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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
zAmong the Trees Again 
 

 
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 £fc <got»en;(tnernff Company 
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COPYRIGHT 1902 
 
 THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 TffTL ld ' ffl.tY"b ' a 
 CONORE88, 
 
 C'AHbC\ XXo No. 
 
 
 I 1 * 
 
Jo the memory of my beloved brother 
 Ortb Harper Stein 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 AMONG THE TREES AGAIN 
 
 3 
 
 APRIL CONTRADICTIONS 
 
 21 
 
 APRIL MORNING 
 
 8 
 
 AS TO THE SUMMER A1K Till Rl 
 
 31 
 
 AT NIGHT 
 
 60 
 
 BETWEEN SEASONS 
 
 40 
 
 BINDWEED 
 
 46 
 
 PA' THE KANKAKEE 
 
 64 
 
 CACTUS LAND, THE 
 
 67 
 
 CASCADE RAVINE, THE 
 
 71 
 
 DREAM ECHOES 
 
 20 
 
 EARLY NOVEM ! 
 
 79 
 
 FISHER FOLK, THE 
 
 86 
 
 FOREBODING 
 
 74 
 
 GOLDEN WEDDING, THE 
 
 78 
 
 HOME FIELDS, THE 
 
 52 
 
 IDEALS 
 
 30 
 
 IMPATIENT 
 
 66 
 
 IN LATE SEPTEMBER 
 
 75 
 
 IN SUMMER DEEPS 
 
 54 
 
 IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 
 
 16 
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT 
 
 45 
 
 JANUARY THAW 
 
 84 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 JUNE 42 
 
 LAST SURVIVOR FROM THE LIFE BOAT, THE 69 
 
 LITTLE LOVE SONG, A 41 
 
 LITTLE SISTER, THE 88 
 
 MONTEZUMA 38 
 
 MORNING ON THE MOUNTAINS 85 
 
 MY LITTLE MASTER 12 
 
 NORTHMEN'S SONG OF THE POLE, THE 14 
 
 ON HEARING THE BALLAD "ALLEN PERCY" 11 
 
 ON THE PRAIRIE 62 
 
 OVER THE SIERRA 61 
 
 PERFECT FRIENDSHIP, THE 83 
 
 PLEA, A 22 
 
 RAIN ON THE RIVER 59 
 
 REDBIRD, THE 6 
 
 SEA-DREAMS 28 
 
 SEA-GARDENS OF SANTA CATALINA, THE 89 
 
 SONG 55 
 
 SONG OF THOUGHT, A 44 
 
 SUMMER SHOWER, THE 49 
 
 SUNNY NOON 77 
 
 SYMPATHY 53 
 TO THE "WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE" 31 
 
 THRUSH, THE 36 
 
 WHEREFORE WINGS ? 81 
 
 WINTRY TINTS 82 
 
 WISHING-SPRING, THE 7 
 
 WOOD FANCY, A 35 
 
e/lmong the Trees Again 
 
/ saw a meadow-land one day; 
 
 The grass stood green and high, 
 But naught appealed in any way 
 
 To stay the passer-by. 
 
 Till suddenly the sunlight strayed 
 Those leafy tangles through, 
 
 And touched to fire, on every blade 
 A golden network grew! 
 
 A million airy cobzvcbs gleamed 
 
 So silken-soft and bright, 
 That all the level lowland seemed 
 
 A tracery of light. 
 
 And as I watched the webs, I thought 
 
 The Held of life along, 
 As slight as these, so I have wrought 
 
 With slender threads of song. 
 
 They bind the grass, and blossoms, too, 
 
 The bee and butterfly, 
 And some go faintly wavering through 
 
 The tender azure sky. 
 
Yet still I wait that golden glow 
 Whose fine transmuting art 
 
 Must smite my web of song, and so 
 Reveal it to the heart. 
 
 Ah therefore, thou, I pray thee, touch 
 These frail threads I have spun, 
 
 With grace of sympathy, for such 
 Might light them like the sun! 
 
AMONG THE TREES AGAIN 
 
 Aye, throb, my heart ! is it not sweet to be, 
 To breathe, to bide, by growing things once more ! 
 We did not guess before 
 How close our life was locked in greenery. 
 Hark ! how the sparrows in the apple tree 
 
 Are chattering, chirping, till their tiny throats 
 Are fairly brimmed and quivering through and 
 through 
 
 With rollick notes ! 
 Good morrow, little birds ! 
 Good morrow ! morrow ! — O, I would I knew 
 
 Some light-winged language, kindred singing 
 words 
 
 Wherein to say 
 This day, this day, at last this happy day 
 I come to be a neighbor unto you ! 
 
 Too long, too long, we heard strange footsteps pass, 
 
 Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone; 
 But never softened by green, growing grass, 
 Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone. 
 And then, O heart, 
 Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart, 
 Alone, 
 Wrought to vague discord by some touch un- 
 known ? 
 
 3 
 
AMONG THE TREES AGAIN 
 
 Did we not weary with a nameless grief, 
 In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown, 
 Or music blown 
 From the wind-harping of some little leaf? 
 
 It was not that within the city's core 
 
 There dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen, 
 No human ties to temper its fatigues. 
 — 'Twas only that we needed something more; 
 
 Some note rang wrong; 
 A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong, 
 That life sang sweeter snatched between the green 
 Close-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs. 
 
 Where all the ground was paven out of sight, 
 And only from a far-off strip of sky 
 
 My mother Nature strove to speak to me, 
 I could not harken to her voice aright ; 
 I knew not why, 
 But ever to mine ears some whispering tree 
 Seemed of the inmost golden soul of her, 
 The best interpreter. 
 And so what wonder, Life, that you and I, 
 Shut out from such glad confidence, should miss 
 And grieve for this. 
 
 — But all this yearning we'll forget; for now 
 Within my window, 
 So, 
 By finger-tips, 
 I'll draw into mine arms this dancing bough, 
 And stroke its silky buds across my lips. 
 
AMONG THE TREES AGAIN 
 
 O generous-natured, friendly, neighbor tree! 
 
 Weave gentle blessings in the shade and shine; 
 And granting gracious patience to my plea, 
 Some simple lesson of your lore make mine, 
 Make mine, I pray! 
 O, be a kindly teacher unto me, 
 
 And I'll pour out such worshipful heart-wine, 
 Not any bird that sings to you all day, 
 
 Or nestles to low, leafy lullaby, 
 Shall hold you in such dear observance, nay, 
 Nor love you half so tenderly as I. 
 
THE REDBIRD 
 
 THE REDBIRD 
 
 Swept lightly by the south wind 
 The elm leaves softly stirred, 
 
 And in their pale green clusters 
 There straightway bloomed a bird ! 
 
 His glossy feathers glistened 
 
 With dyes as richly red 
 As any tulip flaming 
 
 From out the garden bed. 
 
 But ah, unlike the tulips, 
 In joyous strain, ere long, 
 
 This redbird flower unfolded 
 A heart of golden song ! 
 
THE WISHING-SPRING 
 
 THE WISHING-SPRING 
 
 I knelt beside the fairy spring, 
 Among the tasseled weeds; 
 
 Far off, with dreamy murmuring, 
 The wind piped through the reeds. 
 
 Once, twice, the brimming cup I raised 
 
 With trembling finger-tips, 
 And in its limpid crystal gazed, 
 
 Nor laid it to my lips. 
 
 Ah me ! the eager heart-desires, 
 So thronging swift they came, 
 
 My spirit surged like wind-swept fires, 
 I knew not which to name. 
 
 — Then all at once, I quickly quaffed 
 
 The shining drops ; but lo, 
 The wish with that enchanted draught 
 
 No man must ever know ! 
 
APRIL MORNING 
 
 APRIL MORNING 
 
 I lean upon the bridge's rail, 
 
 In idle joy, and gazing down, 
 So watch the frothy bubbles sail, 
 And bits of tangled grasses trail 
 Along the current's tawny brown. 
 
 The river flows at full to-day; 
 And though within the tide it pours 
 There grow no mocking sycamores. 
 Nor any crystal hints betray 
 
 The spicewood thickets, nor the pale 
 Soft willow wands of pearly gray, 
 Whose interwoven mazes veil 
 The fretted banks, yet here and there, 
 Adown some swirling eddy, where 
 A delving sunbeam shines, 
 What mines 
 Of gleaming, streaming, liquid gold 
 The waters hold ! 
 
 And so, by rapid currents rolled 
 
 In billowy swells that break and chime 
 In riotous tumult uncontrolled, 
 The March flood plashes past the pier; 
 But through its sweeping tones, I hear 
 
APRIL MORNING 
 
 The sweet, receding murmurs rhyme 
 The burden of the April time ; 
 
 And throbbing like a glad refrain, 
 Now far, now full, now far again, 
 The freshened breeze 
 Blows gaily, bringing pure and clear 
 The fitful, tinkling cadences. 
 
 But listen ! faint, from out the sheer 
 Deep borders of the morning sky, 
 Slips down the distance-softened cry 
 Of shy wild geese that northward fly; 
 It vibrates nearer, and more near, 
 — And see! 
 There ! wheeling into sight. 
 Far as the vision may descry, 
 
 A level-winged advancing "V," 
 They keep their swift, unswerving flight. 
 North, north, beyond that scudding fleece 
 Of tiny clouds, like wilder geese, 
 
 That join their ranks, and journey, too, 
 On, — on, — into the farthest blue. 
 
 Then, from the boundless space above, 
 I drop my dazzled eyes to view 
 The soft field-grass and meadow-rue, 
 The restful, brown earth, that I love. 
 
