3505 
 19 G5 
 16 
 py 1 
 
 GildimSiar 
 
 oteplxetv CWmefs 
 
 ^4 
 
 ADIRpNDACK EDITION 
 
 J 
 
SARANAC LAKE NEWS FRI\T 
 
 Cover dei<ign bj- Harvey W. Lord 
 
 Copyright 1916 by Stephen Chalmers 
 
 cfc -/ m 
 
GildinaSUr 
 
 
 <5iepken CKalmefs 
 

 ^^■*>i 
 
 /^; 
 
 4^. 
 
 ©Cl.a4476':6 
 
TO GIVE 
 
 L poa «vho8e brow there is a gentle gract^ 
 Aad iu her hair a crown few queens hav«^ Koni; 
 
 l\>r she ha« suffered with a qiiiet face, 
 
 And for the ros**'.'^ ^*nkf rrvori^d thp thrjrj*. 
 
tDEALS 
 
 CMdren, O my chi^dr^n/ 
 
 When the ship comes home, 
 t win deck you to my pleaaurtf 
 With my riches and my leisure. 
 And then and forever 
 We win r€fam. 
 
 Children, O my children! 
 
 When the ship comes home. 
 And no longer we are sigMng 
 0*er this weary ever-trying 
 
 'Gainst the sea and the hreakert* 
 Stinging foam. 
 
 Then, children, O my children! 
 
 Though the tide nets strong. 
 Though our eyes are growing heavy 
 
 And the time seems long, 
 Wc*n forget our yester-sorrow 
 In our planning for the morrow. 
 
 And cheer us in out waiting 
 With a aong! 
 
NOTE 
 
 Some of these verses were wriiten 
 at sea, some on tx>p of a New York 
 skyscraper, others on the loag »ti-ail by 
 palm and pine. Many of them blossom- 
 e<.l on that fruitful tree which grow^ 
 m the "southeast comer" of The 
 New York Times; others are leaves 
 from yesterday's magazines; and not 
 a few were first printed in a Nortli 
 Woods newspaper which now offers 
 them in this form to meet an appai- 
 ont demand. If here and t;here the> 
 reflect the alternating pessimism an<i 
 optimism of one handicapped by con- 
 ditions, they may yet meet similar 
 moods in others and bring to them a 
 Tittle of the light of fellow feeling in 
 rk hours of the Long Day. 
 
 — S. C. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Gilding-Star 
 
 A Truth 
 
 The Toilers 
 
 Lines to a Pilgrim 
 
 The Singer in the Ditch 
 
 The Roses 
 
 Rebellion 
 
 A Wish 
 
 She 
 
 Tempus Fugit 
 
 The Red Cross Nurse 
 
 Snow 
 
 Little Bo-Peep 
 
 Travel Tales 
 
 The Singer and His Song 
 
 After-thoughts 
 
 The Plea of the Absent 
 
 Adirondack Sunset 
 
 The Voice of the City 
 
 The Temple of the Woods 
 
 Resurrection 
 
 Fame 
 
 Disillusion 
 
 Love at Sea 
 
 The Star-Gazer 
 
 Zero 
 
 Home 
 
o 
 
 THE GILDING-STAR 
 
 HERE is a sea- — a quiet sea, 
 
 Beyond the farthest Hne, 
 Where all my ships that went astray 
 Where all my dreams of yesterday. 
 
 And all the things that were to be. 
 Are mine! 
 
 There is a land — a quiet land, 
 Beyond the setting sun, 
 Where every task in which I failed, 
 And all wherein my courage quailed 
 Where all the good my spirit planned, 
 Is done! 
 
 There is a hope — a quiet hope, 
 Within my heart instilled. 
 That if, undaunted, on I sail. 
 This gilding-star shall never pale. 
 But shine upon my labor's scope, 
 Full filled! 
 
