PS 3513 P6413 F6 1921 Copy 1 Flickering Candles BY ,DITH C. G ARGIULO Flickering Candles BY Edith C. Gargiulo Published by The Mead Stationery Company Greenwich, Connecticut CopyrigJit ig2I by The Mead Stationery Company Greenwich, Connecticut OEC -6 1321 Printed at THE FAIRFIELD PRESS GREENWICH, CONN. g)C!.A627977 The Harp Caressingly her fingers gently win An entrance to its gate of golden memories, To tales of tragedies Time veils and lays within The arms of Romance until at last Fate sees The mortal love she slew immor- talized. In "Legende" the harp sighs out the woes Of these two lovers throbbingly — intensified. The last note lingers and then hushed — reluctant — goes. Amidst the plaudits that now take its place Sad memory turns aside with quiet grace. 5 Again she invokes each golden string And as enchanted, dreamily one seems to hear The bronzed boatmen on the Volga sing Across the rippling waters strong and clear; Their muscles swelling, rhythmi- cally they bend. Pulling with steady strokes the heavy oar, Anxious to reach the long hard journey's end. And humbly kneeling, bow their heads before Their favorite saint in some tiny wayside shrine. Confessing their small sins and asking help Divine, Smilingly the harpist answers the applause, "And now I'll give you" she tells us in advance, "A little thing I'm sure you'll like because I often played it for our boys in France — An imitation of a music-box." So from the vast Labyrinth of Time a voice floats from the past. Sounding a little thin and faint across the years, Still bravely it plays a gay incon- sequential air, Then perceivably the gaiety dis- appears. Already one can feel its quaint despair As gradually it grows slower then — ah, so slow, Reproaching neglectful hands that died so long ago. 7 To One Who Passed Unknown A wail of fifes, a roll of muffled drums, A deep resonant sigh, for lo ! he combes. This epitome of England's count- less host Who laid their lives and all they valued most Upon the pyre lit by the torch of greedy hate And passed — unsung, unknown, through grim Oblivion's gate. Ah, breaking hearts, that mourn so bitterly, Reflect, perchance this honored one is he For whom you grieve; A nation bows its head Ere he is laid beside the noble dead, Within the walls where only those may lie Whose deeds forever live, though they must die. Unknown one, we ponder though too late. Upon you, singled out by cynic Fate, Who knows it may be but a grewsome jest She lays today within the Ab- bey's breast. What were you, ere the crucible of war Proved you true gold? Ah, did your world ignore Your presence with loathing or a deep disdain. Or poverty wring your heart with rage and pain? 9 Did you exchange for dark and noisome trench The only home you knew—a pub- lic bench ? Ah, well, what matters now the life you led? The end proved you a man, when all is said. Life's verdict might be cruel, but now that she Has finished with you by Des- tiny's decree. You symbolize those who died that we might live to weep For the dear ones who lie, alas, "in death asleep." 10 One Mother The boys are coming home today, But not the one I loved so well, and faltering gave. My only son. How can I go on day by day, And yet not weep, For him who lies so far away. In death's long sleep. Yet, not alone I grieve. Alas, So many feel An empty life, a breaking heart. Years cannot heal. The unbereaved as bravely gave, All they held dear And went, as I did, through a hell Of dread and fear. They ran the same risk I did, But I lost. 11 still, I'll forget for one brave hour The cost. And welcome other mothers' boys Back home again And try to hide from their glad eyes My dreadful pain. I must not mar their joy today With selfish tear I'll smile and even wave my hand When they draw near. But when they pass I'll hide away, It will not be known, I'll only give my grief full rein When I'm alone. So I will kneel here by his chair, With folded hands. And send one little moan to God Who understands. 