 A trick of blinding sun, maybe, 
 That halo on the hills may prove — 
 And yet, they are so dear to me, 
 The golden glory that they wear 
 Is like none other anywhere, 
 And, in my heart, I hold it true. 
 
APRIL MORNING 
 
 Though, surely, what least loving eye 
 
 Could wander up the river there, 
 And see aught otherwise than I? 
 Or could deny 
 That yonder little glimpse is fair? 
 The slender point of jutting land 
 
 Where, faintly burgeoning anew 
 With rounds of downy buds, there stand 
 A score of water-willow trees 
 In clustered tufts, and twinkling through, 
 Across the stream, beside of these, 
 A line of shining yellow light ; 
 
 And half in sight, 
 And hidden half, upon the right, 
 
 By wild red-sumac shrubberies, 
 A windmill, rising tall and white, 
 Slow turning in the breeze. 
 
 And then beyond — but how express, 
 What word in any tongue conveys 
 The depth of dreamy tenderness 
 That laps, and wraps, and overlays 
 The far blue hills, 
 And spills and fills 
 The valleys with pale purple haze? 
 O, what sweet syllables confess 
 
 The glad heart-happiness that plays 
 Through all my pulses as I gaze, 
 And drink the beauty, past all praise — 
 The old, immortal blessedness 
 Of April days! 
 
ON HEARING THE BALLAD "ALLEN PERCY" n 
 
 ON HEARING THE BALLAD " ; ALLEN PERCY" 
 
 A plaintive song, so strangely sweet and old, 
 That all my soul within itself would fold 
 
 And gently keep so quaint a melody, 
 That like a bird's its notes of liquid gold 
 
 Might oft repeat their sweetness unto me. 
 
 A tale of joyless splendor long ago, 
 Of wedded lady and of loveless woe, 
 
 How she to soothe her sick heart's misery 
 Cradled in vines her little child, and so 
 
 Sang of dear love beneath a greenwood tree. 
 
 And through it all there runs such saddest plaint, 
 As sweet as lutes, now murmurous, now faint, 
 
 Till, like the far-heard sighing of the sea, 
 It sweeps in gathering passion past restraint, 
 
 Then breaks, and croons in mournful minor key. 
 
 Ah, well-a-day ! I listen breathless till 
 I half believe that sorrowing singer still 
 
 Dreams on divinely by the whispering tree ; 
 For in your voice all tenderest heart-strings thrill, 
 
 And all the woodland's marvelous minstrelsy! 
 
MY LITTLE MASTER 
 
 MY LITTLE MASTER 
 
 little poet, winging through 
 The sheer, clear blue, 
 
 Is it the sky you're singing to? 
 Or is it that afar you see 
 Some leafy, laden apple-tree, 
 And half concealed and half confessed, 
 A nest? 
 Ah, truly now, I would I knew 
 The happy secret of your glee, 
 That joy wherewith you birds are blest, 
 Red-breast ! 
 
 So airy and so light of wing, 
 You soar and sing, 
 
 1 pray, could you not softly fling, 
 
 My merry minstrel, down to me 
 Some echo of that melody 
 That spills from out your tiny bill? 
 Some trill 
 Of all those liquid tones that ring 
 So full of purest poetry, 
 That rhyme, and chime, and thrill, until 
 They fill 
 
MY LITTLE MASTER 
 
 These vibrant seas of azure air, 
 Whose blue tides bear 
 Their witching sweetness everywhere? 
 O little master, heed to me! 
 And ah, so true, so tenderly, 
 I'll learn to sing how lovely grows 
 This rose. 
 Till, by and by, dear heart, I'll dare 
 To touch some bolder note, maybe, 
 Some chord whence deeper music flows; 
 Who knows ? 
 
THE NORTHMEN'S SONG OF THE POLE 
 
 THE NORTHMEN'S SONG OF THE POLE 
 
 The roar of the seas where the freezing clouds lower, 
 The shriek of the storm-wind, the turbulent tide, 
 
 The conquering currents, all vaunt of their power, 
 And taunt with the centuries' secret they hide. 
 
 Of towering icebergs and glittering floes, 
 The sun of the midnight in luminous rings, 
 
 Of hopes held at bay by beleaguering snows, 
 Of man in his weakness the fierce ocean sings. 
 
 Bright over the sky the aurora is red, 
 
 And crimson as life-blood the snowflakes below; 
 Swift updarting streamers of fire overspread 
 
 All heaven and earth with a roseate glow. 
 
 Hark ! Hark ! to the rumble, the thunderous roar 
 Of the ancient ice-mountains that shatter and rend 
 
 And crash with the tide dashing up on the shore, 
 In turmoil titanic and toil without end. 
 
 O, woe to the ship that the pitiless clutch 
 Of those crushing ice-demons drags down to her 
 doom! 
 
 The path to the pole is o'er-scattered with such, 
 And deep sleep the heroes the tempests entomb. 
 
THE NORTHMEN'S SONG OF THE POLE 15 
 
 Beneath the wan moon of the long arctic night 
 
 The frost-smitten sea stretches boundless and lone ; 
 
 The Shores of the Dead Men loom spectral and 
 white, 
 In Helheim, the death-goddess waits for her own. 
 
 But ho, to her hatred ! the soul of the brave 
 He bears not who dares not her fury defy ! 
 
 And ho, to her giants of wind and of wave ! 
 We crave but to meet and defeat them, or die ! 
 
 Farewell, and farewell !— the anchor rope strains, 
 Loose cable and canvas, and hasten we forth ! 
 
 The fire of desire quivers hot in our veins, 
 We must sail with the gale, to the north! to the 
 north ! 
 
 Must speed with the blast to its ultimate goal, 
 The path of its pinions must follow and find 
 
 The lure of the ages, the boreal pole, 
 And the measureless halls of the house of the 
 wind ! 
 
IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 
 
 IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 
 
 O golden day, wherein at last, 
 Long leagues and wintry overpast, 
 I stand beneath a sky as blue 
 As April violets drenched in dew, 
 And live within a dream come true! 
 
 From rosy-berried pepper-trees 
 The winds blow spicy fragrances ; 
 The palms sway softly to and fro, 
 And down below, 
 Between the glossy leaves of these, 
 
 The sparkling, yellow sunbeams steep 
 The mission garden, where the bees 
 
 Are hoarding deep 
 Of heliotrope that hangs the wall 
 As for some princely festival, 
 
 While white and tall 
 Bright lilies bloom in grace untold, 
 And those rare roses, passing all 
 In splendor, called 'The Cloth of Gold !" 
 
 O heart, my heart, throb high and fast 
 With rapture! for how couldst thou know 
 Amid the far-off frost and snow 
 
IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 17 
 
 Where all the skies are overcast 
 And shrill and chill the north-winds blow, 
 How couldst thou know 
 December heavens anywhere 
 Could show such rare 
 Such tender and divinest guise, 
 That earth and air 
 Could weave such strange, resistless spell 
 As this that folds us flower-wise 
 At sweet San Gabriel ! 
 
 San Gabriel ! the holy words 
 Fall soft as music on the ear ; 
 I think they are as sweet to hear 
 As any song of summer birds ; 
 And harkening them, the while in clear, 
 
 Pure, quivering notes, 
 The ancient bells begin to chime, 
 In shadowy- wise before me floats 
 A vision of the vanished time. 
 
 I see again 
 The little band from sunny Spain, 
 Those godly ones, and full of grace, 
 And without stain, 
 Who, heeding neither toil nor pain. 
 Desiring men of every race, 
 That such might see sweet Jesus' face, 
 
 And that at length the Lord might reign 
 Among all peoples, even so, 
 Sought in the wilderness this place, 
 And consecrated, long ago. 
 
1 8 IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 
 
 And gazing on the sacred pile 
 
 Their hands upreared in loving zeal, 
 My heart goes forth to them the while, 
 
 Those faithful fathers, true and leal ! 
 How oft along each cloistered aisle 
 
 They counted o'er and o'er their beads, 
 While in this garden, unawares, 
 
 The fragrant flowers sowed their seeds. 
 — And richly as the flowers, the prayers 
 
 Bore fruit in gentle deeds ! 
 
 In arched embrasures, lifted high 
 
 Against the sky, 
 The bells in clear-cut beauty show ; 
 And loftier still, surmounting all, 
 And blessing thus the ancient wall, 
 A cross, — and on its summit, lo ! 
 A slender bird with pearly breast 
 Sits peacefully at rest ! 
 
 Ah me ! Ah me ! I know not why 
 This little bird with folded wings, 
 
 The cross, the tender azure sky, 
 Their pure, exceeding beauty brings 
 
 Swift tears, and smites my heart, till I 
 Am almost fain 
 To hide mine eyes for very pain ! 
 
 Yet though thus for a little space 
 
 I bow my face, 
 
 Nor any grace 
 Of rose or lily can I see, 
 I know the while that memory, 
 
IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 19 
 
 Clear-eyed and free, 
 Upon my heart is graving deep 
 Each least, sweet loveliness, to keep 
 Through all the coming years for me. 
 
 And it shall be, 
 In afterwhiles, when far away, 
 When wintry skies are bleak and gray 
 
 And no birds sing, 
 I shall grow glad remembering 
 The sweetness of this scarlet day. 
 
DREAM ECHOES 
 
 DREAM ECHOES 
 
 A little while ago I caught, 
 In cadence pure and clear, 
 
 A waft of faintest music, wrought 
 Upon my inner ear. 
 
 A part of some elusive theme 
 Whose sweetly solemn air 
 
 My soul had harkened in a dream, 
 I know not when nor where. 
 