 And there's a tide — a quiet tide, 
 Flowing toward the goal — 
 That sweeps by every human shore 
 And at its fullest ebbs no more: 
 Vnd on that final swell shall ride 
 My soul! 
 
o 
 
 A TRUTH 
 
 j D you hate old Winter's croak, 
 How could you love the Summer so 
 Did you not reel beneath the yoke, 
 i low verv tiring;" rest would i^row. 
 
 If all the pains oi earth were dead, 
 Joy would entail its own defeat. 
 
 If death were robbed of all its dread. 
 Life would be robbed of all its sweet 
 
 Thank God for everything in Life! 
 
 The big and little, sweet and sour. 
 Peace is the child of stirring strife, 
 
 .\nd pain (hr n\i»ih(^r of nil luiwrr! 
 
THE TOILERS 
 
 BREAMS — dreams — dreams ! 
 Of all the things that we yet 
 may do, 
 lUtt the present pain seems an endless chain. 
 Real and true! 
 
 And some of us dream of temples, 
 While the roof sags overhead, 
 And some of the gold that a witch foretold, 
 While we fight for bread. 
 
 Dreams — vain dreams! 
 
 Of the things that we yet may be: 
 Vet the worst and best have gone to rest. 
 And so shall we. 
 
 And some of us dream of glory, 
 
 While the sword hangs by a thread : 
 ( )f a little fame, a remembered name 
 When we are — dead! 
 
 And none has returned to tell us 
 If dreams may alter Fate; 
 Vtt we toil and try, bequeath and die. 
 The rest — can wait! 
 
w 
 
 LINES TO A PILGRIM 
 
 HO goes his Way in puny Wrath, 
 His back toward the Sun, 
 
 Shall find a shadow on his Path, 
 His own, till Day is done. 
 
 Who, turning, walks toward the Light, 
 Shall bid that Shade depart; 
 
 Shall find the Road to Mecca bright, 
 The Sunshine on his heart! 
 
 What though the shadow follow still? 
 
 Turn not thine Eye nor Mind. 
 Thou art the Master. At thy Will, 
 
 It must — shall ! — walk behind ! 
 
THE SINGER IN THE DITCH 
 
 B 
 
 HEY say all men are equal born. 
 Rut to the strong's the race. 
 -s white beneath this wayside thorn. 
 Behold thy brother's face! 
 
 For some are born of sturdy strain. 
 
 Some of a broken reed; 
 Vet they who, blameless, sufTer pain. 
 
 Have ten times greater need. 
 
 And he whom Virtue hails at length 
 Is kin through what he hides; 
 
 For every man who hath great strength 
 A weakness hath besides. 
 
 Brother, when we two played the game 
 Ere my foot struck yon stone, 
 
 We knew each other's Christian name. 
 Now I know not mine own. 
 
 Contemn me not that I am poor. 
 
 And let me not hate thee. 
 Thou art my brother as of yore. 
 
 Brother, dost thou know mc' 
 
THE ROSES* 
 
 RISCILLA sent me roses, 
 
 Roses white and red. 
 Brought they roses to me, 
 And laid them on my bed. 
 
 Her name is not Priscilla, 
 
 Nor meant for me her posies; 
 But let it be! 
 It pleases me. 
 So, pray you, for the time agree — 
 Priscilla sent me roses! 
 
 But why call her Priscilla, 
 Whom I have never known? 
 
 Ah! you would have me whisper 
 A secret all mine own. 
 
 But once I saw her walking 
 And gathering such roses — 
 A Mayflower lass 
 Who, in her glass, 
 For sweet Priscilla well might pass, 
 To whom poor John proposes. 
 
 Priscilla sent me roses. 
 
 Their cheeks were pink and fairj 
 And o'er them, drooping gently. 
 
 Hung sweetest maiden-hair. 
 
 •A certain lady sent roses to a friend. ]Jy nij.siake, 
 they were delivered to one who, ill at the time, now 
 and thus acknowledges a pardonaVjle theft 
 
THE ROSES 
 
 Her name is not Priscilla, 
 Nor meant for me her posies 
 But have your will, 
 I'll swear so still! 
 \m\, spite of all, I'll drink my till 
 Of heaiitv from her roses! 
 
