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 ANNE CLEVELAND CHENEY 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNE CLEVELAND CHENEY 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1911 
 

 Copyright, 1911 
 Sherman, French &^ Company 
 
 <? 
 
 r 
 
 ©CI,A28«712 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 For permission to publish some 
 of these poems, the author extends 
 cordial thanks to the editors of 
 Atlantic Monthly, Harper's Maga- 
 zine, Putnam's Magazine, Poet- 
 lore and others. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BY THE SEA 1 
 
 THE MIST 3 
 
 CLASPED HANDS 5 
 
 MY DREAM 6 
 
 "KEATS'S PLACE" 7 
 
 LANIER 8 
 
 R. L. S 9 
 
 EUGENIE DE GUERIN 10 
 
 HER JOURNAL 11 
 
 THE CONCORD CRICKET 13 
 
 THE DRAGON-FLY 15 
 
 THE ORIOLE 16 
 
 AMONG THE ROCKS 17 
 
 MORNING 
 
 AFTERNOON 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 SABBATH 
 
 THE OPAL 21 
 
 AMETHYST 22 
 
 SUNSET 24 
 
 THE PASSING SOUL ...... 25 
 
 A SONG 27 
 
 A MOOD 28 
 
 FANTASY 30 
 
 DESTINY 32 
 
 INSPIRATION 33 
 
 LONELINESS 34 
 
 PERFECTION 35 
 
 A RIDE IN THE NIGHT 36 
 
PAGE 
 
 AT NIAGARA 38 
 
 BY THE RAPIDS 
 
 NEAR THE FALLS 
 
 SOLACE 40 
 
 CROCUSES 41 
 
 BUTTERCUPS 43 
 
 CYCLAMEN 43 
 
 THE DANDELION PICKERS .... 44 
 
 SPRING SONG OF A WILLOW .... 45 
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE 46 
 
 THE OLD MANDOLIN 48 
 
 ROSE SONGS 
 
 THE RINGLET AND ROSE 53 
 
 THE HEART AND THE ROSE .... 54 
 
 THE WILD ROSE 55 
 
 FRAGRANCE 56 
 
 A FEW FRENCH FORMS AND 
 OTHER VERSE 
 
 OLD GRAY'S FIELDS 59 
 
 FANCY VERSUS FATE 60 
 
 TO A FIGURE ON AN OLD FRENCH FAN . 61 
 
 THE PASSING OF FLORIMEL .... 63 
 
 MARJORY 64 
 
 TO YUKI 65 
 
 AN HEIRLOOM ........ 66 
 
 SIGNORITA 68 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 Kneeling, I once heard Handel's Largo surge 
 In glorious chords above cathedral aisle, 
 And scent of lilies ; when the organ-roll 
 Seemed like the heart of all humanity 
 Yearning to God ; and clear-voiced violin. 
 And inspiration of the harp led on 
 To a transfiguration. Aye, all this 
 Had my soul heard and worshiped from afar. 
 
 But afterward, as tender, twilight hour 
 Wrapped me within the humble peace of home. 
 Again I Hstened to that largo strain. 
 Played by loved hands, while through the gath- 
 ering shade, 
 I watched thy reverent face and silvered hair; 
 Oh, then deep forces of remembered years — 
 A consecration of all mother-love — 
 Drew my soul forth and caught it upward there, 
 Into assurance of God's immanence. 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 Beat of the tide, beat of the blood, 
 
 O life seems good ! 
 This bright, windy weather, 
 The soul laughs and the sea laughs 
 
 Bravely together; 
 The body is quickened in every sense. 
 The whole world spreads out vivid, intense — 
 
 Clear-cut and a-shine. 
 
 Breath of the brine, 
 Beat of the tide, beat of the blood, 
 
 Life is good — good ! 
 
 The Wind is like a lapidary, 
 And cuts the sapphire of the sea 
 Into traceries and flutings, 
 
 Curiously. 
 
 Wonder-work, his fine, strong fretting. 
 And without a peer. 
 The great gem beneath it gleaming 
 
 Cerulean clear ! 
 
 Yonder bar of palest beryl 
 His high skill hath touched and lo ! 
 By a fleck of foam he turns it 
 
 Into cameo. 
 
 [1] 
 
A NARROW little lane that goes 
 
 Unevenly, between two rows 
 
 Of humble cottages — all gray 
 
 As mosses long and soft a-sway 
 
 In southern woods, or webs that stir 
 
 From rafters old; a tender blur 
 
 Of Old Maid's Pink ; and crass, gay green. 
 
 Where marsh grass pricks a path between 
 
 The sandy soil; on without bend, 
 
 The little road, then at the end — 
 
 The sea a-glitter, and the sky. 
 
 One burning lapis lazuli; 
 
 The sand a haze of amber light. 
 
 And one far sail, clear shadeless white J 
 
 Dull gray sky, the sand more pallid gray, 
 White line of lapping surf and silken swish 
 
 of the sea ; 
 Gulls' plaining sharp, and shadowy slow, slow 
 
 sail 
 
 Gliding in mist away. 
 
 Tang of brine and murmur and mystery. 
 Dreams of the fair lost ships and those that have 
 
 reached their port ; 
 Of alien wonders they bring and rich, haunt- 
 ing, strange. 
 
 Myths and songs of the sea. 
 
 [2] 
 
THE MIST ^ 
 
 I YAlulj, I fold 
 
 The hill, the wold, 
 In closely clinging, cool embraces ; 
 I bathe the lifted flower-faces, 
 I spread the lawn with fairy laces 
 
 And show all Nature filmy-stoled. 
 
 II 
 
 I form, — I float, 
 
 A wraith-like boat 
 Among the mere-side's long, lush grasses; 
 In torn and fringy-fluttering masses, 
 I glide adown the birchen passes — 
 
 A gray old Lear in tattered coat. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I wind, — I wreathe 
 
 A lattice, — breathe 
 Between its bars — presage the morning, — 
 Stir Beauty with a fine, faint warning, — 
 Leave pearls, her mignonette adorning, — 
 
 Then steal down vines to the beds be- 
 neath. 
 
 [S] 
 
IV 
 
 I creep, — I crawl 
 
 By lichened wall, 
 And through a mournful iron grating, 
 To where the Dead He stilly waiting; 
 As one that is bhnd, each graven slating 
 
 I trace for the name where my tears shall 
 fall. 
 
 [4] 
 
CLASPED HANDS 
 
 Miss Hosmer's bronze cast of the two Browning hands, 
 in the collection of the Boston Browning Society, Boston 
 Public Library. 
 
