsome and so fine! Perhaps I '11 give you one of mine; Would one of those "back numbers" do? 98 i^lagful antj l^umotous % l^alentine Time was, sweet dame (when broidered coats were smart. And doublets, puffed with finest textured lace. On manly fronts found proper resting-place). That valentines played friendship's kindly part In all sincerity, and when the heart Of earnest love might feel it no disgrace In verses neat its fondest hopes to trace. Or spell its servitude with modest art. Then gallantry was deemed no foppish thing Fit only for the perfumed parlor knight; But men who fought to keep their honor bright Were proud to serve My Lady and to bring The homage of fair words and gentleness To charm her moods with friendship's fine caress. Thus would I, though I fear my words be trite. The old example emulate to-day. And in this humble, halting sonnet pray That I may find some favor in your sight. My love shall minister to your delight, L.ofC. 99 ^t tfft Sbm of tf)t ©tngec fat Or serve you in misfortune's sad delay. And guard you from all evil, come what may. And be to you all that is requisite. My strength you shall command in every sense. Nor will I ask a haughty bondsman's fee; I '11 ask that you be this — true heart to me. With, now and then, a smile for recompense. Ah, may I in your answer, sweet, divine That you will be, indeed, my valentine? %h^tmt The mock-bird sings in the dusky morn With a cadence sad and a song forlorn; Yet his soul is glad, for he know that love Broods fondly in a nest above. So I, though lone because removed So far to-night from my own beloved. Thrill with delight, for I think of you. And know love broods in your home-nest too. lOO ^lagful anti l^umorous €f>e l©eUt»m0 €ime The celibate must croak, forsooth! 'Tis much he knows of love and youth, To speak in such a fashion; Because his cracked old cynic heart Has played, no doubt, a selfish part He sneers at love's glad passion. This is the merry marriage time — Sing, ho, the wedding ditty! And yet it but reminds me I 'm Unwed — is 't more the pity? I used to be a gay gallant. With sweethearts fair and many; But now, if I would wed I can't. For loves I have n't any. This is the mating month of June — Sing, hi, the bridal carol! For down the aisle the bride will soon Appear in white apparel; The spirit of the sweet wild rose Will keep her cheeks in flower; Her pulse will romp for joy — it knows The Business of the Hour. lOI ^t i^t S>m of ti)e ©inget far Sing, ho, sing, hi, the time is come When wedding-bells will jingle! A host will laugh and dance, and some Their smiles and tears will mingle. Fair maid, brave youth, 'tis summer now. But as you stand together. Hands clasped, pray that your marriage vow May last through wintry weather. % Cfjri^tmajBf Wi^^ O, Santa Claus ! I ask no toys Such as suffice for grown-up boys; No rings or smoking-jackets fine; No presents of cigars or wine; No pillows of unique design. I do not ask for bonds or stocks; For chased and gilded mantel-clocks. Nor even fine embroidered socks. I only ask that you will send The gracious presence of a friend. I02 ^lagful anti ?^umorous St^p l^alentine But once a year the Fates, my dear. Permit me thus to write to you — Alas! they don't insure this won't Seem ludicrous or trite to you. For weeks I 've penned stray lines to blend In singing verse to woo your heart; But words are weak, nor half bespeak My love. Ah, if I knew your heart! These winter days, when you upraise Your eyes, and, smiling, glance my way. Fair summer smiles with all her wiles. And joys, light-footed, dance my way. But if you frown — ah! then the town Becomes a frigid waste to me. And black despair broods everywhere. And sorrows crowd in haste to me. All this and more. Since I adore So fondly, may I court you, dear? I '11 buy you things, bonbons and rings. And later I '11 support you, dear. 103 at ti)P S>m of tfit ©inflcr 3lac Come to me, sweet, slow-paced or fleet. Choose any of the ways to come; Be, maid of mine, my valentine To-day and all the days to come! %t ^totMiation While looking down the green highway I saw a damsel pass to-day. She wore a lawny gown of red, A crown of poppies on her head. And flossy locks of gold astray. Qiioth I: •♦ Young maiden, whither, pray?" She lifted smiling lips to say: ** 'T is graduation day! " and fled, While looking down. Alas! though graduate she may, I saw her roguish eyes betray Gay proof of study still ahead — For maids must learn to woo and wed. And vanquish in the social fray — While looking down! 104 llagful anti g^umoi;ou0 <©n tfje Mvttt My Lady, muffled deep in furs. Rides gayly by me, quite unknowing That cheeks with blooms as bright as hers Are fairer than the fairest showing Of scarlet blossoms in bouquets Of garden plots in summer days; That in this clear and frosty weather Her smiles call June's best tints together. My Lady, in her brown and ermine. And bear-skin robe, tucked well around her. Seems sweeter than I dare determine By an analysis profounder Than gazing in her brilliant eyes For briefest space, like one who tries In instant glancing at the sun To learn its secrets, one by one. My Lady goes with bells a-jangle, A "tiger" and a coachman stately. The runners rasp; her tresses tangle — A boa clings to her sedately. 105 ^t tf^t Sign of t^e d^inqn far Oh, I know one who fain would run Beside her sleigh till day is done! He walks instead — a mere beholder - And feels the day is growing colder. %tii^^ tf)t il^ap Across the way dim shadows play. Where fragrant blossoms blush and sway With every touch of wanton wind. And blond bees clutch in ardor blind The tender blooms, or, droning, stray Where dandelion blots inlay With gold the green lawn's gay display Of rippling grasses intertwined Across the way. But, best of all. My Lady May Sits basking in the sun; and pray. In all the dooryard can you find A bud to beauty more inclined Than May — just two years old to-day — Across the way? 1 06 ^lagful aria J^umecous €J>e ^romenatie My Lady promenades the drive And smiles upon me, quite contented In knowledge that, howe'er I strive, I am about her half demented. One small gloved hand rests on my arm With lightest touch, almost caressing. That fills me with a vague alarm That it may feel my heart confessing. My Lady wears a silken dress That rustles in the breeze contrary; She fights the wind in gay distress. And blushes like a rosy fairy. saucy wind, be not unkind! Your gentler mood is more assuring; And yet, to my enraptured mind. You make My Lady most alluring! But yesterday I strolled alone Upon the drive, and thought it gloomy; 1 noticed that the birds had flown And longed for summer, green and bloomy. 107 at tfje S^ign of t^e Binq^t 3lat To-day the singing birds are here. And carol in My Lady's laughter; O, will you be my June, my dear. And all the golden days thereafter? gff 3F f>rojJ03Efe If I propose a walk, a ride, A round of golf, or aught beside. You 're almost certain to decline To make your plans accord with mine- Yet if I go away you chide. How many, many times I 've tried For your amusement to provide. But dance nor play — nothing is fine If I propose. Henceforth I '11 not attempt to guide My Lady fair, but shall abide In peace unique and masculine — Confound it! I shall not repine. But don't refuse to be my bride If I propose. 108 ^lagful anti ?