12 Caruso Can it be true we shall no longer hear Your golden notes that thrilled each ravished ear? Alas that Death should dare to take your hand, Leading you to the darkness of the silent land, And that our dreams latent, in- articulate so long No more can find expression in your song ? Nature took her fairest jewels, her woods, the breath of spring. Her rippling waters where the thrushes sing; The magic of moonlight, the sun's caressing ray. The soaring lark who greets the new-born day — 13 All things that make the heart of man rejoice She wove into the cadence of your voice. Fear not although your sun of life has set, The world you leave behind will e'er forget ; Because within your breast for a brief space The soul of music found a rest- ing place. You are immortalized until, at last, Man's little race is run, his day is past. Like a tired child when the light wanes and shadows fall, You found your mother-land the the best of all. Italy, were you not proud when with deep pain oppressed, 14 And sated with the world's ap- plause your son came home to rest? Bid him adieu. He has not lived in vain, Since beauty of thought and sound help us regain Some long lost Paradise hidden beneath Life's scars. The soul's dim yearning for a fairer world than ours. 15 At Riversville A tiny pathway leading straight into the woodland's heart, Where all day long the murmur- ing wind's coolness and health impart; The sunbeams chasing shadows to and fro with golden grace Seem sanctifying with God's smile sweet nature's dwell- ing place. The great trees arching over head aloof in stately pride, A verdant canopy and cool re- treat for all the birds pro- vide, And hidden from the eye, with swelling throat and folded wings. Sweet, clear, with rippling melo- dy a little wood thrush sings. 16 In fragrant corners where all day the shadows lie asleep, And ever prevailing silence reigns the woodland crea- tures creep. And love and fight and play but with a frightened watchful air, As though they felt Death's presence sternly vigilant everywhere. Silhouetted against the blue with fierce gleaming eye, A hawk glides slowly past and sends to earth his wierd cry. The butterflies float to and fro insouciant and gay Happy in the sun and warmth that brightens their short day. And over all the heat waves brood kindly beneficent 17 Drawing forth sweetness, be- stowing life, banishing dis- content. We, wandering from the haunts of men, worship at nature's shrine, And never was homage more devout or Goddess more divine. 18 Roosevelt A nation grieves beside this silent one A nation? More! — a world, pauses to drop a tear For this brave soul, America's great son A man "without reproach and without fear" And we who watched him with such love and pride Can hardly think it true that he has died. Grim Reaper, were you not con- tent to take Your dreadful toll of countless lives last year And leave for poor Humanity's sake The noble man who rests upon this bier? 19 He gave his best in battle's list of slain But ruthlessly you still must strike again Roosevelt, the world will be a lonely place Now you have gone and left us here to mourn Your noble life, your rugged, kindly face; We rage at Death that he should dare have torn From life one whom the world so ill can spare To help us bear our sorrow, toil and care. We grieve that he has passed beyond our quest. This man who never faltered on his way. Now glad, he turns aside to well earned rest 20 After a brave life's happy, use- ful day. And we must be content, even though we weep. Knowing "He giveth His beloved sleep." 21 The Boy Scouts A burst of inspiring music the thunder of tramping feet, Behold an embryonic army marches proudly down the street. The Boy Scouts, God bless them, coming from far and wide, America, England, France, Italy — where valor has never died. Rallying round their standard, symbol of all that's best, In lands where honor is sacred — not merely an empty jest. Born of that martial Mother England whose mighty name History ne'er has recorded with a sneer or a blush of shame ; 22 England who never falters when glory leads the way, Ask her heroic dead — legions of them-their myriad graves could say "As soon fight England as Ger- many?" Beheve it not Earth, In political propaganda the hor- rible thought found birth. But harken ! the Scouts are com- ing. Can it be ten short years Since America first saw their banner and the name of the Scout appears, Each year a record of service; the units all keeping fit, "Carrying on" in war times, every one "doing his bit." Now the red tide has vanished, the voice of the war god is still, 23 So the Scouts are having a glorious week of supreme good will. Seven days fraught with kind- ness, each one a perfect gem, For Time to take in his fingers and set in his diadem. Let us cheer the troop as it pass- es till the sound shall reach to the sky, And every head be uncovered as the flag of the Scouts goes by. 24 In Memory of ]. S. C. He was "just a real boy," but he had the happy art Of making friends and nestling in one's heart. Alas that we must see him thru such bitter tears That we must pass through all the lonely years Without his cheerful laugh to make us realize That 'neath