 Hush ! let us dream awhile now, leaning near 
 This wonder of two hands laid each in each, 
 Enduringly, beyond mutation's reach, 
 As king and queen lie carven on one bier. 
 Thou fragile hand, thou strong — each death- 
 less dear. 
 E'en all those living songs, that quickening 
 
 speech, 
 Have not more potency to thrill and teach. 
 Than this ineffably sweet emblem here. 
 
 So clasped forever, that the world may know 
 Such union was, may nevermore forget ; 
 And lovers come as to a shrine and sigh, 
 " So did their faith endure ! " and softlier go ; 
 And poets kneel before these two palms met. 
 To shrive themselves and pass more purely 
 
 by. 
 
 [5] 
 
MY DREAM 
 
 (of "e. b. b.") 
 
 Methought from out Its anguished frame my 
 sprite 
 Fled, shuddering, and hasted far and fleet. 
 Until drawn earthward by an odor sweet — 
 
 Supernal, of great lilies Christly white, 
 
 In trance of memory it stayed its flight, 
 
 Before a well-loved portal, in that street 
 Made holy by the passing of her feet. 
 
 Since roaming meads of asphodel and light. 
 
 And straight my spirit entered — saw her plain. 
 Upon her couch, among the shadows there, 
 And darkling tapestries, 'gainst which out- 
 shone 
 That high, full brow; then like some heavenly 
 strain, 
 Her gaze thrilled through me as she grew 
 aware — 
 Of me, my very soul, with hers alone. 
 
 [6] 
 
" KEATS'S PLACE " 
 
 " In a room," says Keats's surgical fellow-student, Mr. 
 Stevens, "he was always peering out into space, and it 
 was customary to call the window-seat * Keats's Place.' " 
 W. M. RosETTi's Life of Keats. 
 
 As Adonais or Endymlon, 
 
 My heart loves not so well to muse on thee ; 
 
 But through the moonlight of thy song, for 
 me, 
 Peereth a man of sorrows — frail, alone, 
 Within that nook, by careless comrades known 
 
 As " Keats's Place " ; the light of poesie 
 
 Athwart thy brow, all else a mystery 
 Where pain hath shadowed into deeper tone. 
 
 So thou dost lean with dream-rapt, lifted face 
 Shining from out the death-shades gathered 
 there ; 
 
 Thy questing spirit gazing far through space, 
 A-search for truth and beauty everywhere. 
 
 Ah, just a window-niche enshrined thee then — 
 
 Now " Keats's Place " is in the hearts of men. 
 
 [7] 
 
LANIER 
 
 A PAGE unfinished in the dusk lay gleaming, 
 All white — my soul took heed how very 
 purely white, 
 Save where the illumined marge, with imagery 
 rich teeming, 
 Enhaloed it with gules and glints of golden 
 light. 
 
 And through the western casement open swing- 
 ing,— 
 •0 miracle! to hear my heart grew strangely 
 mute — 
 Ethereal ecstasy of melody came winging. 
 The piercing sweetness of a lone, far flute. 
 
 [8] 
 
R. L. S. 
 
 Well I remember somewhere to have read 
 How tattered, way worn troops upon the march, 
 Seeking to hide their half -starved wretchedness. 
 Tricked out in Nature's green; a jocund sprig 
 For each poor cap — God's pity ! thus to flaunt 
 A bit of bravery, give the gallant lie 
 To every sign of haggard want and woe. 
 
 It was thy letters brought this back to me — 
 Thy fortitude, worn like a sprig of green 
 Set jauntily in thy cap, its lusty grace 
 Pranking thy poor frame's utter shabbiness ; 
 Whilst thou with empty knapsack, weary feet, 
 
 Death-shadow for a comrade ann-in-arm — 
 
 Went whistling down the Road of Loving 
 Hearts. 
 
 [9] 
 
EUGENIE DE GUERIN 
 
 Lily of Languedoc, abloom 
 
 Within the shadow of that old chateau, 
 
 In solitude, 
 Thy life, each day, breathed upward to perfume 
 
 The Virgin's holy feet; 
 
 While all below 
 
 Grew sweet. 
 Throughout thy sunny Southland, thus imbued 
 With fragrance from a flower so exquisite. 
 Sprung from her soil, yet mystically dewed. 
 O love so consecrated, faith so sure! 
 
 Thy memory shall endure, 
 White as a petal from that flower supernal, 
 Doming the realms of Paradise — the Rose 
 Eternal. 
 
 [10] 
 
HER JOURNAL 
 
 As one who wanders down paths dim and odor- 
 ous, 
 Of some walled convent garden, oft might pause 
 To gather simple blossoms, everywhere 
 Starring his way, while through a grille he hears 
 The passionate murmur of a ceaseless prayer 
 
 Rise and fall. 
 And blend with moaning of the near-by sea ; 
 So do we cull each perfect fancy's phrase. 
 Hearing the soul-cry, heart-beat pulsing deep, 
 Deep through the cloistered sweetness of it all. 
 
 Ah, how rare phrase and image linger still! 
 Haunting and sacred as verbena's breath. 
 
 With reveries replete : — 
 That star above a hamlet on the hill ; 
 The murmur of a brook, a linnet's death. 
 
 Birds' tiny feet. 
 Like coral pencils drawing on the snow; 
 Phantasmagoria in the embers' glow. 
 And sparks — the chimney flowers ; a happy day, 
 Sweet as a cup of milk ; the nadalet 
 
 Pealing its yuletide cheer; 
 A shepherd whistling down the valley near; 
 And many a little creeping insect thing. 
 With which to feel akin — as passer-by 
 On the same road ; first pimpernel of spring ; 
 
 [11] 
 
A branch of elfin frost-flowers ; tapestry 
 
 Of sunbeams, hung 
 Upon a humble chamber wall, 
 
 Glorifying all ; 
 
 A ballad sung 
 By an old wayside peasant who, for pay. 
 Will nothing but a plumy lilac spray ; 
 A clump of violets, a lark singing ; 
 And like the lark far, far from earth upwinging. 
 That homesickness for heaven, and Love's voice 
 
 calling 
 One name — a Poet's name — through the shad- 
 ows falling. 
 
 [12] 
 
THE CONCORD CRICKET 
 
 My wayside ballader, hath never rung 
 Thy praise, among 
 
 The gifted of this richly dowered place, 
 Hallowed in history, in poetry's grace, 
 Full oft with eulogy right gloriously sung? 
 
 Hawthorne hath heard thee ! as with dreamful 
 
 gaze 
 He paced beneath his pines, did he not raise 
 A listening face, and let thine airy notes 
 Mingle a moment, like a shower of motes. 
 With all his meditation's brooding, sombre haze ? 
 