 I only know my heart-strings stirred 
 With strange, forgotten pain, 
 
 That crept upon me as I heard 
 That un remembered strain. 
 
 A sense of loneliness untold, 
 So boundless, deep, unknown, 
 
 I blindly reached my hands to hold 
 Your palms within my own ! 
 
 
APRIL CONTRADICTIONS 
 
 APRIL CONTRADICTIONS 
 
 I watch the little pear buds break 
 
 And slip their silky sheaths, 
 And flowers on the maples make 
 A thousand russet wreaths, 
 — Then something blinds my sight, and I 
 Am full of grief, yet know not why ! 
 
 A rosy purple half betrays 
 
 The wealth the lilacs fold ; 
 
 The torches of the tulips blaze 
 
 In flames of red and gold ; 
 
 Peach boughs are blossoming above, 
 — But oh, the vague heartache thereof ! 
 
 The blue sky wears in gentle wise 
 
 Its loveliness again; 
 All April sunshine, — yet mine eyes 
 Are brimmed with April rain! 
 The presage of sweet days to be, 
 So strange a sadness stirs in me ! 
 
A PLEA 
 
 A PLEA 
 
 Two years ago, it is two years to-day, — 
 It seems a score ! — since that sweet, bloomy May 
 When on the barren sea you sailed away. 
 The peach-trees then were in a rosy glow, 
 
 And down below, 
 The tulip buds had just begun to show. 
 — And yet, dear heart, I know 
 Though all the heaven smiled in tender blue, 
 
 It shone not so to you. 
 Sorrow had hooded all your skies in gray, 
 And when these dancing boughs put on their gay, 
 Bright May-time bravery, they only grieved 
 A heart bereaved. 
 And though glad robins sang to you to stay, 
 
 And by the stream the first sweet-flags unfurled 
 Seemed nature's truce to sorrow, — every way 
 Held warring memories wherewith to gainsay 
 And send you wandering over half the world. 
 
 Ah, well do I remember how my prayers 
 Went with you, dear, and followed unawares; 
 So speeding ever, winging far and wide 
 About the path wherein your ship should ride, 
 And pleading Heaven that most gentle airs 
 And tempered tide 
 Might bear you safely to the farther side. 
 
A PLEA 
 
 Then, when I knew your voyage over, — then, 
 — For surely now, at last, I may confess, 
 Now that I have outgrown its bitterness, 
 Though, sometimes, I can almost feel again, 
 Remembering those days, that keen distress, 
 Yes, jealousy it was ! not any less, 
 That constantly 
 Wrapped all my thoughts of you beyond the sea !— 
 I feared lest other lives, more large and wide 
 Than mine has been, might, day by day, divide 
 And win your life and love away from me. 
 And I was fearful for dear nature, too; 
 I could not bear 
 To think that heaven anywhere should wear 
 A hue more deeply, more divinely blue 
 Than this home sky that we together knew ; 
 Or that there grew 
 Strange bud or bloom to make the earth more fair. 
 
 — A most unworthy fancy, it is true; 
 Since nature is but nature everywhere, 
 The same kind mother, in whatever land ; 
 So too, maybe, could we but understand, 
 All hearts and loves are only as a part 
 Of one great Heart 
 Whose universal pulses so expand 
 That any lesser life that therein beats 
 
 Should no more dream of this word "jealousy" 
 Than yonder shining flakes of bloom should be 
 Jealous, forsooth, of the whole hawthorn tree 
 That is but one with their own mass of sweets. 
 
24 A PLEA 
 
 And so, at last, through blind, unreasoning grief 
 Beyond belief, 
 Brightly within my heart there did uprise 
 Love's loyalty, rebuking in this wise : 
 "Has she not spoken, oft and oft again, 
 These three plain words 'I love you' ? Wherefore, 
 then, 
 
 What right have you 
 To deem mere distance could her love undo? 
 To fancy aught exists that could estrange 
 Her heart from yours, wherein there is no change, 
 Or judge her own to be less simply true?" 
 
 And then, in shame, I swiftly put aside 
 All faintest questioning; thenceforth to abide 
 In trust as pure, as boundless, and as wide 
 As still sea-deeps, unvexed of any tide. 
 
 Nay, I have learned to cherish rightly, too, 
 
 All light and life that minister to you. 
 I hold most dear 
 
 Whatever least thing brings you smallest cheer; 
 And, day by day, my ceaseless prayer is this, 
 
 That from the changeful, many-colored grace 
 Of time and place, 
 Your grief may come to weave a chrysalis 
 
 Round its dead hopes, till waking, by and by, 
 
 It shall find wings to bear it to the sky. 
 —But, dear,— God knows I would not do you 
 
 wrong, 
 Nor touch one heart-string if it be not strong, — 
 
 But O, so long, 
 So long it seems ! You have been gone so long ! 
 
 The feather-grass is growing green and high, 
 
A PLEA 25 
 
 And, piping gaily in an azure throng, 
 
 The bluebirds spangle all the air with song; 
 
 Again aflame the rosy peach boughs burn ; 
 
 —Can not you, too, return? 
 
 On slender stems the nodding wind-flowers blow, 
 And bloodroots grow 
 Where high the hedges fling their lacing frets 
 Along the lanes ; while, softly sifting through 
 
 Tall plumy weeds and silver spider-nets, 
 The yellow sunbeams filter down below 
 
 Until I know 
 Not any fair Italian sky is blue 
 
 As is our earth to-day with violets! 
 Nor do I think that even that Syrian sun 
 
 You watched ride high above Damascus' towers, 
 In purer light or richer splendor glowed 
 Than any one 
 Of these most lovely golden dawns of ours 
 That wake the birds along the river road. 
 The green ravines are newly fringed with fern ; 
 From out the brake a robin red-breast calls; 
 The stream repeats, at rippling intervals, 
 "Can you not now return?" 
 
 But what avail in striving to compare 
 
 Earth's endless beauties, whether east or west! 
 All lands are lovely, and I am aware 
 That unto me this little spot seems fair, 
 More rare 
 Than all the gathered glories of the rest, 
 Because I love it best. 
 
26 A PLEA 
 
 And so, in truth, I feel that chief I plead 
 
 A selfish need; 
 I too, like nature, long to greet the spring ! 
 Indeed I think I never have confessed, 
 Nor have you guessed 
 How much of May it is your gift to bring. 
 You never knew how wintry was the cloud 
 Of haunting sadness, that would ofttimes shroud 
 My inmost being, and creep up to chill 
 The warmer currents of my life, — until, 
 
 In knowing you, 
 I felt a pulse like that sweet, joyous thrill 
 That breaks the buds when all the skies are blue ! 
 The bitter storms of grief I did not fear 
 
 When you were near. 
 But sometimes now I have grown half afraid 
 
 That unforgotten frost of pain that used 
 To wrap my nature will again invade 
 The singing streams your April touch had 
 loosed. 
 Spring's subtler spells alone I can not learn, 
 — Ah, will you not return? 
 
 Yet if it chance that prayed-for peace you sought 
 Be not at length to full perfection wrought, 
 If still in vain 
 Time strives with memory, — then, dear, I would 
 fain 
 Let be as naught 
 All I have uttered; and I will refrain 
 From any whispered wish, or word, or thought, 
 That might to you in anywise complain. 
 
A PLEA 27 
 
 However much my eager heart may miss, 
 How much for you my very soul may yearn, 
 
 I will seek patience, confident in this, 
 That some time, surely, Love shall conquer pain, 
 And then, dear heart, I know you will return. 
 
28 SEA-DREAMS 
 
 SEA-DREAMS 
 
 I sat upon the mossy rocks 
 
 Beside the southern sea, 
 While overhead the summer clouds 
 
 Were drifting lazily. 
 
 I watched their purple shadows trail 
 
 Across the sea and hide 
 Within the hollows of the waves 
 
 That rode the rising tide. 
 
 Sometimes the little flakes of foam 
 Dashed up in twinkling spray ; 
 
 And out along their silver paths 
 The ships sailed far away. 
 
 As through the sun I followed them 
 With straining, eager eyes, 
 
 From out the sparkling waves I saw 
 A shining vision rise. 
 
 It seemed a ghostly castle white, 
 With battlement and tower, 
 
 That hung on the horizon's verge 
 By some unearthly power. 
 
SEA-DREAMS 29 
 
 I saw its spectral turrets gleam 
 
 As white as ivory, 
 And wondered who the wizard king 
 
 That reigned upon the sea. 
 
 — But while, with breathless gaze, I watched 
 
 This castle, by and by 
 It vanished in the underworld 
 
 Beyond the sea and sky! 
 
30 IDEALS 
 
 IDEALS 
 
 I would that I could weave a song 
 
 As airy and as light, 
 As are the roundelays that throng 
 
 Within my heart to-night. 
 
 I would that I might set to tune 
 
 The beauty of this hour, 
 When, like a primrose bud, the moon 
 
 Breaks into golden flower. 
 
 And all the happy, lilting notes, 
 
 Beyond divinest words, 
 That nestle in the downy throats 
 
 Of little sleeping birds, 
 
 The breeze-borne scent of mignonette, 
 
 That in the garden grows, 
 Where, strung like pearls, the dew is wet 
 
 Upon the briar-rose, 
 
 These things it is, whose voices I 
 
 Have sought for overlong; 
 Yet still their cunning tones defy 
 
 The artifice of song. 
 
TO THE "WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE" 31 
 
 TO THE "WINGED VICTORY OF 
 SAMOTHRACE" 
 
 Thou wonder of the warrior prow, 
 
 Supreme, immortal Victory ! 
 Before thy majesty I bow 
 
 And all my soul flames forth to thee ! 
 
