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SONGS AND 
 SONNETS 
 
SONGS AND 
 SONNETS 
 
 By BURTON HASELTINE 
 
 CHICAGO 
 1913 
 
 ii 
 i 
 
 E5 
 
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 '^ :^-^m7^-T ^ 
 
©GI,A357146 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 City Nights lo 
 
 Sonnet I2 
 
 I Stood To-day for a Brief Moment's Space 13 
 
 Triolet 14 
 
 Ode 15 
 
 In a Woodland Far Away . . . .20 
 
 Autumn Days 22 
 
 A Tribute 24 
 
 Quatrain 25 
 
 Quatrain 26 
 
 Triolet 27 
 
 In Absence 28 
 
 The Solitude of the Soul . . . .29 
 
 I May Not Speak 30 
 
 Sonnet 31 
 
 The California Lady 32 
 
 Sonnet 33 
 
 To One Who Bade Me Sing . . .34 
 
 Tacoma 35 
 
 Sonnet • . . 36 
 
 Mother and Babe 37 
 
 Ask Not Again 38 
 
 Obscured in Doubt and Sadness . . 39 
 A Song in a Woodland . . . .40 
 
 Sonnet 41 
 
 A Twilight Dream 42 
 
 In Memory 45 
 
 I Know Not Why 46 
 
ii-^' 
 
 G 
 
 OOD friend, for Jesus' sake forbear 
 To ''knock" the stuff enclosed here; 
 The work it cost me I suppose 
 God and no other knows. 
 
 ISJ 
 
 At some, no doubt, your tears will flow, 
 At some you'll laugh with glee, — 
 
 I wish to heaven I might know 
 
 At which ones that will be! !§, 
 
 ill 
 
 tr:l 
 
 it:' 
 
 [9] 
 
CITY NIGHTS 
 
 NOT all the beauty of the summer night 
 Is seen in rustic glens and far found 
 woodland spaces; 
 Beauty there is if one but see aright, 
 
 In urban places. 
 Not beauty such as easy idlers view 
 In flowery dell or dainty sunset hue, 
 But beauty of a sterner, ruder sort, 
 Of builded bulk and fiery retort. 
 Here glows the crucible wherein is wrought 
 The magic of our modern alchemy; 
 Here visions with a deepest meaning fraught 
 Discerning eyes may see. 
 
 Seen true, those towering masses are not 
 
 dumb, 
 Dead hulks of steel and stone; they have 
 
 become 
 Sky-shouldering giants that do crowd for 
 
 space. 
 Like mighty monsters of some saurian race. 
 Surely within yon cumbrous tentacle. 
 Slow groaning o'er its task, some life must be; 
 Some cosmic impulse, animate, purposeful. 
 
 There struggles to be free. 
 Surely some god speaks in that mighty roar; 
 
 [lo] 
 
m 
 
 Those myriad lights we see ||J 
 
 Are his vast vulcanry ' ' 
 
 Where temples are in building — nay, 'tis 
 
 more, 
 'Tis where a million mortals strive and strain, 
 
 With weariness and pain, 
 To forge with all its wondrous enginery, 
 
 A nation's destiny! igi 
 
 g! 
 
 [ii] 
 
SONNET 
 
 MUSING to-night in that strange twi- 
 hght zone 
 That marks the space 'twixt sleep 
 and waking hours, 
 Vague thoughts and curious fancies have I 
 
 known, — 
 Voices have spoken, — long forgotten flowers 
 Have shed their fragrance round me; — even- 
 ing bells 
 Have rung again their old-time lullabies. — 
 Softly I've listened to the lisp that tells 
 Where still lakes glisten under starlit skies, 
 Or where some ancient hemlock's somber 
 
 gleam 
 Is dimly mirrored in some moonlit stream. 
 
 Breathless I wait lest some returning sense 
 Shatter the dream to daytime elements — 
 Whate'er the breaking day may have in store, 
 If these be dreams, God grant I wake no more. 
 