 And well my heart believes thou must have won 
 
 A bit of pleasantry from Emerson ! 
 
 And " passed the time o' day " 
 
 In tacit, genial way. 
 
 Along the sunlit road that leads to Lexington ! 
 
 For thou art seer. 
 
 Thou tiny prophet of the days to come ! — 
 
 Warm, radiant days ; thy clear, insistent hum 
 
 Spreadeth abroad a philosophic cheer. 
 
 Which makes the out-of-door 
 
 Seem the wide portico to be 
 
 Of some great school, wherein the unwritten lore 
 
 Of deepest peace is learned and high simplicity. 
 
 [13] 
 
Laud they with love their Teller of rich Tales? 
 
 Romancer of the meadow, never fails 
 
 Thy folk-song, smacking o' the good green 
 earth. 
 
 And simple, pastoral mirth; 
 
 How many children's hearts thou sure must cap- 
 ture, 
 
 As all unseen — a minstrel mystery — 
 
 Thou liltest the small gamut of thy rapture. 
 
 Or sweet monotony 
 
 Of tireless measure, in the long night hours. 
 
 Doth prove anew thy powers. 
 
 And leads us down a dream of silent meads, 
 
 In moonlight bathed; where drowsily through 
 reeds. 
 
 The river glideth ever to thy singing — slow. 
 
 Soft and slow — 
 
 Thy chanting wizardry lulls us to slumber so. 
 
 [14] 
 
THE DRAGON-FLY 
 
 Halt 1 Sir Knight of the j etty lance, 
 
 And gHttering mail of green ; 
 Raise the swart visor, that freer glance 
 
 May scan thee well, for I ween, 
 Thou hast charged from the realm of old 
 
 Romance, 
 On a mission of Morgan le Fay, perchance, — 
 
 Thy chivalry's Elfland queen. 
 
 Tarry a moment! I prithee, tame 
 
 Thy charger's winged speed. 
 And such hot zeal to serve thy dame, 
 
 And win fresh jewel-meed; 
 Perdie, thou art a knight of fame. 
 And, haply, I should learn thy name, 
 
 If I thy shield might read. 
 
 Haughty, silent, he rides his way. 
 
 Across the flowery lea ; 
 On, on he speeds to joust or fray. 
 
 And ne'er draws rein for me ; — 
 Back to my page — Ah, well-aday ! 
 A knight so nonchalant and gay, 
 
 I never yet did see ! 
 
 [15] 
 
THE ORIOLE 
 
 Bird of the melodious name ! 
 
 Whether we call thee Oriole — Hquid, murmur- 
 ing— 
 
 Or, mindful still of thy rich glowing throat, 
 
 We borrow humbler title of bright fame, 
 
 Which dubs thee Golden Robin. 
 
 Bird of the melodious note! 
 
 As down green tides of leafage now I see thee 
 sailing, 
 
 An elfin flute-player thou dost seem, afloat 
 
 In a burnished faery boat, 
 
 My spirit blithely hailing ! 
 
 [16] 
 
AMONG THE ROCKS 
 
 MORNING 
 
 Sun-smitten crags of feldspar, they rear 
 
 Above a still sea ; 
 
 In warm, jagged ridges beside me here, 
 
 Glows the red porphyry ; 
 
 Violet-veined by shadow their crevices lie. 
 
 Huge amethysts in the matrix; their wet sides 
 gleam 
 
 Like a naked Nubian's thigh. 
 
 Where now I breathe lusty, brine-laden life, and 
 dream. 
 
 In such rapture of peace, long ago, 
 
 The savage wrought weapons of death ; here his 
 moccasined foot may have pressed, 
 
 His dark face bent low. 
 
 As he fashioned the arrow's crest. 
 
 From the circling ^reen of the wood a black- 
 bird comes winging. 
 
 And perches upon a peak all alight. 
 
 And carved by the sculpturing tide 'till it shines 
 clear white, 
 
 As the bust of the true Poet's Pallas ; there rests 
 he sibylline, sable, 
 
 Gazing seaward and lo. Nevermore 
 Seems cadenced in sough of the tide and mur- 
 mured along the shore. 
 
 [17] 
 
Ruddy purple of wild sweet-pea, 
 
 From a rock-rift showing, 
 Kindles all the heart of me. 
 
 To as warm a glowing; 
 'Till it seemeth laughing sea. 
 
 Radiant sky and salt breeze blowing, 
 God created j ust that we — 
 
 I and she, 
 In such ecstasy of growing. 
 
 This one hour might be! 
 
 AFTERNOON 
 
 There is an Attic radiance in the air. 
 So chaste and keen, it cuts the day as clear 
 As some Greek marble, on the fancy's mood — 
 A gleaming beauty and a curving grace, — 
 And glint of sandaled footsteps on the strand, 
 While cloud-groups yonder seem to rise and 
 
 shine, 
 like Doric ruins from the rippling blue ; 
 And by the thrilling fragrance everywhere, 
 I know 'tis Paestum yonder and the breath. 
 Her peerless roses, yielding up their hearts 
 In the sea-god's temple, and my happy soul, 
 A censer lifted for the worshiping sweet. 
 
 [18] 
 
NIGHT 
 
 The brazen disc of a dancing-girl's uplifted 
 
 cymbal, 
 Rounds the moon against pillars of night ; 
 Along the wide way of her footsteps 
 Lies a trail of silvery light ; 
 Her forehead jewel shines clear; vision-still pois- 
 
 eth she, 
 To a mighty chord that sweeps the harp of the 
 
 sea, 
 And looming masses of shore lean to her — : 
 
 breathless. 
 
 SABBATH 
 
 Sabbath Day ! these rocks that front the sea. 
 Make High Place for my worship ; here my soul 
 May hold communion, feel itself to be 
 
 A pledge and fragment of the Over-soul — 
 
 God's covenant with me. 
 
 Sun-chrisomed the exalted body stands, 
 
 Reaching its adoring, human hands. 
 
 Up to eternal Good, through bright Immensity ; 
 
 My being is a prayer — 
 
 Free, unafraid, 
 
 1 mingle with the light and grow aware 
 How God can bless the creature He hath made. 
 
 On this the Lord's Day seem I in the spirit, 
 [19] 
 
Before the effulgent harmony of nature's reve- 
 lation ; 
 
 The sun doth manifest His glory, 
 
 The sea doth voice Him, with a sound of many 
 waters ; 
 
 The rocks record His everlasting strength ; 
 
 And thousand times ten thousand hidden forces 
 shout aloud — 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty. 
 