 Within the shadow of thy wings 
 
 A thousand voices sound for me ; 
 In far, tumultuous murmurings, 
 
 I catch the echo of the sea ; 
 The salty surge that rolls more near, 
 
 Till loud and clear 
 In mighty thunder tones I hear 
 
 The rush of old JEgean tides, 
 The bright, white waves that from the shore 
 Sweep seaward with unceasing roar; 
 
 In dawning skies the day-star guides, 
 Across the surf the seabirds call, 
 
 Whilst white and tall 
 With swift sails swelling over all, 
 
 The shield-hung warship rides. 
 
 And like the heaven-born dreams that soar 
 From hero spirits, eagle-wise, 
 And urge to deeds of great emprise 
 And fly before 
 
32 TO THE "WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE' 
 
 The eager, throbbing hearts that know 
 
 No goal but victory, even so, 
 Above the restless breakers' roar, 
 Upon the high cliff evermore 
 
 Thou standest with bright wings outspread, 
 
 In all thy fresh-wrought godlihead, 
 Beloved of the conqueror! 
 
 And as I gaze I seem to trace 
 
 The features of thy fearless face, 
 
 The matchless marvel of its grace 
 That like a star 
 
 Across the seas of Samothrace 
 Shone forth afar; 
 
 I hear the southern winds intone 
 Whilst backward blown 
 Thy trailing garments, fluttering 
 From out the slender girdle, cling 
 
 About thy limbs and so confess 
 
 Their lines of perfect loveliness; 
 Then suddenly o'er everything 
 Great shouts and martial echoes ring! 
 
 I see thee, storm-like, rushing past 
 
 Thy hand upon the carven mast, 
 And harken whilst thy proud lips fling 
 
 The loud, triumphal trumpet blast ! 
 
 O glorious image ! what if time 
 Hath smitten with ungentle touch 
 
 Thy perfect beauty? Still sublime 
 Thou art a conqueror, and still 
 
 All men unite to name thee such ! 
 Before thee all my pulses thrill, 
 
TO THE "WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE' 
 
 33 
 
 Old hopes and dreams awake in me ; 
 O Victory, 
 
 Lead, lead but thou mine eager will, 
 
 I follow fast and far until 
 Some day my ship shall harbor thee ! 
 
34 AS TO THE SUMMER AIR THE ROSE 
 
 AS TO THE SUMMER AIR THE ROSE 
 
 As to the summer air the rose 
 
 Pours forth her perfume all the day, 
 
 For every careless wind that blows 
 To scatter far away, 
 
 So gives my heart to thee the rare 
 Fine fragrance of its sweetest thought, 
 
 And thou art heedless as the air 
 Whereto the rose is naught! 
 
A WOOD FANCY 3 S 
 
 A WOOD FANCY 
 
 The mandrakes lift, like little mosques, 
 Their domes between the vines, 
 
 And butterflies for worshipers 
 Are flocking to their shrines. 
 
 And from tall, tapering mullein towers 
 
 And minarets of green, 
 The honey-bee muezzins drone 
 
 To bloodroot buds between, 
 
 That pilgrim-wise along the road 
 Come trooping to the light, 
 
 In pale green caftans closely wound 
 And turbans spotless white. 
 
 While all the way with budding things 
 
 Is tufted thicker than 
 The praying mats the Persian weaves 
 
 In streets of Ispahan. 
 
 And listen! with a lordly note 
 Like joyous burst of drums, 
 
 In gorgeous gown of gold and black 
 The oriole sultan comes ! 
 
36 THE THRUSH 
 
 THE THRUSH 
 
 The creamy dogwood branches, 
 
 The rosy redbud trees, 
 The drifts of sweet wild-plum bloom 
 
 O'erhung by honey bees, 
 The gleaming buckeye blossoms 
 
 The south wind blew apart, 
 Oh, all the woods awaking, 
 
 They overfilled my heart ! 
 
 Then clear, from out a thicket, 
 
 There rang that golden note 
 That flutes from none but only 
 
 The tawny thrush's throat; 
 So charged with all sweet secrets 
 
 The April has to tell, 
 I bowed my head and harkened, 
 
 Enchanted by its spell. 
 
 Till presently that magic 
 
 Heart-melting melody 
 Drew all my soul to meet it 
 
 In sudden ecstasy. 
 My spirit found its pinions 
 
 In blessed bird-like birth, 
 And knew the joyous passion 
 
 That thrilled through all the earth. 
 
THE THRUSH 37 
 
 The while the thrush was singing, 
 
 I heard the violets stir, 
 And through the dreamy woodlands 
 
 The breaking buds confer; 
 I half divined the glories 
 
 Of all the springs to be, 
 — When, O, the song was silent! 
 
 The thrush had flown, ah me ! 
 
3 8 MONTEZUMA 
 
 MONTEZUMA 
 
 On a lofty mountain summit 
 
 In a tawny, desert land, 
 Lo, a mighty human profile, 
 
 But not hewn by human hand ; 
 In the living rock forever 
 
 Looming dark, majestic, grand. 
 
 O'er its outline, heaven fronting, 
 When the dawn's first radiance streams 
 
 With its rosy touch, and tender, 
 Then this face of granite seems 
 
 As a sleeper's unawakened 
 
 From the thrall of peaceful dreams. 
 
 But when down the western heavens 
 Sinks the setting sun, blood-red, 
 
 Then the mountain mists that mantle 
 Cover close that quiet head, 
 
 As men draw a pall of purple 
 Round about their kingly dead. 
 
 And the stars, like lighted tapers, 
 Flicker forth in golden rows 
 
 From the heaven's holy altar, 
 Whilst the night-wind as it blows 
 
 Seems to chant a solemn requiem 
 For the passing soul's repose. 
 
MONTEZUMA 39 
 
 Head of royal Montezuma, 
 So the ancient legends tell; 
 
 Montezuma, granite shrouded 
 By some great enchanter's spell, 
 
 Lying lordly by the borders 
 Of the land he loved so well. 
 
 But in silence unrevealing 
 
 Still that calm face fronts the sky: 
 Heeding neither tears nor laughter, 
 
 Nor if sun or storm go by; 
 Keeping still its primal counsel, 
 
 In repose, serene and high. 
 
4 o BETWEEN SEASONS 
 
 BETWEEN SEASONS 
 
 The cherry trees are haunted 
 By hordes of robber jays, 
 
 And warmer winds are fanning 
 The poppies to a blaze. 
 
 And loosed in fitful flurries, 
 The sweet syringas fall, 
 
 To lie like little snow-drifts 
 Against the garden wall. 
 
 Upon the laden lattice, 
 In softly rounding shapes, 
 
 A wealth of tiny clusters 
 Are growing into grapes. 
 
 Heigho! a drowsy shimmer 
 Enfolds the sunny hours; 
 
 And humming-birds are hidden 
 In scarlet trumpet-flowers. 
 
 The tenderness of springtime 
 
 Is almost overpast; 
 But O, the gracious summer, 
 
 It comes, it comes at last! 
 
A LITTLE LOVE SONG 41 
 
 A LITTLE LOVE SONG 
 
 My heart was like a sunless, cold, 
 Unlovely land of ice and snow, 
 
 Wherein no blessed buds unfold, 
 Nor singing waters flow. 
 
 Then all at once the April skies 
 Laughed in your look, and at that hour 
 
 My spirit melted, torrent-wise, 
 My life broke into flower! 
 
 O dearest heart, I had not guessed 
 
 What marvel of immortal seeds 
 
 Lay hidden deep within my breast, 
 
 Beneath its barren weeds ! 
 
 But now I know, but now I know 
 The glory of the flower of love, 
 
 The joyous splendor of its glow, 
 The subtile pain thereof ! 
 
42 JUNE 
 
 JUNE 
 
 High overhead, 
 By summer breezes sped, 
 From every latest burgeoned bough 
 The last, spring petals fall; 
 And red, red, red, 
 Along the garden bed, 
 The poppy plants are holding now 
 Their crimson carnival. 
 
 Clear, sweet, and strong, 
 I hear the robin's song. 
 And catch the merry caroling 
 Of some bold bobolink ; 
 
 And phlox flowers throng 
 The garden ways along, 
 While peonies and roses bring 
 Their pageantries of pink. 
 
 White, gold, and green, 
 The lily spires are seen, 
 And hollyhocks, in stately rows, 
 With tufted buds are set; 
 Tall, in between, 
 The growing sunflowers lean, 
 And thick the sweet alyssum shows 
 Among the mignonette. 
 
JUNE 43 
 
 Ho! truant May! 
 Have you, then, gone astray, 
 Unwitting that in realms of June 
 Return were no avail? 
 Ah, well-a-day ! 
 So wings the spring away; 
 The summer's ever oversoon, 
 But June, sweet June, all hail ! , 
 
A SONG OF THOUGHT 
 
 A SONG OF THOUGHT 
 
 O, the ships have sails for the swelling gales, 
 
 The falcon flies in the wake of the wind, 
 In the speed of the steed of the Bedouin breed 
 The blood leaps high to the hoof-beats' lead, 
 As the leagues are left behind. 
 But what care I 
 For the birds that fly, 
 Or all the vessels that sail the sea; 
 The blasts that blow 
 Till the trees bend low, 
 Or the barbs of Araby ! 
 
 I spring to birth with the dust of earth, 
 
 Yet span the heaven from pole to pole; 
 Or flashing far as the farthermost star, 
 I know no barrier, bound nor bar 
 To hold from my boldest goal. 
 The storm's red spark 
 As it cleaves the dark, 
 With my viewless wings it can not keep pace : 
 More fleet than light 
 My measureless flight 
 To the starless ends of space! 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT 45 
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT 
 
 The moonbeams filter softly through 
 The leaves upon the linden tree; 
 
 And as I sit alone, dear heart, 
 My spirit yearns for thee! 
 