 [12] 
 
I STOOD TO-DAY FOR A BRIEF 
 MOMENTS SPACE 
 
 I STOOD to-day forabrief moment's space 
 Within that secret place 
 Where Nature dons her queenhest attire 
 To greet the dying year. Her robes of fire 
 Were tumbled all about; I marveled how 
 She spends the golden richness of her dress, 
 Casting it of? in seeming wantonness, 
 On every bush and bough. 
 
 I saw her forest children rioting 
 In garments of her making, — oaks and firs 
 In stately gowns of rare embroidering, — 
 Maple and birch in gaudy gossamers 
 She did bedeck till they did sway and dance 
 For very arrogance. 
 
 But while I lingered there, 
 
 One towering oak, magnificent and grand, 
 
 Heeding her stern command 
 Which all the woodland family must keep. 
 Did doflf his foliage till his limbs were bare. 
 To spread a mantle o'er a hillock where 
 
 A flower had gone to sleep. 
 
 [13] 
 
 iti 
 
TRIOLET 
 
 ^^^OME with me and be my love,' 
 1 . Shepherds sang and so sing I; 
 Softly sighs the wooing dove, 
 "Come with me and be my love." 
 Sweet all other songs above, 
 Purer notes we need not try — 
 "Come with me and be my love," 
 Shepherds sang and so sing I. 
 
 i!H' 
 
 [14] 
 
ODE 
 
 At the Grave of a Famous Scientist 
 
 4ND this is how 
 
 A% Earth takes her slow revenge on thee, 
 ^ -^ oh thou 
 
 Whom once she did allow 
 To use her at thy pleasure. Once the highest 
 Of her exalted places was for thee, 
 Her fairest crown of rarest brilliancy 
 Once decked thy brow, 
 And now 
 How low thy liest. 
 
 The churl of poor renown, 
 The humblest dweller in this silent town. 
 Thy equal now. 
 
 The rudest swain that toiled with spade or 
 plow. 
 
 Aye, and the vulgar clown, 
 
 With leering face 
 
 And hideous grimace. 
 
 Winning his meagre fare with leapings high 
 
 in air 
 And aping of the idiot's vacant stare. 
 Here in this last abiding place 
 Is housed as well as thou. 
 
 [15] 
 
 IB: 
 
 
In other days 
 
 The dribbling of Time's moments thou didst 
 
 know 
 And, swift or slow, 
 Thou in thy fumbling ways 
 Couldst count and measure, name 
 And number them. But long ago 
 The swift, resistless torrent of the years 
 O'erwhelmed and buried thee. Thy hopes 
 
 and fears. 
 Thy boasted name and fame, 
 All share with thee the same 
 Inglorious fate. ^ 
 
 I 
 Time was when thou couldst call 
 
 Great Nature forth from her most secret place 
 
 And, lifting like a pall 
 
 The veil she wears with all-becoming grace 
 
 To hide her modest face. 
 
 Bid her take heed 
 
 And understand, 
 
 When thou shouldst give command, 
 
 And serve thee at thy need. 
 
 See how thou dost atone 
 
 To her for that short hour of tyranny. 
 
 Mark how the very stone. 
 
 With mosses overgrown, 
 
 [i6] 
 
Whereon is scrawled the legend one-time 
 
 known - , 
 
 In all the lands, — 
 
 The story of thy great and wondrous deeds, — 
 With grim stolidity 
 She crushes ruthlessly 
 Between her busy fingers to supply 
 Food for the daily needs Ml 
 
 Of shrubs and common weeds, 
 Compelling even trivial things thereby 
 To thus comply, ' ^~ 
 
 And satisfy 
 Her whimsical demands. Ig, 
 
 Nay, even the hands 
 
 That, clutching at the mystical retort 
 
 Where burn the eternal flames 
 
 That work her will. 
 
 Vain of their little skill. 
 