REBELLION 
 
 c 
 
 () wake at morn, 
 And hear the httle laugh 
 Of the lake-wind in the trees ; 
 To watch at dawn 
 The earliest sunbeam kiss 
 The mist-crowned, towering peaks 
 And glide down to the plains. 
 
 Ah, that is Life! # 
 
 Not this — 
 
 To wake at morn, 
 And hear the swelling roar 
 Of Man, Beast and Machine, 
 Toiling in murky air 
 
 And a city's sweat! 
 
 At noon to dream 
 Where Nature's bowers are hid 
 
 Beneath an arch 
 Of twined and intersticing vines, 
 
 While on the air 
 Quivers the chanting of the sighing woods. 
 And the songs of mating birds. 
 
 Ah, that is Life! 
 Not this— 
 
 At noon to pause, 
 And lay aside the pen for one brief hour. 
 Then to return, as I did yesterday. 
 Will do tomorrow and on all tomorrows — 
 
 Oh. Fool, Machine, and vSlave ! 
 
REBELLION 
 
 Again at dusk, 
 To watch the sun's last ray 
 
 Fade in the west; 
 To feel Earth's grand transition 
 
 From da\' to night — 
 That moment when the world 
 Pauses and knows itself! 
 
 The Angelus chimes 
 And echoes 'round the Earth: 
 
 Here the Muezzin's call. 
 
 There a child's lullaby, 
 And now a poor serf's prayer. ... 
 
 Earth's evensong! 
 
 To hear that is to live! 
 
 Not this— 
 To breast the roaring surge 
 ()i thousands, pale and tired, dead in soul. 
 Crowding with merciless haste toward 
 
 home, 
 Ifome ? . . . 
 f-^ast ere the sweet of home has touchc*! 
 
 the sense! 
 
 To toil that we may sleep 
 That better we may toil; 
 
 To toil that we may eat, 
 That better we may toil. 
 
 Ay, that is Life; but still — 
 But still we dream! 
 
A WISH 
 
 \D 1 the voice I would sing, 
 
 Had I the touch, I would play. 
 Nnr] all this beautiful world wmjl 
 ring 
 With music night and day ! 
 
 Had I the gift, 1 would write; 
 
 I would paint, had I the skill. 
 An earth so fair and full of light 
 
 That none should know its ill ! 
 
 Still am I free to hear. 
 
 Still am I free to see; 
 And the cost of life is none too dear. 
 
 For life is good to me! 
 
H 
 
 SHK 
 
 AiK Hs a flowV was she; for when she 
 siriiled. 
 
 It was to me a gleam from some dap- 
 pled pool, 
 Tinting a primrose. 
 
 Fairer than night was she; for when her 
 
 eyes 
 Arose to mine, their modesty rebuked 
 The Summer stars. 
 
 And O, as the dawn was she; for when she 
 
 came 
 Over the heath at daybreak, envious Night, 
 Drawing her mantle, fled, leaving a trail 
 Of tears upon the grass. 
 
TEMPUS FUGIT 
 
 u 
 
 ()! the gray gossamer of the years" 
 
 Silvers the days. 
 And Time, that hoary spider of our 
 fears. 
 Spins always. . . 
 Silent, unseen, save when we lift our eyes 
 Up from the living page of smiles and sighs. 
 
 x\nd gaze 
 Where the gray gossamer of the years 
 Fills the house corners. And remembering 
 tears 
 
 Deepen the haze. 
 
THE RED CROSS NURSE 
 
 m 
 
 AR. gray eyes that take light from 
 the sea. 
 H^ll Up in the north where the dusk is 
 
 long; 
 Quiet, gray eyes that look out beyond me- — 
 Tender and wistful, calm and strong. 
 
 Brave little smile, like a sun-ray shot 
 Down through the dark of a Wintry 
 hour ; 
 
 Sad little smile — afterglow of some thought 
 Sealed in a book with a broken flow'r! 
 
