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HEART'S-EASE AND HAWTHORN; 
 MYRTLE AND RUE 
 
STELLA 
 
HEART'S-EASEW HAWTHORN; 
 
 Myrtle w Rue 
 
 B, 
 JOHN IRVING PEARCE, JR. 
 
 Author of "From Within," "Last Days of Lincoln," "Lyrical Sketches. 
 "The Strange Case of Eric Marotte?' Etc. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 NORMAN TOLSON 
 
 AND 
 
 TWO FOUR-COLOR PLATES 
 
 PUBLISHED AT CHICAGO 
 NINETEEN HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN 
 

 Copyright by 
 John Irving Pearce. Jr. 
 
 All Ris^/its Resened 
 
 Fublhhed in November 
 
 PRESS AND BINDERY OF 
 
 P. F. Pettibone & Company 
 Chicago, III. 
 
 / 
 
 <yr° 
 
 ©CI.A361001 
 
y 
 
 E WISE whose mental ears incline 
 To numbers of this book of mine, 
 Ere that ye "damn it with faint praise" 
 Read first below what Horace says: — 
 
 But where the beauties more in number shine, 
 I am not angry when a casual line 
 {That with some trivial faults unequal flows) 
 A careless hand or human frailty shows. 
 
ALPHABETICAL INDEX 
 
 TITLE PAGE 
 
 "A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed" 81 
 
 After All 41 
 
 Agnes 67 
 
 Ain't it Nice to Have a Hubby? 50 
 
 All Young Things are Beautiful 106 
 
 Alone 191 
 
 Alone at Christmas Eve 99 
 
 Another Year 147 
 
 Appeal to Justice, The 30 
 
 Aren't You Glad? 117 
 
 Ariadne 115 
 
 Ask Not a Woman Why She Loves 288 
 
 Autumn Evening 236 
 
 Baby, The 51 
 
 Baby and the Stars, The 217 
 
 Banjo Love Song 52 
 
 Barbara 170 
 
 Be a Philosopher 272 
 
 Be a Man 144 
 
 Beatitude 254 
 
 Beauty 182 
 
 "Behold, Thou Art Fair, My Love" 222 
 
 Be My Sweetheart! „ 72 
 
 Bitter Wind Must Blow, The 87 
 
 Bubble-Blower, The 289 
 
 Changing Phases of the Night 158 
 
 Chicago River, The 304 
 
 Chicago, the City Beautiful 73 
 
 Child's Prayer, A 159 
 
 Chorus of Hours, The 252 
 
 Christ Incarnate — a Christmas Carol 131 
 
 Christmas Eve 164 
 
 Christmas is Coming 134 
 
 Christ's Birthday 247 
 
 Convention of the Immortals, The 244 
 
 Cora's Only Twelve and Two 56 
 
 Crossing the Bridge 216 
 
 Dawning Year, The 309 
 
 Deaf ! 17 
 
TITLE PAGE 
 
 Destiny — An Allegory 267 
 
 Dignity of Effort, The 277 
 
 Dissertation on Life 226 
 
 Doodle-Bug's Party, The 186 
 
 Doughnut, The 280 
 
 Dream Rose, The 174 
 
 Drop of Wine, A 275 
 
 Dust 116 
 
 Dying 303 
 
 Eighty and Nine — To Mrs. R. — In Memoriam 177 
 
 Eline— A Song 243 
 
 Elsie the Dunce 35 
 
 Equinoxes of 1911, The 59 
 
 Everybody 85 
 
 Everybody Grafts but Father 260 
 
 Exhortation on Opportunity 175 
 
 Fact and Fancy — A History 89 
 
 Fascination of Creation, The 69 
 
 Fear Not Age 296 
 
 Fighting Chance, The 292 
 
 Flight of the Stars, The 253 
 
 Finale 318 
 
 Following the Moon 299 
 
 Forgotten 27 
 
 Fuchsia 18 
 
 Genius Still Evades! 19 
 
 Gentle Spring is Lost! 91 
 
 Girl I met in Danville, The 60 
 
 Going Down the Ages 184 
 
 "Good Night, Dear Heart, Good Night" — A Song 129 
 
 Good Woman, A 32 
 
 Gregariousness 22 
 
 Halcyon Nights 256 
 
 "Hanged by the Neck Till Dead" 264 
 
 Hannah 291 
 
 Hearts Mended While You Wait 212 
 
 He Lies by His Drum 43 
 
 He's But a Sweet Memory Now — A Song 198 
 
 Honest Lawyer, The 45 
 
 Hope Still ! 107 
 
 House of Pleasure, The — A Song 126 
 
 How Simply Must I Write? 176 
 
 Hurtar Para Bar Por Dios 71 
 
 Hvmn of the American Patriot, The 192 
 
 Ida 127 
 
 I Cannot Tell 307 
 
 10 
 
TITLE PAGE 
 
 If Rip Van Winkle Came to Town 88 
 
 I Haven't Got a Cent, but I'm Happy 132 
 
 "I Hope that You'll Remember Me; for I'll Remem- 
 ber You" 262 
 
 I Kissed Her Hand 279 
 
 I Love Thee 181 
 
 I Met Thee— To My Sorrow 190 
 
 I'm Waiting for Thee 23 
 
 Indian Summer Time 240 
 
 Infinite Patience, The 278 
 
 Irene 314 
 
 It Seems Funny to Have Money 108 
 
 It's Great tO|be Hungry! 120 
 
 I've Got a Hobbv-horse ! 83 
 
 I Would be Thine 139 
 
 John Chinaman, Poet 311 
 
 Johnny's Thanksgiving Poem 63 
 
 Judgment, A 86 
 
 Julia 308 
 
 June 172 
 
 Just Remember — Don't Forget 208 
 
 Kiss Me Again! 78 
 
 Kitten, The 237 
 
 Lake Michigan 54 
 
 Last of Her Generation, The 42 
 
 Lead Thou My Feet 155 
 
 Leola 105 
 
 Let Thy Light Shine Out 166 
 
 "Let Us Pray" 261 
 
 Liebling 171 
 
 Life— An Epigram 64 
 
 Life in Death — A New Year Song 70 
 
 Life's Reverse '. 64 
 
 Like a Rainbow Shot with Gems 31 
 
 Little Cemetery on the Hill, The 49 
 
 Little Jesus, The 301 
 
 Little Red Wagon, The 123 
 
 Loretta 28 
 
 Lost Poem, The 290 
 
 Louise — A Lyric 36 
 
 Love 118 
 
 Love and Life 145 
 
 Love and the Law 121 
 
 Love at a Distance 40 
 
 Love's Candor 83 
 
 Love's Epitome 257 
 
 11 
 
TITLE PAGE 
 
 Love's Miserere 57 
 
 Luxurious Lobster-Nights, Farewell ! 124 
 
 Mad-house. The 286 
 
 Maiden's Love Song (waltz air) 194 
 
 "Mark Twain;'' Finis Coronat Opus 224 
 
 Martyrdom 91 
 
 Memory 168 
 
 Miracle of a Woman's Heart, The 173 
 
 Miseria 68 
 
 Mon Ami 102 
 
 Moonlight 220 
 
 Mother 66 
 
 Music in the Night 74 
 
 My Agony 76 
 
 My Gethsemane — An Invocation 210 
 
 My Heart 128 
 
 My Heart is Heavy To-night 188 
 
 My Light is Going Out 65 
 
 My Love and Her White, White Feet 258 
 
 My New Year's Eve 215 
 
 My Part 136 
 
 "My Symphony" 117 
 
 My Wish for You 20 
 
 Nancy Grover 20 
 
 New Socialism, The 119 
 
 New Year Toast, A 29 
 
 Night, Mysterious Night 268 
 
 Night on the Water 130 
 
 Nocturne, A 90 
 
 Odessia 48 
 
 Ode to a Dead Friend 148 
 
 O Fateful Words! 316 
 
 Oh! Isn't it!— A Two-Step Lyric 94 
 
 Oh! Life is so Full! 242 
 
 Oh! To be Young Again! 39 
 
 On a Summer Day— A Ballad 160 
 
 Oracles, The 178 
 
 O Thou Beautiful Spring! 251 
 
 Out in the Country 53 
 
 Palliative vs. Panacea 302 
 
 Pastoral, A 249 
 
 Paula 135 
 
 Phoenix City, The 34 
 
 Phyllis o' the Watery Soup 270 
 
 Pluck Ye Not My Flowers of Fancy! 284 
 
 Poet's Prayer, The 95 
 
 12 
 
TITLE PAGE 
 
 Poet's Query, The 246 
 
 Poor Poet and His Roll, The 104 
 
 Power of Love, The 30 
 
 Power of Music, The— A Song 248 
 
 Prairie Queen, The 163 
 
 Prose and Poetry 138 
 
 Puppy-Love 197 
 
 Rapacity's Siren Call 101 
 
 Recompense, A Hymn 143 
 
 Regeneration 142 
 
 Regrets 310 
 
 Religion 293 
 
 Rena 241 
 
 Resurgam 239 
 
 Sabianism and Christ 266 
 
 Salutatory 297 
 
 Salutatio Chrtsti 218 
 
 Sanctuary ! 211 
 
 Secret Between Just You and Me, The 282 
 
 She 93 
 
 Shindy at Hafer's, The 114 
 
 Skald, The 24 
 
 Sleep 306 
 
 Sobbing Song 221 
 
 Something New 281 
 
 Song of the Lazy Man 103 
 
 Song to Columbia 77 
 
 Speed Your Art! — An Invocation 38 
 
 Spirit of Christmas, The 62 
 
 Spirit of Vengeance, The 294 
 
 Stand for Something! 98 
 
 State Street 312 
 
 Stella 238 
 
 Stewed Poet a la Mode 156 
 
 Still Night, A 204 
 
 Suflfering 58 
 
 Summer Solstice — A Siesta Song 165 
 
 Sunset on Red Eagle Lake, Glacier National Park 110 
 
 Sweet, Dreamy and Tender 271 
 
