EN SONNETS 
 
 GF/ 
 
 N BACON 
 
 , SALT LAKE Cn 
 THE ARROW PR: 
 
SEVEN SONNETS 
 
 By 
 
 GEORGE MORGAN BACON 
 
 SALT LAKE CITY 
 
 THE ARROW PRESS 
 
 1913 
 
-^5 3 3-03 
 
 Copyright, 1913 
 By Geo. M. Bacon 
 
 DEC 31 1913 
 
 r 
 
 (g:i,A860532 
 
L 
 
 AN ARM 
 
 You say I cannot write unto an arm 
 
 A sonnet that shall have the purpose sole 
 
 Of voicing in my feeble way the charm 
 
 Which makes that part symbolic of the whole? 
 
 And do you fancy, sweet, that the soft line 
 
 And curves so fair perchance could strike me dumb. 
 
 Or that the glow of life and tints so fine 
 
 Mayhap would turn my throbbing senses numl^? 
 
 The perfect sweep of contour tap'ring down 
 
 From shoulder to the dainty finger tips, 
 
 The grace of motion that is beauty's crown. 
 
 Are magic that must force up to my lips 
 
 The words that I could stifle from all harm 
 
 With eager kisses showered on your arm. 
 
 Feb. 26, 19 13. 
 
IMMORTALITY 
 
 I cannot die, for deathless in me lives 
 A spirit that throughout all time must cast 
 Some aura from itself, some force which gives 
 Unto the Future that which from the Past 
 Came unto me; perchance in different guise. 
 And wearing in its face no semblance clear 
 To link it with the shape which in 3'our eyes 
 Doth clothe the essence that shall mock the bier 
 The life eternal that the many crave. 
 Bound to this earthly one by memories sweet 
 And bitter that alone survive the grave. 
 Is but a rainbow glow with which to cheat 
 The selfish hopes that selfishly incline 
 To moulding from the human the divine. 
 
 Feb, 26^ igij. 
 
TO MOTHER 
 
 I want you to remember, dear, 
 
 I'm trying in my childish way 
 
 To stop those naughty things you fear 
 
 1'hat I am sure to do each day : 
 
 Because I'm careless when you speak 
 
 And often no attention give, 
 
 You must not think I really seek 
 
 A willful, selfish life to live. 
 
 1 know that wdien you have to scold 
 
 And even have to punish me, 
 
 It is because when I am old 
 
 You want me for my sake to be 
 
 A woman who, the same as you, 
 
 Can never shirk what she should do. 
 
 Feb, i6, 1913. 
 
FAILURE 
 
 Thou seeniest like a spectre gaunt 
 That in the path of effort leers, 
 A grim forbidding shape to haunt 
 The soul beset by doubt and fears; 
 Thy hungry maw doth eyer feed 
 Insatiate on the hearts of men 
 Whose timid hopes as vaguely lead 
 As marsh lights flitting o'er a fen. 
 Thou art the mother goddess fair 
 Whose nurture turns the chosen few 
 From clay into a marble rare 
 From which the hand of Fate may hew 
 Those forms immortal and sublime 
 That mock the petty march of Time. 
 
 March ij, IQIJ. 
 
A KISS 
 
 Thou art the sign and symbol sure 
 Of all that seething burns within, 
 Or that which with a radiance pure 
 Was purged by suff ring from all sin ; 
 .\ measure art thou of the sum 
 And substance of the things unseen, 
 A potent spell to leave all dumb 
 The sobs that voice a grief once keen. 
 Love's soul all rushing to my lips 
 As nestling in my arms you lie. 
 I feel how from my being slips 
 This mortal coil as I defy 
 In one long kiss both time and space 
 Drugged by the fragrance of thy face. 
 
 Apr. 4, iQij. 
 
TO PHRYNE 
 
 And do they think your hold on me 
 
 Is grounded in those fibres true 
 
 Which form the being that is free 
 
 But for the few soft hours with you? 
 
 Enchantress art thou in that thou 
 
 Canst for a moment lift the load 
 
 That scars with creases my poor brow 
 
 And pricks me forward as a goad. 
 
 Thy gleaming flesh is but a veil 
 
 To hide the face of worry grim, 
 
 For gnawing cares in vain assail 
 
 The man whose powers the senses dim 
 
 In those brief times when passion's sway 
 
 Grants to thy charms their little day. 
 
 Apr. g, igjj. 
 
LIFE 
 
 'Tis but a torch-race that we run 
 
 Along the ancient path that leads 
 
 From hopes by lovers' fancy spun 
 
 To shadows that the twilight breeds ; 
 
 A path that countless feet have trod, 
 
 Which, seeming ever new, is yet 
 
 Common to those who humbly plod 
 
 And those whose souls high longings fret. 
 
 The vital spark is given each 
 
 To fan or quench as needs may be. 
 
 The blessed ones are those who reach 
 
 Into the darkness as they flee 
 
 And from the stars that stud the night 
 
 Glean fire immortal for their light. 
 
 Dec, 4, 1913.