^umorou0 Mptitllt Whom do I love ? And must I tell. Sweetheart, the whole list through ? I love — now let me think a spell — I love — well, I love you ! Nay, don't protest and hide your facc- Dear me ! and blushes, too ! And is it, then, a sad disgrace. My own, that I love you ? One day you came a-visiting My heart — no doubt you knew You entered without knock or ring — And stayed ; so I love you. You 're not so very large, and still I fear me it is true That in my heart no other will Find place while I love you. So here 's a kiss — a new-signed lease ; Thus love shall aye renew Your freehold in my heart, and peace Shall reign, for 1 love you ! 109 at ttje Stfln of tf^t (ffirinflec gjat J^er Setter I have your letter over-sea. With dainty superscription w^rit The treasured missive came to me. Its brightness beaming more than wit; Its simplest phrase a w^itchery Of words, wherein yourself was hid. What wonder that I fondled it. And held it as I 've held your hand? Dear love, I know you '11 understand. Just as our fair First Mother did! The contents of the tender note — Well, really, I cannot recall The phrases as if learned by rote; And yet, ah yes, I know them all! They were almost too sweet to quote; So musical those magic words That, as I hsten now, they fall In jeweled strands of golden song As wooing, cooing as a throng Of newly mated woodland birds. no ^lagful anti g^umorous It may be no endearing thought Was pictured there in black and white; But, as I read the lines, I sought — Discovered, too, with keen delight — Some little waifs of heart-love, caught Like Cupid tangled in the net. That maidens dangle for the sprite. Your hand had penned the words; and so. Of course, sweetheart, I could but know That your caresses lingered yet. Eap^ tftat ^Ita^t In other days the Poet's lays Were objects of unstinted praise. To-day, you know, the lays that please Are those that grow in henneries. Ill at tl)e 5tfln of tf)e (fiiitflcc 3Jat J^orace to HpHia (Book I., Ode XIII.) Oh, Lydia, loved one ! how jealous my heart is When Telephus' red neck and wax arms you admire. And I see that kid with you at late Roman parties — Ah, then from sheer anguish I all but expire ! The wheels in my head get to whirling insanely; The rich autumn tints of my cheek turn to scarlet; My vigil-dimmed eyes begin leaking inanely. And my soul is aflame — all because of that varlet ! I rage when, half tipsy, he stains your white shoulders With bruises, and quarrels with you o'er his Massic, Or kisses you roughly before all beholders. And scars with his boy lips your coy lips so -classic ! I warn you he '11 scorn you without a compunction When least you expect it — as he came between us — For, a brute he must be that would wound with such unction Lips filled with the lurements and nectar of Venus ! *^if *^ *4^ ^1^ 'I* 'T* "T* ^* 112 Ah, Lydia ! more than thrice happy the people Who, in love's gentle bonds, have no discord or smarting; And, in marital life and felicities, keep all The pains of disunion for death's final parting ! % Eo^t €alxmm Among the palms the Thing was lost — That gilded circlet, rich embossed. And marked from " From Ned to Bessie." "Aring?"— Oh, no! "A belt ?"— not yet! An ample g — oodness ! In ber set They 're alv^rays swell and dressy. "3 ^t ti)e &iQn of tf^t (iMnQtt gjac l^orace to Heuconoe (Book I., Ode XI.) Leuconoe, you needs must see That he who by astrology Divines his fate will it await A prey to sad chronology. Forbidden lore like that is more Deceiving than ontology; Is death to joy and sleep, my boy. And nurtures rank pseudology ! Take heed that he whom the Chaldee Enthralls by weird horology Gives gold for sooths whose rank untruths Demand more than apology. Be patient, friend, until the end That great Jove has assigned you. And rest assured it can't be cured. Nor needs a guide to find you. If chance your days be brief — why, praise The gods that trouble 's spared you ! 1T4 If they be long, then pipe a song For added joys declared you ! Be wise and gay, and let each day Be blest, nor fear to-morrow — Strain well your wine, all cares decline And banish time and sorrow ! €Je dtdipgt From gauzy mists of far, translucent white Diana smiled upon her lord the Earth, And all the trysting, star-embowered night Beheld the sight with flashing eyes of mirth. But Earth, as wooed to leave his ancient place. With his dark presence kissed Diana's lips; And then — oh, then ! — her ardent, blushing face Passed slowly into a complete eclipse. 1^5 at tij? S^m of tlit i&mn §at Sl^atirigal The troubadours sing merrily Of maids of wealth and station Who have no occupation Save breaking hearts; but, verily. My wit must run contrarily; For, with unfeigned elation, I sing a maid without renown — Sweet Dolly in her gingham gown! She smiles on me diurnally As I pass by her posies. Just now she prunes her roses And talks to me fraternally. But dazzles me supernally When her flared gown discloses The fairest throat in all the town — Sweet Dolly 's in her gingham gown! Heigho! If I were not so old — Long years too old for folly — This dear suburban Dolly Might find me seeming overbold; ii6 Might not complain that I am "cold" And growing melancholy ! Ah, well! she '11 wed some youthful clown. Will Dolly, in her gingham gown! %t t|)e oBate My love to you. And can't you guess The more than passing tenderness. Dear maid of mine, that makes me wait Like patient Job beside your gate Despite your long delay, ** to dress " ? Ah! If you knew my heart's excess Of eagerness and sweet distress There were small need to name and prate My love to you. You wait to dress, and I to press My suit — amusing, I confess — And yet I must berate the fate That keeps me on the rack so late At fitting phrases to express My love to you. 117 ^t tf)t Sbm of tfje iiMnQtx fat ^otatt to Eptita (A Paraphrase.) Sweet Cupid was my friend. Long time ago; Yet would his arrows lend My dearest foe. These fragile darts you sent With will unsparing — My love the punishment For all your daring. At last the warfare ceased. And Cupid left me. Withal my friends increased. He had bereft me. I mourned him as one dead. Or lost forever. And missed his cherub head. Darts, bow and quiver. But oh ! last night I found him. To my surprise. And saw that you had bound him Fast in your eyes ! ii8 ^lagful anti it?umorous Rotate to €^\(it (Paraphrase in Triolets.) Dear Chloe, this rose I send as a token; Yet do not suppose. Dear Chloe, this rose Can begin to disclose All that I would have spoken. Dear Chloe ! This rose I send as a token. On its lips a caress I have placed for your finding ! Ah, I could not do less On its lips ! A caress, I admit with distress. On a rose is not binding ! On its lips a caress I have placed for your finding. Like the rose, my poor heart Will pine if neglected. While it now blooms apart Like the rose, my poor heart 119 at tl)e S)ign of tf)e (llimgcc gfac Will wither and smart If its suit be rejected ! Like the rose my poor heart Will pine if neglected ! So, Chloe, dear child. Give heed to my wooing. And be reconciled So, Chloe, dear child. To my flower and the mild- Mannered course I 'm pursuing ! So, Chloe, dear child. Give heed to my wooing ! 1 20 ^lafiful antj ?^umorou0 J^orace to Slptiia (A Satire, Book I., Ode XXV.) Old sweetheart mine, your charms decline And Roman youths now rarely woo you. Your casement seems fit place for dreams. For few knock there in homage to you. Your friendly door, that used before To freely swing, is now neglected. Save, Lydia, dear, that I am here — Your ancient lover, long rejected ! Are you asleep — or deaf? I keep My lonesome vigil under protest ! Also, despite my age, to-night My love is proved or I know no test ! 