 "Terry" 141 
 
 Tessie 137 
 
 There is No To-morrow 146 
 
 Theresa 44 
 
 "Those Whom the Lord Has Loved Dwell Not Alone" 61 
 
 Three Generations 187 
 
 Tinkling Notes 283 
 
 13 
 
TITLE PAGE 
 
 'Tis Not Enough to Do Your Best 202 
 
 'Tis Two Long Months Agone 207 
 
 Titanic Souls 276 
 
 To Antoinette— A Madrigal 33 
 
 To Cora in Seattle 300 
 
 To Him 317 
 
 To John Keats — An Appreciation 259 
 
 To My Alma Mater 274 
 
 To Tennyson, on the One Hundredth Anniversary 
 
 of His Birth 22 
 
 To Those We Love 37 
 
 Toyshop Window, The 122 
 
 Twilight Revery 205 
 
 Utopia 95 
 
 Valedictory 315 
 
 Wail of the Hapless Swain, The 87 
 
 Waltz Love Song 100 
 
 Wasteful Truth 55 
 
 Way of Friendship, The 298 
 
 We Kissed and Parted 82 
 
 We Need You, Mr Roosevelt ! A Campaign Song 140 
 
 What Shall I Write? 80 
 
 "What's the Use?" 68 
 
 When 200 
 
 When Fortune and Friends Forsake Me 109 
 
 When Gentle Spring Cometh 214 
 
 When the Moon Shines on the Snow 97 
 
 When We Lose the Look of Youth 206 
 
 When We Meet, No More to Part 96 
 
 When with Newer Friends You're Drinking 203 
 
 When You and I were Young Together 84 
 
 Why ? 92 
 
 Willie Boy 250 
 
 Winter — A Sonnet 223 
 
 "Words Are the Only Things that Last Forever" 196 
 
 Wreck of the Volturno, The 295 
 
 Ye Who Sneer at Books and Art 255 
 
 Young are Always Poor, The 47 
 
 Young-Love's Gone a-Wooing 162 
 
 Yule 21 
 
 14 
 
ORIGIN OF PLATES 
 
 COVER DESIGN ... By Norman Tolson 
 
 FRONTISPIECE, in colors 
 
 By Courtesy of Gage Brothers & Company 
 
 VIEW IN GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, in colors 
 By Courtesy of The Great Northern Railway 
 
 Illustrated from charcoal Drawings 
 
 By Norman Tolson 
 
 Captions of Illustrations 
 
 Stella Frontispiece ^ 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 "Thou tellest how the wanderlust inflamed the Vik- 
 ings cool 
 
 And garred them scan th' uncharted main for newer 
 
 worlds to rule." 1^ ^ 
 
 Out In the Country 53 ^ 
 
 Sunset on Red Eagle Lake, Glacier National Park 110 V^ 
 
 On a Summer Day 160 \,/ 
 
 When With Newer Friends You're Drinking . 203 V 
 
 "Behold, Thou Art Fair, My Love" . . . 222 |X 
 
 Sabianism and Christ 266 L 
 
 The Chicago River 304 '^ 
 
 15 
 
I 
 
 DEAF! 
 
 CANNOT hear the mating birds; 
 
 I cannot hear the cry 
 Of horning babe, nor hark to hearts 
 
 That, breaking, pray to die. 
 
 I cannot hear the symphonies 
 
 By master-minds composed; 
 For me such rapture's golden gates 
 
 Forevermore are closed. 
 
 Those inspirations which imbue 
 
 The bards through fife and drum — 
 
 That plead from throat and instrument. 
 To such as I are dumb. 
 
 I cannot hear the fluting wind 
 
 Amidst the dancing leaves: 
 My heart, that yearns to grasp its notes. 
 
 But darkly gropes and grieves. 
 
 I cannot hear the eloquence 
 
 Of gifted-minded tongue; 
 Never on its swift periods 
 
 My straining ear has hung. 
 
 I cannot hear the laugh of youth, 
 
 The whisperings of love ; 
 All silent as the grave to me 
 
 Are ocean, town and grove. 
 
 I cannot hear — ah! God! 'tis so! 
 
 I cannot hear a thing; 
 And yet within my inward ear 
 
 Sweet melodies upspring. 
 
 17 
 
I cannot hear! — oh! how I wish 
 
 That I might only hear 
 That wondrous voice of passion wild 
 
 Which charms the lover's tear! 
 
 I cannot hear — }'et why despair 
 While in my heart and soul 
 
 A music vibrates all my own, 
 Past cruel Fate's control? 
 
 T 
 
 FUCHSIA. 
 
 HY face is fair as morning's shining glory; 
 Thy hair breaks on thy brow like silken waves ; 
 Thine eyes are blue as summer skies ; 
 Thy smile doth part a red-lipped gate 
 of pearly heaven. 
 
 Out of the fullness of thy heart's great story 
 
 A happiness flows o'er me, and it laves 
 
 My wounds — my spirit tranquil lies 
 
 That once, by doubts perturbed, was nigh 
 to madness driven. 
 
 The precious flow'r with which thy name thou 
 sharest 
 Droops in its gorgeousness, a silent bell; 
 But thou art eloquent with hope — 
 
 Bathed in such beauty as no orchid rare 
 upturneth. 
 
 The message which thy fruitful being beareth. 
 More true than from the lips of prophets fell. 
 Is that no heart need blindly grope 
 
 That with true love and with the love of 
 beauty burneth. 
 
 18 
 
G 
 
 GENIUS STILL EVADES. 
 
 OD, help Thou me to find this hidden thing 
 That e'er eludes my never-ending search; 
 High as the zenith, swift as eagle's wing, 
 Spurning with golden feet plebeian earth! 
 
 I feel it in the star-illumined night; 
 
 It haunts my dazzling dreamings through the day, 
 With all imagination's beauty bright — 
 
 This genius to translate, this Appian way 
 
 Of deathless words transfiguring all life, 
 Bringing immortal fame and holy fire 
 
 From heaven down, and, with all glories rife, 
 Filling the poet's soul with strange desire. 
 
 Evading e'en the greatest, subtlest minds, 
 It floats before me like a luring wraith ; 
 
 Anon it takes my hand and bids the winds 
 Waft me along the shining ways of faith. 
 
 The brain alone its magic ne'er can wield. 
 But heart and soul must also understand, 
 
 And, fruity with immaculate flowers, yield 
 Their harvest to love's necromantic wand. 
 
 E'en then its graciousness can but descend 
 Upon some mortal chosen for a god ; 
 
 Fair Genius has no priceless charms to lend 
 To prodigally fructify a clod. 
 
 Ah, me! 'twere hopeless to aspire at all 
 To the great secret of its mastery, 
 
 Except as on some monk devout might fall 
 Christ's mantle, in his lone monastery. 
 
 19 
 
N 
 
 NANCY GROVER. 
 
 ANCY GROVER'S sweet all over, 
 Like a rose in bloom, 
 And her smile it would beguile 
 Days of dreariest gloom. 
 
 It's a pleasure beyond measure 
 
 Just to feel her near. 
 With her mind so wondrous kind 
 
 And her heart so dear. 
 
 Little things she does, or does not. 
 Brighter seem than gold, 
 
 And no sorrow of to-morrow 
 In her eyes is told. 
 
 All the past is but a magnet 
 
 Drawing me to her. 
 And my wishes turn to riches 
 
 That no hopes defer. 
 
 For she loves me now and ever, 
 
 And such strongly-sweet 
 Ties were never made to sever 
 
 While our two hearts beat. 
 
 MY WISH FOR YOU. 
 
 MAY griefs like shadows pale away 
 As when the sun ascends the day; 
 May flowers bloom and robins sing. 
 And butterflies on gorgeous wing 
 Portray your beauty, grace and glee — 
 You happy be as you make me. 
 
 20 
 
T 
 
 YULE. 
 
 HE shades are drawn, the candles lit; 
 The bounteous board around we sit; 
 A reverent Peace each face doth light; 
 We're breaking bread with Christ to-night. 
 
 The room with nature's festoons hung; 
 Old Christmas hymns by children sung; 
 Though drooping lid proclaim a tear, 
 The Festival of Love is here. 
 
 The world without so cold and white 
 The hearth within makes warm and bright; 
 Expectant throbs the youthful breast; 
 Age strives to give and feels it blest. 
 