 Yet in some gracious-wise to-night 
 We do not seem far worlds apart; 
 
 I reach my empty arms and dream 
 I fold thee to my heart. 
 
 I close my brimming eyes, and see 
 The strange, sweet beauty of thy smile, 
 
 And fancy that our palms are met 
 In loving clasp the while. 
 
 In soft, clear tones, I seem to hear 
 The long-hushed voice I loved so well ; 
 
 — I tremble, lest a breath should break 
 This moment's happy spell ! 
 
 O brother mine, could it be true 
 Thine own dear presence hovers near 
 
 To comfort with this heavenly peace 
 Thy little sister here? 
 
46 BINDWEED 
 
 BINDWEED 
 
 Along the lane I idly pass 
 
 Unheeding where the footpath goes, 
 And loiter through the ripe wild-grass 
 That down the open roadway grows 
 In feathery, tall tufts that rise 
 In filmy tangles, misty-wise; 
 The grass that when the south wind blows, 
 
 Shines out and shows 
 Shot through with silver lights and rose, 
 And tiny gold and violet seeds 
 
 That quiver off each gleaming stem 
 And powder all the wayside weeds, 
 And like a glory cover them. 
 
 With eager palms I gently press 
 
 Soft sheaves of it against my lips 
 In sheer delight ; and so caress 
 And fondle with light finger-tips, 
 And watch its beauty when the bright, 
 
 Clear spears of light 
 Pierce through its slender leaves and smite 
 Their rose and purple, till my sight 
 Is dazzled with its loveliness ! 
 
BINDWEED 47 
 
 In verdant nets along the way 
 The tendrils of a wild-grape vine 
 Through elder thickets intertwine; 
 
 And poising lightly on a spray 
 Of fruited bramble stems where shine 
 Close clustering berries, red as wine, 
 
 A little thistle-bird, still gay 
 
 In April's yellow plumage, clings 
 With airy grace, and slowly swings, 
 
 And lifts his wings 
 In dainty, drowsy flutterings ; 
 
 They flicker like bright flakes of gold, 
 And fan his body, small and slim, 
 
 While lovingly the winds enfold 
 And summer's heart broods over him. 
 
 The sky is softer than the blue 
 Of cornflower buds beneath the dew ; 
 And down below 
 
 Upon the marshy meadow swales 
 
 The bindweed weaves its rosy veils 
 Where thick the blowing rushes grow 
 Among the tasseled reeds and rue; 
 
 And up between the mossy rails 
 It lightly climbs, and clambers through 
 The growing corn, and barley, too, 
 
 And winds the fallow weeds and trails 
 Along the creek where cowslips grew. 
 
 O lavish stems, that fondly fling 
 Close clasp about the earth, and cling 
 
4 3 BINDWEED 
 
 In wreaths of fragrant flowering, 
 Ev'n as ye do 
 
 To that dear soil wherefrom ye spring, 
 So does my love cleave thereunto ! 
 And so my full heart-blossoms bind 
 The bright midsummer fields, and find 
 
 Sweet fellowships with everything! 
 
THE SUMMER SHOWER 49 
 
 THE SUMMER SHOWER 
 
 The air is shot with spangling drops, 
 
 But heedless of the rain 
 The sun laughs, through a silver veil, 
 
 Upon the golden grain. 
 
 And lightly arching up the east 
 
 In faintly penciled lines, 
 That throb and flush to tinted bars, 
 
 A double rainbow shines. 
 
 It seems to touch the fragrant earth, 
 
 Till, tangled in the breeze, 
 It winds a film of irised light 
 
 About the distant trees. 
 
 In frothy clusters down the road 
 
 The blooming elders lean, 
 With dripping buds that shine like pearls 
 
 Within a sea of green. 
 
 And heaped around them, pink as shells, 
 
 The roses are in flower, 
 While earth and sky are freshly keyed 
 
 To sweetness by the shower. 
 
50 
 
 AT NIGHT 
 
 AT NIGHT 
 
 Come, draw more near ! Clasp hands with me ! 
 
 Ah close, and closer still ! 
 The night spreads to infinity ! 
 And through my heart a sudden chill, 
 — I pray loose not your loving hold ! — 
 A fear, a loneliness untold 
 Smites sharply, till mine eyes o'erfill ! 
 Nor have I strength nor stress of will 
 To set my spirit free. 
 
 The cold, the darkness, and the dread 
 
 Immensity of space, 
 
 The great, wan moon, whose ghostly face 
 For ages has been dead, 
 The weird lights wheeling overhead, 
 
 The unknown worlds that onward roll, 
 In endless wanderings ever led, 
 
 That find no goal, 
 The spectral mists that overspread 
 
 With pallid light the lesser stars, 
 The lurid glow that glimmers red 
 
 Across the front of Mars, 
 — O dearest heart, when all is said, 
 I am afraid! and from the whole 
 
 Wide waste of worlds I hide my sight, 
 
 And from the boundless night ! 
 
AT NIGHT 51 
 
 The ancient mystery of the skies, 
 
 Their silent depths from pole to pole, 
 The void, the vastness terrifies! 
 — O, let me rather search your eyes, 
 
 And with your sweet, warm touch disperse 
 This terror of the universe 
 That strikes into my soul ! 
 
THE HOME FIELDS 
 
 THE HOME FIELDS 
 
 The fields are full of sunlight, 
 
 And leafy golden-green, 
 And misty purple shadows 
 
 Are flitting in between; 
 The flaky elder flowers 
 
 Are drenched with honey-dew, 
 And all the distant woodlands 
 
 Stand veiled in tender blue. 
 
 Half seen between green thickets 
 
 Of grape-vine and wild rose, 
 In twinkling swirls of silver 
 
 The lazy river flows; 
 While down the grassy roadside 
 
 The milkweed balls are bright, 
 And waving prince's-feather 
 
 Is tipped with snowy white. 
 
 Ah, ever-dearest home-land, 
 
 'Tis here my spirit sings! 
 And as my heart caresses 
 
 The sweet, familiar things, 
 Such rare midsummer magic 
 
 Distills through all the air, 
 I think these fields are fairer 
 
 Than any anywhere! 
 
SYMPATHY 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 To-night a little child lies dead; 
 
 I never saw its face; 
 I try to fancy now instead 
 
 Its lines of baby grace. 
 
 And for the sake of her who weeps 
 These lonely watches through 
 
 So wake fully my spirit keeps 
 A weary vigil, too. 
 
 A thousand thoughts appeal to me 
 
 In close-besieging crowd ; 
 But through them all I only see 
 
 A little, snow-white shroud. 
 
 Nor may I set dull grief at naught, 
 
 However I am fain; 
 Since when the heart-strings are dis- 
 traught, 
 
 The will must strive in vain. 
 
 Ah me! there breaks the dawning sun, 
 
 In golden light serene; 
 Yet still I mourn this little one, 
 
 Whom I have never seen! 
 
54 IN SUMMER DEEPS 
 
 IN SUMMER DEEPS 
 
 Through sunny spaces overhead 
 A gray hawk's lazy pinions spread, 
 And poppies open wide and red 
 Where golden harvests grew. 
 
 In rosy wreaths upon the swales 
 And fallow fields the bindweed trails, 
 And late-sown buckwheat swiftly pales 
 To blossoming anew. 
 
 The pond within the pasture land 
 
 Reflects the cattle as they stand 
 
 In depths of dipping sedges and 
 
 Of tangled meadow-rue. 
 
 In silver splashes through the green, 
 Fine, filmy spider-webs are seen, 
 And crumpled cockle-flowers between 
 Are rifts of tender blue. 
 
 On stately stalks of standing corn 
 A wealth of cresting plumes are borne, 
 And tawny tasseled tufts adorn 
 The ripened barley, too. 
 
 So, steeping nature far and wide, 
 Deep sweeps the flood of summer-tide. 
 Till all things that therein abide 
 Are richly tinctured through. 
 
SONG 55 
 
 SONG 
 
 O, fresh from off the ocean 
 The salt wind riots through 
 
 The fragrant fern and bay-leaves 
 And dripping honey-dew. 
 
 The morning's on the moorland, 
 
 And flashing, far away, 
 I glimpse the foam-white seagulls 
 
 And feathers of the spray. 
 
 O hasten! let us hasten! 
 
 The tide sings up the sand 
 The song my heart has harkened 
 
 Across long leagues of land. 
 
 So far, far have I journeyed, 
 
 Such weary ways, O sea ! 
 Breathe, breathe me breath of life now, 
 
 And steep the soul of me ! 
 
56 IMPATIENT 
 
 IMPATIENT 
 
 Some day, when summer's overpast, 
 And loosed by frost, in gold and brown 
 These greenly clinging leaves drift down, 
 When shrill winds hush 
 The robin red-breast and the thrush, 
 When all the skies are overcast 
 
 With racks of rain, so chill and gray 
 Not any burgeoning may be, — 
 Some day, 
 Across far foreign lands and vast 
 
 Unbounded spaces of the sea, 
 So homeward, homeward, journeying fast, 
 At last 
 She will come back to me ! 
 
 I reckon up, in daily sum, 
 
 The time until that scarlet date; 
 I think the fall will never come, 
 So wearily I wait! 
 The hours seem leaguing to belate 
 The days, that never crept so slow; 
 
 And yet, 
 I used to love the summer so ! 
 But now my heart may only fret 
 And pray for it to go. 
 