 With reckless meddling somehow sought to 
 
 thwart 
 The smallest of her aims, 
 And the eyes 
 That once explored 
 The dark recesses where are stored 
 Mysterious alkalies 
 
 Wherewith by her laborious enterprise 
 She purifies 
 
 [17] 
 
Her secret hoard, 
 
 She slowly crumbles to the primal dust, 
 
 Which, with the common rust 
 
 And rubbish of her workshop, bye and bye, 
 
 She in her own good way 
 
 Will gather and assay, 
 
 Refine and put to ser\^e as best it may 
 
 Her purpose low or high. 
 
 This, then, thy fate — 
 
 Can this poor service be 
 
 The just fulfillment of thy destiny, — 
 
 To live thy little day 
 
 In constant strife 
 
 With forms and forces strange 
 
 Throughout the range 
 
 Of elemental change. 
 
 And soon or late 
 
 Yield up thy feeble, flickering life 
 
 And thenceforth be but clay ? 
 
 Oh God, shall it not be 
 
 Somewhere within Thy vast Eternity, 
 
 That we, even we, 
 
 The peevish prattlers in Thy Nursery, 
 
 May with larger, clearer vision see 
 
 Thy wondrous Mystery ? 
 
 Give us to sometime know, 
 
 [i8] 
 
While the long ages flow 
 
 To Time's eternal sea, ^; 
 
 Marked by the rythmic roll pi 
 
 Of cosmic music, that the human soul, p; 
 
 From mortal bondage free, 
 
 Though tremblingly 
 
 And with but feeble art. 
 
 Still plays its humble, necessary part 
 
 In Thy great symphony. 
 
 [19] 
 
IN A WOODLAND FAR AWAY 
 
 IN a woodland far away 
 Where the forest fairies play, 
 Strolling dreamily one summer long ago, 
 I could hear the distant sound 
 Of a brook that with a bound 
 Leaped from darkness toward the sunlight's 
 golden glow. 
 
 And its music in its bed 
 Was as though to me it said. 
 With the bubbling of its laughter and its 
 song: 
 "See me rippling as I run 
 Kissing lilies in the sun. 
 Hear me chuckling, gurgling, roistering all 
 day long. 
 
 "Come with me, thou pensive one; 
 Leave the shadows, learn to shun 
 Not the green fields and the blossoms by the 
 way; 
 Youth is fleeting; pleasures fly; 
 Storms are coming bye and bye, 
 And we'll miss the gladsome sunshine of 
 to-day." 
 
 [20] 
 
 -^ 
 
And the echo of that song 
 By the southwind borne along, 
 
 Only now a distant memory appears; 
 But the lesson that it told, 
 'Mid the meadow's green and gold, 
 
 Sheds a radiance o'er the swiftly flying years. 
 
 [21] 
 
AUTUMN DAYS 
 
 I WONDER, little playmate, dost thou 
 know. 
 While thus we romp and roister, hand in 
 hand. 
 Through all the fairy-land 
 Of joyous Summer's golden afterglow. 
 That while the forest trees 
 In gorgeous panoplies 
 Mingle their voices in grand symphonies, 
 'Tis but to sadly praise 
 The hectic beauty of the dying year. 
 To say: " The end is near. 
 This brightness but a memory shall appear 
 In after days/' 
 
 I wonder dost thou know, when youth is 
 
 glowing, 
 And joy, the heart o'erflowing, 
 Leaps to the lips to find what vent it may 
 In song, 'tis but to say: 
 "Love's at its flood to-day. 
 To-morrow it will ebb its life away, 
 Bewail it as we may." 
 
 [22] 
 
dmiiumiL 
 
 Oh playmate of the autumn afternoon, 
 
 Though all too soon 
 
 Love's roseate garlands change to somber 
 
 greys, 
 Thy God is good to thee; 
 As yet thou canst not see 
 The after days. 
 