 With merry jest, o'erflowing heart. 
 Each acts some love-allotted part 
 To fill with faith-compelling cheer 
 The grandest drama of the year. 
 
 In Bethlehem where Christ was born 
 The sun still crowns His natal morn, 
 But from the manger where He lay 
 The whole world's borne His love away. 
 
 In every clime His story's told, 
 Again His wondrous deeds unfold; 
 And every Magdalene on earth 
 Treasures the cycle of His birth. 
 
 Our play moves on until the star 
 That led the Magi from afar, 
 Emerges from cyaneous deep 
 To guide us to our quiet sleep. 
 
 21 
 
M 
 
 GREGARIOUSNESS. 
 
 AN cannot live alone and still be happy, 
 No matter how in selfishness he's sunk; 
 
 As no man can be peaceful when he's "scrappy' 
 And no man can be sober when he's drunk. 
 
 A man may often change his friends, but never 
 Can live entirely friendless and alone; 
 
 The very force that germinates to sever 
 
 Old ties grows new ones when the old are gone. 
 
 Gregariousness's a God-bestowed obsession, 
 The bete noir of churlishness and pride, 
 
 The all-unconscious, generous recession 
 
 Of what our Savior gave us when He died. 
 
 TO TENNYSON ON THE lOOTH ANNI- 
 VERSARY OF HIS BIRTH. 
 
 YEA, thou wert great! With quick heart pa- 
 tienced slow 
 Thou wrought life's river's golden overflow, 
 Thou dreamt those scenes God gave thee 
 to portray. 
 Forget who can thy lines! Not one was born 
 To be forgotten — art forlorn. 
 
 I see the ages part to smooth thy way. 
 I worship and I tremble at thy feet. 
 While the world lasts — hearts, intellects hold 
 sway. 
 Posterity shall keep thy memory sweet. 
 
 22 
 
I'M WAITING FOR THEE. 
 
 A 
 
 LL through the night, as the polar star 
 Sentries the northern skies, 
 Sleepless, I wait for thy love afar, 
 Doomed by thy silent eyes. 
 
 Years were but days didst thou care for me; 
 
 Days are as years when doubt 
 Lowers its mantle of gloom o'er me, 
 
 Shutting thy love without. 
 
 Dead as the flowers of yester-year. 
 
 Drear as the frown of Fate, 
 Dread as the finger of scorn, appear 
 
 Longings that come too late. 
 
 Lift but thine eyes, that my soul may seek 
 
 All that thy heart conceals; 
 Look but in mine, that thy soul may seek 
 
 All that my heart reveals! 
 
 Satire or shame cannot sadden me now. 
 
 Fortune or fame elate; 
 Nothing in life can now matter but thou — 
 
 Only for thee I wait. 
 
 23 
 
THE SKALD. 
 
 ^^LL hail to thee whose fancy's lone and me- 
 / \ teoric flight 
 
 / \ First lighted up the centuried gloom of 
 
 the long northern night ; 
 Who wove from chilly glaciers, dreary mountains, 
 
 silent streams. 
 The warm and gorgeous fabric of thy hyperborean 
 dreams. 
 
 Thy sagas bold old faiths remold where'er the break- 
 ing heart 
 
 Still smarts beneath the ingrate's whip, or dwells 
 with hope apart ; 
 
 Thou wert the first, and eke the best, to chronicle 
 thy race. 
 
 Its passions and its pleasures mere in pregnant lines 
 to trace. 
 
 Thou tellest how with gallant and heroic feats of 
 arms 
 
 The Norsemen won their chaste, blonde brides or 
 welcomed war's alarms; 
 
 Thou tellest how the wanderlust inflamed the vik- 
 ings cool 
 
 And garred them scan th' uncharted main for 
 newer worlds to rule. 
 
 Thou tellest too of corsair crew that scoured the 
 dark'ning sea 
 
 And left its prey grown cold and mute and floating 
 horribly ; 
 
 Its prowess praised in wassails when returned vic- 
 torious — 
 
 The cormorant poised o'er the hydrophyte and 
 polypus. 
 
 24 
 
THOU TELLEST HOW THE WANDERLUST INFLAMED THE VIK- 
 INGS COOL 
 
 AND GARRED THEM SCAN TH' UNCHARTED MAIN FOR NEWER 
 WORLDS TO RULE." 
 
Filled thou the horn to revelry; blew thou the 
 
 horn to war; 
 Anon across the rocky fjord its echoes moaned afar: 
 The bow thou strungs't for the wild hunt the hoary 
 
 crags among; 
 The musk-ox and the white fox knew the song thy 
 
 arrows sung. 
 
 Thy eddas keep alive in death thy old cosmogony; 
 Thy legends beautiful express thy quaint mythology: 
 E'en as the eye that Odin pawned, redeemed from 
 
 Arctic night 
 Perennially, perennial shines with an eternal light. 
 
 Of fair Valhalla's hall they tell us, thronged by war- 
 riors bold, 
 
 Who clove each other unto death, in glory to un- 
 fold. 
 
 Like the night-blooming cereus, when day with 
 deeds was full 
 
 And valor drank to beautv from the gold-incrusted 
 skull. 
 
 Thy chiefs who 'neath the runiced mound lay bur- 
 ied with their steeds 
 
 Thy priests and posing proselytes of prostituted 
 deeds, — 
 
 Their very names forgotten — in oblivion long they 
 slept 
 
 Till o'er thy resurrecting harp their misereres swept. 
 
 Of many a fabulous venturing of gods and heroes 
 great 
 
 Is Asgard, Jotunheim and Niffieheim, dost thou 
 relate ; 
 
 Of Urdur, Verdandi and Skuld, Norn fate dis- 
 pensers three, 
 
 Iduna's wondrous apples, Bragi, god of poetry. 
 
 25 
 
A thousand years ago thou wrot'st what we believe 
 to-day ; 
 
 For human nature's just the same, and human pas- 
 sions play 
 
 Upon the mind the same strange tricks now as they 
 used to do — 
 
 There's nothing new in any age except the parvenu. 
 
 Thou showest the untutored heart as ardent beat 
 and true 
 
 In frozen lands and pagan times as our own bosoms 
 do; 
 
 Thou twangeds't the lyre to tempest sounds, to love 
 and melody, 
 
 As bravely as more gifted bards and full as mel- 
 lowly. 
 
 No plauditory pamp'ring craved thy spirit's over- 
 flowering; 
 
 No thunders of Olympian gods art thou accused 
 of borrowing; 
 
 The boreal aurora interspersed with splendors rare 
 
 Thy vernal lucubrations when the Pleiades hung 
 there. 
 
 Thou wrot'st as God did bid thee write ; true poets 
 
 are prophetic; 
 To imag'ry the pessimist alone is apathetic — 
 Who's never felt the calling of that glory that's 
 
 the sun 
 Of love's bright planet swung on high in perihelion. 
 
 Then hail to thee! thou noble skald, who to the 
 
 wintry wild 
 Intrusted thy soul's progeny untamed and undefiled; 
 These children of thy restlessness shall roam the 
 
 earth for aye, 
 And speak the language of the heart to millions as 
 
 they stray. 
 
 26 
 
w 
 
 FORGOTTEN. 
 
 HO names the leaves 
 
 Upon the trees 
 
 That sported in the breeze 
 
 Last summer, when 
 
 In fragrant glen 
 
 It was not now, but then? 
 
 Who counts the flakes 
 
 O'er wintry lakes, 
 
 When mem'ry journeys takes ? 
 
 Who paints the cloud 
 
 A sun-lit shroud 
 
 When thunder calls aloud? 
 
 Who keeps the dreams 
 That float the streams 
 Where hope's bright beacon gleams? 
 
 Who lingers yet 
 
 O'er worry's fret 
 
 That long, dead years did get? 
 
 Who stamps his mark 
 
 Upon the lark 
 
 To which he stopped to hark? 
 
 Who would recall 
 The mis'ries, all — 
 That did to each befall? 
 
 Ah, no one does — 
 'Tis better so — 
 'Tis blessed to forget. 
 
 To live to-day 
 
 For what we may 
 
 Best pays the past our debt, 
 
 27 
 
LORETTA. 
 
 ^^H ! thou art young and saintly, and the ways 
 / ^ Of wickedness tempt not thy steadfast feet. 
 y ^ The flower on its stem bends to the wind — 
 Not to the wrath of an offended God, 
 But to a chast'ning, loving breath of heaven; 
 So thou doth bend thy undiminished head 
 O'er lowly tasks and under cloudy skies. 
 Sure that opprobrium will pass thee by 
 Unscathed. The bright beatitude of youth 
 A halo and a crown is to that one, 
 Who lingers long this side the siren stream 
 That flows between the blessed and the damned. 
 For underneath all pleasures of the world — 
 The pomp of pow'r, the velvet couch of sin, 
 The laurel wreath of glory, or the loves 
 That come and go like shadows as you walk 
 Amidst the purple splendor of the court 
 Or through the sunless alleys of the poor — 
 There lies a void — a yearning for those days 
 Of youth and saintliness that ne'er return. 
 Thy heart, Loretta's, like the holy town 
 For which thou art, dear, oh! so justly named, 
 A shrine of deathless patience, where I kneel 
 To make my highest vows; and, going thence, 
 I take with me elation e'er renewed 
 And glorified, but leave my heart behind. 
 