 [20] 
 
THE OPAL 
 
 So many fancies kindle at thy flame, 
 
 Strange gem, possessing beauties manifold, 
 Now all ablaze, and now so wan and cold, 
 
 Like to a woman, seldom twice the same ; 
 
 Is there, indeed, misfortune in thy name? 
 I care not ! Nay, I scorn the stories told 
 Of evil fate unto thy lovers doled, — 
 
 Thy beauty gladdens me whate'er thy fame. 
 
 Those ruddy flashes 'neath a bluish cloud, 
 
 Are like bright campfires through the mist 
 aglow, 
 Or, 'neath reserve, some glint of spirit proud ; 
 And O, so like my Love ! To-day she will 
 show 
 The coldest little cheek, most distant 
 
 mien, — 
 And then, to-morrow, all the sparks are 
 seen. 
 
 [21] 
 
AMETHYST 
 
 As a mage might peer into crystal, 
 
 For the myriad forms of a fate — 
 O'er the clear mirror of destiny, 
 Conjure and contemplate. 
 Witched as with wine, 
 I gaze and forthshadow 
 Dreams from these depths of thine. 
 
 Behold a sorceress, young and very fair, 
 Stra^ang among rich vineyards with her Love ; 
 Autumn, and everywhere 
 The grape's full cluster. 
 Her mouth is rubied with sweet vintaging ; above 
 Its bacchant, reveling beauty, the strange luster 
 
 Of witch eyes' depth and gleam. 
 Her lover murmurs from a deep, deep dream : — 
 " O that these globes of purpling bloom and 
 
 mist. 
 This roseate sweetness, rioting sun-kissed. 
 Might have no death, but stay, 
 Forever stay 1 " 
 Strange eyes grow stranger with a tranced stare. 
 Her long, slight hands wave sibylline, to and fro. 
 
 Her lips move slow. 
 Some word of wizardry to say, and lo. 
 
 He hath his prayer ! 
 All the enchanted vineyard's hanging bloom. 
 Warm gules and sheen of softest violet gloom, 
 [22] 
 
She locks within a stone, whose every ray 
 Shall be a deathless memory of that day. 
 
 I would set thee in silver and bind thee low on 
 
 the brow 
 Of a beautiful woman, tender and warm as thou ! 
 And like a band of twilight, thou shouldst melt 
 
 away there, 
 Twixt the day of her eyes in their splendor and 
 
 the dark of her hair. 
 
 Over yonder rocks thy shadow 
 
 Elf -like is at play, 
 As thyself within the matrix; 
 
 And it hides away, 
 In that old sail idly drifting. 
 
 Drifting dreamful in the bay ; 
 Now it falls, at last, aslumber 
 
 Down behind the dune. 
 Faint and oh! as haunting tender 
 
 As a half-forgotten tune, — 
 As the little bedtime burden 
 A mother used to croon. 
 
 [2S] 
 
SUNSET 
 
 Golden stretch the marshes 
 
 To the golden west; 
 And like a train of paladins, 
 
 In glittering armor dressed, 
 Who take the bright road bravely, 
 
 Singing on their quest, 
 The broad stream of silver 
 
 Passes without rest ; 
 
 Glad and swift and shining, 
 
 On and ever on ! 
 Toward such utter splendor, 
 
 As eye ne'er looked upon ; 
 Like dome and spire and battlement 
 
 Of storied Carcasonne. 
 
 But ah ! my sky-built city 
 
 Flames up — it bums away ! 
 Look now ! a heap of ashes 
 
 It lieth, cold and gray ; 
 Dull grow the marshes. 
 
 And the lordly stream 
 Passes on to darkness — 
 
 As doth my dream. 
 
 [24] 
 
THE PASSING SOUL 
 
 I TURNED in my boundless, bewildered flight, 
 
 And hovered earthward, again to gaze 
 
 At the home I had left behind In the night ; 
 
 By candle-rays, 
 I saw how dear hands of earthly love 
 Had hung It about with sweet-smelling flowers, 
 Their breath, like a ghost, stole along hushed 
 hours 
 
 To a tearless watcher above. 
 
 Ah, the poor, small house of clay! 
 The little hearth-place of the heart, 
 Where such fires of passion were wont to start — 
 Cold, cold at last ! and vacant, gray. 
 The curious chamber of the mind, 
 Where ever and ever of old I might find 
 Welcoming dreams ; that place of death 
 I forsook, and followed the ghostly breath. 
 
 To the tearless watcher above. 
 Kneeling in darkness — my Love, my Love ! 
 
 Then into the knowledge of Heaven I passed — 
 Not oblivion, rest — but rapture at last 
 Of ceaseless eff*ort, from loftier height. 
 For all loved watchers in the night ; 
 To share all sorrow as God must share. 
 With infinite power to help and bear; 
 Undreamed-of Influence to shed 
 [25] 
 
Down upon those who call us dead ; 
 Heaven — free from the house of clay, 
 In the open of Truth's unending day, 
 To work — nearer God, the eternal way. 
 
 [26] 
 
A SONG 
 
 Exult with me, thou raptured Lark, 
 
 For I love, I love ! 
 And my life soareth singing up from the dark, 
 
 Like unto thee. 
 
 My Lark ! 
 
 Revel with me, thou young wild Rose, 
 
 For I love, I love! 
 And my life spreads forth to the sun and glows, 
 
 Like unto thee, 
 
 My Rose! 
 
 O dream with me, thou whispering Pine, 
 
 For I love, I love ! 
 And my life is a-murmur with wonder and sign 
 
 Like unto thee, 
 
 O Pine! 
 
 Pray, pray with me, thou Evening Star, 
 
 For I love, I love! 
 And my life nears God through the night from 
 afar. 
 Like unto thee. 
 
 My star. 
 
 [87] 
 
A MOOD 
 
 How easy for a Perseus to be brave ! 
 
 With magic wallet, sandals winged for flight, 
 Helmet invisible, — all safely dight. 
 
 What fierce encounter might he not e'en crave I 
 
 But what of us not gifted by the gods ? — 
 With just a heritage of shame and sin. 
 What zeal to fight — ah, Heaven ! what chance 
 to win 
 
 Against down-dragging curses of mere clods 1 
 
 Within our life-scrip, no grim Gorgon-face, 
 From magic wrapping swiftly to unroll. 
 And raise triumphant, shield-wise, for the soul 
 
 To fix each passion stony in its place. 
 
 No winged shoon to speed us on the quest, 
 
 Or lift our bleeding feet from their rough 
 
 way: 
 No friendly helmet to close out the day, 
 
 Wlien from man's ken we fain a wliile would rest. 
 
