PS 
 
 RRQM IDAHJ 
 TO YOU J 
 
 LAURA EDITH 
 DARRO^W 
 
 
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 COEZRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
FROM IDAHO 
 TO YOU 
 
 BY 
 
 LAURA EDITH DARROW 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 1916 
 
Copyright, 1916, by Laura Edith Darrow 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 ^^ .<V> 
 
 \ 
 
 The Go;iiam Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 SEP 19 1916 
 
 CI,A437747 
 
TO MY HUSBAND 
 THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 
Here is to IdahOf 
 
 With its air and its sun, 
 With its mountains and lakes, 
 
 And its life but begun; 
 With its call to all peoples, 
 
 Come, only come! 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Idaho ii 
 
 In Idaho With You 13 
 
 Wagon Tramps 15 
 
 Indian Lullaby 17 
 
 The Land of Dreams-Come-True . .18 
 
 Evenin' 19 
 
 Be Still, and Know That I Am God . .21 
 
 To THE Snake 22 
 
 The Lure of the Twin Falls Tract . 23 
 A Portrait 25 
 
FROM IDAHO TO YOU 
 
IDAHO 
 
 Long have I watched o'er you, home land, 
 
 Idaho, child of my heart. 
 
 Long have I guarded and gloated, 
 
 In my mountain fastness apart. 
 
 O'er the glorious future awaiting 
 
 Possibilities far beyond ken. 
 
 When I should decide. 
 
 To send, far and wide, 
 A dream, to the children of men. 
 
 'Neath your grey sagebrush coated deserts 
 
 I saw the rich grass and the grains, 
 
 I saw in your rushing streamlets 
 
 Life for a thousand plains. 
 
 And I knew in your mountain fissures 
 
 Of copper and silver and gold. 
 
 So I sent on the gleam 
 
 Of the sunlight, a dream. 
 And the children of men were told. 
 
 Then over your borders came teeming 
 
 Hordes from the east and west. 
 
 Of all of the land of their dreaming 
 
 This was the grandest and best; 
 
 And straightway brave cities were founded 
 
 And water was turned on the land; 
 
 And you, lavish one, 
 
 With your glorious sun, 
 Gave forth with a bountiful hand. 
 
 And I, a god of the mountains, 
 A god whom the Indians knew, 
 II 
 
Look out o'er my Idaho's riches 
 And know they are equaled by few. 
 The diversified natural resources, 
 Electricity harnessed by man, 
 
 And the sun and the breeze 
 
 That conquers disease — 
 Excel them, you others, who can. 
 
 And your thousands of happy people, 
 In the cities, or out on the farm, 
 Or perchance riding over your ranges. 
 Guarding their herds from all harm, 
 Or the fruitgrower tending his orchards, 
 The lumber-man felling his trees. 
 
 Each finds, in this strife, 
 
 A new zest to life. 
 And drinks of your wine to the lees. 
 
 And I, from your mystery mountains. 
 Look down from the heights as of old. 
 And know this is but the beginning, 
 That you will expand and unfold. 
 Till every state in the nation, 
 With proud hands, will point to your star, 
 Saying: "Idaho, blest, 
 Bright Gem of the West, 
 May your greatness and fame spread afar. 
 
 12 
 
IN IDAHO WITH YOU 
 
 A CHANGE has come over the farm lands and over 
 the highways, too, 
 Where a month ago the meadows. 
 Sad and gray, like unto shadows, 
 Seemed as tho' their life had vanished never to re- 
 turn anew. 
 There's a hint of greenness showing. 
 By the wayside grass is growing, 
 And alfalfa leaves are glowing where the last year's 
 
 hay crops grew. 
 Oh, Vm very glad I'm dwelling in South Idaho 
 with you. 
 
 On the lateral banks the mosses, grass and sedges 
 emerald show, 
 And the water leaps and rushes 
 With impatient starts; and pushes 
 Ever forward, as if saying, ''Mine the magic touch, 
 I know. 
 All your golden harvest's treasure. 
 All your wealth of fullest measure, 
 All your crops await my pleasure, mine the hand 
 
 that makes them grow, 
 For I irrigate your ranches as I from the mountains 
 flow." 
 
 The same change is on the desert, more elusive, 
 subtle, grand. 
 Less of flashing, gleaming, high-light, 
 More like music in the twilight 
 As the works of nature always supersedes those 
 mortal-planned. 
 