 28 
 
A 
 
 A NEW YEAR TOAST. 
 
 DIEU, my friends! I'm going a long journey, 
 Upon the road of fortune for a year; 
 I take with me young hope and those who 
 love me ; 
 I leave behind me nothing but a tear. 
 
 Man hews his way a straight line, though it wavers, 
 While fate, in fury, bends it circling back. 
 
 As when one, lost amidst the pathless wildwood, 
 Moves round and round upon the self-same track. 
 
 Yet, "Onward, ever onward!" is our motto; 
 
 To yield is but the privilege of the slave ; 
 There are no locks upon the gates of glory. 
 
 And fame has never learned to fear the grave. 
 
 What though we circle back to our beginning? 
 
 There's many a misty dell of odorous charm 
 To twine its memories round our valiant living 
 
 And quiet all the future's wild alarm. 
 
 Tis better to have tried and sadly tumbled 
 Than never to attempt the bristling heights; 
 
 A little light, a little love and laughter 
 Repay us for a thousand sleepless nights. 
 
 So here's to the New Year a heartfelt welcome ; 
 
 Gladly my own I place within its hand ; 
 Like Moses, may it lead me on to fortune. 
 
 To die itself before the promised land. 
 
 29 
 
w 
 
 "THE POWER OF LOVE." 
 
 HERE is the past that is for aye forgotten; 
 
 Where is the future that may never come? 
 Here, in the ever-present moment only, 
 
 Lies the elysium of love and home. 
 
 Cling, then to some one who will hold thee precious; 
 
 Nor faint upon the narrow, rocky way — 
 Two hearts entwined can find and tread it safely 
 
 Where "one who walks alone" might fall or 
 stray. 
 
 What though the gospel saith the road is narrow 
 Up which must mount the faithful, strong and 
 true? 
 
 Christ, in His great and understanding mercy. 
 Made the road firm and wide enough for two. 
 
 THE APPEAL TO JUSTICE. 
 
 M 
 
 OST cursed of all the gods, thou of the 
 
 gown, 
 Thou'rt yet believed in, for the hope 
 that lies 
 
 Deep down in hearts of men that struggle on 
 Against oppression's tide indomitably. 
 
 The shadow of the cross on which Christ died 
 Is blameless for benighted reigns that came 
 From out the sordid wilderness of sin 
 To fall, as they had risen, in oblivion. 
 
 So set thy feet, that wheresoe'er they tread, 
 They trample not those hopes, so long deferred, 
 That have their origin in righteous wrath 
 And know no night but that awaits the dawn. 
 
 30 
 
LIKE A RAINBOW SHOT WITH GEiMS. 
 
 A New Year Verse 
 
 T 
 
 HE future calls with no uncertain voice, 
 Drowning the dirges of the dying year; 
 
 The past is dead and changeless, but a choice, 
 Noble in its conception, fareth near. 
 Like a rainbow shot with gems. 
 
 Hopes moribund deny the grave its power. 
 
 And, rehabilitate, dare forth anew; 
 Decay and woe have ruled their little hour; 
 
 The resurrection of the heart is due, 
 Like a rainbow shot with gems. 
 
 Christmas, with all the miracles of love, 
 Has drifted down the ages idolized ; 
 
 The new year dawns on sleeping plain and grove 
 By myriad radiant visions symbolized, 
 Like a rainbow shot with gems. 
 
 All past is now but memory, to-day 
 Is but a gateway where we enter in ; 
 
 The future beckons on, its banners gay 
 
 With all the blazonry that might have been, 
 Like a rainbow shot with gems. 
 
 What though a million years may file away 
 Their finished records of the fate of man; 
 
 The drearest clouds of puissant mortal fray 
 The future's shining arch will ever span. 
 Like a rainbow shot with gems! 
 
 31 
 
A GOOD WOMAN. 
 
 THERE is naught in the world like a loving, 
 good woman — 
 One who chides not, but follows wherever 
 love leads; 
 And you know that her longing will help her to find 
 you, 
 Though you stray through sin's valley, to browse 
 on strange meads. 
 
 There is none can replace her, to-day and to-mor- 
 row — 
 There is none who can comfort and make you 
 believe — 
 But the one loving woman, in pleasure or sorrow, 
 That seeks you, undaunted, to worship and grieve. 
 
 As the years of your life pass you'll learn to re- 
 member 
 The home in her face and the heaven in her 
 heart ; 
 When j^ou tire of the spring or grow old with De- 
 cember, 
 You know that her welcome's a rapture apart. 
 
 There's a look in her eyes; there's a suspicious 
 tremble ; 
 There's a yearning, unguarded, and all just for 
 you; 
 You've no need to be wise — no need to dissemble — 
 You know that with her you can only be true. 
 
 Should she pass on before you, you'll never get over 
 
 The pain and the void that her absence will 
 
 bring; 
 
 You will wander, distraught, like a discarded lover, 
 
 And your spirit will droop like a dove's broken 
 
 wing. 
 
 32 
 
No, there's naught in the world like a loving, good 
 woman. 
 Whom fortune nor distance, nor hardship, can 
 change ; 
 If you're blessed by the gods with such helpmating 
 angel, 
 Let nor heaven nor hell for one moment estrange. 
 
 TO ANTOINETTE— A MADRIGAL. 
 
 T 
 
 HOUGH you dream you love another, An- 
 toinette ; 
 Though you deem me but a brother, Antoin- 
 ette ; 
 
 There will come a time ere long 
 When you'll tremble at my song 
 And respond the years along, Antoinette. 
 
 Though j^ou do not know your heart, Antoinette; 
 
 Though our paths may turn apart, Antoinette; 
 I will never give you up 
 Till love's vintage brims your cup — 
 Till delirious you sup, Antoinette. 
 
 For the future nor the past, Antoinette, 
 Holds no treasure half so vast, Antoinette, 
 As that golden heart of thine 
 Which no bard can half define, 
 And I swear shall soon be mine, Antoinette. 
 
 33 
 
u 
 
 THE PHOENIX CITY. 
 
 P from the ashes of fire, 
 
 Out from the ashes of hope, 
 Chicago, the Phoenix, has soared 
 
 Beyond its dreams' uttermost scope! 
 
 Lo, the spirit of progress's on high 
 
 And the doubters have dwindled away — 
 
 "I know" and "I dare" and "I will" 
 Its wonderful secret betray. 
 
 All over the earth does its name 
 
 Synonymize opportune chance; 
 Call artist, inventor and sage, 
 
 The poor and the rich and free-lance ; 
 
 And they fit in the wondrous machine 
 That runs by some guidance unnamed. 
 
 Each eagerly, consciously part 
 
 Of that greatness for which it is famed. 
 
 No ancient astrologer told 
 
 Of this star of the wilderness wild, 
 Chicago, the City of Hope, 
 
 Opportunity's favorite child ; 
 
 But out of the inchoate whole 
 It blossomed a concrete Resolve, 
 
 Where every desire and demand 
 Could gather, the future to solve. 
 
 And it sends its disciples abroad 
 Its welcoming grandeur to spread ; 
 
 Their voices are heard in the land 
 
 Where the slave and the martyr ha\e bled. 
 
 Its freedom and glory and gold, 
 With tri-colored banner unfurled, 
 
 Move on, irresistibly brave. 
 
 To peacefully conquer the world. 
 
 34 
 
p 
 
 ELSIE THE DUNCE 
 
 OOR Elsie in a dunce's cap, 
 
 Perched on the highest stool — 
 
 The sweetest, cutest, purest maid 
 Who ever went to school — 
 
 For alas ! she learned her lessons 
 From the flower and butterfly 
 
 And recited them to angels 
 In the starry, spangled sky. 
 
 Every motion of her body 
 
 Did but lines of grace betray, 
 
 And her voice came through the window 
 Like a mocking bird's in May. 
 
 Now my heart was torn with pity 
 
 For her solitary plight — 
 Then her eyes unclosed, illumined 
 
 By a wondrous holy light — 
 
 For poor Elsie had been praying, 
 And her tender heart had bled, 
 
 And her sorrow, like a halo. 
 Glorified her drooping head. 
 
 All the other girls were crying. 
 And the little boys grew still 
 
 As the grasses in the graveyard 
 On the shadow-haunted hill. 
 
 For the gentle dunce had taught them 
 What they'd never learned by rule — 
 
 That with heart uneducated 
 E'en the wisest one's a fool. 
 
 35 
 
Y 
 
 LOUISE— A LYRIC. 
 
 OU have a way of your own, Louise, 
 In work or prayer or play; 
 
 You have a wit of your own, Louise, 
 'Twere witless to gainsay. 
 
 You have a style of your own, Louise, 
 
 'Twere futile to describe; 
 You have a smile of your own, Louise, 
 
 True friends alone can bribe. 
 
 You have a form of your own, Louise, 
 
 Pygmalion might adore; 
 You have a soul of j'our own, Louise, 
 
 High as the gods to soar. 
 
 You have a heart of your own, Louise, 
 
 Free as the mountain hart; 
 You have a charm of your own, Louise, 
 
 Ruling a thing apart. 
 