'T is well you hate the youths who prate Of spotless maids and guileless pleasures. And laugh to scorn those who adorn Chill Hebrus' shrine with dry-leaf treasures ! 121 at tt)e S>m of tfit (SxinQti Sjai I warned you they would run away From you in search of something younger; But here am I, old charmer — try To satiate my great heart-hunger ! % Wail He touched me, and a vague unrest, A subtile tremor, thrilled my breast. With eager eyes he scanned my face. And then he spoke. Ah! who can tell The mystery of words, the grace Of speech with which he wove the spell That made me trust him so? I know That you will sneer, and say. Regardless of my loss and woe. That this thing happens every day; But you may show more kindness when I say, "He touched me for a Ten! " 122 ^lagful ant pt^umorous %t tt^e Concert The leader waved his light baton; The frail bows of the players trembled; A flash! a flare! the height was won And all the hosts of song assembled! Resistlessly the overture Swept on and captured sense and reason; Then Chloe smiled — success was sure For this first concert of the season. The chairs were filled with charming folk. And beauty vied with wealth and talent; The graciousness the music woke Was showered on some near-by gallant. The symphonies were often light. But Chloe' s heart seemed ever lighter; Tschaikowsky's dancing themes were bright. But Chloe's eyes were always brighter. As on and on the music sped. Or paused in somber note and measure. It seemed as if all sense had fled Save that of vague, ecstatic pleasure, 123 sat tfit Sifln of U)c (ffiinBcc fat Which held the nerves in rhythmic bonds; But Chloe stirred her golden tresses And then I thought of naught but blondes And scarlet plumes and silver dresses. J>ame (Dlti bonnet I would a moment of" my time engage Shaping a sonnet to your lovely brow. 'Tis understood, I think, that I must vow That you 're the fairest maid of any age. And that eons of time could not assuage The grief with which I would behold you bow Your head to weep, and I would not allow The rolling worlds that dot the gilded page Above to shine another fleeting hour. Provided they — the stars — disturbed your sleep. And I must speak about the hair that twines Upon your brow like vines around a bower. And I must tell you of my love, so deep That one can't fathom it with fourteen lines. 124 ^lagful antJ ll^imocoug Billanelle She stood pale and correct. Not the least bit excited. As I well recollect. She strove not for effect. Nor was she affrighted; She stood pale and correct. I had tried to detect Signs of love unrequited. As I well recollect. There were signs of neglect Which were very soon righted; She stood pale and correct. Hundreds went to inspect Her, and left her, delighted. As I well recollect. She was marble! unflecked From her heels to her white head; She stood pale and correct. As I well recollect. 125 at tijc Siflii of Hje (ffiingci; ^ai % oBamc of €cnntjEf The court is rolled, the net is set. Two players bold are ready. While Chloe chafFs across the net And laughs, "Love all, be steady!" Love all, indeed! with Chloe near What need for more to think of? I 've sipped some loving cups, but here There's only one to drink of. ♦'My serve!" she cries; the game begins; I 've missed! My eyes betray me. And yet 'tis through her eyes she wins; I knew she would outplay me. But ''Fifteen love!" she now commands — What of the first injunction? Ah, yes! no doubt she understands And has some slight compunction. At last the game to " vantage " goes; I lay no claim to winning. 'T is she who sov'reign kindness shows And lets me have an inning. 126 ilJlagful anti Jljumocous By Jove! I win, by one bold stroke. Just in the line behind her. She sighs, **Love one" — I grasp the joke And cry: "Come, help me find her!** I^igljt €jjougj)t^ To you, O infant of my midnight thought! I sing this tender, tense, parental song. While to my sleep-deserted chamber throng Old memories, nocturnal and unsought. What wonder that my mind is overwrought ? For, oh! your ceaseless voice is overstrong. And my cold-footed pilgrimage is long. Come, baby — darn it! Shut up as you ought. In fancy I recall those graceless years Before your darling mamma made me hers. Till in my heart the pulse of sorrow stirs. And makes me half inclined to ape your tears. Confound it! Sleep! Stop yelling if you can! Ah, well, some day you '11 be a married man. 127 ^t i^t Sbm of ti)e ©inflec fat ^ttttt^ Blonde Charlotte's face is aquiline. And Bess has features retrousse; One has a smile like summer-shine. Through which wee dimples peep and play. Her eyes are gems so rare and pure They put to blush the Kohinoor; Withal, she's such a winsome witch. Is — well, no matter who or which! When Charlotte dons her gown of gray And Bess her jaunty suit of blue. The two are fairer than the day When June is ripened through and through. And one is sweeter than the blooms That pout without her curtained rooms; They pout, no doubt, because their lot Keeps them so far from — tell I '11 not! Dear Lot and Bess are young and gay And keep my 'wildered wits awhirl; I know not how to break away From one and court the other girl, 128 For each has charms hard to resist And each seems fashioned to be kissed. At least, 'twere rapture to caress That rare coquette — "Which?" You must guess! M* ^atricli'^ 2Dap l^aniing St. Patrick drove from Ireland Its hordes of snakes; but when Pat celebrates — egad, the fates May bring them back again! The snakes of old have long since died. No doubt; but wraiths are plenty. And still their ghostly shades abide In spiriius frumenti! So, heed ye, honest gentlemen — No word we say in censure; But mind a still, small caution when You start for gay adventure. Be glad, rejoice with heart and voice. And native joy will nerve you; Be wise and kind — of sober mind — And may the saints preserve you. 129 at tije Sign of tf)f d^imtx fat flt^p Eatip My Lady has returned to town And brought a sylvan sweetness hither; Her cheeks reflect a rustic brown That city ways too soon will wither; But roses glow beneath the tan — The blooms that dazzled us last winter — And soon the potent social ban To proper pink and white will tint her. My Lady has a graceful pace That hints of walks in highways rural. But soon Dame Fashion will displace The stride with mincing intramural. The freedom of the woods is gone. And in the *♦ season's" flare and fashion My Lady, brilliant as the dawn, A queen will be for gems to flash on. Ah, me! we strolled at the *' resort" And talked in accents low and tender; But now, of course, I must cavort. With arm about her waist, or lend her 130 The friendly guidance of my hand Throughout the german's weary mazes. And trust to luck she '11 understand The love that warms my formal phrases. %n %utunin Carol Oh, our hearts are aglow with contentment That impregnates our top-lofty flat. Where life has a joyous presentment — From the cook to the overfed cat; Though lately we shuddered with terror. And chills at the heat's long delay. The landlord has repented of error. And there's heat in the steam-pipes to-day! So lift up your voice and be joyous. For the north wind is robbed of its bite. And the cold draughts that used to annoy us Are zephyrs of balmy delight. No more will the tremors of freezing Our underclad weakness betray; Away with chilled ankles and sneezing. For there 's heat in the steam-pipes to-day! 131 at tf)e Sifln J3f ti)e ©inscc fat €l)e 2Dancc Dreams of the ball! Golden visions of splendor. Fair as the rarest fancy inspires; Beauty and all Wealth and fashion can lend, or Youth can bestow, light love's worshipful fires. Round with the waltz. In a glory of pleasure. Light-hearted dancers glide gleefully by. Till music exalts Life's pace to the measure And sorrow is lost in a satisfied sigh. Music that sings In its subtle emotion Till the very sphere swings to its rhythmical tone. And the spirit clings To its wings with devotion. Lest the song shall depart to its heaven — alone! 