 Womanly heart that to read must this: 
 Self and its serfs rebuke, contemn! 
 
 Little white hands that a man might kiss. 
 Himself honoring more than them. 
 
SNOW 
 
 r^ylKOTH on the sea. 
 \jC^\ Mist on the lea. 
 H^lli White on the hill, 
 Clear-cut and still. 
 Frost on the sedge. 
 Drifts on the ledge. 
 Prismatic beams where the window-pane 
 gleams, 
 And silence! 
 
 Foam that flies, 
 
 Flutters and dies 
 
 Softly to sleep, 
 
 Or, as the winds sweep, 
 Whirls in mad races, and traces its grace.^ 
 With fantasy's ease on the stiff, bare trees. 
 
 In silence! 
 
 Voices so" clear; 
 Whispers so near : 
 Shadows appear. 
 
 And go. 
 Out of the night. 
 Into the light-^ 
 Into the bright and shimmering white 
 
 Of the snow. 
 Hurrying— =gray— passing away. 
 In silence! 
 
LITTLE BO-PEEP 
 
 JTTLE Bo-Peep 
 
 lias gone to sk^ep, 
 
 iSig And left the world behind her; 
 Left mother alone 
 With a heart of stone, 
 And a three-legged sheep to remind her 
 That little Bo-Peep 
 Has gone to sleep, 
 And lefl the wnrld l)ehind her. 
 
 To little Bu-l'eep, 
 
 Who has gone to sleep, 
 The world was of play and laughter; 
 
 For little, she knew. 
 
 As some of us do, 
 Of the pain and the tears that come aftrr 
 
 So why should we weep 
 
 For little Bo-Peep? 
 And mother's own grief should remind her. 
 
 That curly-haired tot 
 
 Is spared quite a lot; 
 \nd Some Day or Other she'll find her — 
 
 That little Bo-Peep, 
 
 Who went to sleep, 
 And left the world behind her. 
 
TRAVEL TALES 
 
 c 
 
 HERii is a field where daisies gTt»w 
 Where simple rivers seaward Mow. 
 With blue above and green below. 
 Just children wander there. 
 
 Tiiere is a garden full of flow'rs. 
 And butterflies and golden hours. 
 Where pleasure tends the day-dreaui 
 bowTs, 
 Daughters of Eve \valk there. 
 
 There is a path where night-flow'rs blooiu. 
 Where glow-worms chase the pressing 
 
 gloom. 
 Where Life's the bride and Youth's the 
 
 groom. 
 The sons of men walk there. 
 
 There is a place where skies rain tears. 
 Where gaunt trees rise and shadowy fears. 
 Where every footstep galls and sears. 
 Only the fool comes there. 
 
 There is a road wdicre Autumn reigns. 
 Where leaves are sere and strew tlie plains, 
 W^here Summer yields to Winter's pains. 
 Even the wise come there. 
 
 Rut there's the field where daisies grow. 
 Where simple rivers seaward flow. 
 With blue above and green below. 
 Come! Let us wan<ler there! 
 
THE SINGER AND HIS SONG 
 
 o 
 
 F what avail to sing of Death? 
 
 None but the dead will hear. 
 Of what avail to sing of Life? 
 
 The living lend no ear. 
 
 Of what avail to sing of Love? 
 
 Only the jealous care. 
 Of what avail to sing of Hate? 
 
 Love will not turn a hair. 
 
 Of what avail to sing of Truth? 
 
 Truth from old age is cold. 
 Of what avail to sing of Faith? 
 
 Do beggars scatter gold? 
 
 Of what avail to sing at all? 
 
 The nightingale replies: 
 *' I sing to cheer a heavy heart, 
 
 And stay the light that flies!" 
 
AFTER. THOUGHTS 
 
 \STE life discreetly. Tempt still the 
 
 mind. 
 
 Drain to the dregs, and — dregs you 
 
 will find. 
 