 [23] 
 
 MlninHil MIIHN' T' 
 
A TRIBUTE p 
 
 SPLENDIDLY heedless whether lost or 
 gained ^ ] 
 
 The moment's conflict, he assumes again 
 The world old task, by heroes not disdained, 
 Of speaking common truths to common men. 
 
 i 
 
 'Mid humming looms, or in the crowded 
 
 mart, 
 Or 'neath the stars in some far distant place, i 
 His voice needs no declamatory art: — | 
 
 When manhood speaks 'tis heard through 
 
 boundless space. 
 
 [24] 
 
QUATRAIN 
 
 WE search for Beauty in the starry skies 
 And Truth in angel's vesture long to 
 greet, 
 While Truth walks with us in an humble guise 
 And Beauty lays her tribute at our feet. 
 
 [25] 
 
ijtisasi 
 
 I QUATRAIN 
 
 CHIDE not the vagabond that he hath 
 strayed 
 Unheeding forth from his ancestral 
 hall — 
 This good old Earth is but a wandering jade 
 And she's the common mother of us all. 
 
 [26] 
 
TRIOLET 
 
 WHEN Phyllis moves her lips to pray. 
 Oh then does Heaven itself draw near ; 
 The holiest moment of the day, 
 When Phyllis moves her lips to pray. 
 Its mystic meaning none can say, 
 'Tis far too sweet for mortal ear. — 
 When Phyllis moves her lips to pray, 
 Oh then does Heaven itself draw near. 
 
 [27J 
 
 ^ 
 
IN ABSENCE 
 
 EACH morn with weary eyes 
 I search the sea's far horizon anew, 
 While every wind from out the east- 
 ern blue 
 To all my eager questioning replies 
 As if in fond regret: 
 " Not yet, ah no, not yet." 
 
 Each evening, when alone 
 I wander in the woodland solitude, 
 Thinking to soothe my spirit's troubled mood, 
 Naught hear I save the forest's echoing 
 
 moan, 
 That ever seems to say, 
 ** Thou art away, — away. " 
 
 Each night, ah love, each night, 
 
 The while a welcome weariness benumbs 
 
 My tired spirit, soft the darkness comes 
 
 To shut the dreary day-world from my sight, 
 
 And sweet, oh sweet to me 
 
 Is slumber, for I dream of thee! 
 
 [28] 
 
THE SOLITUDE OF THE SOUL 
 
 On Seeing the Statue by Lorado Taft 
 
 CHEERED by no voice of brother or 
 of friend 
 Shall yearning souls forever onward 
 go? 
 Shall unavailing tears forever flow 
 
 And eager hands to emptiness extend? 
 Hope, canst thou, then, no larger promise 
 send? 
 And faith, dost thou no other solace 
 know 
 For weary mortals in a world of woe, 
 
 Than groping blindly thus until the 
 end? 
 
 Surely some nobler destiny awaits 
 
 The steadfast soul by circumstance en- 
 thralled; 
 For spirits by Time's mockeries unappalled, 
 Who knows what plan the Master con- 
 templates? 
 For aching hearts at the long journey's close. 
 What blest companionship; who knows, — 
 who knows ? 
 
 [29J 
 
 -i&.y^^ 
 
I MAY NOT SPEAK 
 
 I MAY not speak? Oh then, I pray thee, 
 let 
 Me silent be, but in thy presence still. 
 If any word of mine can bring thee ill, 
 My lightest whisper cause thee one regret. 
 Then am I mute as marble. I'll forget 
 The very name of love, though love shall fill 
 My heart to bursting with the poignant 
 thrill 
 Of its unuttered pain. Oh, keep me yet 
 Within thy soul's pure radiance; let 
 the years, 
 The few short years God gives me from His 
 store. 
 Be hallowed by thy touch; and if once 
 more 
 Our souls perchance shall meet in other 
 spheres, 
 I'll walk again beside thee, silently, 
 And ask no higher Heaven than that shall be. 
 