132 ^lagful an^ l^umorous %lont tDitf) 3Fane Jane, in a suit of Cameron plaid. Meanders, homeward-bound, with "dad." You know how well she looks in that Crowned with a jaunty Scotia hat. Ah, me ! if I could join the twain. Or skip papa, and just with Jane Could wander home, I would be glad ; But Jane meanders home with "dad." Jane dons a dark blue cape and gown. And, with her mother, walks to town. How proud and soldierly her mien When in that martial garb she 's seen ! I would not give her mother pain. Yet I would like to walk with Jane. But if I did, mamma would frown; So Jane, with mother, walks to town. Jane, in a waist of azure hue. Sits there and looks me through and through; Her parents are away, I find. Thus fortune has at last been kind; 133 at tfit Sbmof tf)e mnm fat And yet my joy is not complete. Though Jane is smiling and petite. My feelings I cannot explain — • I wish I were n't alone with Jane ! ^imjjle (iEngli^]^ Ofttimes when I put on my gloves, I wonder if I 'm sane. For when I put the right one on The right seems to remain To be put on — that is, *t is left; Yet if the left I don The other one is left, and then I have the right one on. But still I have the left on right; The right one, though, is left To go right on the left right hand All right if I am deft. 134 BALLADES AND RONDEAUS 2B>ailatie of tfje ^ai^etiiocre Ambitious bards with song sublime To win eternal fame essay — To echo through the deeps of time The voice of some grand yesterday. Or on man's throbbing heartstrings play Love's harmonies unspeakable. Alas! I am not framed that way; I beat the cymbals — that is all. How sweet in slender snares of rhyme To trap the tender dreams of May, To catch the bluebell's subtle chime Of fragrance on the hills astray; To mock the wildwood's blithe ballet Of blooms and flitting birds that call The chorus to spring's roundelay! I beat the cymbals — that is all. 135 at tfit 5^tgtt of tf)e ©infifc fat To be a king of song and climb Olympus with a lyre — for aye To rise above the toil and grime Of life, and from the stars survey This peevish world's discordant fray — Ah, this were worth a master's scrawl! But I the Master must obey; I beat the cymbals — that is all. ENVOY. Friend, in life's changeable array Some may be great, some must be small. And some be grave, a few be gay — I beat the cymbals — that is all. 136 i^allatjes antr MontJ^aug 25allatie of tf^t Comic Sr^uiefe Hail! mistress of the merry tongue. Of lively wit and laughing moodj Gay queen of banter, ever young; Withal full of solicitude To ease life's worst vicissitude By some sage jest or subtle ruse Of rhyme to teach us not to brood When we may court thee. Comic Muse! Since ancient Horace gibed and flung His verses at Rome's feet the crude Conceits of time, quaint bards have sung To make dismay a platitude And give a wider latitude To joyousness; for who would choose The worries of life's endless feud When we may court the comic muse? No, let us rather lounge among Byways obscure, and thus elude The striving hordes whose gains are wrung From tortured lives and servitude. 137 ^t tf)t Sbm of tf^t QMnqtx far If fate is harsh and times are rude. To best resist have naught to lose; And why should fortune needs be wooed When we may court the comic muse? ENVOY. Muse, lest ambition should delude. Be gracious, nor our suit refuse; For mirth shall every ill exclude When we may court thee. Comic Muse! 138 iSalla^fs anti 3£lonticaus 25aHatie of <0lti l^abieiBf Gone are the old-time wooden fleets. And gone beyond our last appeal The tars of old, whose daring feats Were hampered by no hulls of steel. Then war was war on timber keel. And when a naval fight began Ships clinched and men fought heel to heel - No more we battle man to man. Ah, those were days of rare conceits Of bravery and reckless zeal. When frigates flared their mammoth sheets Like wings above the woe and weal Of strife, and smoke-grimed men could feel The jar of meeting hulls, and ran With cutlasses defeat to deal — No more we battle man to man. O'er miles of sea the warship greets Its foe to-day with shots that reel From armoured decks, and science meets With might, to turn grim fortune's wheel 139 ^t tf}t St'fln of tf)e ©I'ngcr far Through distances that half reveal Death's fierce, aerial caravan And ruin's blackened, sprawling seal- No more we battle man to man. ENVOY. O shade of Jones! could you conceal Your grief at such a battle plan. Wherein to science heroes kneel? No more we battle man to man. 140 ^allaatB an^ i^ontieaus % H^aUntmt 2£>anatie Fair, bashful maid without a beau. But with a tender heart and hand On some fond gallant to bestow — Some lucky chap who has the "sand" — I think I fully understand That trusting little heart of thine; So, if you '11 issue the command, I '11 gladly be your valentine. Or you, O regal beauty ! know That long your conquest I have planned. If chance my progress has been slow My love to fiercer flame is fanned; And though the quest be contraband. Still must I strive to make you mine. So, servant to your least command, I'll gladly be your valentine. But, most of all, to you I owe Allegiance, maid whose wealth of land And gold I measured long ago; Your stocks and bonds are of a brand 141 at tJ)e Stfln of tJje Cfinget far That makes my hungry heart expand. Until I worship at your shrine. Wealth's humble slave — love's deodand. I 'II gladly be your valentine. ENVOY. O fairy of the magic wand ! The heart, the grace, the wealth combine In one and make her love me, and I '11 gladly be your valentine. 142 iSallaties anti i^onticauisf J^arbe^t %^^lt0 Out in the orchard, years ago. There lived an ancient harvest tree. And golden apples used to growr To mellow ripeness there for me. The tree was low; its drooping limbs Hung like an arbor's draperies. And green leaves, crooning balmy hymns. Lured to its depths of shady ease. In May the ancient tree was white With tender blooms, and sight and sense Drunk deep of promise of delight In summer's juicy opulence. And as the lolling days grew warm The young fruit of seductive green Found refuge in my grateful form. And worked there, deadly and unseen. But all the trials were forgot. When, bursting full of lusciousness. The golden apples came, with not The faintest menace of distress. 143 ^t tf)c SSm of tf^t ©mflct far The hornets thronged their broken parts. The bluejays pecked them on the tree; But in each apple's heart of hearts A *' honey-core " remained for me. ENVOY Good friend, life's promise oft is white. The unripe fruit may cause distress; But harvest-time will make it right — You'll find a "honey-core," I guess. 144 ^allatit^ an)} i^ontieauis <^n ^untiap a^ojctt On Sunday morn, down sacred aisle, I see you passing, fair and proud. With queenly head sedately bowed. And eyes deep-veiled; and can you smile, O lady of the dusk defile? 