 Pry not too closely. Tender's the veil. 
 Truth is beneath it, sneering and pale. 
 
 Mock not the simple fool's paradise. 
 Happier he than woefully wise. 
 
 H 
 
 Who tells you Love is sped, 
 
 Sighs. 
 Who tells you Faith is fled. 
 
 Lies. 
 Who tells you Hope is dead, 
 ^ Dies! 
 
 HI 
 
 Ask the old, but not the young: 
 Would I live again my life — 
 'All its calm and all its strife? 
 
 Answer would the sagest tongue: 
 No! 
 
 Save, perhaps, some wrong to right 
 But to have done otherwise. 
 To have seen with other eyes. 
 
 So to change my present plight? 
 No! 
 
AFTER. THOUGHTS 
 
 As the traveler turns to home. 
 Should he go that way or this? 
 Neither can lead far amiss. 
 
 *' All roads lead to Rome!'* 
 
THE PLEA OF THE ABSENT 
 
 ly^l OU spoke of her to me? 
 [^gy| Did a faint smile 
 ^^M Tremble upon her lips? 
 How did it seem to be? 
 
 Did she a moment's while, 
 
 As one w^ho sees far ships. 
 
 Look past you? Did her eyes 
 
 Not light a little? Or the sea 
 
 Of her blue vision dim as in a haze 
 
 Of lingering gaze? 
 
 A tide of color rise, 
 
 Or ebb ... at v/ord of me? 
 
 She spoke to you of me? 
 
 What did she say? 
 
 Did her tongue move in doubt, 
 
 Or speak in diflRculty? 
 
 Or in a hurried way. 
 
 Fearing a secret out? 
 
 And did she speak my name, 
 
 Or sudden change the theme? 
 
 Her manner did seem free, 
 
 Treating of This and That and Mr the 
 
 same? 
 Tell me . . . how did it seem, 
 Then . . . when she spoke of nic? 
 
AN ADIRONDACK SUNSET 
 
 © 
 
 URQUOISE and gold, a crimson wave 
 between; 
 A great star bosoin'd in the loftier 
 blue; 
 
 A vague mirage of dusk isles' deepeninj,^ 
 green, 
 With inshore waters of a ghostly hue. 
 
 A sea of frozen flame and molten ice! 
 As if the north's white leagues, the boreal 
 lights, 
 The Orient's blaze, the color-sense of spice. 
 Were gathered by the gods into the 
 heights. 
 
 Or as if spirit hands, that in the dawn 
 Stir delicate fires from out the ash or* 
 Night, 
 Swept up the leaves of Day from Heaven's 
 lawn. 
 And burned a splendid Sacrifice of Light! 
 
THE VOICE OF THE CITY 
 
 ol 
 
 lOMES a tone tliat sounds alone. 
 
 Rising from the city to the snows: 
 Strumming, drumming, humming like 
 a zephyr in a lyre, 
 Murmuring and purring like a great un- 
 hindered fire 
 That has struck a mighty measure in the 
 burning of its treasure, 
 Without thought of pain or pity as it 
 glows ! 
 
 Soft and slow and vast and low'. 
 Swelling from a whisper, as the veering 
 
 wind may lift 
 All the thunder of a torrent in some raving, 
 
 rocky rift, 
 From a shiver of the river to a groan madly 
 blown 
 
 To a roar! 
 That, dying, fills the ears w^ith the fears 
 and the tears 
 That one hears within a shell 
 On the shore! 
 
THETEMPLE OF THE WOODS 
 
 ® 
 
 HY do the wild flowers spread 
 Their fairest where few tread? 
 Why do the wild birds sing- 
 Only where echoes ring? 
 
 Careless of what men hear or see. 
 
 Careless of where or what men be. 
 Does God walk there? 
 
 The leaves stir, yet no breeze 
 Moves in the dim-lit trees. 
 The carpet of the glades 
 Trembles in gliding shades. 
 
 The birds uplift a choir of song. 
 