 [28] 
 
II 
 
 My God, forgive me ! for the year Is dead, 
 And sad I wait the new one in its place, 
 And backward footsteps wearily retrace, 
 
 And wear my heart out o'er what's done and said. 
 
 But well I know the talismans we bear, — 
 
 A holy Grail of blood from Christ-wounds 
 
 caught. 
 And all the lesson which His dear life tau2:ht, 
 
 Sudarium-like, upon the soul stamped fair. 
 
 Let spirit-pinions waft me o'er the sin 
 
 Of this drear mood, and hold me high and sure, 
 From all my fleshly plaining shriven pure, — 
 
 I bind Faith's wallet on, and I must win ! 
 
 [29] 
 
FANTASY 
 
 I WANDERED dowii a world of gold — 
 Aye, drifted and paved with gold! 
 Revelled in glory and gleam of it all, 
 While a lavish wizard of wealth let fall 
 Rubies aflame, fit for Burmah to show, 
 Hyacinths rich in their tawny glow. 
 Amber a queen might fold in her palm. 
 For the sweet, fine smell of the warmed balm. 
 
 Then the wizard sat in the shade and spun 
 
 A weft of purple sheen, 
 With saffron thread, that bravely run 
 
 The deeper strands between. 
 
 " It is for thee I spin," he said, 
 
 And proudly on fared I, 
 For O the gems to crown my head, 
 
 And robe of royal dye ! 
 
 Ah, well ! the elm leaves were my gold — 
 
 My world of drifted gold ! 
 
 The maple and silver birch let fall 
 
 My rubies and amber and hyacinths all; 
 
 My robe was only the twilight sheen, 
 
 And the wizard, who made me a moment's queen, 
 
 Was just a sprite that abides in my brain. 
 
 To cheat and beguile me now and again. 
 
 [30] 
 
'Twas merely the pomp of a dream, I know,- 
 Mirage of riches — impalpable show ; 
 But ah, the rapture of Fancy's reigning ! 
 Thou tricksy Ariel, thee and thy feigning, 
 I pledge here now in this wayside wine. 
 Pressed from October's mellowest vine ! 
 
 [SI] 
 
DESTINY 
 
 Once a dun, lackluster thing 
 Whirred by me through the air, 
 
 Which, caught, upturned an underwing, 
 Silver-veined and rare. 
 
 'Twas like the dusky little hour 
 
 Which led me unto thee ; 
 Dull and with no seeming power, 
 
 Yet veined with destiny ; 
 A heedless turn, a humble door, 
 
 And then — thy presence silvering o'er. 
 
 [32] 
 
INSPIRATION 
 
 Adown the path of beauty I drew so near to God, 
 
 I felt all truth around me, 
 * Flesh-fetters no more bound me, 
 
 I smelled the fields elysian, 
 
 I well-nigh saw the vision [ — 
 
 Then faded all the gleaming 
 
 Of that beatific dreaming, 
 But O the path of beauty led me so near to God ! 
 
 [33] 
 
LONELINESS 
 
 Sai> purple palls the lone, far hill, 
 
 The meadows dusk away — 
 Eerily dusk away until 
 
 They meet the last of day, 
 And brighten a moment beneath tliat smile 
 
 Alight o'er the western lea; 
 As my mood went darkling on the while 
 
 Till it met with a dream of thee. 
 
 [34] 
 
PERFECTION 
 
 I IMPORTUNED the Poct — " Just a thought 
 
 From purest height of thy cloud-piercing soul, 
 Which thou to rhythmic wonder hast en- 
 wrought ! " 
 To the Musician then I turned, elate — 
 " Through all the depths of thy melodious 
 heart, 
 O let this marvel wander, there to mate 
 Its godlike strength with woman-tender note. 
 And give to me their offspring — just a 
 song ! " 
 Still did a dream beyond me lure and float, 
 
 And to my world's one woman straight I fled, 
 Crying, " For song's completion. Love lend 
 voice ! " 
 But, " Hush ! " I heard them whisper — " She 
 is dead." 
 
 [35] 
 
A RIDE IN THE NIGHT 
 
 " None ride so fast, my lords ! " I cried, 
 " None know the road so well ; 
 
 And for the guerdon I shall gain, 
 I would charge the gates of hell 1 " 
 
 " God speed ye then ! " they shouted all ; 
 
 I mounted at the door, 
 " Speed, speed ! " I hissed unto my roan. 
 
 As through the gates we tore. 
 
 His hoof -clang ripped the stillness 
 Of the pitch-black village street; 
 
 On — out upon the open. 
 With muffled thud and beat ! 
 
 For I bore with me the pardon 
 Of the man my Love would wed ; 
 
 I must be there by dawning, 
 Or all her joy lie dead. 
 
 Within my breast the pardon, 
 
 And the old love deep and strong, 
 
 With the madness of its hunger. 
 And passion's devil-throng 1 
 
 O the lagging of a hoof-beat, 
 
 A faltering in the dark. 
 Then — she to be loved, I living. 
 
 And he — Christ save the mark I 
 [36] 
 
I thought me of her small, white face, 
 The blanched lips drawn apart — 
 
 Speed! plunge the spur in, strong and deep, 
 I come, I come, sweet Heart! 
 
 'Twas o'er! and all the mourning 
 
 Was changed to joyous din; 
 Amid the crowd and clangor, 
 
 I strained one look to win. 
 
 O long love unrequited, 
 
 all ye passion-brood! 
 There, with the happy sunshine 
 
 On her white brow, she stood; 
 
 Agaze, with eyes all rapture. 
 
 And thanks she could not tell ! — 
 My lords, for such a guerdon, 
 
 1 had charged the gates of hell ! 
 
 [37] 
 
AT NIAGARA 
 
 BY THE EAPIDS 
 
 With mighty rhythm and roar 
 On, on ! 
 
 Willows along the shore 
 Grow wan, 
 Leaning and listening to the saga thou singest — 
 Eternally singest, great Scald of Nature! 
 
 Low, ceaseless beat 
 Like ghostly hordes of moccasined feet; 
 
 Strong forces of joy and of life 
 
 Forever calling. 
 
 Rising and falling 
 
 Ch^er death, over strife; 
 
 Now dirgeful and deep, 
 
 Now the movement of dances, 
 
 Wild, primeval, entrances 
 
 With a strange surge and sweep ; 
 
 Light leapings and swirls 
 
 Glinting, spraying. 
 Free and glad as laughter of Indian girls 
 
 At their playing. 
 