 I'd lay my heart at your feet, Louise, 
 
 Freely to take or leave; 
 Only for you can it beat, Louise, 
 
 Only for you can grieve. 
 
 In shadow or light do I wait, Louise, 
 
 To watch your passing by. 
 More than contented with fate, Louise, 
 
 Only to meet your eye. 
 
 Love is not love that can change, Louise; 
 
 Sure as the night and day, 
 Sure as the sun and the stars, Louise, 
 
 Sure as the blooms of Mav, 
 
 36 
 
My adoration endures, Louise; 
 
 Nothing can come between: 
 Would that your heart might have heard, Louise; 
 
 Would that j^our soul had seen. 
 
 All that the wide world can give, Louise, 
 
 Infinitesimal 
 Is, when compared with your love, Louise — 
 
 Heaven less wonderful ! 
 
 I pray it may never awake, Louise, 
 
 Like a lorn flow'r to die; 
 But, warmed by the beams of my own, Louise, 
 
 Safe in my bosom lie. 
 
 A 
 
 TO THOSE WE LOVE 
 
 LAS ! 'tis not how many, but how few, 
 
 You e'er may really love — or may love you. 
 For love, as well behooves such precious 
 
 things, 
 Is given to dim distance or to wings. 
 
 Yet though we're prone to worship unrequited, 
 'Tis all repaid when travailed hearts, united, 
 Forget at last their weary wanderings 
 As each one to the other dumbly clings. 
 
 To earn what may suffice to gently live; 
 To learn how blest it is to humbly give ; 
 To own one only heart that's always true — 
 'Twere bliss enough for me — and e'en for you! 
 
 To those we love our spirits ever pray 
 Their faith, so pure, may fall not by the way; 
 For when true friends shall err and drift apart, 
 A grave too deep is dug in either heart. 
 
 37 
 
SPEED YOUR ART!— AN INVOCATION. 
 
 s 
 
 PEED your art! For time is fleeing, 
 Minutes parting while they're meeting; 
 Victory scarce wings her greeting 
 Ere our tiny hour is spent. 
 
 Though of patience you're the master, 
 Too much patience courts disaster; 
 Time is flying fast and faster, 
 Calling in what life has lent. 
 
 Linger not to measure lances 
 With mild dilettantes' fancies; 
 Grasp the frenzy that entrances 
 With new visions, high and bold. 
 
 Dare the heights that gloom above you; 
 Make the gods themselves approve you 
 In the mighty dreams that move you 
 As art's fashion you remold. 
 
 Life is measured, not in hours 
 But by genius' garnered powers ; 
 Glory's bays twined 'round with flowers 
 Of a whole world's sj^mpathy. 
 
 Lest you die before your waking, 
 Fame's frail chalice dropping, breaking. 
 Hasten! Hasten to the making 
 Of your deathless symphony! 
 
 38 
 
o 
 
 OH, TO BE YOUNG AGAIN! 
 
 H, to be young again, young again, young 
 again ! 
 Oh, to be young again, guileless and free ! 
 Love to be sung again, sung again, sung 
 again ; 
 Love to be sung again rapturously! 
 
 Friends to be true again, true again, true again 
 Friends to be true again, never to part; 
 
 Life to be new again, new again, new again ; 
 Life to be new again, tender the heart. 
 
 Bravely to dream again, dream again, dream again; 
 
 Bravely to dream again visions untamed; 
 Starlike to gleam again, gleam again, gleam again; 
 
 Starlike to gleam again, genius unshamed: 
 
 Nearer to God again, God again, God again; 
 
 Nearer to God again, childlike believe; 
 Kissing the rod again, rod again, rod again; 
 
 Kissing the rod again, lightly to grieve. 
 
 Oh, to be home again, home again, home again; 
 
 Oh! to be home again, vacant no chair; 
 Never to roam again, roam again, roam again; 
 
 Never to roam again, just to be there! 
 
 39 
 
LOVE AT A DISTANCE. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN, in dolce far nientej 
 An Eden you make 
 
 Of the fields of your fancy, 
 Fain would I partake 
 
 In the sunny renaissance 
 
 Indigenous there, 
 My love, like a nightingale, 
 
 Thrilling the air. 
 
 Though, sweet, it's not simple 
 
 To simply be true, 
 Your charms make it simple 
 
 To be true to you. 
 
 Ah! don't you remember — 
 How can you forget — 
 
 That moment our eyes met? 
 I'm living it yet! 
 
 No! your dreamy gaze falls 
 Unimpassioned on me. 
 
 While I tremble and love you, 
 So impotently! 
 
 That curl on your brow, 
 Which no comb can destroy, 
 
 Around my heart circles 
 Delirious joy. 
 
 The smiles you so carelessly 
 
 Shed on the world. 
 Are bright as the sunbeams 
 
 By morning unfurled. 
 
 40 
 
F 
 
 More precious than garlands 
 
 On hero-brow hung 
 Are the words that like nectar 
 
 Drop soft from your tongue. 
 
 The hopes that would share 
 Your immaculate bliss, 
 
 Are sweeter than Hector's 
 Andromache kiss; 
 
 The sighs your light sorrow 
 
 Out-pulses at times, 
 The ambrosia of poets' 
 
 Most exquisite rhymes. 
 
 Lo, you're my adored one — 
 E'en knowing it not — 
 
 I'd swoon at your praises, 
 Enrapt with my lot! 
 
 AFTER ALL. 
 
 OR, lo ! the great desideratum in all life is 
 this: 
 
 To live in freedom from all physical and 
 mental pains ; 
 
 Love and ambition they are positive, resplen- 
 dent gains; 
 
 But they're so seldom satisfied that only 
 Truth remains. 
 
 And Truth is this, that things that do not 
 make one suffer pain 
 
 Are, after all, the best, the bright sublimity 
 of bliss! 
 
 41 
 
THE LAST OF HER GENERATION. 
 
 H 
 
 ER step is short; her hair is gray — 
 She combs it an old-fashioned way — 
 Her cheeks are sunk and wrinkled now, 
 And corrugated is her brow. 
 
 Alas! she's old — her song is sung — 
 But in her heart she still is young; 
 Old friends who fear the rising race, 
 Grow youthful in her humble place. 
 
 As winter shuns the laugh of spring, 
 So age to youth will never bring 
 Its frosted memories and decay 
 To be its wanton sport and play. 
 
 Aye! she is old, and feeble too; 
 But the few tasks she yet can do 
 Are done with old love's sweet intent, 
 And, in her, hope and peace are blent. 
 
 Here is the haven that did reclaim 
 Those human derelicts of fame, 
 Those magdalens of moneyed shame, 
 When all the world spat on their name. 
 
 She welcomes all — so large her heart. 
 Where scorn and vengeance bear no part ; 
 She gives to each new grace and rest; 
 So, guest and giver both are blest. 
 
 The canker-worm of pride has fled 
 Her flowered soul ; about her bed 
 Azrael and Sandalphon wait 
 Her praj^ers, and spirit, to translate. 
 
 42 
 
She is the last of all of them, 
 
 The widowed blossom on its stem; 
 
 Tho' blasts and snows and sorrows came, 
 
 They've passed, and left her just the same. 
 
 She is the living symbol, the I'envoy, 
 Of "Home, Sweet Home!" 
 
 H 
 
 HE LIES BY HIS DRUM. 
 
 E lies by his drum where the battle's reek 
 
 Covers him like a shroud, 
 With the blood of his faith so strong and meek 
 
 Spilling to God aloud. 
 
 He had marched at the head of the fast-thinning 
 line 
 
 Through the cannon's roar and smoke, 
 Leading it on like a voice divine, 
 
 Till it wavered at last and broke. 
 
 They trampled him low in the battery's glow. 
 Where the flowers of glory sprung, 
 
 Just a ball-riddled drum and a corpse to show 
 For the gift of this life so young. 
 
 No more shall his drum the quick reveille beat 
 
 In the morning's fateful dawn; 
 No more sound, stemming the wild retreat, 
 
 O'er the bloody field, death-strawn. 
 
 In a far, dim home, on her faltering knees, 
 
 A mother sobs in prayer, 
 As the angel of death on his dark wings flees 
 
 With the soul of this hero fair. 
 
 43 
 
T 
 
 THERESA 
 
 HERE are no shadows where you gently fare ; 
 Directly on your sympathy so rare 
 The sun of human happiness shines down — 
 With love's pure smile you conquer for- 
 tune's frown. 
 
 There are no treasures worthy to be craved, 
 Nor on the histories of man engraved, 
 That can for one quick moment half compare 
 With all I dream, and dreaming know you are. 
 
 Who has not sometime felt the Great Desire? 
 Who does not to some higher end aspire? 
 Be what it may — love, glory, wealth, respect, 
 Each heart's expectant joys its light reflect. 
 
 How lonely, prone and perishing the man 
 Perforce must stop ambitions that began 
 In his bright youth, when every neural sign 
 Bade him to weave his part in hope's design. 
 
 So much, so little, means our happiness 
 
 That angels hesitate to blame or bless; 
 
 Yet in ourselves we have some things worth while, 
 
 And, though the gods condemn us, still can smile. 
 