 The praying forest whispers long. 
 Does God walk there? 
 
RESURRECTION 
 
 © 
 
 HE air is still. 
 
 The edge of Winter's blade 
 
 Is turned by long, hard use. 
 
 'Hie brown earth, fallowed rich, 
 Breaks through the melting snows. 
 The mountain stream 
 
 Chants a high anthem from ;a bubbling 
 heart. 
 
 The gray-haired skies 
 Regain the smooth-browed calm 
 Of blue-eyed youth. 
 The trees, still bare, 
 Vet breathe maternal mystery, 
 And whisper to the eager-asking birds 
 A secret prescience. And but last night 
 A cricket stirred. 
 
 And shrilled its bell-like song across the 
 world. 
 
 Now Flora walks abroad. 
 
 Her fertile tread 
 
 Leaving a magic imprint on the mould; 
 
 And who have eyes 
 
 May see her as she passes o'er the grass. 
 
 Her breath is balm, 
 
 Her gaze compassionate warmth; 
 
 Her finger-tips drip myrrh, 
 
 And everything that senses her approach 
 
 Thrills with the joy of resurrected hope 
 
RESURRECTION 
 
 It is the birthday of the world. 
 
 * )Ul earth, 
 
 So long despairing', wakes from lethargy 
 
 Renewing faith the cynic. Winter, jeerecf 
 
 Life is Immortal! 
 
FAME 
 
 rj^ELOVED of all the earth, woo*d of all 
 
 1^1^ men, 
 
 |g^ She smiles and frowns, favors and 
 
 spurns again. 
 Mistress of wide-eyed nights, or visions 
 
 fair; 
 Maid-o'-the-Mist upon the marsh of care : 
 Fame — so hke a woman! 
 
 I send her all the fatness of my lands : 
 I send her all the labors of my hands; 
 And all my pride of youth before her lay. 
 She curtseys low, but then — she turns 
 away. 
 
 Fame — so hke a woman! 
 
 I rose up with the sun and wove a chain 
 Of blossoms, jeweFd with the leaf-born 
 
 rain. 
 She paid no heed to me or mine, the while 
 She smiled on one who had not sought her 
 
 smile. 
 
 Fame — so like a woman! 
 
 He came. Reconquered! For he met t^er 
 
 eyes 
 With no abasement — nay, nor pleadin.e: 
 
 sighs. 
 Defiantly, despite her frown, he stood. 
 Strange, but she fell to loving in that mood. 
 Fame — so like a woman ! 
 
DISILLUSION 
 
 a 
 
 S Summer's breath each year begins 
 
 to blow, 
 We dream again of all the sweetest 
 things 
 That charmed our Youth in seemini; 
 fairer Springs, 
 Long years ago. 
 
 \ud hearts rebel, and blood vearns for tlie 
 thrill 
 That never seems the same before an i 
 after. 
 \ new slra!ni»'f nuiir is iv; []]<- lark's (lr>1 
 trill 
 .\nd into sobbing chai o snow- 
 
 Hood's laughter. 
 
 re we changed? And is ifie coin's fal-^e 
 ring" 
 in visiting the scenes we loved awhile — 
 W'here it seemed Life was always at the 
 Spring- 
 Only a stern reminder of the mile 
 i hat we have traveled since those happy 
 days. 
 When hearts were yoimg- and drinkinci' 
 Summer's breath? 
 ft nuist be so. Then let ns go our ways. 
 And leave Regret to hill itself to Death. 
 
LOVE AT SEA 
 
 ING low. 
 
 As the winds blow, 
 ^ And the breasting petrels fly. 
 Waves grow. 
 And sails flow, 
 And living lights the eye. 
 Life is short, but the day is long, 
 And in our hearts is the wonder-song. 
 
 Your rare, 
 Brown-gold hair 
 Blows across my face. 
 Hearts leap 
 And eyelids steep. 
 Ah ! Love has v/on the race. 
 Life is short, but the hour is long, 
 And in our hearts is the wonder-song. 
 