the clouds are smil- ing sunlit skies. The spring won't be the same since he has gone. The woods and flowers and even th-e first bird's song Will bring instead a poignant memory Of how he loved them all and liked to be 25 Wandering with his chums, a happy, carefree Scout, Through fragrant woods prying Nature's secrets out. But now, dear Boy, you know a more perfect day Eternal spring is yours and we must say These tears are selfish, this lone- liness and regret. We know you're safe within the Father's arms — and yet Forgive us, for with such deep pain opprest Ah, God ; 'tis hard indeed to say "Thou knowest best." 26 A Qrey Day A dead white carpet on the frozen ground, The tree boles sharply etched in black by misty rain, A stillness as of death coldly austere — profound As Nature lies subdued beneath grim Winter's touch again. The leafless twigs traced 'gainst the leaden sky. But, ah, the sadness of the east wind's sigh. Nothing disturbs grey Desola- tion's reign. Silence keeps guard with fingers on her lip, Within her arms Echo sleeps; in vain The winged minutes thru Time's fingers slip, 27 The sombre hemlocks mourn- fully reply To all the sadness of the east wind's sigh. The river trailing its black length midst white clad banks, Softly murmuring silvery solilo- quies to itself, Wanders to oblivion. From the serried ranks Of firs an owl broods waiting for night's stealth. The skud hangs low, day wanes and dusk draws nigh Wrapped in the sadness of the east wind's sigh. 28 Adelina Patti Alas, great Cantatrice you have been dead so long You died when the grim De- stroyer Age Closed his hard fingers on your throat, silencing your song Laying it away in Rosemary within Time's page. Was it merely Fate's caprice or your own choice To be remembered not as a woman but a voice. Your tragedy is that you out- lived yourself The world cannot mourn for you again It has no time for those laid on Fame's shelf. But you are deaf now to all vanity and pain. 29 You lived to see yourself become a memory How bitter even Fame some times can be. 30 To E. C. F. Her figure isn't up to date; She hasn't got much nose ; Her voice is strong at any rate, When raised to state her woes. She turns upon a world like this A look of mild surprise, Surely, where ignorance is such bliss, "Tis folly to be wise." But all the sweetness of the spring Seems centered in her tiny frame ; Certainly no daintier little thing Into this tired world e'er came. And when, in that first happy hour. She laughed into her parents' eyes, T'would seem God sent His fair- est flower, 31 straight down from Paradise. To gravely gaze now is her whim At ten pink toes, two dimpled thumbs. She's also interested in What goes into her tummy turns. Although prohibition's struck the town To bottles she most boldly clings. On law and order she doth frown — She recognizes no such things. Queen of the house, her sceptre cruel She wields in democratic times; And none disputes her iron rule Or ventures Bolsheviki signs. How does she do it? one might say When creeping past her like a mouse ; But adult rights all flit away When there's a baby in the house. 32 Just An Old Man Ah me, the years are slipping by so fast — As Death draws near sometimes I feel aghast. To think, how soon I'll leave it all and go Into the great beyond ; ere long, my friends, I know Will almost forget I ever passed this way; So short is memory in man's little day. My birthdays, which I hailed when but a boy, Came, oh, so seldom, each a pride and joy. But now when they come, it seems to me as though T'were only yesterday I saw the last one go. 33 It's been so long since I've gone on the shelf — And lonely, too, to be here by myself, And see life go on happly with- out me. The young are thoughtless and they cannot see How one likes to be consulted now and then; But the world has little use for poor old men. So I just sit by myself and smoke And think of other days and sometimes choke. No one suspects the cause ; they only say : "What's the matter, grandpa?" as they turn away. Love's done with me. When one is old a heart 34 Should die before the body. Passion's smart Is only for youth; Age has no right to feel Tenderness or the joy of Beau- ty's deep appeal. And pleasure, too, it seems, I must renounce Lest bitter critics on the old man pounce. Old age, you see, must cling to soHtude And if you do and sit around and brood. The mind gets rusty and the brain grows numb Speech grows slower, thoughts lag or fail to come. Age, you're man's greatest curse when I see what you've brought. Perhaps Death's not so cruel as I thought. 