 Then so, we mortals winnowed midst the chaff 
 Of this old world's sad reapings, can but laugh; 
 'Twere bitter if, indeed, we could but cry 
 And chase the gladness from each eager eje. 
 
 For mCj perhaps, no wealth of glory shines; 
 Nor count I glory in the wealth of mines ; 
 Th' respect of millions may ne'er be my due; 
 Yet have I gained the Great Desire in you. 
 
 44 
 
THE HONEST LAWYER. 
 
 W 
 
 ELL versed in law, he acts his part, 
 Nor values courts above the heart; 
 Content to take what Fortune gives. 
 For Justice and for love he lives. 
 
 Men trust him as they would not trust 
 Their brothers; and when, dust to dust. 
 To God's High Court by Azrael led, 
 For him the honest tear is shed. 
 
 He asks no fee but what he earns — 
 Truth's vestal flame within him burns — 
 Traces oppression to its source; 
 Nor advertises his own worth. 
 
 To right all wrongs is his intent, 
 Avenging angels o'er him bent; 
 Their worries told, his clients weep ; 
 Theirs but to sow, ah ! his to reap ! 
 
 They trust him all their ends to gain; 
 As they their faithful dogs unchain, 
 Sure that, while bathed in visions bright, 
 No robber enters in by night. 
 
 Such faith's sublime! no wisdom taught 
 By men or angels e'er was fraught. 
 With such sweet accolade of right. 
 Such prescient hope that right makes might. 
 
 A hundred hearts a thousand woes, 
 Like thorns about the fragrant rose, 
 Proclaim; with patient, painful ruth. 
 Slow he unwinds the bonds of truth. 
 
 45 
 
Blossom his pleas like Aaron's rod, 
 As, measuring out the wrath of God, 
 He claims high privilege, to redress 
 Disaster and spread happiness. 
 
 The minister, with holy mien. 
 Plucks up the tares the wheat between ; 
 The doctor mends the broken reed ; 
 The honest lawyer fills our need. 
 
 They each arc blest with good employ, 
 To further Heaven or health or joy; 
 Death comes but once, pain oft delays, 
 But trouble's with us all our days. 
 
 A palimpsest the lawyer's brain 
 Each new impression to contain ; 
 Our doubts are his, our hopes our own : 
 We sleep ; he, sleepless and alone, 
 
 Wearies the night with restless nerve. 
 Wrong to condemn and right to serve. 
 Ah, me! how little do we care 
 If his own hearth be cold and bare. 
 
 If only, when the sun has 'risen, 
 
 His genius melts the bars of prison — 
 
 If only, ere the sun has set, 
 
 He frees us from misfortune's net! 
 
 Nobly, his own griefs half forgot, 
 He shoulders ours; then, like as not. 
 Forgets he ever owned a grief 
 In gaining ours a glad relief. 
 
 46 
 
Early and late his ways are laid 
 Where weakness, troubled and afraid, 
 Looks up to him with just the sigh 
 That justice may not pass it by. 
 
 'Tis no small thing, this truth I tell — 
 Be valiant, but remember well. 
 When ills of life you must forefend 
 The honest lawyer's your best friend. 
 
 l'envoy. 
 No hirelings, he, of predatory eye. 
 Whom any moneyed fool or knave can buy ; 
 A master of the mind, control of him 
 Comes only through the heart or soul of him. 
 
 THE YOUNG ARE ALWAYS POOR. 
 
 T 
 
 HE young are always poor; hence to be 
 poor's but to be young again : 
 And — to be young is — to have all the 
 world before you. 
 With deeds undone and songs unsung. 
 
 So why despair if fortune flouts, or of your gath'- 
 ring years complain ? 
 The gods of youth and chance will still be watch- 
 ing o'er you 
 What time Death's loaded die is flung. 
 
 47 
 
F 
 
 ODESSIA. 
 
 AITHFULLY serving 
 The claim of the hour, 
 
 Sweet and unswerving 
 And pure as a flower; 
 
 Lifting the burden 
 
 Of life's heavy task, 
 Asking no guerdon — 
 
 A saint in a mask. 
 
 Spreading the lesson 
 
 Of daily content, 
 Love your obsession 
 
 And duty your bent; 
 
 Silently telling 
 
 Your beads of despair — 
 Close o'er your dwelling 
 
 The angel of prayer. 
 
 Rich as the hidden 
 
 Mine's harvest of gold. 
 
 Charms that unbidden 
 Within you unfold ; 
 
 Broad as the deep sea 
 
 From pole unto pole, 
 Tenderest mercy 
 
 That flows from your soul. 
 
 Worship eternal 
 
 Should hallow j'our meetness, 
 Visions supernal 
 
 Be wrought by your sweetness! 
 
 48 
 
THE LITTLE CEMETERY ON THE HILL. 
 
 W 
 
 HERE once did lie the outskirts of the vil- 
 lage, 
 Upon a slightly elevated knoll, 
 Now far inside receding fields of tillage, 
 Still stands the gate where Death long 
 gathered toll. 
 
 The years are fled; the simple generation 
 
 Of toilers that then passed with bended head, 
 
 Is vanished like a breath ; and no relation 
 Seems left between the living and the dead. 
 
 The village, grown to town, and e'en to city. 
 
 Has thrown cold commerce's bulwarks round the 
 square ; 
 Gone all the veneration and the pity; 
 
 Alone, the dead dwell, unmolested, there. 
 
 The weeds enshrine each mould'ring tomb, their 
 rankness 
 A shelt'ring shroud where brightest flow'rs did 
 bloom — 
 Apologists for nature's barren frankness. 
 
 Who scorns the human seed within her womb. 
 
 Altho' the glass of time is oft upended. 
 The restless sands, they never cease to fall ; 
 
 The babe unborn and he whose days are ended, 
 Alike must know the cradle and the pall. 
 
 With retrospective mind, I stop and ponder. 
 Old memories responding to my will; 
 
 And, through the maze of other days, I wander 
 In the little cemetery on the hill. 
 
 49 
 
AINT IT NICE TO HAVE A HUBBY? 
 
 A 
 
 I N'T it nice to have a hubby — just your own 
 nice, little, dear old man. 
 One you can depend on to bring home a beef- 
 steak, and to rush your can? 
 Say! aint it nice? 
 
 — One who goes out every day to hustle, while 
 
 you dawdle 'round the house 
 When your morning's work is nicely over and 
 you've had your nice warm souse? . 
 Say! aint it nice? 
 
 And, when pay-day comes, what pleasant shivers 
 
 gallop up and down your spine. 
 Laying out the ways you'll spend the money — 
 maybe, get that hat divine ! 
 Say! aint it nice? 
 
 And, when baby learn to call him "dada," won't 
 
 that tickle him to death — 
 Won't you, at that psychologic moment, "spiel" him 
 
 for that stunning dress? 
 Won't that be great? 
 
 How your little spats and troubles shrink and up 
 
 the chimney disappear 
 When he puts his big, strong arms around you, 
 
 kisses you and calls you "dear!" 
 Aint that just grand? 
 
 Don't you listen to the other women's growling — 
 
 they are only jealous! 
 Just j'ou keep Love's little "tummy" "cumfy," and 
 
 you'll find his heart e'er zealous! 
 Let 'em cackle! 
 
 50 
 
Think what life would be without your man! — • 
 
 what in the world'd he ever do 
 If he came home some night all hungry, tired, and 
 found no little wife like you? 
 You'd both feel bad. 
 
 Now, honest! if you've got a hubby all your own 
 
 who likes to have you 'round, 
 Who looks life in the face and doesn't fret or 
 groan, and comes in with a bound: 
 Say, aint it nice? 
 
 H 
 
 THE BABY. 
 
 E looks at you with glance so true 
 
 You dare not fool him ; 
 He laughs at you — who can construe 
 That laugh can rule him. 
 
 He cries sometimes — you know not why. 
 
 Perhaps not he ; 
 But when he climbs, with eager eye, 
 
 Upon your knee 
 
 You try to bend your dignity 
 
 To his estate; 
 You try to lend benignity 
 
 To help his fate. 
 
 Yet is there longing in j^our gaze 
 
 And diffidence: 
 Your doubts are thronging round his day's 
 
 New evidence. 
 
 For God looks out of his eyes. 
 And Heaven smiles on his lips. 
 
 51 
 
BANJO LOVE SONG. 
 1. 
 
 OH ! mah darky gurl's uh queen, ho, ho, ho — 
 ho, ho, ho! 
 She'm de noicest liddle coon ah eber seen, 
 ho, ho, ho! 
 An' her heart am eber green, ho, ho, ho — ho, ho, ho! 
 An' ah knows dat ebry lubing word she mean, 
 ho, ho, ho! 
 
 2. 
 
 Wen ah wakes up in de mawning, ho, ho, ho — 
 ho, ho, ho! 
 Den mah hoe-cake an mah bacon she'm a frying, 
 ho, ho, ho! 
 Wen ah comes home widout wawning, ho, ho, ho — 
 ho, ho, ho! 
 Ah done neber fine her cryin' or a-sighin', ho, 
 ho, ho! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh mah h'ddle yaller gurl, she'm as purty as a pearl 
 
 As she dances an' she prances to mah banjo; 
 An' uh smile her lips done curl as she gib her 
 skurt uh whirl 
 
 An' advances wid sweet glances to mah banjo; 
 To de strumming, strumming, strumming, strum- 
 ming — 
 
 Bumming, bum-bum-bumming; 
 To de rumming, rumming, rumming, rumming — 
 
 Drum-drum-drum-drum-drumming ; 
 To de lumming, lumming, lumming, lumming, 
 
 Dum-dum-dumming, dumming; 
 To de humming, humming, humming of mah banjo ! 
 