'Tis wisdom for a little while To leave the glitter and the crowd. To put aside the Tempter's wile On Sunday morn. Yet, though you strive to reconcile Youth's frolic heart to sober-browed Devotion, still you must beguile. For Cupid all but laughs aloud. About your lips, demure exile. On Sunday morn! 145 ^t tiit S>m of tf)e a^inQti far %n %pj^eal Dear critics, do not criticise Too harshly, for the arrant wise May ape the rashness of the fool. And, damning by too stern a rule. Make rank injustice wear the guise Of right. Thus fortune oft denies A just reward to him who tries With effort greater than you cool. Dear critics do. It may be that Diana's eyes. Young Chloe's cheek and Juliet's sighs Are subjects trite, save in the school Where love makes youth its pliant tool; But be benign and sympathize. Dear critics, do! 146 ISaUaties ant i^ontreauss €ome M0$ flU^e, 2Dear Come kiss me, dear — a little play Like this improves the brightest day. Nay, do not fear! No one will tell. Nor miss the kiss you kiss so well. 'Tis charming, sweet; but run away. My little love. Another? Stay! I fear you '11 lead me quite astray. And yet, for Eve old Adam fell — Come kiss me, dear! Alas, I am but common clay. And victim of a siren's sway! Nay, dearest, I do not rebel — Your sweet caresses quite excel — So I, your doting parent, say: **Come kiss me, dear." 147 at tf\t Sign of tf^t a^inQtx gfar 250f)int» tf)e M^tmt^ Behind the scenes! What secrets dwell Beneath the tinsel and the spell. The mimic glory of the stage. That thrills the crowd! Othello's rage. Insane Lear's mouthings, or the fell Complaints of Hamlet, scarce excel The tragedies no words may tell; The griefs no encores may assuage. Behind the scenes! There *' properties " lie heaped, pell-mell. Whose grcwsome shapes and shadows quell The heart of youth, the hopes of age. With terrors that no one may gauge. Save he who threads the gloomy cell Behind the scenes! 148 i3aUatre0 axiH Kontieauis 25e Wi^t in €ime Be wise in time, nor seek delay When duty shows the rightful way. And let both heart and conscience tell Where honor calls and what is well; For those who shirk the right to-day Too soon will find life's aims astray. And learn that one small error may All peace or happiness dispel — Be wise in time! Be wise when impulse would betray To action that would bring dismay Into the life — be brave and quell The wayward mood — strive to excel In all that virtue might essay — Be wise in time! 149 at tfie 5ifln of tf)e dRtngec far t^itlj ifloti anti ^tt\ With rod and reel the toiler plays. And dreams of long vacation days When he shall float on grassy deeps And cast the gleaming lure that sweeps Athwart the hungry bass's gaze. Once more he scorns the careful phrase. The irksome yoke of urban ways. And scents the joy the sportsman reaps With rod and reel. He sees far, forest-girted bays Reflect dawn's iridescent grays; For there he knows the fierce bass keeps A constant vigil- — there it leaps And takes the lures the sportsmen raise With rod and reel. 150 ISallaties mtt i^onTicaus l^fjen <&m ^^ #lti When one is old one may forget The ills that sear the heart and fret The soul; old age may reconcile Griefs that exalt, joys that defile. And loves that leave the eyelids w^et. Along life's backward track are set Gray crossway signals marked *' Regret," At which dim eyes may gaze and smile. When one is old ! How base will seem the quest we let Consume the years ! The minaret Of fame's white temple, afterwhile. Will crown a lonely burial pile; And thus success and dust are met When one is old. 151 at t^e Sifln of tfte ©mgir fat 3Pn lifter iearjEf In after years, when age has taught The heart to shield itself by thought. When life's highway seems more secure. And idle dreams cease to allure. Ah! then perchance the joy we sought Will come to us, in vestments wrought Of wisdom, patience, peace, and naught But blissfulness shall then endure. In after years. If friends depart; if hopes are brought To nothingness; if battles fought End in distress, and griefs immure The heart and will — then seek the cure That time may bring, nor fear you aught In after years. 153 )3alla))ei3 BLxiti Mon^eaus <© tin^t of 3Fune O rose of June ! In humble guise You meet the idle stroller's eyes By pathways sweet with summer's balm Of fragrant and florescent calm. Pink-tipped and placid moorland prize ! At dewy dawn's first blush you rise To greet the day's sweet enterprise With perfume sacred as a psalm, O rose of June ! Had I the wisdom of the wise. Dear rose, I would immortalize You, coral blossom in my palm. With song to soothe away the qualm Of toil — with roseate melodies, O rose of June ! 153 at ttje Si'fln of tfit a&inger gjar 311 Duplicate nc ^lef Jf^oung When one is young what matters care ? For youth has mirth and joy to spare. The future is a blazing fire That lights the pathway of desire. Anil doing *8 but a name for dare. What smiling masks the grim fates wear. How amiable and debonair ! The best seems easy to acquire When one is young. Youth is a multimillionaire Who iattcns on the best of fare; Whom all delights and naught can tire; Will) treats the world as his empire. But old age sets its fatal snare When one is young. 158 iSallatjes anti Monteaug €IJe Mu^f^ anb Wf^itl The rush and whirl of urban ways Too often rack the nerves and daze The brain with ceaseless change and din; Too often kill ere hope can win Ambition's prize of pelf or praise. And yet we chafe at small delays. And fiercely dash through workful days. To be, at last, extinguished in , The rush and whirl. For me a rustic hearth and blaze. My pipe, my dog, a book of lays. And love, to soothe a chance chagrin. And I will be Contentment's twin. And jeer with mirthful laugh and phrase The rush and whirl I 159 iat ll)f .^(flu 01 (l)r iy;(nQfi :?ini 'Co ^^alic ^nc .^oug To iiiiihc one song whose simple strain Shall soothe the shiI heart's secret pain. Anil leave a balm of gladness where Hail liirkcil the poison of despair; Ah ! who would not for that refrain Give over glory's fair domain, And all the greedy gold of gain ? ll' this its gift, who would forbear To make one song ? To make one song the wearied brtin Shall welcome and shall aye retain As something ever sweet and lair To still the deadly throb of care ! What liighcr meed could worth attain- To make one song ? i6o ^allatitfi anli l^ontjeaug €f^c 25ac!ttxjart> Xooft Back through the years, still unresigncd. We seek for joys long left behind Unwittingly; we cry aloud And call the one lost in the crowd Back where the happy pathways wind. We look in olden nooks entwined By autumn's fading vines to find A loved one's face — we see a shroud. Back through the years. Pursuing Life's unending grind. We've worked, we've wept, we've loved, we've dined; We've fought, and many times been cowed; We 've broken half the oaths we vowed — Yet still we search with eager mind Back through the years. i6i at tf^t Sign of tf)e OErmflW Sat ^ onti!8f Released ! released ! Yes, broken is the chain Which held the slavish heart in such duress That all but love seemed less than nothingness. And hell lurked in a woman's least disdain. And heaven linked itself with her caress! An end, at last, to vows that plight in vain And make a mockery of love to gain Pride's pitiable fee — or something less! An end to explanations which confess The meagerness of human trust, and drain The very founts of confidence — and pain! An end to joys and tortures none can guess Save he who struggles for love's sunlit height And gains, instead, scorn's stormy crags and night! 