 [30] 
 
SONNET 
 
 DEAR maid, from out whose laughing 
 eyes of blue 
 The Springtime speaks and tells the 
 welcome story 
 Of youth and love and hope, forever new, 
 To hearts wherein glad life's midsummer 
 
 glory 
 Has paled to autumn's melancholy hue; — 
 I look on thee and straight my mortal vision 
 Dims in the radiance of a subtler view; 
 For, bright illumined by the light elysian 
 Of thy presaging sweetness, swift appears, 
 With hope and hope's fulfillment richly blent. 
 The grand procession of the coming years; 
 And crowning all, their fairest ornament. 
 Where once the blue-eyed, blushing maiden 
 
 stood. 
 Earth's rarest blessing, perfect womanhood. 
 
 [31] 
 
THE CALIFORNIA LADY 
 
 FROM that far land where the departing 
 day 
 Plays with the night its marvelous in- 
 terlude, 
 By some sweet magic thou hast brought away 
 The changing charm of evening, many hued — 
 Piquant, perplexing, baffling one to say 
 Which of thy many selves does most intrude, 
 Blending the sweetness of the flowery May 
 With hints of Summer's ripening plentitude; 
 Smiling, insouciante, turning grave to gay 
 Or gay to somber with thy Protean mood, 
 The fascinating arts thou dost display 
 Are not mere graces known to womanhood ; — 
 No mortal thou, but elfin from the wild 
 Or sprite thou art, half goddess and half child. 
 
 [32] 
 
SONNET 
 
 'Man is But a Differentiated Sunbeam." — John Fiske 
 
 'f I ^HOU man," the savant said, "art but 
 I a beam 
 
 Of sunlight, moulded thus by cos- 
 mic will 
 Through nature's subtle alchemy, until, 
 Endowed with godlike reason, thou dost 
 
 seem 
 Creation's masterpiece." But not the 
 
 gleam 
 Of wisdom shining in man's thought and 
 
 will 
 Shows best the Master's plan. A purer 
 
 still 
 
 And softer ray glows o'er life's turbid 
 
 stream, — 
 The light of woman's love. Those languor- 
 ous lights 
 That tint the rosy cheek of virgin day 
 When, lured by twilight, she approaches 
 
 night's 
 Mysterious bridal chamber, — fair are they, 
 But not so fair, so radiant, so divine 
 As in the souls of noblest women shine. 
 
 133] 
 
 Ki 
 
TO ONE WHO BADE ME SING 
 
 THOU bidst me sing; 
 Oh Lady, say not so; — 
 Once long ago, 
 Where silent waters flow 
 And nodding lilies grow, 
 I listened to the lute's low murmuring; 
 And while I lingered there 
 One tiny string, 
 
 By Love's soft finger vexed, ^ 
 
 Sang to the listening air 
 A note so pure and clear 
 Methought the angels paused to hear, 
 Sang out alone 
 
 One moment thus its wondrous tone. 
 And broke, the next. 
 
 My heart has but one song 
 
 When thou art near; — 
 
 Though it appear 
 
 Silent the whole day long, 
 
 A voiceless thing, 
 
 Perhaps, perhaps 'tis better so ;- 
 
 Ah no. 
 
 Bid me not sing! 
 
 [34] 
 
 TTTTTTin 
 
v^. 
 
 TACOMA 
 
 VAINLY the limner struggles to portray 
 Thy weird unearthly beauty. Vainly 
 savants may j,^ 
 
 Examine and compare. Wiser to say 
 There's nothing can compare. How blind 
 
 are they 
 Who think thee of the earth, — some mon- 
 strous clod, 
 Some unplanned consequence 
 Of warring elements! 
 Thou art a finger of the eternal God, 
 Made manifest in the common light of day 
 For common men to see, 
 To point in the sublime, majestic way 
 Toward the far heavens and forever say, 
 "There lies Reality." 
 