 52 
 
OUT IN THE COUNTRY 
 
I 
 
 OUT IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 WAS out in the country in bleak February 
 When the ground was all white and the 
 branches were bare, 
 And the children's hearts leaped and their 
 voices were merry 
 With the wind on their faces, the snow in 
 their hair. 
 
 In my room on the knoll, where I'd lodged in the 
 evening. 
 When I looked in the morn from my window so 
 high, 
 All the snow-whitened cottages nestled around me, 
 While their sweet-scented wood-smoke ascended 
 the sky. 
 
 Then the odor of breakfast crept up the old stairway 
 And the sun beat down warm on the keen winter 
 air. 
 As each strong heart awoke to the day's simple bur> 
 dens 
 While the grain fields lay safe 'neath their cover- 
 let fair. 
 
 In a smile and checked apron the housewife presided 
 O'er the homely repast that my appetite teased: 
 
 In the quiet and peace and the plenty, I learned me 
 How the ways of the country life's tumult ap 
 peased. 
 
 Through the long day before me I marveled de- 
 lighted 
 At the solace and beauty the country contained, 
 And I dreaded the hour when, back cityward turn- 
 
 I must give up its charm and to worry be chained. 
 
 53 
 
LAKE MICHIGAN. 
 
 I STOOD on the bank of the lake, and its 
 waters were blue; 
 The sky that hung over the lake had no color 
 at all: 
 The breath of the waters unconsciously wafted to me 
 The thoughts of a lifetime, that had nor beginning 
 nor end. 
 
 Have you ever stood thus on the bank and remem- 
 bered again 
 
 A thousand forgotten, yet treasured, sweet things 
 of the past? 
 
 Have you ever stood thus, all alone, and not known 
 that great rhythm 
 
 To which the whole wide world swings pendulous, 
 laden with joy? 
 
 Not a thing could I see, not a boat nor a sail on 
 
 the swell; 
 Yet I knew that the waves, in their madness, 
 
 brought something to me ; 
 I could not explain nor give reasons for all that 
 
 I felt: 
 But the myst'ry of God and of nature enveloped 
 
 me there. 
 
 The horizon was dim with the mists of the future 
 untold ; 
 
 The waters, all restless, epitomized infinite strife; 
 
 The heav'ns, in their steadfastness, purpose triumph- 
 ant portrayed: 
 
 And I, alone, counted for naught in equations of 
 pow'r. 
 
 54 
 
Then back to the haunts of my devious, ignorant 
 ways 
 
 I turned, but the waters pursued me and left me 
 no peace; 
 
 For the shell of my soul had been broken, nor ever 
 again 
 
 Could I hide from the beauty and grandeur of na- 
 ture's recall. 
 
 WASTEFUL TRUTH. 
 
 THERE was once a lone poet who bought a 
 lean goose 
 And said it was skinny, and told but the 
 truth ; 
 But nobody cared or showed any old ruth 
 For the miserable poet, or the miserable goose. 
 
 Now, what can we learn from this lesson supreme 
 But that sham is true wisdom and truth but a 
 dream : 
 If the poet had raved o'er the feathery goose 
 He'd have made a great hit, though he hit not 
 the truth. 
 
 So it is, as we thread the rough channels of life. 
 And try to be truthful, aye — e'en to a wife. 
 
 The truth is so homely it does not engage 
 
 Her attention, but puts her at once in a rage. 
 
 So why tell the truth when 'tis better to lie, 
 And let all the women pass pleasantly by? 
 
 No truth God e'er made was sufficient to please 
 The least of the women who pray on their knees. 
 
 55 
 
CORA'S ONLY TWELVE AND TWO 
 
 C 
 
 ORA is my little chum, 
 
 Just as nice as she can be; 
 You can bet I love her some, 
 And I'll wager she loves me. 
 
 Cora's wiser than she looks 
 
 Though she weighs just ninety-eight; 
 Gathering wisdom from her books, 
 
 Love she's learned to conjugate. 
 
 She's as full of play and fun 
 
 As a cub-bear with a bun ; 
 Life to her's an opening flower 
 
 Perennial blooming every hour. 
 
 Many a jolly romp we two 
 Broach together, till we tire; 
 
 Then for inspirations new 
 Scan the poets by the fire. 
 
 You would think, to hear her speak. 
 She was one who long did delve 
 
 Learning's archives, lore to seek; 
 But she's only two and twelve. 
 
 Cora's growing maidenly, 
 
 Though her dresses still are brief; 
 But her budding charms may be 
 
 Both a glory and a grief. 
 
 For her way and mine may part — 
 
 Newer loves to her accrue— 
 And I may not fill her heart 
 
 As when she was twelve and two. 
 
 56 
 
LOVE'S MISERERE. 
 
 I'M sad, 
 Although around me all the world is bright, 
 I grieve. 
 Although about me only smiles I meet ; 
 I seek 
 
 No cowed retreat from fickle fortune's blight — 
 Enough 
 
 To know that thou, dear heart, are wholly sweet. 
 
 Alas! 
 
 The cry that pulsates through my pleading heart 
 Bewails 
 
 Me that the jew'l I cherish may be lost; 
 T'were vain 
 
 To readmit those dreads long fled apart; 
 Nor can 
 
 The vfgfntillion ages count their cost. 
 
 Ah me! 
 
 My days were wrapped in splendors glorious 
 When thou 
 
 Wast my companion and my mentor bold ; 
 I scorned 
 
 The wrath of gods and kings victorious, 
 Full paid 
 
 If thy voluptuous soul I might behold. 
 
 But now 
 
 By other, greater, knights art thou adored. 
 And I 
 
 Can only chant love's miserere low; 
 Yet all 
 
 That wealth, that valor, to their suits afford, 
 Can not 
 
 Make one red rose more wildly-beauteous blow. 
 
 57 
 
T 
 
 SUFFERING. 
 
 HERE'S no one who's not suffered deep— 
 The babe comes from the womb 
 Shrill-crying out life's first heart-break, 
 foreshadowing the tomb. 
 
 Through childhood, youth, maturity, 
 Midtide and life's decline, 
 
 We slumber on in happiness, to wake a pain 
 divine. 
 
 Why dooms God us to misery? 
 Has Christ, then, lived in vain? — 
 Since joy can only be begot through harlot 
 drams of bane? 
 
 Ah! yes, we all must suffer, friend. 
 Nor wealth nor beauty 'scape, 
 Unless, in our pure madness, we blind Eros' 
 quiver rape. 
 
 For Love has pleasures perishless; 
 In death they do not die — 
 Give me but one true pang of love, I'd let a 
 million sigh ! 
 
 58 
 
THE EQUINOXES OF 1911— 
 AN IDLE IDYL. 
 
 F 
 
 ROM Aries to Libra 
 
 The weather has been fine, 
 With not an equinoctial 
 
 To break its charm divine. 
 
 Twice in the year, when day and night 
 
 Are of an equal length. 
 The elements are due to row 
 
 And show their vulgar strength. 
 
 But this year's a banner year, 
 With Sabbath-picnic weather; 
 
 The ladies wear their bonnets out 
 And never spoil a feather. 
 
 The poet dreams aboon the streams; 
 
 Anon he wets his whistle 
 And blithely plays bucolic lays 
 
 Amang the braes and thistle. 
 
 The Watteau maiden spanks the cow, 
 Who slaps her with her tail ; 
 
 The gentle bum is going some 
 Along the glist'ning rail. 
 
 And Nature's smile this whdle long while 
 
 Has been one loving grin ; 
 Byme-bye she'll scowl and wear a cowl, 
 
 When the cotton's in the gin. 
 
 So let's be gay while now we may — 
 
 For only man, in fine. 
 E'er worries pasts, or futures casts. 
 
 When the present is benign. 
 
 59 
 
THE GIRL I MET IN DANVILLE. 
 
 I 
 
 MET a girl in Danville town 
 
 I'd never met before — 
 At once I loved her, though I'd thought 
 
 My loving daj'S were o'er. 
 
 'Twas not that she was beautiful — 
 
 'Twas not that she was wise, 
 But just because I saw my soul 
 
 Reflected in her ej^es. 
 
 There is one thing that gets us all, 
 
 Of high or low degree — 
 A female with a loving heart 
 
 That only beats for ye. 
 
 Who's always waiting when you come, 
 
 Till then content alone. 
 Sure that her heart can draw you back 
 
 From distance's fairest zone. 
 
 I wonder if this Danville girl 
 Has read my voiceless plea — 
 
 Whether she could be happy 
 Just alone with me. 
 
 60 
 
'THOSE WHOM THE LORD HAS LOVED 
 DWELL NOT ALONE." 
 
 T 
 
 Air: "Nearer, My God, to Thee.''' 
 