 13 
 
Every brush a plume is waving, 
 Soft, gray-green the dust king braving, 
 As with whirl-wind fury raving, sweeps he on with 
 
 ruthless hand; 
 For the reaches wide of desert are his chosen stretch 
 of land. 
 
 Flocks are hurrying towards the high-lands and 
 fresh pastures green and new, 
 Wild geese, sailing north, are calling, 
 And a feather downward falling. 
 Betrays their lofty presence in the sky of cloudless 
 blue. 
 In the ditches water's flowing. 
 All in view with life is glowing. 
 And each year I'm fonder growing of the land, ex- 
 celled by few ; 
 And I'm very glad I'm dwelling in fair Idaho with 
 you. 
 
 14 
 
WAGON TRAMPS 
 
 CoyoTES howlin', yippin', prowlin', 
 Bobcats sneakin' up the trail, 
 Canyon's full o' night sounds, Honey, 
 Tho't I heard a cougar wail. 
 You're afraid o' nothin', Sonny? 
 Like this kind o' life, you say? 
 Campin' here beside the river, 
 Wagon trampin' day by day ? 
 Always evenings by the camp fire 
 Brings me back to tho'ts o' her 
 When we-all first went to trampin' 
 You too little most to stir. 
 She'd a sort o' Gypsy nature, 
 Kansas farmin' didn't pay. 
 So we packed the prairie schooner, 
 Took the free and open way. 
 Sometimes we were hungry, Laddie, 
 Think she ever lost her grit? 
 No, she'd say she wasn't hungry, 
 Laugh and divy her last bit. 
 
 Campfire's crackin', blazin', snappin*, 
 Come and sit beside jour dad. 
 Since she went I'm tired o' trampin'. 
 Nature seems to make me sad. 
 I can hear her footsteps stampin' 
 Through the greasewood up the trail, 
 I can hear her laughter ringin' 
 In the callin' o' the quail. 
 Find myself a turnin' quickly 
 Lookin' for a glimpse o' her. 
 All the time we know she's travelin' 
 On that trail that's lone and fur. 
 
 15 
 
Think we*d better quit it, Sonny; 
 Think I'd better strike a town, 
 Put you in a school, my Laddie, 
 Get a job and settle down. 
 Sage brush fire's gettin' lower. 
 Turn in here beside your dad. 
 Since You took his mother from me, 
 Lord, I'm thankful for my Lad. 
 
 i6 
 
INDIAN LULLABY 
 
 Against me his little brown body is pressing, 
 
 In the hollow my arm forms his dark head is resting, 
 
 Sleep, little brown baby, sleep. 
 The leaves on the trees o'er our heads softly sighing. 
 Hark, the dove for her lost one is lonesomely crying, 
 
 Sleep, little brown baby, sleep. 
 The God of my fathers will surely watch keep 
 O'er my little brown babe while he sleeps. Oh sleep ! 
 List, the water is running, is crooning, is humming, 
 Thru the forest thy father with swift feet is coming, 
 
 Sleep, little brown baby, sleep. 
 Before us the campfire is smold'ring, is burning. 
 Sleep, little brown babe, for thy father's returning — 
 
 Sleep, little brown baby, sleep. 
 Oh, God of my fathers, I pray thee to keep 
 Kindly watch o'er my babe while he sleeps. Oh sleep ! 
 
 17 
 
THE LAND OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE 
 
 Know you a land of plenty, 
 A land the Lord provides, 
 Where the folks are always smiling, 
 Clouds are silver on both sides; 
 Where the sun is always shining, 
 Where the sky is always blue? 
 Ah yes, — I know that country, 
 'Tis the land of Dreams-come-true. 
 Know you a land of summer, 
 Where the winds are free and wild. 
 Where the mountains watch forever 
 As a mother o'er her child ; 
 A land of peace and happiness, 
 A land that's wide and new? 
 Ah yes, — I know that country, 
 'Tis here, where dreams come true. 
 Know you a land of promise, 
 A land of perfect health, 
 A land of deep contentment. 
 Of beauty, love and wealth; 
 A land of opportunity. 
 Where there's work for all to do ? 
 Ah yes, — I know that country, 
 'Tis here, where dreams come true. 
 
 i8 
 
EVENIN' • 
 
 Darkness fallin', fallin', falHn' 
 On the desert from the sky — 
 Night birds callin', callin', callin', 
 Buzzards towards the canyon fly. 
 Hi there! 'Way around, old Shep dog, 
 Then we'll eat and then we'll sleep. 
 Lord, I believe if I's in Heaven 
 I could smell the scent o' sheep. 
 