 The long saga sings on — 
 
 Restless as life. 
 Fierce as the elemental passions of life; 
 
 Strange as death. 
 Deep as the utmost pang and presage of death ; 
 Strong as faith that leaps every obstacle o'er. 
 Catching hght, moving onward to God evermore. 
 [38] 
 
NEAR THE FAL.LS 
 
 So death must be — 
 Nearing home through the mist, and what fear? 
 God around and above, near, more near! 
 
 Spirit free. 
 
 His Voice calleth thee. 
 
 In the wonder and wilderment hear 
 
 Its glory and might! 
 
 Through the mist, through the mist — 
 Ah, the Light I 
 
 [39] 
 
SOLACE 
 
 Heart, fare forth among the flowers ! 
 
 They are everywhere, 
 Brightening the long still hours, 
 
 Spicing all the air. 
 
 Live again thine own love-story. 
 
 Breathing yonder rose; 
 Catch again some young dream's glory. 
 
 From the golden-glows ! 
 
 Wander o'er the fields' wide level, 
 
 Sudden pause and turn — 
 O the laughter and the revel, 
 
 Where the phlox-flowers bum J 
 
 Thou shalt hear the aster singing 
 
 Something tender, low. 
 Snatch of sweetest memory bringing, 
 
 From the long ago. 
 
 Heart, fare forth among the flowers ! 
 
 Thou so full of care 1 
 Odour, beauty waft their powers, — 
 
 Find thy solace there! 
 
 [40] 
 
CROCUSES 
 
 Crocus-bud yellow, 
 
 You're a gay little fellow, 
 Lusty and brave and bright ; 
 
 But, more than all others, 
 
 I love your grave brothers, 
 In their purple monk-mantles dight! 
 
 There's your shy little sister. 
 
 Has the sun never kissed her? 
 She stands so demure and so white — 
 
 A fig for her primness. 
 
 And all her nun-trimness, 
 She trysts with the moonbeams by night 1 
 
 My lattice looked o'er it. 
 
 But wherefore deplore it? 
 Dame Nature allowed, so 'twas right — 
 
 She sweetly coquetting 
 
 With the moonmist, forgetting 
 That I and the stars were in sight. 
 
 O spring-garden glories. 
 
 You mind me of stories 
 Dan Chaucer taught poets to write, — 
 
 Those rich, varied pages, 
 
 Undimmed by the ages, 
 With " prieste " and " nonne " and knight 1 
 
 [41] 
 
BUTTERCUPS 
 
 O Buttercups, like joyous mood, 
 You prank old Earth up merry, 
 
 And in each little cup is brewed 
 A magic sunshine sherry 
 
 That makes the Spring go mad with bliss, 
 
 And flush and weep and sigh and kiss, 
 And sing, " Heigh-ho down-derry ! " 
 
 O let me quaff as in past days. 
 
 And give you gladsome greetings. 
 
 As when, along the meadow ways. 
 We held such pleasant meetings; 
 
 O let a dash of sun-wine chase 
 
 All somber shadows from the face 
 That bends above my sweetings ! 
 
 And, prithee, haste not by so soon. 
 You are like the children's laughter. 
 
 Or pretty, clear-voiced rustic tune 
 That rings along the rafter, — 
 
 You must away ? Ah, well I good-by — 
 
 Methinks a grief must always lie 
 Between the now and after. 
 
 [4e] 
 
CYCLAMEN 
 
 Little pinions wonder-pure, 
 
 Daintily from earth upspringing, 
 Whither would you be a-winging? 
 
 Ah, to Heaven sure; 
 
 You would swarm, Hke buoyant butterflies, 
 Down the paths of paradise. 
 
 Nay, but you must bide here still! 
 
 Each tiny, winged aspiration 
 
 Folds in sweetest resignation 
 To the Father's will. 
 
 [43] 
 
THE DANDELION PICKERS 
 
 Bronzed, patient faces peering o'er the green ; 
 
 Kerchiefs of color dulled by dust and sun, 
 Red, orange, blue — each one 
 Showing like some strange bloom. 
 On all the lawns are seen ; 
 
 Backs bent and burdened under drudgery's 
 doom, 
 
 They search and search — well knowing that 
 they may — 
 
 For worthless weeds to some; to such as they, 
 
 A welcome sustenance — it is Life's way. 
 
 [44] 
 
SPRING SONG OF A WILLOW 
 
 My Willow ! 
 
 My wonder of virginal greening and grace! 
 Thy waving weeds fall fair and slight, 
 
 Misty light, 
 As the wimple enshrouding a maiden face : 
 
 Rippling, folding, 
 
 Not all-withholding 
 Thy lovely form from enravished sight. 
 
 Of all, most rare! 
 
 Still — with the sweet, vague dole of a dream : 
 Awake — with the dryades' lightsomeness, 
 playing. 
 Swaying, 
 Lithe-leaning to greet their own shades in the 
 stream. 
 O had I a reed, 
 For my fantasy's need! 
 With a piercing wood-sweetness of Pan, pure 
 of passion, 
 FuU of deep, forest fancies: 
 In fit sylvan fashion, 
 Would I lilt of the spell — which so tenderly 
 
 trances 
 The heart of me — woven by thee, O my 
 willow ! 
 
 [45] 
 
ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE 
 
 As I came adown the stair, 
 I heard my Lady singing there; 
 Little trills with ne'er a word, 
 Like the hit-gush of a bird. 
 
 Then that I might see her, too, 
 Soft I peeped the door-chink through; 
 Saw her sitting radiant-fair. 
 With a sunbeam in her hair; 
 And her pretty fingers fine 
 Tracing out a gay green vine. 
 O'er the velvet in her frame. 
 Colored like the tuhp's flame ; 
 And, those little scarlet shoon. 
 Bright and graceful as her tune, 
 Snug within their cushioned rest, 
 Like two red-birds in a nest I 
 
 Shp of maidenhood, methought, 
 
 Fain had I thy love besought, — 
 
 Nay, I came adown the stair. 
 
 Vowing now my fate to dare 1 
 
 But ah ! the careless, happy lay — 
 
 Sing it still, dear, one more day; 
 
 Let the little gay green vine 
 
 To its perfect wreath entwine ! 
 
 Who knows but that my passion-word 
 
 Might still thee like a startled bird; 
 
 [46] 
 
Thy song be nevermore so free, 
 
 For pitying memory of me! 
 
 Or if, perchance, — ah, heaven of bliss ! 
 
 Thy trill should hush to grant a kiss - 
 
 So young, so glad ! — Nay, let the vine 
 
 To its perfect wreath entwine 1 
 
 Soft my heart! adown the stair, 
 We will creep, and leave her there. 
 