IMPATIENT 57 
 
 And yearning so, with lashes wet, 
 I half forget 
 The greenery on every bough, 
 How red the poppies are, and how 
 Amid the tufted mignonette 
 The scented south-winds gently blow; 
 I heed them not, — I only know 
 
 Time never seemed so long as now ! 
 
 I search the azure skies in vain, 
 No hint of autumn rain ! 
 No hint of fall from bluebirds, nor 
 Green fields of growing grain. 
 Then idly reckoning, as before, 
 I strive anew to make less far 
 That glad date on the calendar; 
 To number less the days that are, 
 The changes fixed for sun and star, 
 The moons that yet must wax and wane ; 
 Thus evermore 
 With fresh impatience, o'er and o'er, 
 I count the hours ;— yet still am fain 
 To tell them over once again. 
 
 hasten, hasten, autumn days! 
 
 Sear swift this dewy, summer green ! 
 
 1 am grown weary with delays ; 
 
 Speed ! Speed ! 
 Bring bitter winds and chill, nor heed 
 The mellow sweets between ! 
 
58 IMPATIENT 
 
 What if the dead leaves strew the ways, 
 And southward all the songs take wing? 
 
 Despite all cheerless frosts that be, 
 My eager heart awaits the spring, 
 So knowing she will surely bring 
 
 The birds and May to me. 
 
RAIN ON THE RIVER 59 
 
 RAIN ON THE RIVER 
 
 The skies are gray, where far and wide, 
 
 Beyond the water-willows, 
 The marshes spread their emerald tide 
 
 Of blossom-crested billows. 
 
 And on the vague horizon's rim, 
 
 In vaporous purple masses, 
 The distant woods show soft and dim 
 
 Across the lush, green grasses. 
 
 An east wind stirs the ivory balls 
 
 Upon the button-bushes; 
 And hark ! a hidden rain-bird calls 
 
 From out the blowing rushes. 
 
 Within the water, yonder spray 
 
 Of rosy mallow flowers 
 Turns faint and pale, till not more gray 
 
 The cloudy heaven lowers. 
 
 And all the birches' tender green 
 
 An ashen hue is growing ; 
 While mottled with a silver sheen 
 
 The ruffled waves are flowing. 
 
60 RAIN ON THE RIVER 
 
 Then softly through the forest leaves, 
 That turn, and toss, and quiver, 
 
 The rain, with murmurous cadence, weaves 
 A roundel in the river. 
 
 It dots the waves with dancing pearls, 
 It gleams, and streams, and twinkles; 
 
 It sweeps and sinks in silvery swirls, 
 And rings, and sings, and tinkles. 
 
 The clustering sedges dip and sway, 
 
 Till, after fitful failing, 
 The sun bursts gaily through the gray, 
 
 And craggy clouds are sailing 
 
 Where, southward, in a brilliant sky, 
 
 As light as any feather, 
 The little moon curves white and high, 
 
 In token of fair weather. 
 
OVER THE SIERRA 
 
 OVER THE SIERRA 
 
 From out the depths of the abyss, 
 Faint echoes of a torrent's roar 
 O'er crags whence lordly eagles soar 
 
 To poise above the precipice. 
 
 A dizzy pathway, sheer and steep ; 
 
 A startled catching of the breath ; 
 
 And, bearing menaces of death, 
 A loosened snow-drift's sudden sweep ! 
 
 Then, blown from out the upper sky, 
 Keen, fitful gusts of icy air, 
 So light, so tenuous and rare, 
 
 The heart leaps strangely swift thereby. 
 
 The white moon floating in the calm 
 Still ether space, so near, it seems, 
 To grasp his eager childhood dreams, 
 
 One need but thither reach his palm. 
 
 A sense of majesties and mights, 
 
 An exaltation born of these ; 
 
 — The summit's awful silences; 
 A glimpse of Godhead from the heights ! 
 
62 ON THE PRAIRIE 
 
 ON THE PRAIRIE 
 
 Across the dewy prairie 
 
 The morning wind is borne, 
 
 Beyond the new-mown hayfields, 
 And through the tasseled corn. 
 
 Upon the silver-maples 
 
 It lifts the swinging leaves, 
 
 And steals a subtile sweetness 
 From rows of golden sheaves. 
 
 Within the sunny orchard 
 The harvest apples fall, 
 
 While from the tossing branches 
 The saucy jay-birds call. 
 
 In crinkled, fringy clusters 
 The scarlet poppies burn. 
 
 Where, softly opening, eastward 
 The yellow sunflowers turn. 
 
 And nibbling in the garden, 
 Between the cherry trees, 
 
 I see a robber rabbit 
 
 Among the pink sweet-peas. 
 
ON THE PRAIRIE 63 
 
 While with a fitful fanning, 
 
 The lazy wind-mill swings, 
 About the bloomy peaches 
 
 A robin redbreast sings. 
 
 And in the far horizon 
 There dwells such tender hue, 
 
 These azure cornflower blossoms 
 Are not so sweet and blue. 
 
64 BY THE KANKAKEE 
 
 BY THE KANKAKEE 
 
 Beneath the forest trees I lie, 
 
 And watch the deep blue summer sky, 
 
 And count the white cranes floating by 
 
 On level wings; 
 And in the undergrowth I hear 
 A bittern softly treading near, 
 While through the willows, sweet and clear, 
 
 A wood-thrush sings. 
 
 And flashing, plashing, close to me, 
 With murmurous, melting melody, 
 The swirling, crystal Kankakee 
 
 Flows deep and swift 
 Through liquid tints and tones untold 
 Of topaz, turquoise, bronze and gold, 
 That in its lucent depths unfold 
 
 And drift, and sift, 
 
 Till down among the pearly shells 
 A wealth of changeful color dwells ; 
 And like a string of silver bells 
 
 The ripples ring 
 Through trailing water-weeds that raise 
 Their tangled, yellow blossom-sprays 
 Where in a green and golden maze 
 
 Tall rushes swing. 
 
BY THE KANKAKEE 65 
 
 And far across the glassy tide, 
 
 The marshes shimmer, low and wide, 
 
 Where birds and bees and wild things hide 
 
 In reedy grass 
 Whose wavering, evanescent hues 
 Pale, darken, change, and interfuse, 
 Till my enchanted senses lose 
 
 All things that pass, 
 
 And only feel an exquisite 
 
 Glad throb of light and life complete; 
 
 While like some subtile essence sweet, 
 
 The wilderness, 
 The perfumes warm of wave and wood 
 The silence of the solitude, 
 All merge and mingle in my mood, 
 
 Till half I guess 
 
 The secrets that the winds impart, 
 And draw so near to nature's heart 
 I feel her inmost pulses start; 
 
 While happily 
 I sink upon her fragrant breast, 
 Like yonder thrush within its nest, 
 And deep, entrancing sense of rest 
 
 Steals over me. 
 
66 THE FISHER FOLK 
 
 THE FISHER FOLK 
 
 I know a little village 
 
 Where fisher folk abide; 
 The dark pine woods behind it, 
 
 The southern sea beside. 
 
 There rosy pink crape-myrtles 
 
 In every dooryard grow, 
 And through the glossy live-oaks 
 
 The salt sea breezes blow. 
 
 At break of day the fishers 
 
 Sail out to sea to reap 
 The harvest that they sowed not, 
 
 The harvest of the deep. 
 
 Then, when their nets are emptied, 
 They set their sails for land. 
 
 To heap the shining fishes 
 Upon the shining sand. 
 
 Where little barefoot children 
 
 Await them, eager-eyed, 
 And play the while with sea-shells 
 
 Cast upward by the tide. 
 
 And all seem so content there, 
 From worldly care so free, 
 
 I would that I could find it, 
 This secret of the sea! 
 
THE CACTUS LAND 67 
 
 THE CACTUS LAND 
 
 Land of strange, unearthly beauty, 
 
 Tawny Desert, over me 
 Thou hast east the deep enchantment 
 
 Of some subtile sorcery ! 
 
 These thine endless barren reaches 
 Where no fruitful harvests grow, 
 
 Unto some bring nameless heartache ; 
 But to me thou dost not so! 
 
 Here, where all the air seems newly 
 From the springs of life distilled, 
 
 Every breath is like a beaker 
 With rare, sparkling rapture filled! 
 
 And my heart exults and glories 
 In the strange, compelling power 
 
 Of enchanting, changeful color, 
 That is thy supremest dower. 
 
 Joy to me thine ever cloudless 
 Sky of purest turquoise hue, 
 
 And thy rosy mountain ranges 
 Wrapped in pale, translucent blue. 
 
68 THE CACTUS LAND 
 
 Beautiful the rainbow ether 
 Shifting, shimmering evermore, 
 
 In diaphanous, dazzling splendors 
 Over all thy boundless floor, 
 
 Where the low-boughed silver sage-bush 
 Softly tufts the tawny land, 
 
 And the tropic Spanish bayonet 
 Clusters tall on every hand. 
 
 While for leagues and leagues the cactus, 
 Child of sun and sand and bare 
 
 Rainless regions, lifts its columns 
 Through the rare, transparent air. 
 
 Wild and splendid in thy freedom, 
 
 Unsubdued as is the sea, 
 From the first, O lordly Desert. 
 
 Thou hast drawn my heart to thee ! 
 
 Desolate thou art, and silent, 
 Barren both of fruit and flower; 
 
 Yet I love thine arid grandeur 
 That defies man's utmost power! 
 