175 at tf}t Sbm of tije aHuxQa 'Mt €Ije flr^a^ft of ^ixtfy Ho! this is Mirth, fat-cheeked and laughing-eyed. And wide of mouth where impish dimples lurk In playful negligence — content to shirk The earnestness and sober sense of pride. And prank about gay lips that oft divide In grins that ripple with content and smirk Of perfect joy or sly, satiric quirk That smacks of roguishness personified. And is this not the best — to make a jest Of life and sweep the veil of sorrow by; To steep the soul in mirthful carelessness. And turn unheeding ears to care's behest. Ambition's strident call or sweet love's sigh? Ah, Mirth, a truce; that grin may mask distress! 176 Stinne(0 H^ootilanb ^Pune Yes, June is quite an idle elf, I think. Companion of Dan Cupid and the rest Of wayward fays who make a merry jest Of pain, and fan their wings upon the brink Of woodland stream and pool, where shy nymphs drink And bathe at dusk, then romp away in quest Of fireflies that blink in mute protest Their dingy lights, 'twixt earth and sky, or sink To refuge where the long grass intertwines Above its carpeting of russet moss. June loves these scenes of sylvan shade, and so. With pink limbs stretched in languidness, reclines On some proud fern that, swaying, leans across A twinkling brook where Pan is piping low. 177 at tl)e 5ifln of tf)t Q^in^n far i^tttibtt The pippins swinging on the bending boughs. Like rosy children, nod among the leaves; While in the tree's shorn top a robin grieves And croons faint echoes of his springtime vows. From far afield the home-returning cows Moo low as lost in strange soliloquies. The dry grass murmurs like far-distant seas. The hillside masquerades its purple brows In brilliant foliage, whose sunset hues Recall the blossoms of departed June. Upon the cottage porch, where Summer twined Her garlands, and now whispers her adieux, A red-cheeked maiden hums a mellow tune. Her gold hair tossing in the autumn wind. 178 NATURE When roses bloom in wayside nooks And summer dreams where drowsy brooks Blink lazily in shifting shade Of listless leaves; when ripples wade Through glossy waves of streamside grass With languid sighs, and zephyrs pass Like phantom songs through dusky woods. Filling the perfumed solitudes With deep, entrancing restfulness — Then would we flee the toil and stress Of labor days to seek the ease And midday twilight of the trees. In dreamful nooks when roses bloom And locusts ravel from the gloom Of maple tops an aimless chime, Outfloating like a wisp of time 179 at ti)e Sifltt of t!)e dSmflpr far Clipped from the distaff of the Fates And loosed to drift to chance estates — Then, sailing with this strand of song. The fancy wanders where a throng Of restful visions, calm and pure. To scenes of perfect peace allure. And care becomes a minor chord That thrills a hymn to nature's Lord! When roses bloom and summer smiles From all her fragrant, flowered miles Seductively, and so invites To her still, sensuous delights Half hid in gauzy draperies Of shade and sheen in lisping seas Of green, dim woods; when from a zone Of blossom gold a monotone Ripe with content flows like a psalm Of joy serene, a holy calm Laves thought and soul in sacred rest. And sorrow sleeps on nature's breast. In dreamland nooks, O friend! regain The joy of life — forget the vain And fierce pursuit of sordid things And all the mad world's buffetings. When roses bloom the gilded bee Reigns in a flower throne, and she 180 iEatute Hums blithely songs of bloom and shine And sips of sacramental wine No rarer than who wills may sip With thirsty heart and thankful lip Within the shadow-arbored ways Of restful, ripe midsummer days. ]Kontiei Scarlet and gold the leaves are turning. And gray are the days, for the year is old. And chill is the heart, for the ways are cold. While the year lies low with its death-lights burning. Chill as the snow, the north wind spurning. Shudders the dusk when the dawns unfold; Scarlet and gold the leaves are turning. And gray are the days, for the year is old. And the wildwood sings with a voice of mourning. And the wood-bird wings to a new freehold; And a dream of the June, like a tale new-told, Dimmeth the eyes with a mist of yearning. Scarlet and gold the leaves are turning. And gray are the days, for the year is old. i8i at ti)e Sbm of t|)P ©iuflcc 3lat ^ong of tl&c €l)t^tletirxft Gay is my heart as The blooms in the June light- Sailing apart as Light as a fairy. Dancing and merry; Bright as an airy Sprite of the moonlight; Just a contrary Waif of the noonlight. Over the treetops I drift in an aimless Course where I see tops Gold as the sun is — Red as a flame is. Or a stray one is Tinged with a nameless Hue; and my game is Idle and blameless. 182 iaatute Still, though I wander. With nothing to hold me. Hither and yonder, A prize I carry — Fair Nature's dower — And may not tarry Till earth shall enfold me. And into a flower Beautiful mold me. €l)c %n^t 25utterflp Like some rare flower endowed With conscious freedom, vying With the wind, I see thee flying Above the crowd, O strayed exotic of the wilderness! In this long hour of thy distress. Confined between the lofty towers Of noisy trade. Seeking the green and bloom of bowers From whence thou 'st strayed, Thy frail wings grow dull. Lost butterfly. 183 at t^e Sign of tf)t (&inqtt far Their movements lull. And then I see thee rise Above the gibbering street. As if thou wouldst retreat To the sweet immortal skies. But thy broken sails are weak. Nor mav they help thee seek Thy lost paradise. Thy sad hour shalt thou fight In vain, despairing flight. Then fall and die. * * * Blooms on the world of fragrant things. And in the grass the cricket sings! So man, frail man, shall struggle upward, too. Longing to scan some soul-remembered view. And then shall fall and die at last, like you. But far afield, perhaps, his spirit hears The welcome music of immortal years. 184 i^atuu W^m t^t CotDjET Come l^ome "Clink, clink, clink-clink, a-clinkety-clink " — Through the ragged brush of the pasture path. And the "old boss" stops at the brook to drink. And tosses her head with a jest of wrath. With hoofs sunk deep in the brook's black loam. And muzzle deep in the lazy stream. She waits for the laggard herd to come. With ears that droop and eyes that dream. Her sleek sides bulge with contentedness. And her udders drip with an overflow That blotches with white the water cress That sags with the current, to and fro. The eddies whirl where her long tail flings Its tufted end with a listless toss. And the gurgling water swings and sings Like whirling wings in the brookside moss. As the water clears of its muddy rile And the old boss drinks, with nostrils flared. The dusk, slow stealing, mile on mile. Grows dark where the deep woods stand ensnared 185 at tte Sffln of ifit ©infl^t fat On the east horizon's farthest rim. And out of the twilight's hazy height. Where the Dog Star loiters, white and dim, A drifting swallow pipes good-night. Then, drowsily, with a soul-deep breath. The old boss raises her head and sighs. And bright as a sword from its guarding sheath. The sunset gleams in her glowing eyes. It turns the bell at her throat to gold And silvers the red of her silken coat. And the telltale leaves of the year grown old Turn pale in the pools where they lie afloat. Out of the silence, shrill and high, A voice of the farm-yard quavers through: "Come, boss! Come, boss! Come, boss!" its cry. And the old boss softly answers, *'Moo! " Only the call of the cow — that's all; Only a wistful moo, and yet It seems that I heard my childhood call — And the dusk is here and my eyes are wet. 186 iaature Cfjant of tlje ^}jmg Ham Rain like the rustling of fine garments — Luminous, whispering rain; Voice of the Spring, sibilant and frail. Rain like the fluttering of wings — The glad sigh of Nature awakened. Rain with the song of waving corn And the murmur of blossoming trees; Voice of the meadow-lands a-tremble; Voice of the rushes quivering; Voice of God to the hosts of Life. Rain with the sob of the wandering stream. Telling the tale of the great gray seas. Rain of the tempest spent and joy to come — The baptism of regeneration From the fountain of youth perennial; Pitiful, quickening tears of the Most High! Rain that speaks to my heart. Speaks with the voice of my dear love And whispers: *' Peace, peace; For above the clouds the sunshine And after the rain the radiance; And this is life and its mystery!" 