 Sun low, 
 And seas slow, 
 And idle wings unfurled. 
 Lights swung 
 And stars hung, 
 And a calm upon the world. 
 Life is short, but the night is long. 
 And in our hearts is the wonder-song! 
 
THE STAR. GAZER 
 
 rjr^jO sage in learning, I; 
 
 |i--| Yet in the night, 
 
 tailM When earth is dark, save twinklin.i: 
 
 lights afar, 
 That mark the town asleep. 
 From out the blankness of forgotten self 
 A shadowy being steals, 
 And the mind reels among the swaying' 
 stars! 
 
 Then from this speck of star-dust hung^ 
 
 athwart 
 The great, incomprehensible abyss— 
 Where th' alternate seasons move like 
 
 ghosts 
 Between the spheres, 
 
 The far-flung being of the mind drifts on. 
 Asking of worlds the secret of it all! 
 
 And evermore they point 
 
 On !— on through ordered chaos, where the 
 
 calm. 
 The mighty, breathing calm. 
 Seems like the desert, full of whisperings! 
 
 Infinity! And then? — Infinity! 
 
 Where the mind reels among the swaying' 
 
 stars, 
 And sinks to earth and this clay-fettered 
 
 shell, 
 Baffled and impotent! 
 
ZERO 
 
 rjF^lDES he like a rigid corse, 
 jj^l i pright on a pallid horse. 
 ^^M ^n his eyes a boreal gleam 
 
 Slumbers like a frozen dream. 
 On his brow a jewel glows, 
 Scintillating like the snows, 
 Where some moon-ray, over-bold, 
 Palls in crystals, stricken cold. 
 
 Comes he from the phantom north, 
 Where his palace walls give forth 
 Rays of iridesceiiL liglil 
 To the clear and lip-sealed night; 
 Where the still stars watch him ride 
 Forth to his unwilling bride — 
 Warmth that his own presence chills 
 Love that his embracing kills. 
 
 Ere that glittering hall he leaves. 
 Out a courier rides and weaves 
 (That we may not see him pass) 
 Charms upon the window glass; 
 For to see his face is death, 
 Or to feel his icy breath; 
 And these frozen boreal eyes 
 Can the warm blood paralyze! 
 
ZERO 
 
 So lie rides, a mist-veiled corse, 
 L'pright on a pallid horse, 
 While the moon's rim on the hill 
 Seems there welded stark and still; 
 While th' ascending smoke of fires 
 Lifts to Heav'n inverted spires. 
 Snapping pine and w^hining fir 
 Groan of senseless things astir — 
 Shuddering rock and cracking v^all, 
 StrangHng stream and choking fall — 
 Earth inanimate's deep cry: 
 Zero, King, is passing by! 
 
HOME 
 
 ^-^iHERKVER smoke wreaths 
 vjy Heavenward curl — 
 
 gggg ( ave of a hermit, 
 Flovel of churl. 
 Mansion of mercliant, princely dome — 
 Out of the dreariness. 
 Into its cheeriness. 
 Come we in weariness. 
 Home. 
 
 1. loo. have wandered 
 
 Through the far lands. 
 Home there was their home: 
 Open their hands. 
 Yet though all brothers, born of the foam. 
 Far o'er appalling sea. 
 Ever enthralling me, 
 Blood still was calling me 
 Home ! 
 
 Men speak of jewels 
 
 Earth hold abroad. 
 What can compare with 
 One bit of sod. 
 Full of the love-gold sunk in the loam? 
 Where lies my holy dead. 
 There where my mother shed 
 Tears o^er my sleeping head — 
 Home! 
 
HOME 
 
 Home, where I first knew 
 
 Day was alight, 
 Where I would fain be 
 Ere the Long Night, 
 That they might write this in some old 
 tome: 
 This earth the womb was; 
 This earth the room was; 
 This earth the tomb was — 
 Home! 
 
Hiinniiii 
 
 015 863 928 2