 Campfires flamin', flamin', flamin', 
 Lightin' up the wagon's dome — 
 Cook is namin', namin', namin'. 
 In a song a girl from home. 
 Won't he ever stop his singin'? 
 He's plumb locoed over her, 
 And's been savin' up his pay checks, 
 Funny little Basco cur. 
 
 Hi there! Sheppie! Sheppie! Sheppie! 
 
 Round 'em in. You're not a-tryin'. 
 
 I am happy, happy, happy. 
 
 For I smell the bacon fryin'. 
 
 And the fumes o' coffee drownin' 
 
 That confounded scent o' sheep. 
 
 That will do, good dog. Well, Sheppie, 
 
 Guess you've earned your board and keep. 
 
 Coyotes yippin', yippin', yippin'. 
 Sage brush reaches growin' dim. 
 Buzzards dippin', dippin', dippin' 
 Ever towards the canyon's rim. 
 19 
 
Pipe is lighted for the evenin', 
 Sheep are folded for the night, 
 And I too can see a woman's 
 Face there in the campfire's light. 
 
 20 
 
BE STILL, AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD 
 
 My mountains — Just there above me 
 
 Always you stand on guard 
 
 As soft as the clouds round about you, 
 
 As cold as the sky, and as hard. 
 
 Quiet, and cool, and restful, 
 
 The strife In the alien lands 
 
 Seems remote, as your still benediction 
 
 Falls low, as from loved mother-hands. 
 
 **Be still ye, and know," as 'tis written, 
 
 ^'That I am thy God," I recall 
 
 As I feel your unfathomed mystery^ 
 
 Like unto the Father of all. 
 
 Steadfastly watching and waiting. 
 
 Sending me patience and peace, 
 
 All the Ego of life seems to vanish. 
 
 All the strife of the world seems to cease. 
 
 21 
 
TO THE SNAKE 
 
 O STREAM of untold mystery, 
 
 Who knovvest thy ending or history? 
 
 Not even the bones of the white men and red 
 
 That weather and mingle with sands on thy bed, 
 
 From snowpeaks known only to thee and thy God, 
 
 Thru caverns where foot of a mortal ne'er trod, 
 
 O'er jewels too rich for a kingdom to buy, 
 
 Till at last, in the ocean, thy strange waters lie. 
 
 Inscrutably, placidly smiling, 
 Mona Lisa like, luring, beguiling. 
 And many the craft of the primal man. 
 And many who dared thy strength since then 
 Found the treachery under that surface still. 
 Battled in vain with thy current and chill. 
 And are with the gold on thy shifting bed. 
 Awaiting the time when the sea gives its dead. 
 
 And yet, with thy luring and magic, 
 With thy past dark, gruesome, and tragic, 
 Tho' thou takest, thou givest back again 
 A thousandfold with the fields of grain, 
 With the fruit and flowers and grasses amain 
 Thou bringest to life on the desert plain. 
 With the part of thyself, that thou loanest to man, 
 And in penance bows to his life-giving plan. 
 
 22 
 
THE LURE OF THE TWIN FALLS TRACT 
 
 'Tis true when we have longed for certain gifts for 
 
 years, 
 The greatest pleasure in anticipation lies, 
 And when at last that which was striven for is 
 
 gained, 
 The deepest joy in realization surely dies. 
 So thus, the Easterner, the juggler 
 Of figures in the city's complex ways of trade. 
 When he has reached his goal out West and finds 
 
 for him 
 The dearest castles of his dreams at last are made — 
 A home, his own, with water, sun and land — 
 He fain would grasp and turn the glass of sand. 
 
 He is not satisfied with life in open ways; 
 
 The southern sunny Idaho he finds is not 
 
 The same as other lands he's known in days gone 
 
 by. 
 He would go back, for habits are not soon forgot, 
 They are a factor in our cosmos hard to break. 
 The city's product views where sky and sage brush 
 
 meet 
 And thinks with homesick longing, 'What would he 
 
 not give 
 To feel the pavements once again beneath his feet?' 
 Aching in every limb, the venture seems 
 Too vast for even men of braver dreams. 
 