1S7 ^t tf^t Sbm of tf^t dMnQtx 3>at 3^n tl)e f atiing fear The goldenrod is nodding to the asters by the road. Out across the sandy reaches where the grass is flaming up Into orange-yellow torches, flaring autumn's signal code. Still the milkweed pours its treasure from an over- flowing cup. The jewel-blossomed gentian hides in the willow brake. And the dial-faced sunflowers, turning ever toward the sun. Beam in slowly fading splendor, seeming sadly loth to make Their adieus and bend their slender stalks in part- ing benison. The elms are growing weary with the waning of the year. While their leaves, like tears of sorrow, drop reluc- tantly to earth. And their haggard branches totter, looming somber and severe As they moan of joys departed and of winter's cold and dearth. i88 iEature In the oaks the squirrels worry, up among the bur- nished leaves. Which hang stiff like ancient parchments soiled by summer's careless hands. And a warble trembles through them as a bird belated grieves While it pauses in its lonesome pilgrimage to warmer lands. Listen ! don't you hear the patter of the dry leaves as they pass ? Hear them treading where the maple spreads its mantle on the grass ? All the early year and onward I beheld them grow and glow. Each with its peculiar beauty shining in the vernal show. Faded all, they fall to nourish blossoms of a fairer day; Thus again their worth shall flourish into beauty by the way. So again, oh friend ! shall prosper every fair and noble deed. Making lives leaf out in kindness as the fruitful days proceed. 189 at tt)e 5ifin of t\)t (ffiinfl« ^ar %t Mnm The robin warbles in the dusk. The sunset strews its fading fire. And like the kernel in the husk Rests in my heart a ripe desire; The secret of the songster's strain. The magic of the embered west — Ah, could I name the sweet bird's pain And know whereof the sun's unrest! The robin's mate in silence waits The coming of the fledgling brood And night at heaven's flaming gates Sits through the twilight interlude; But over all a mist of tears Intangible, the majesty Of mighty grief through countless years. Seems cast, and chills the soul of me. Moan in the dusk, O gentle bird! The sorrows of the world arise. And ev'ry trembling leaf is stirred With nature's sympathetic sighs; 190 Mature Day bares its stricken heart, and bleeds; Night, with a nameless sorrow weak. Droops like a widow in new weeds. And death breathes coldly on her cheek. Still in my heart the will to know Rests like the kernel in the husk; How shall it germinate and grow To rise above life's troubled dusk? Immortal One, teach me the way. Give me the skill! Give me the skill To read the wondrous night and day And know the glories of Thy will. 191 at tf)t ^iQn of t^e ©inget fat <6a|i ^jjring iHcturiijef Gay Spring returns, her glad face glowing With the winsome smile of a year ago. And again in accents sweet and low She murmurs of wilds where her blooms are growing. She rustles the folds of her garments, showing A splendor of draperies new; and so Gay Spring returns, her glad face glowing With the winsome smile of a year ago. In her hand is a lilac bough o'erflowing With billows of odorous bloom; but, oh! Its green leaves lisp with a sense of woe. For flowers must fade and Spring be going — Gay Spring returns, her glad face glowing. 192 iaatuw Jjjjrmg €ome^ ^l^Canhtgi Spring knocks at the door of the year and cries: *'I want to come in! I 've a song for you; I 've a kirtle green and a bonnet blue. And jewels of dew to dazzle your eyes. *'l know where the first shy violet lies In its cradle of moss — and the May bloom, too! I've a basket full of the flowers you prize. And fresh as the dawn when the world was new. *'I 've a charm that dropped from the autumn skies Of the year agone, and with magic true 'T will gild the fields where the gold wheat grew. And make you happy and wealthy and wise! " Spring knocks at the door of the year and cries: "I want to come in! I 've a song for you!'* 193 ^t tJ)e Sbm of tije BinQtx §ax €!>e J>pring f eber There 's a witchery to the winds that shiver so In against the leafless bushes and the snow. And each gusty spirit-wing Of the breezes seems to sing Of the coming of the spring, spring, SPRING! Now the bronze buds of the willows swell and glow, And the silver-throated birches whisper low That the violets that quake Half asleep beside the brake Soon will blossom wide awake, wide awake! Hear the early bluebird pipe his morning lay! He 's a uniformed young captain of the day; He 's a soldier without fear. Heralding the bloom and cheer Of the spring and all the fruitage of the year. Hurry, winter, we beseech you, haste away ! For we long to see the clover-bloom at play With the teasing tousled bees. And we long to lounge at ease Underneath the sleepy-headed summer trees. 194 BITS OF CHILDHOOD Dear little blue-eyes, go to sleep ! The twilight shadows are knee-deep; The sun gone down behind the town. And from the hilltop's silver crown A faint, far day-star seems to peep. The green lawn twinkles bright with dew. The treetops whisper low to you: "Sleep, little one; the day is done; Sleep till the rising of the sun ! " Sleep, love, and close your eyes of blue. 195 at tl)t Si'an of tfie OBfinfler §ax Winttt 25utterflie^ The snowflakes flutter all around. Or drop to rest upon the ground. And if you see them with my eyes You '11 know they are white butterflies That float from sunny fields above To visit boys and girls they love. fairp €a^t!e^ Upon my window-pane at night Come fairy pictures, painted white. And when I get up with the sun The shining paintings are all done. I see a marble castle there. And to it leads a silver stair. And at the stairway's top I see Somebody beckoning to me. 196 ISits of arf)iltf)ooti J>leep ^ong of !3l^oti)er()oot> Little one — little one — child of my breast. First-born of thy father, drowse to thy rest. Over the trail of the rose-tinted west Steals the red sun to its under-world nest. Warm on my heart is the pulse of thy love; Soft on my cheek is the breathing thereof — Tight must I hold thee till dawning of day. Else the Night Watcher might bear thee away. Little one, sleep, or the night will repine While the Dream Singers wait for this wee one of mine. E'en now a low lullaby calls from the shade. And bids thee, my precious one, be not afraid. Hush! — list to the song of the stars as they cling In the arms of the night where they drowsily swing And twinkle their love to thee now, as I sing My crooning sleep song to thee, rapturous Thing! 