35 Blakelock Tread softly for from out these walls of clay A noble soul has passed in death away Crushed by a universal blind brutality That looks with stupid eyes that cannot see Aught but the dross it worships until — too late A genius breaks beneath the blows of Fate. Here lay him gently; he has done his part To beautify the world that broke his heart. These canvases emblazoned with his name Shall proudly hang within the halls of fame. 36 Too late ye come — Fate smiles with malice grim At those who now delight to honor him. Alas! These hands that lie so white and still Will never prove again their Master's skill. These eyes now closed forever in Death's long sleep Shall not again be called upon to weep. This mind grown numb before Life's bitter blast Struggles no more, but rests in peace at last. Master, you go to swell that brilliant throng Unnoticed in life, in death re- membered long. 37 Fail ures Failures we call them, with a callous sneer, These ill-used step-children of hard-hearted life, The drudgery is theirs, the bloody sweat for mere Slender existence gained by bit- ter toil and strife. They break the stones, the while necessity laughs, To make for pleasure seekers smoother paths. To every venture, Fortune turns a frowning face. Their utmost efforts meet with her rebuffs Until they reach that final meet- ing place Where life with grim brutality proclaims her hard home truths. 38 God, be merciful to these poor failures then Condemned before the judgment seat of men. Goaded by that unjust thing we call Fate, Harried by wifely clamour for gifts bejT^ond reach. No wonder hearts break or cor- rode with hate, Lips fail to smile and strife em- bitter speech. Haunted by fears of sickness — failing strength And age that catches up with them at length. Mocked at by Beauty's calcula- ting laugh, Flouted by gilded toys they for a space would hold. They see all worshipping the golden calf 39 As history tells us did the Jews of old. But history surely needs to stand aghast Our present worship shames that of the past. Small blame to Fortune's favor- ites if they feel So far removed from these poor moth-eaten things, They themselves placed the crown and humbly kneel Before the glory dross so richly flings. Te Deum — Glittering monument is the rich man's share While Lethe's bitter waters drown the failures care. Roll on, old vulgar world, from your rod. Thank God these failures shall obtain release, 40 Let's hope that somewhere un- derneath the sod In dreamless sleep they find belated peace, Some flowers at least may bloom upon their hearts And ease them from life's bitter- ness and smarts. Meanwhile, they struggle on from day to day Bearing as best they can their servitude, Hoping until the end, Dame For- tune may Eventually turn to them in a kindlier mood. Death, all effacing, blots them out at last And casts them on the dust heap of the past. 41 Eugenie Ambition, do you gaze with cau- stic sneer On this sad one who sleeps so peacefully here? Are you content, Fate, since be- yond your grasp This creature whom you played with, slips at last ? You set the stage and graced her with such art She won at last an Emperor's fickle heart And rose upon his love to share his throne — 'Twould seem that Fortune smiled for her alone. Cruel jester, to have raised her to such power Then tear all from her grasp in one dark hour, 42 Driving her a fugitive from a nation's wrath To exile and relentless Sorrow's swath. You forced long years on her in which to mourn For those dear lives she loved, so cruelly torn From her fond arms. Then chur- lishly at the last You gave some recompense for all that's past. Hurling her arrogant foeman in the dust, You granted her starved heart one bitter crust. Nemesis whispered to her, "Now do not weep Vengeance is yours at last and you may sleep." Woman of Sorrows, adieu. Life largely gave 43 Fleetingly all you asked, save when you craved, Immutability, which belongs to Death, not Life; Serene it waits to crown us after fear and strife. 44 Birth and Death A wail of protest ancient as the earth ; The first sound of the human soul at birth ; Two wondering eyes and tiny fluttering hands — Time fills his glass with over- flowing sands, While Death fades in the back- ground for a space, And Life bends o'er the cradle of the race. A grey, tired face, and eyes that stare with fear Into the cold black shadows drawing near. Life casts aside the blindly grooping hands And Time shakes from his glass the last few sands. 45 Teeth clinched, a short, sharp struggle and then sur- cease — Death comes so quietly and brings release. 46