 As wearily at night he takes his lonely trail, 
 He yearns for old familiar ways and friends at home ; 
 His sun-blurred eyes long for the green of trees. 
 One tree, he thinks the sight would be worth all the 
 days to come, 
 
 23 
 
And wishes he had never heard the westward call. 
 
 Yet, in the aura of his consciousness, he feels 
 
 That no place else will ever charm or hold him 
 
 more. 
 And in the sage brusli scented desert breeze that 
 
 heals 
 New life steals to him thru his open door. 
 And slumbers such as ne'er was known before. 
 
 And yet he may go back, for always there are 
 
 some 
 Who can not fight the fight out to the end, but 
 
 sway. 
 And give up and go creeping back to threads they 
 
 tho't 
 They'd broken once for all — But will they stay? 
 Ah, no, when once they've tasted of the golden wine 
 Of our brave land, where no right effort fails. 
 Where irrigation practically eliminates 
 The barren harvest and the want and hunger wails, 
 They cannot; here life, health, our heritage, 
 Come free. In Idaho they have no gauge. 
 
 They go, but still they can not stay, and in the end 
 They all come back, perhaps at heavy loss; but then 
 Contentedly they take up life, accept with it 
 The good as well as ill that comes, as all brave men. 
 The pioneers of every land, have done before, 
 And here upon the Twin Falls Tract they live and 
 
 build 
 And make this once wild, desert land and barren 
 
 waste 
 Beloved by all whose minds are filled 
 With actual knowledge ; there has reached their soul 
 Contentment, happiness, all history's goal. 
 24 
 
A PORTRAIT 
 
 My house is well filled with pictures, 
 
 There must be a thousand or more 
 Hidden away in the closets, 
 
 On shelves behind the door. 
 On bureau, and mantel, and bookcase. 
 
 On piano, in album and frame. 
 I can see my friends* pictured faces. 
 
 Some lowly and some known to fame. 
 
 Some poor little cheap stamp photos, 
 
 And some of great artists' make. 
 Some that are near and dear to me, 
 
 Some prized just for old time's sake. 
 Aunts and uncles and cousins. 
 
 Relations by dozens, I ween, 
 A hundred of pictures of babies, 
 
 Some wee tots I never have seen. 
 
 Young girls in white ruffled finery. 
 
 Fresh from their last year at school, 
 Couples aglow with the glamour 
 
 Of staking in life's greatest pool. 
 Pictures of friends of my girlhood. 
 
 Some whose names I have even forgot. 
 Class pictures of friends of my school days. 
 
 At that time, ah ! they meant such a lot. 
 
 But best of all of these pictures, 
 Dearer than any I ever have seen, 
 
 Is a faded old daguerreotype. 
 The leaves of my Bible between. 
 
 25 
 
I open that old book of comfort 
 
 And there before misty eyes 
 Is this wonderful, beautiful picture, 
 
 This gift I have hoarded and prize. 
 
 The lips are half open and smiling, 
 
 It seems they would speak unto me ; 
 And now a sweet magic is working 
 
 And colors I plainly can see. 
 The hair piled in masses of splendor 
 
 Takes its rightful bright gleaming of gold. 
 The eyes are blue, and with purple lights, 
 
 The skin has a whiteness untold. 
 
 The proudly curved arch of the nostril. 
 
 The grace in the poise of the head. 
 The sweet scent of the attar of roses 
 
 Comes back from a time that is dead. 
 One slender white arm lightly resting 
 
 On a table so old and so quaint. 
 And the delicate flush on those pictured 
 cheeks 
 
 Grows brighter and then glows more 
 faint. 
 
 I note the low cut of the bodice 
 
 Of that old-fashioned silken gown. 
 It is lying yet in my treasure chest. 
 
 With its softness of shimmering brown ; 
 And the years blot out of my memory 
 
 All the years that between have passed. 
 And I look on the face of my mother 
 
 Just as I then saw it last. 
 26 
 
And yet, tho' her passing onward 
 
 Changed my whole life for me and far 
 more, 
 And the heartaches, the regrets and the sor- 
 rows, 
 Only her hand could have soothed o'er 
 and o'er, 
 I do not rebel, I am thankful 
 
 That my mother always was young, 
 Always beautiful, smiling and lovely, 
 With a song on her lips partly sung. 
 
 27