 [35] 
 
SONNET 
 
 Te, Domine, Sequor 
 
 WHEN from Thy path my f reward feet 
 have strayed, 
 Good Master, and I've sought in sul- 
 len pride 
 To grope my way alone, Thy light denied, 
 Plunging thereby into the deeper shade 
 Of gathering despair, — when sore dismayed 
 My bruised spirit, vexed and overtried. 
 Has turned and from the depths to Thee has 
 
 cried. 
 Seeking again the refuge of Thy aid. 
 Oh then what rest has come — what wondrous 
 
 calm. 
 What radiance lighting the obscurity 
 The while in mercy Thou has beckoned me 
 Back to the way that I have wandered from. — 
 So have I learned in gratitude to bless 
 The kindly thorns that chid my wayward- 
 ness. 
 
 [36] 
 
MOTHER AND BABE 
 
 B 
 
 ABY smiling up at me 
 
 With thy wondrous witchery, 
 Close those lustrous eyes of thine, 
 Oh thou baby mine. 
 
 In their limpid depths serene, 
 More of heaven than earth is seen, 
 Secrets written there I trow, 
 Mortals may not know. 
 
 With thee nestling on my breast, 
 This to me the holiest 
 Of life's moments, baby mine, 
 This the most divine. 
 
 Cease thy artless coquetry, 
 Lest thy mother stifle thee 
 With the mad impulsiveness 
 Of her fond caress. 
 
 Close the eyes where love lights dart, 
 Lest the mother's throbbing heart. 
 Clasping thee exultingly, 
 Break with ecstasy. 
 
 Close them lest the angels, seeing 
 Here on earth a heavenly being. 
 Take thee back to heaven again, 
 Grudging me this pain ! 
 
 [37] 
 
 "'*^ip''^ 
 
^■^m| y^i I 1 1 1 I i [XH mi ^ ' 
 
 Himllit^^^q^^^;;^ 
 
 ASK NOT AGAIN 
 
 ASK not again that when our eyes have met 
 r\ And the full heart for utterance shall 
 ■^ -^ beseech, 
 
 When hands in mute farewell are clasping yet 
 And passionate words are crowding up for 
 speech — 
 
 When every quivering pulse beat has become 
 Love's loudly pleading messenger, oh, then 
 Ask not, I pray you, that the lips be dumb; 
 'Tis best perhaps, but — ask it not again! 
 
 [38] 
 
 .||,i';!lii!l!;nTlxffr 
 
OBSCURED IN DOUBT AND 
 SADNESS 
 
 OBSCURED in doubt and sadness as 
 in endless night irI 
 
 My pathway lay; 
 No star of aspiration shed its radiant light 
 
 Across my way; ihj 
 
 "All, all is but a hideous fantasy!" unto ■*:^' 
 
 My soul I cried; 
 ''And thou shalt grope in shadows until thou 
 dost view 
 Life's eventide!" 
 
 But He who doeth all things well vouchsafed 
 to me 
 A guiding star, 
 
 A purpose, greater than an earthly hope could 
 be, 
 And nobler far; 
 
 For in upon the darkness of my life there 
 shone 
 A light divine. 
 The light of one sweet soul ; ah, need I say, 
 Dear One, 
 That soul was thine! 
 
 [39] 
 
A SONG IN A WOODLAND 
 
 s 
 
 OFT, soft and low 
 The streamlet's flow 
 Whispered: "I know 
 That love is nigh." 
 And deeper-toned, 
 The forest moaned: 
 "Love is enthroned 
 In earth and sky." 
 
 Each living thing 
 Did loudly sing: 
 "Love, love is king, 
 Happy are we!" 
 And only I 
 
 With wistful sigh 
 Did humbly cry: 
 
 "Oh love, forget not me! 
 
 [40] 
 
SONNET 
 
 A Sonnet is a Momenfs Monument^^ 
 
 IT may, perhaps, be never mine to gain 
 Admission into those ethereal bowers 
 Where tyrant Love holds carnival and 
 showers 
 Rich largess of his passion and his pain. 
 In striving thus to enter Love's domain. 
 To scale the lofty and embattled towers 
 That guard his gates, these weary hearts of 
 
 ours 
 Do oft beat out their little lives in vain. 
 