THE LAST SURVIVOR FROM THE LIFE-BOAT 69 
 
 THE LAST SURVIVOR FROM THE 
 LIFE-BOAT 
 
 Beneath his pillow, hid away 
 From careless sight, the nurses say, 
 
 And safe from any stranger's view, 
 As miser might some treasure rare, 
 So does he guard, with jealous care, 
 A baby's shoe. 
 
 And evermore by day and night, 
 With burning eyeballs fever-bright, 
 
 This wan survivor of the 
 Scans each blank, closing wall in turn. 
 In dim endeavor to discern 
 If sail there be. 
 
 And then the weary sigh that slips 
 Suspiring from those parching lips 
 
 No heart may hear nor bleed therefor! 
 As, with hot tears that fall like rain, 
 He soothes a dying baby's pain 
 And o'er and o'er 
 
 Croons snatches of soft lullabies 
 To empty arms held cradle-wise. 
 
 — O human heart-break, love and grief ! 
 God pity him in his distress, 
 Ev'n as the sea was pitiless 
 Beyond belief! 
 
THE LAST SURVIVOR FROM THE LIFE-BOAT 
 
 God comfort, as with straining breath, 
 Unheeding either life or death, 
 
 Yet still with faint unwitting smile, 
 His fingers fondly seek and fold 
 The little sea-stained shoe, and hold 
 And stroke the while. 
 
THE CASCADE RAVINE 
 
 THE CASCADE RAVINE 
 
 From off the traveled road that lay 
 
 Between wide fields of wheat and corn, 
 An old gate, gray and weather-worn, 
 
 Led down a shady woodland way. 
 
 One scarce might trace the narrow path, 
 So green it was and overgrown 
 
 With springtime's seeded aftermath; 
 Tall grasses that had never known 
 
 The mower's scythe or sickle's scath, 
 And rosy mayweed lightly sown 
 Where'er the summer winds had blown ; 
 
 And all their tangled stems the red 
 
 Sweet clover blossoms overspread. 
 
 Near by, through scented, leafy veils 
 Of wreathing vines, and dewy, dense 
 
 Green underwood, a brood of quails 
 
 Sped swiftly past the ragged rails 
 That tilted off a mossy fence; 
 
 And over it, on airy wing, 
 A robin paused in glad content 
 Where budding elder-bushes leant 
 
 And brambles clambered flowering. 
 
72 THE CASCADE RAVINE 
 
 Then, suddenly, a low, sweet sound 
 
 Rose, faintly quivering on the breeze, 
 And all that blossom-studded ground 
 
 Seemed charged with murmurous mysteries ! 
 
 As if all rarest forest keys 
 In dreamful chords divinely blent, 
 Sang forth from some sweet instrument ; 
 
 While pulsing through, with rhythmic beat, 
 In slumberous melodies there went 
 The soft susurrus of the trees, 
 
 The wind that wandered through the wheat, 
 And all the changeful strains of th< 
 
 And as I listened, marveling 
 
 Where those light, liquid tones might be, 
 Forgetting all and everything 
 
 Save that enchanting minstrelsy, 
 I wandered slowly through the wood, 
 
 Till all at once the parted green 
 Revealed its secret, for I stood 
 
 Upon the verge of a ravine 
 Wherein the sunbeams broke between 
 Tall rustling hemlock boughs, and bright 
 As burnished silver in the light, 
 
 A tiny stream ran tinkling through, 
 While hidden somewhere out of sight, 
 
 A little spring made music, too. 
 
 The shining water slipped and slipped 
 Adown the mossy rocks, and dripped 
 
 From off fine fringing ferns, in drops 
 Of endless threaded pearls that tipped 
 
 The tasseled sedge and alder tops 
 
THE CASCADE RAVINE 73 
 
 With flickering light,— and then it sipped 
 A drowsy draught of sun, and dipped 
 
 Beneath small clustering buds, and hid 
 
 Among lush marigolds, and slid 
 Between tall serried ranks of reeds, 
 And stroked their little leaves and lipped 
 The flower-spangled jewel-weeds; 
 
 Then, speeding suddenly amid 
 Faint shimmering spray, it lightly tripped 
 Across white pebbly sand, and stripped 
 
 The marsh flowers' gold, and fled, half seen, 
 
 A splash of silver through the green. 
 
 And all the while that music sweet 
 Kept softly murmuring at my feet, 
 
 As down the rocks in ceaseless streams 
 The limpid cascades poured, and still 
 The slumberous light in yellow beams 
 Bathed the green hemlock boughs,— until 
 I seemed to lose all waking will, 
 And all my soul was lulled to dreams ; 
 Wherethrough there floated, drowsy-v. 
 
 Bright glints of bird-wings, gracious gleams 
 Of tender, sunlit summer skies, 
 
 And fleet, sweet visions of the rare 
 Deep, shadowy hearts the forests bear. 
 
FOREBODING 
 
 FOREBODING 
 
 The scarlet briars trailed across 
 The grave I journeyed far to see; 
 
 Upon the stone, half hid in moss, ' 
 "Prepare for death, and follow me." 
 
 The birds flew southward down the sky; 
 
 Upon a golden linden tree 
 The leaves that fluttered seemed to sigh, 
 
 "Prepare for death, and follow me." 
 
 My father's father slept below 
 So dreamless deep and silently, 
 
 I spelled the message soft and slow, 
 "Prepare for death, and follow me." 
 
 —Ah me ! 'twas years ago the birds 
 Fled swift o'er that far golden tree; 
 
 And wherefore now come back these words, 
 "Prepare for death, and follow me"? 
 
IN LATE SEPTEMBER 75 
 
 IN LATE SEPTEMBER 
 
 Among the hardy marigolds 
 The spicy gillyflower unfolds, 
 And in the elm a catbird scolds 
 
 With saucy, outspread wings; 
 To mellow sweets the pippins speed, 
 The sunflower disks are brown with seed, 
 And round about them finches feed 
 
 In clinging, yellow rings. 
 
 The latest poppy fires are dead, 
 
 But bright as blossoms overhead 
 
 In shining sheaves of bronze and red, 
 
 The frost-tipped pear leaves show; 
 While from their branches blackbirds sing 
 Or break to noisy chattering; 
 And slender silken cobwebs string 
 
 The tall grass down below. 
 
 Along the uplands, faintly seen 
 
 Across the fallow fields between, 
 
 The winter wheat grows bravely green 
 
 Despite the coming cold ; 
 And studding all the stubbled ground 
 In tasseled shocks the corn is bound, 
 The ripened ears heaped close around 
 
 In piles of purest gold. 
 
76 /A LATE SEPTEMBER 
 
 To smoky wreaths along the ways 
 The newly kindled brush-heaps blaze, 
 And filmy veils of purple haze 
 
 Mesh all the amber air; 
 Among the fleeces of the sheep 
 The yellow sunbeams softly cre< p, 
 And sweet contentment, wide and deep, 
 
 Rests gently everywhere. 
 
SUNNY NOON 77 
 
 SUNNY NOON 
 
 The rose-trees and the barberries 
 Are strung with coral beads ; 
 
 And fitful breezes lightly sift 
 The ripened poppy-seeds. 
 
 Still, heedless of the nipping frost, 
 
 Along the garden bed 
 The white and purple gillyflowers* 
 
 Their spicy fragrance shed. 
 
 And weaving richest tapestries 
 
 LJpOll the lattice frame, 
 'I he woodbine laces in and out 
 
 In gold, and rose, and flame. 
 
 Along the wall the grapevines trace 
 Their brown and twisted frets, 
 
 And all the trailing clematis 
 Is hung with soft aigrettes. 
 
 Through fringes that the larches wave 
 The sky shows fair and blue, 
 
 And somewhere, from beneath the eaves, 
 I hear the pigeons coo. 
 
 The glory of the noonday sun 
 
 Pervades the dreamy air, 
 And the sweet heart of beauty throbs 
 
 In music everywhere. 
 
7 8 THE GOLDEN WEDDING 
 
 THE GOLDEN WEDDING 
 
 More sweet than all the buds that blow 
 Where summer's rarest roses grow, 
 More splendid than white lily spires, 
 Or shining, scarlet poppy fires. 
 Love's fragrant Bower,— even so, 
 The blossom of the heart's desires. 
 
 And richer than all fields enfold 
 Or all earth's burdened branches hold, 
 Than any autumn vintage red. 
 Or yellow sheaves new harvested. 
 Love's ripened fruit of mellow gold, 
 The sum of life, when all is said. 
 
EARLY NOVEMBER 
 
 EARLY NOVEMBER 
 
 the sweetness of the jangle 
 Of the sheep-bells, in the tangle 
 
 Of the wild witch-hazel bushes and the spreading 
 red-bud trees ! 
 — Ah, the silence when it ceases! 
 But the beauty of the fleeces, 
 And the soft eyes peering at me through the wood- 
 bine lattices ! 
 
 And beyond them, and the network 
 Of the dogwood, and the fretwork 
 Of the interlacing grapevines, and across the mead- 
 ow land, 
 
 1 can see the color showing 
 Where the winter-wheat is growing, 
 
 With the com encamped about it like a plumed 
 protecting band. 
 
 While among the many-seeded 
 Tufts of russet weeds, unheeded, 
 Truant ducks go idly twinkling through the yellow 
 stubble-field; 
 Their white feathers like the glosses 
 Of the shining silver bosses 
 That adorn the tawny luster of an olden golden 
 shield. 
 
80 EARLY NOVEMBER 
 
 In long loops from off the hedges, 
 Trailing downward to the edges 
 Of the wayside grass and clover-leaves, fine cobweb 
 threads are wound ; 
 Fairy clues that lead my eager 
 Errant fancy to beleaguer 
 Some concealed, enchanted chamber in the richly 
 covered ground. 
 