 [47] 
 
THE OLD MANDOLIN 
 
 Long hushed it lay In shadow, 
 
 Folded away in dreams, 
 Till the swing of a ruined lattice 
 
 Let in rare moonlight gleams, 
 
 That reached, like phantom fingers, 
 To touch and thrill each string; 
 
 When, lo, my spirit passing. 
 Heard it throb and sing! 
 
 As the willow sways. 
 
 Till the silver plays 
 Like laughter among her green, 
 
 A low lilt wakes. 
 
 And fairily breaks 
 Into the silence and sheen. 
 
 Low, low. 
 
 Dark waters flow, 
 A gondola glooms and glides ; 
 
 Stars in the skies. 
 
 Stars in deep eyes. 
 Laughter wherein love hides. 
 
 [48] 
 
Gusts, wild and sweet, 
 
 Of mirth, and the beat 
 Of dancing down marble halls ; 
 
 Waves' crooning lisp, 
 
 Fragrancies crisp. 
 Adrift under vine-clad walls. 
 
 Ah, breath of roses! 
 She leans from the shadow and sings : 
 
 Ah, thorn of roses! 
 His passionate mandolin rings. 
 
 O'er the balcony rail, a shimmer 
 Of laces and pearl-bound hair: 
 
 The night grows dimmer and dimmer. 
 Yet his gondola lingers there. 
 
 Ah, moon of lovers. 
 Tarry to light my love! 
 
 Hence, shade, that hovers 
 To hide my lady above! 
 
 She is gone [ Her casement closes — 
 The mandolin sobs low, low — 
 
 'Tis hushed ! . . . Ah, revel and roses. 
 And laughter of long ago! 
 
 Revel and roses and laughter of long ago ! 
 
 [*9] 
 
ROSE SONGS 
 
THE RINGLET AND ROSE 
 
 I ONCE met a luckless beggar, — 
 A wretchedly threadbare wight, — 
 
 And I spoke with a tone of pity. 
 For his meager, impoverished plight. 
 
 " And yet," quoth he, " I've my treasure ! " 
 What was it, do you suppose? 
 
 O just the gold of a ringlet, 
 And just the sweet of a rose! 
 
 " Thou art, in truth, but a beggar," 
 Laughed I, " if this be thy store — 
 
 This one little maiden-ringlet, 
 
 This one withered rose — no more ! " 
 
 But I afterward learned the lesson, 
 
 And now my heart well knows 
 The wealth in the gold of a ringlet. 
 
 The depth of sweet in a rose. 
 
 Ah, yes J thou didst have thy treasure, 
 More than heart could disclose, 
 
 And I hold no man a beggar, 
 Who hath his ringlet and rose. 
 
 [53] 
 
II 
 
 THE HEART AND THE ROSE 
 
 In the depths of a rose is a sigh, 
 
 Sweeter than all; 
 And many a wind shall blow by, 
 
 And wood-bird call; 
 But she keepeth that one hidden breath 
 
 Safe until death! 
 
 In the depths of a heart is a dream. 
 
 Dearer than all; 
 And many a searching gleam 
 
 Of life-light shall fall. 
 But the heart keeps the dream hid away, 
 
 'Till Judgment Day ! 
 
 [54] 
 
ni 
 
 THE WILD ROSE 
 
 Sing Heigh-ho ! the wild-rose — blossom and 
 
 brier I 
 Knowest thou aught that is sweeter, shyer? 
 
 And ah, I do think 
 
 That the petals' pink 
 Is just like a love-flush, caught from heart-fire ! 
 
 Sing Heigh-ho ! the wild-rose, love-flush, heart- 
 fire! 
 
 Petals must fall and passion tire; 
 And ah, now I know. 
 When the bloom and the glow 
 
 Have fluttered away, — there is left but a brier ! 
 
 [55] 
 
IV 
 FRAGRANCE 
 
 Rose, my Rose, here to my heart I hold thee, 
 
 Dreamfully fold thee ; 
 
 For O thy passionate breath 
 
 Brings back from long death. 
 
 Those radiant days. 
 
 The old love-ways, — 
 
 Power to rejoice, 
 
 A face, a voice — 
 Rose, my Rose, crushed to my heart I fold thee ! 
 
 [66] 
 
A FEW FRENCH FORMS 
 AND OTHER VERSE 
 
OLD GRAY'S FIELDS 
 
 " I never walk across Eaton Square, down Chesman 
 Place and through Lyall Street, without a backward 
 thought of the good old days when all this mileage of 
 solid bricks and mortar, this outward voucher of inward 
 wealth and respectability, was one large and lovely mar- 
 ket garden, wherein blossomed and bloomed the flowers 
 of our ancestors. What a rare bouquet of sweet scents 
 must have greeted the noses of the aristocratic belles and 
 beaux of those olden times, when they both took an airing 
 in their sedan chairs in ' Old Gray's Fields.' " 
 
 Old Gray's Fields ! In dreams I go 
 Down those paths, where, to and fro, 
 
 Mid the prim, old-fashioned posies. 
 
 Lavender and English roses. 
 Stray the old-time belle and beau. 
 
 Sedan-chairs stand all arow. 
 
 For when morning hours are slow, 
 
 Gay Dame Fashion straight proposes — 
 " Old Gray's Fields ! " 
 
 Powder, patch, and plume ablow. 
 
 Scarlet heel and furbelow; 
 
 Click! a jeweled snuff-box closes, 
 There an old beau slyly dozes — 
 
 Should he wake now, would he know 
 Old Gray's Fields? 
 
 [59] 
 
FANCY VERSUS FATE 
 
 (a LENTEN lapse) 
 
 Dame Dorothea, begowned in gray, 
 You sat so near in church to-day. 
 That I with sidelong gaze could look, 
 From vagrant eyes, above my book, 
 And watch you kneeling there to pray ; 
 I watched the empurpled sunbeams play 
 Within your hair — they loved to stay 
 A-near you in the great pew's nook, 
 Dame Dorothea ! 
 
 You stirred, I smelt your jasmine spray — 
 Then our two spirits stole astray. 
 
 Aye, hymn and prayer and all forsook, 
 To meet as then, before you took 
 The veil — a bride's, though, by the way — 
 Dame Dorothea! 
 
 [60] 
 
TO A FIGURE ON AN OLD FRENCH FAN 
 
 Airy Phyllis, as you go 
 
 Fluttering on your gossamer way, 
 Under boughs' rose-misted blow. 
 