 What though such be my fate? What though 
 
 alone 
 I wander henceforth in the outer night? 
 This moment have I risen to love's height. 
 Love's ecstasy this moment have I known. — 
 And be God's future what it may for me, 
 I'll thank Him for this moment's memory. 
 
 L41] 
 
3 
 
 A TWILIGHT DREAM 
 
 WHEN twilight comes 
 And shadows fall 
 From stately domes 
 And steeples tall, 
 Cloud banners furled 
 O'er mountain crest 
 Sign to the world: 
 "Peace, be at rest.'* 
 And from afar 
 The swallow greets 
 The evening star; 
 The throstle meets 
 Her mate returned 
 From distant flight, 
 His rest well earned. 
 Awarded. 
 
 Night 
 So gently spreads 
 With soft caress 
 O'er tired heads 
 In tenderness, 
 Her mantle of 
 Tranquillity ; 
 While from above 
 All silently 
 
 [42] 
 
 ...•imrmmTnTrn 
 
The limpid beams m\ 
 
 Of moonlight fall. §1 
 
 All nature seems 
 In Lethe's thrall. 
 
 With drowsy eye, 
 The daylight gone, 
 At rest I lie 
 And dream alone, 
 A twilight dream 
 Of sweet repose, 
 While swift the stream 
 Of memory flows. 
 Its depth serene 
 In turn portrays 
 Each tranquil scene 
 Of happier days 
 When Hope was young 
 And Faith could see 
 No thorns among 
 Life's rosary. 
 
 And in its calm 
 Seductive flow 
 A voice comes from 
 The long ago 
 To lull the sense 
 
 [43] 
 
Of present pain 
 And lure me hence 
 To youth again, 
 Till present days 
 Of Hope's despair 
 Fade in the maze 
 Of memories fair, 
 And though the dreams 
 Of youth be done, 
 A light still gleams 
 Of love that's gone. 
 
 Thus may the bloom 
 Of youthful years 
 Dispel the gloom 
 When age appears, 
 And when Life's stream 
 Has ebbed away 
 Thus may I dream 
 Into the day 
 Of peace untold 
 And, waking then 
 Hear as of old 
 That voice again ! 
 
 [44 J 
 
IN MEMORY 
 
 FAR down the stretch of the slow mov- 
 ing years, 
 I longing gaze with my poor mortal 
 sight, 
 Searching if aught there be of friendly light 
 
 Gleaming across my way that now appears 
 Obscured in gloom. The welcoming ray that 
 cheers 
 The onward faring pilgrim in the night. 
 Strive as I may, I cannot see aright 
 
 For blindingmists of ever-lingering tears. 
 Then, when the aching heart can bear no 
 more. 
 Backward I turn to see thy face; and lo! 
 A light is all about me, and a glow 
 
 Of rainbow color tints the clouds before; 
 And onward striving with untroubled brow, 
 I breathe : " Love's memory — that is light 
 
 Us] 
 
I KNOW NOT WHY 
 
 I KNOW not why, when the mad day is 
 gone 
 And all the evening stillness round me 
 broods, 
 Comes fancy oft* times with her fitful moods 
 To wake the old unrest. The hours speed on, 
 The somber veil of darkness closer drawn, 
 Enfolds me, while in deepening solitudes 
 Pensive I sit alone till day intrudes 
 And swarthy night pales into purple dawn. 
 
 I know not why I seek with faltering hand 
 To weave my thoughts in language. Can it be 
 That in the after days shall come to me 
 One who shall read and know and understand ? 
 Then shall the waiting years, whatever their 
 
 number, 
 Seem but a summer's night of tranquil slum- 
 ber. 
 
 [46] 
 
 V « 
 
PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY 
 AND SONS COMPANY, AT THE 
 LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL. 
 
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