 Till the sun begins the lighting 
 Of his western fires, that smiting 
 Through the orchard boughs arc splintered into 
 spears of ruddy flame; 
 An irradiating splend< >r 
 That transfigures all the slender 
 Little leafless twigs and branches with a glory with- 
 out name ! 
 
 O, I know the year is going! 
 Neither reaping-time nor sowing 
 Will restore the tender beauty of its blossoms that 
 are dead : 
 Yet T cherish all their sweetness 
 Tn the ripeness and completeness 
 Of the gold and crimson fruitage that my heart has 
 harvested. 
 
WHEREFORE WINGS? 81 
 
 WHEREFORE WINGS? 
 
 Heigho, sparrow ! Reckless of the rain ; 
 
 When chill the cheerless wind grows, 
 Chirping might and main! 
 
 Is it naught, then, when the rose 
 Blows again? 
 
 Beating, sleeting on your draggled coat! 
 
 Surely, 'tis enough to drown 
 Any happy note 
 
 Nestling in that downy brown 
 Little throat. 
 
 Ah me, sparrow ! Had I but your power, 
 Think you in the freezing sleet 
 
 1 would waste an hour? 
 — I'd sing my sweetest to a sweet 
 Orange flower ! 
 
82 WINTRY TINTS 
 
 WINTRY TINTS 
 
 The sky is like an opal, 
 
 And the horizon's ring 
 Is yellow, like a band of gold, 
 
 To hold so rich a thing. 
 
 The wheat-fields are as fleecy 
 
 As any cloud that blows, 
 But tawny tufts of standing corn 
 
 Prick lightly through the snows. 
 
 Beside the drift-bound wind-mill 
 
 A pearly shadow plays 
 In tones of tender violet, 
 
 And vague, elusive grays. 
 
 And tinged with quiet olive 
 
 The hedges fine and bare. 
 Whose thorny masses down the road 
 
 An alien softness wear. 
 
 O, subtile chords of color 
 
 Are fingered by the frost ! 
 Though touched and tuned to colder key, 
 
 No grace of earth is lost. 
 
 For see ! a deep red rupy 
 
 The opal heaven grows, 
 And yonder pool of ice is one 
 
 Great golden-hearted rose ! 
 
THE PERFECT FRIENDSHIP 83 
 
 THE PERFECT FRIENDSHIP 
 
 There is a garden so divinely fair 
 
 That in its magic bound, surpassing sweet. 
 The gold* n buds, so Persian songs repeat, 
 
 Spring forth immortal in enchanted air; 
 
 But, all, a close there is, more heavenly rare, 
 Where, cherished warm within the heart's retreat, 
 Love's whitest lilies burgeon to complete 
 
 And fragrant flowering lovely past compare. 
 
 O dearest friend, such lilies have I found 
 Within my heart, undreamed-of but for thee! 
 
 Nor any fabled buds of genie's ground 
 
 Are sweeter in their immortality; 
 When thou art near, like notes of happy birds, 
 
 My thoughts uprise in songs that need no words. 
 
84 JANUARY THAW 
 
 JANUARY THAW 
 
 The brook has broken through its gl 
 And whore the snows were drifted 
 
 Round tangled blades of last year's grass, 
 The yellow sun is sifted. 
 
 Uncovered by the melting night 
 And warm, deceiving day-time, 
 
 The myrtle bed is green and bright 
 As in the midst of Maytime ! 
 
 I almost fancy that I hear 
 
 The hum of bees in clover, 
 And from the maples, glad and clear, 
 
 The fir>t red-robin lover. 
 
 A mock spring laughs in mocking skies, 
 
 (O little buds, be wary!) 
 And masking in sweet April's guise 
 
 The youthful year makes merry. 
 
MORNING ON THE MOUNTAIN 85 
 
 MORNING ON THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 Upon the gray crags, steep and sheer, 
 The columbines' gold tassels swing, 
 And wind-flowers cln 
 
 Where, lightly poised, the mountain deer 
 
 Drink in the dewy atmosphere 
 
 In long, deep draughts of sun and spring; 
 
 From haunts that know no hunter's snare 
 The hermit-thrush and wood-dove wing, 
 
 Whilst through green openings squirrels fare 
 And here and there- 
 Great, silvery moths go fluttering. 
 
 Along the valley, in a trail 
 Of purple light, the mist clouds sail, 
 And, soft and pale 
 
 As wreaths of newly risen smoke, 
 wrap the red-wood trees and veil 
 
 The topmost crests of pine and oak, 
 And balsam boughs and juniper 
 Wherethrough the west winds faintly stir 
 
 The underwood, and gently stroke 
 The tall young ferns, and smooth the fur 
 
 Of countless happy forest-folk. 
 
86 MORNING ON THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 Wild little hearts, that throb unknown 
 Save to the fondling winds alone, 
 
 Bright eyes, that sparkle free of fear, 
 
 O earth is sweet, and life is dear! 
 Here in these forests, still your own, 
 
 In primal peace, this many a year 
 God keep you here ! 
 Here where across the waking lands 
 Young willows wave their bloomy wands, 
 
 Whilst up the heights and far away 
 The pine trees climb in singing bands 
 
 And feathery spruces surge and sway 
 And clap their cones, like little hands, 
 For gladness of the day ! 
 
 Up, up, they clamber on until 
 
 The tenuous air smites keen and chill, 
 
 And far winds blow 
 From leagues of everlasting snow ; 
 And then the mountain buds, more bold, 
 Their .sheaths unfold 
 And light their golden fires and glow 
 With flame unquenched by frost or cold. 
 
 Whilst ever o'er them, shimmering high 
 
 Against the sky, 
 A glittering, crystal radiance streams, 
 Wherein the mountain floats and gleams 
 Through frosty fleeces, till it seems 
 That some great morning star, instead 
 Of earth, hangs trembling overhead, 
 
MORNING ON THE MOUNTAIN 87 
 
 A dream of all most lovely dreams ! 
 
 An airy miracle, overspread 
 With veils of silvery tissue spun 
 Of ice and mist and snow and sun. 
 A dazzle of all lights in one! 
 
 I watch it till, tall towering there 
 
 Through brightening air, 
 
 Such special splendor does it wear 
 
 It seems the sun's own citadel, 
 
 At sight whereof my lips grow dumb 
 With joy I find no voice to tell; 
 
 So stricken silent, as with some 
 Deep gladness of o'ermastering spell; 
 Nor any song of mine may dare 
 To follow where 
 The summit's utmost radiant peak, 
 Bright as God's chosen cherubim, 
 Soars through the smiling sky to seek 
 And fearless front the face of Him. 
 
88 THE LITTLE SISTER 
 
 THE LITTLE SISTER 
 
 Along the street a tiny pair 
 Of childish figures lately went ; 
 
 The boy's face wore a fearless air, 
 The little sister's sweet content. 
 
 He closely clasped her chubby hand, 
 And led her through the throng, 
 while she 
 
 Seemed perfectly to understand 
 He would protect her loyally. 
 
 And as I watched them pass from sight, 
 My heart began to ache, for so 
 
 I held my brother's fingers tight 
 And toddled down the long ago. 
 
 Then all at once, beyond control, 
 The tears uprose in blinding rain, 
 
 Such hopeless yearning stirred my soul 
 To lay my hand in his again ! 
 
 LLcfC. 
 
THE SEA-GARDENS OF SANTA CATAL1NA 89 
 
 THE SEA-GARDENS OF SANTA CATALINA 
 
 Lightly let the boat go drifting, 
 Neither hand nor oar uplifting, 
 Let no motion fret the ocean, and no sail be now 
 unfurled; 
 
 Stranger than Aladdin's story, 
 Lo, the dream-surpassing glory 
 And the marvel unimagined of the limpid under- 
 world ! 
 
 Gaze within the magic mirror 
 Of the water, crystal clearer 
 Than the gleaming glass enchanted, made by Merlin's 
 sorcery 
 
 And behold the secrets hidden 
 Through the ages, till unbidden 
 Sons of men came sailing, sailing down the blue 
 Pacific sea. 
 
 See the pearl-encrusted portals 
 Of the caverns, wherein mortals 
 Dare not pierce with earthly vision, dare not fare 
 with feet profane; 
 
 Coral-columned halls with golden 
 Thrones in emerald deeps withholden, 
 •Lit with sparkling amber splendor, where the merry 
 mermen reign. 
 
5 o THE SEA-GARDENS OF SANTA CATALINA 
 
 See the long kelp banners flying 
 From their gardens underlying 
 
 All the rare, transparent surface of this sunny, south- 
 ern sea; 
 
 Grasses, shot with silver spangles, 
 Wreathed and caught in starry tangles 
 
 Of the purple ocean-pansy and the fringed anemone. 
 
 And the brilliant sea-weeds scattered 
 Like a gay mosaic shattered 
 In a million shining fragments over all the ocean 
 floor; 
 
 While the bright-hued fish go darting 
 In swift journeys, meeting, parting, 
 Weaving gold and scarlet patterns through the water 
 evermore. 
 
 Through the light that throbs and quivers 
 Down the depths, and breaks and shivers 
 Into splintered flakes of brightness, that so melt and 
 interfuse 
 
 Into all such strangest ranges 
 Of translucent color changes, 
 That the eye is thrilled, bewildered, with their rare 
 enchanting hues. 
 
 — Ah, would thus upon the gleaming 
 Southern sea, in happy dreaming, 
 We might drift and drift forever! never shoreward 
 guide the keel! 
 
 Azure skies, forever smiling, 
 Into visions sweet beguiling, 
 And beneath our boat the splendor of those rosy 
 dreams made real !