197 ^t tije Siflu of tf)f dMuQet far €f)e f ir^t icar The year is nearly gone, my child. Your only year, or rather. Four months have passed since first you smiled Upon your blushing father. The nurse scoffs at my unctuous claim That you in infant frolic Grinned at your dad; she vows that same Grin meant a touch of colic. When babes are new, so I am told. Life bores them out of measure; I know some "babies" gray and old Who don't find life all pleasure. You were a solemn little chap When we became acquainted; I dubbed you saint and watched you nap — You 're not as fair as painted. What lonely nights we walked the floor! 'T was I did all the walking. And how you bawled! and how I swore — And set the neighbors talking! 198 No doubt your voice will ring, some day. Full eloquent and pure; But don't be so ambitious, pray. While yet so immature. Still, darling infant, you are fair. Though ofttimes passing doleful; You look a cherub lying there. With eyes so big and soulful. If chance we spank your nether parts And often seem to flout you — Why, brightest jewel of our hearts. We couldn't do without you! Mat €tath^ Alone in bed at night I lie And watch the stars that dot the sky; They are so yellow and so bright I call them daisies of the night. When day returns I step abroad To view the wondrous works of God, And yellow daisies, as I pass. Shine out like stars upon the grass. 199 at t^t Sign of if)t ©inset ^ai €{je €op ^oltiier*^ Balentine It was Valentine day and the toy folk were gay; But the little toy soldier was blue as could be. For his heart was of lead, and he stood on his head In a crack of the nursery floor, you see! He had fallen that way, and in love, too, they say. When the yellow-haired baby had asked him to play; And from that day to this he had longed for the bliss Of a kiss from that dimpled and rosy young miss. But who ever heard of a dear little bird Of a baby a-kissing toy soldiers — did you? So the rubber doll laughed and the Noah's ark chaffed. And the calico kitten said ** Me-ow-oo'!" And they all of them ran to the toy-soldier man And said: ♦• Run away with the girl if you can! " Now, this is too bad, for the toy soldier had Lost both his legs in a battle — poor lad ! But the big, golden Sun, he had seen all the fun That was made of the little toy soldier, and he Just made up his mind that the others should find — Well, something, I think you '11 agree; 200 IS Its of art) iitifioo^ For he sent a sunbeam with a dazzling gleam To glow on the little toy soldier, full stream. Till the dear fellow shone with a brightness, I'll own. As glowing as any that ever was known. And then, pretty soon, I should say, about noon. The yellow-haired baby appeared in the door; And standing right there, first thing, I declare! She saw the toy soldier ashine on the floor. Then what do you think? As quick as a wink. She caught the toy soldier and kissed him, ker-plink! So without more ado the frolicksome two Ran away with each other. I'm glad, aren't you? 201 m tfit Sign of tf}t ©infler far W\^m a^arp ^ingjef When Mary sings it seems a faint. Fond echo of some far bird's plaint. Some song of love and past delight From twilight grove or azure height Comes dreamily in drifting flight To mc, and brings, on drowsy wings. Spring's luring, lulling murmurings. Despite the wind-worn winter's night. When Mary sings. When Mary sings, to-night, her quaint Child music croons, in sweet restraint. Soft slumber tunes, whose tones unite The mother's runes with ditties, light As infant fancies can incite. Before the blaze she sways and swings Her cradled dolls, and round her clings The glory of a sacred rite. When Mary sings. 202 mt» of arf)ii^f)ooti €lje i^ur^erp ^age I know a quaint philosopher Who muses all day long. Whose earnest utterances are Exceeding plain and strong. He seems assured that midnight is The season to expound. And then — the fact I must admit! - His arguments are sound. This wee Philosopher ignores The <' question of the hour," Except that of hygienic food. Which same he doth devour. He hath a scientific turn Of mind, I 'm free to say — A simple astronomic taste: He loves the Milky Way. Although he hath abundant health, A nurse is always near To minister to each small need Of this Philosopher. 203 at ti)t S>m of t^e (SJinger far He seems to long to walk abroad. And often he begins. But heavens! you should hear him howl When he gets on his pins! This young Philosopher I know Is from a foreign land. And speaks a language that I fain Would speak or understarid. My clever wife, however, can Translate his *♦ Googly-goo!" And vows it means ** mamma," of course. Just as all mothers do! I lay no claim to learning great. And yet my heart insists That when my infant son gets red And doubles up his fists. And googles to articulate A name, the boy is mad Because he cannot quite command That fond expression — DAD! 204 iSits of or^ilti^ootJ 4Boing ^HtDap Oh, Josephine Gray, are you going away? Then I know why the flowers are fading; Why the leaves of the trees die so, and the seas Of dry grasses are ever upbraiding; Why the sad monotone of the air is a moan Like the groan of a lone child sobbing; Why the song of the bird of gay spring is unheard. And my temples with trouble are throbbing. In the bloom of the year you came to me, dear. With the glory of summer about you; But in gloom the parade of all nature must fade. For it cannot have pleasance without you! Ah! the chill at my heart, and its storm, is a part Of the winter that comes at your leaving, And the moan of the air is my echoed despair. And the plaint of the grass is my grieving! Sweet Josephine Gray, little maid, won't you stay? For I dote on your prattle and laughter. And in it I hark to the song of a lark Of a light heart that flutters long after. 205 at ti)e Sign of tlje ©mgct iat Come, stay! And whatever the weather we '11 never See aught but the sunshine you make us With the smile of your sweet little face and the wile Of a joy that shall never forsake us! 3llrmp SDiet My father says 'at sojcrs is The braves' mens 'at ever was; 'At when they hears the shots go ** Whiz !" They don't mind it a bit, bekuz The whiz means 'at you ain't got hit. An' so they 'ist don't keer a bit. Pa says 'at sojers knows a lot. An' they can walk **'ist like one man." An' aim so well 'at every shot Will hit a sneakin' Spaniard, an' He says they have to eat "hard tacks " An' carry "raccoons" on their backs. But when I ast him why they do He 'ist busts out a-laughin', nen He says, ** You know a thing or two. My son!" an' laughs an' laughs again. An' says "'At's 'ist the very thing — The sojers eats the tax, 'I jing !" 206 mts of €t)iltjJ)ooti % l^etd H^oman Spring blossoms with a world of eyes. My wee girl has but two; But oh! a world of beauty lies Within those eyes of blue. The high hills hold vast hoards of gold. Both beautiful and rare; But oh! it gleams in wealth untold Within my darling's hair. The downy peach is pink and sleek. And sweet as ancient wine; But sweeter is my darling's cheek When pressing close to mine. She toddles to her papa's knee. Across the flowered floor. And each bare footstep seems to me To leave one blossom more. 207 at tf)t SiiQn of tfit (Sfiitger fat Diana's silver sickle shows Upon the jeweled sky. And underneath the long grass glows A twinkling firefly. Fair day has gone to rest, my dear. She just put out her light. And as you nestle close, I hear A drowsy, faint " Dood night! " 208 JxJi OCT 12 1901 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS iiiiilliiiiimillilili' ^ 393 251 2 m 018 I H I