 Tender with perpetual May, — 
 
 Tell me, lightly-tripping fay, 
 Lurks there, 'neath your lacy dress. 
 
 Any heart ? Now, prithee, say — 
 Sweet, old-fashioned Shepherdess ! 
 
 Like a petal, to and fro. 
 
 Wafted down a springtime day. 
 Through a mellow, hazy glow, 
 
 Ever youthful, ever gay; 
 
 Tell me, trim-waist, yea or nay — 
 Let the wee, full mouth confess ! 
 
 Do you on that rosary pray. 
 Sweet, old-fashioned Shepherdess? 
 
 Brave the crook-curve's azure bow. 
 
 But your flocks, dear — where are they ? 
 
 That tip-tilted, wreathed chapeau 
 
 Rhymster's pen might homage pay. 
 In an amorous virelai. 
 
 Tell me — 'neath your forehead tress. 
 Does a thoughtlet ever stray. 
 
 Sweet, old-fashioned Shepherdess? 
 
 [61] 
 
ENVOY 
 
 Sad my Lady could not stay ! 
 
 Still with courtly graciousness, 
 Hold you in her white-hand sway, 
 
 Sweet old-fashioned Shepherdess ! 
 
 [62] 
 
THE PASSING OF FLORIMEL 
 
 Over the meadow comes she straying, 
 Bonnet swinging, form a-swaying — 
 
 Ah, me ; that I should meet her ! 
 Rusthng in bonny bright array. 
 Crisp as for kirk or hohday. 
 
 The clovers crowd to greet her. 
 
 New-knighted by a sunbeam stroke, 
 Each spreads a tiny purple cloak. 
 
 To prank earth for her treading; 
 Faith, little Raleighs, bravely donel 
 Methinks the guerdon richly won. 
 
 Though thanks be — just beheading I 
 
 In sooth it were a gracious boon. 
 To kneel before those little shoon. 
 
 And serve her fair and knightly ; 
 But all such privilege to miss. 
 And still to lose one's head, I wis, 
 
 Is fate one bears not lightly ! 
 
 [63] 
 
MARJORY 
 
 Or a morning when Marjory strays through the 
 garden — 
 
 Ah, me ! but then 'tis a radiant world ! 
 In her dream-perfect gown of gay Dolly Varden, 
 
 Ruffled bright hair like sunbeams half curled. 
 
 And that sunhonnet! O for bard-phrase be- 
 coming ! 
 Little red shoes with wicked rosettes; 
 And the Circean lilt she is always a-humming, 
 Has a note throbbing through it one never 
 forgets. 
 
 She bends 'neath a bough to gather some posies, 
 She hushes her tune to breathe of the pinks, 
 
 She raises her flounce from the dew and dis- 
 closes 
 A fluff and a flash of red stocking — the minx ! 
 
 Of a morning when Marjory strays through her 
 garden, 
 
 I gaze from the ledger where daily I grind. 
 And the trim little figure of gay Dolly Varden 
 
 Drives all other figures clean out of my mind. 
 
 [6*] 
 
TO YUKI 
 
 (lines written in a young missionary's note- 
 book) 
 
 O I suppose, little heathen lady, you should be 
 civilized — 
 
 That is. Christianized — 
 And not allowed to worship and adore 
 
 Some slant-eyed ancestor, 
 And toddle to his temple all so spooky 1 
 But this I know, benighted little Yuki, 
 Had I an ancestress like you, 
 
 I would adore her, too. 
 
 And wish she were not dead. 
 
 With every prayer I said ; 
 Still let no Board of Missions take alarm. 
 And fear my faith may come to any harm, 
 For on my family-tree there never grew 
 A bud in any way resembling you ; 
 Judging the few daguerreotypes I own, 
 I'll let ancestral memories alone; 
 Yet each male missionary must confess 
 You are a little " yellow peril " — yes ! 
 
 And must be civilized — 
 
 That is. Christianized — 
 And made to let your bogey forbears be, 
 And regularly go to church — with me ! 
 
 [65] 
 
AN HEIRLOOM 
 
 They tell me that ever so long ago — 
 How strange it makes one feelt 
 
 These quaint old shoes with pointed toe, 
 And brave little scarlet heel, 
 
 Were worn by a beautiful, dashing belle, 
 
 At the very wickedest court 1 
 Fame says she was dark, and cruel as well, 
 
 And broke men's hearts for sport. 
 
 The snowy satin has aged to buff. 
 And alas ! for the huge rosette — 
 
 Its glory and smartness are shabby enough. 
 From ruthless time-moth's fret. 
 
 But the grace of instep arch is there. 
 They are slender and girlish yet. 
 
 And gallants have watched them trip from a 
 chair, 
 Or step through a minuet! 
 
 At " White's," the wits toasted her every 
 charm ; 
 
 How they ogled, when gay Mistress L 
 
 Upon some beatified Brummel's arm, 
 
 Trailed past them along the " Mell "/ 
 
 [66] 
 
O the duels ! The sonnets and songs, that 
 gushed 
 
 To her homage ! It makes one reel, 
 To think of the maccaronis crushed, 
 
 Neath this little Juggernaut heel 1 
 
 And so you reigned it awhile there, ma 
 belle! — 
 
 People may judge as they choose, 
 But, for masculine peace, I aver, it is well 
 
 You are not in these little old shoes I 
 
 [67] 
 
SIGNORITA 
 
 O SiGNORiTA, your crimson flower 
 And your mantilla have subtle power, 
 But, Signorita, all love began 
 When first you wafted your little fan! 
 
 Shimmer of pearl and lace, 
 Daintily pictured face. 
 Luring its black-browed don, 
 A-languish with love thereon ; 
 Passion in every fold, 
 Spanish and sweet and old — 
 Fluttering, still, ever supreme. 
 Casting the spell of a radiant dream 1 
 
 O Signorita, how ravishing are 
 
 Your mandolin's laughter, your pleading guitar ! 
 
 But, Signorita, all love began 
 
 When first you wafted your little fan. 
 
 Waving with languid grace, 
 Cooling a love-flushed face; 
 Furled with a swift surprise. 
 Flashed from great, passionate eyes ; 
 Yielding a light caress. 
 Toyed with in sweet idlesse, 
 Fluttering, still, ever supreme, 
 Casting the spell of a radiant dream. 
 
 [68] 
 
O Signorita, who could forget 
 
 Your swaying grace to the Hght castanet ! 
 
 But, Signorita, all love began 
 
 When first you wafted your little fan ! 
 
 [69] 
 
feSAY ^ 19^'^ 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 
 MAY 5 ^sn 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESi 
 
 015 906 240 5 
 
 'k^