 HOUGH nothing I receive, 
 
 Still blest I live; 
 Happy like Thou, dear Lord, 
 
 Only to give. 
 My only friend Thou art 
 
 Break if Thou must my heart — 
 Hearts that are made to bleed, 
 
 Bleed not in vain. 
 
 Lord, if my life alone 
 
 Others could save, 
 For them I w^ould atone, 
 
 Welcome the grave. 
 But I must labor on. 
 
 Strong in the Christ beyond. 
 Bearing my burden till 
 
 Heaven's gate's ajar. 
 
 There where Love reunites, 
 
 Truth takes its throne; 
 "Those w^hom the Lord has loved 
 
 Dwell not alone." 
 Close to the fountain head 
 
 Live then His precious dead; 
 Lord take me when Thou wilt; 
 
 Till then I wait. 
 
 61 
 
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS. 
 
 COMETH Christmas to-night; both the young 
 and the old 
 Are replete with a prescient rapture sub- 
 lime; 
 With the grace of a Love that can never grow cold — 
 A perennial bloom in the garden of time. 
 
 This, the unwritten law that no being denies ; 
 This, the wisdom of angels, drawn down from 
 the skies; 
 This, the bright-burning taper that lights every 
 heart ; 
 This, the shrine of the faithful ; religion's best 
 part! 
 
 Christmas dawneth apace; though the air is like 
 
 spring. 
 
 The fair flakes are far-falling on friable wing; 
 
 And while hearts that were heavy turn light as 
 
 the snow, 
 
 The Reveille of Love Heaven's trumpeters blow. 
 
 b2 
 
JOHNNY'S THANKSGIVING POEM. 
 
 J 
 
 OHNNY'S mother said that he should write her 
 Something nice, upon Thanksgiving Day — 
 Ail about five living generations 
 
 Meeting there with him, to eat and play. 
 
 Now Johnny's quite a poet born 
 
 For such a little lad, 
 And this is what he wrote for her — 
 
 I think it's not so bad : 
 
 "Gread-great grandma's eighty-seven, 
 
 Great-grandma she is sixty-five; 
 Grandma now is four and forty 
 
 And my mother's twenty-five — 
 
 "I forgot! I'm gon-on seven; 
 
 Little sister, she's just five — 
 All around the table waiting 
 
 For the turkey to arrive. 
 
 "Oh ! what a lot I gotta eat 
 
 To grow as old, mamma, as you! 
 
 And then begin and eat again 
 To get as old as grandma too. 
 
 "An' if I gotta keep alive. 
 Great-grandma-like, till sixty-five, 
 I don't see how I'll hold it all — 
 I'm 'fraid I'll just blow up an' fall! 
 
 "But my! if I should live to be. 
 
 Like great-great-grandma, eighty seven, 
 
 It almost makes my stomach ache 
 
 To think how long it's gona take 
 To eat my way to heaven!" 
 
 63 
 
LIFE— AN EPIGRAM. 
 
 CE is a miraged river, fathomless and swift, 
 With traceless source and golden goal, whose 
 only gift 
 Is self-deception; seen from the road up which 
 we moil 
 Unceasingly, with no reward save our own toil. 
 
 F 
 
 LIFE'S REVERSE. 
 
 IGURES are the greatest liars ever; 
 
 Words oft but bewilder and deceive; 
 Music is the devil's dancing-lever: 
 
 Life is but oblivion's short reprieve. 
 
 64 
 
MY LIGHT IS GOING OUT. 
 
 As I He in my chamber at midnight the man- 
 /\ tie of gas 
 
 / \ Becomes black at its apex, and downward 
 •* *■ its lessened rays pass, 
 
 While its shadow o'erglooms till on ceiling and 
 
 upper wall falls 
 A soft glamour that stirs my remembrance, and ten- 
 derly calls. 
 
 To the past that was bright with the colors of 
 childhood and youth, 
 
 With the fervor of untried enthusiasms and of the 
 truth, 
 
 With the love still untold, and the deeds still un- 
 done that entranced 
 
 Young ambition, receding wraithlike as life slowly 
 advanced. 
 
 But it stirs, too, my dread of the future and aging 
 
 despair ; 
 For inversely as skies become darker grows whiter 
 
 the hair: 
 And that light oft renewed in our daj^s adolescent 
 
 of might. 
 Let it die once too often must leave us a prey to 
 
 the night. 
 
 65 
 
w 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 HATEVER ills befall you, 
 Whatever blessings come, 
 
 Whate'er ill names they call you, 
 However sweet your home; 
 
 Slie cares. 
 
 The' all the world forget you 
 And your own faith be lost, 
 
 The' none who loved regret you 
 Nor count your mis'ry's cost; 
 
 She cares. 
 
 Though evil days surround you 
 And evil men confound, 
 
 And fate's cold ways astound you 
 And music's but a sound; 
 
 She cares. 
 
 Then, if she still is living. 
 Adore her while you may; 
 
 H dead, then cease not giving 
 Her tribute when you pray. 
 
 She cares. 
 
 Full many a night she's guarded 
 Your slumbers innocent; 
 
 And long days, unrewarded, 
 Her hopes on you were bent. 
 
 She cares. 
 
 If there be saints in Heaven, 
 They can no purer be 
 
 Than was that love, long-proven, 
 My mother gave to me. 
 
 She cared. 
 
 66 
 
J 
 
 AGNES. 
 
 UST a tear, 
 Just a sigh, 
 In my ear 
 And your eye, 
 
 Bring my heart 
 To your feet; 
 There to thwart 
 Their retreat. 
 
 Just your smile 
 And your song 
 E'er beguile 
 Me along. 
 
 On your cheek, 
 From your lips, 
 Blushes speak, 
 Laughter slips, 
 
 So divine 
 And so sweet, 
 With love's wine 
 So replete, 
 
 That the rose 
 And the rill 
 Can but close 
 And be still. 
 
 67 
 
MISERIA. 
 
 DEEP down in my heart there's a chord that 
 is silent, 
 Like a string that was snapped by a hand 
 too severe 
 That, "strumming some great miserere" too violent 
 Has burst it asunder in drumming a tear. 
 
 On the harp of my faith can no longer be rendered 
 That grand chord of the evening, that called to 
 the nest; 
 
 As a rift in the lute, has its absence engendered 
 A sigh so discordant my soul is deprest. 
 
 But for ever and ever will the memory haunt me 
 Of that rapturous sound that my spirit once 
 woke, 
 That stayed but a moment, then vanished to taunt 
 me. 
 Like that love by lips whispered that died as 
 they spoke. 
 
 "WHAT'S THE USE?" 
 
 O 
 
 UT of the Womb ye came, 
 Naked, without a name; 
 Into the tomb ye go, 
 Nameless and bare to grow. 
 
 68 
 
THE FASCINATION OF CREATION. 
 
 WHEN our God created the universe 
 Out of chaos, and darkness did rend, 
 What a passion of anticipation, 
 
 Must have held him obsessed till the end! 
 And when, lo, on the seventh day resting, 
 He reviewed it, and saw it was good. 
 What a glory in wondrous achievement 
 
 Must have entered his retrospect-mood ! 
 And when, then, he made man in his image 
 
 He endowed him with joy in his tools 
 For the hope of his labor's perfection; 
 And that joy, to this day, all men rules. 
 
 Though the artist dreams on his mind's picture. 
 
 He is never content till it's done ; 
 So the bard o'er his visions and fancies 
 
 Softly gloats as they're pinned one by one, 
 Like bright moths, to his virginal paper, 
 
 But his soul the lines' clvnax awaits: 
 The artificer and the mechanic. 
 
 Though prosaic their products and states. 
 Just to watch till their objects are finished 
 
 Takes monotony's sting from their task. — 
 For to live till one's last magnum opus 
 
 Is completed is all one can ask ! 
 
 Aye! the money it brings is important. 
 
 But 'tis joy of its ultimate fashion 
 That the mind which evolved or conceived it 
 
 Fascinates, with creation's grand passion. 
 
 69 
 
T 
 
 LIFE IN DEATH. 
 A New Year Song. 
 
 HE night is wan and cold, my love; 
 
 The year is slowly dying: 
 Low on the lifeless mould, my love, 
 
 The lifeless leaves are lying. 
 
 Another year will come, my love, 
 
 Soft breezes gently sighing 
 Around our happy home, my love. 
 
 Our joys with Nature's vying. 
 
 And e'en as life in death, my love, 
 To earth and Nature's given, 
 
 So with our dying breath, my love. 
 We'll breathe again in Heaven. 
 
 Then, let the old year die, my love. 
 Nor fear the deathly weather — 
 
 There's no grave in the sky, my love; 
 In death we'll live — together. 
 
 And ever there as here, my love. 
 My face on thine will shine. 
 
 Faithful and true and dear, my love, 
 As thine now shines on mine. 
 
 So welcome the New Year, my love. 
 That comes with baby hands 
 
 To pluck the flow'rs of cheer, my love. 
 In green and golden lands. 
 
 70 
 
HURTAR PARA DAR FOR DIOS. 
 
 T 
 
 HOUGH the predatory-rich m 
 Smirk upon a thousand Clios 
 
 History will bare his base plan 
 Hurtar para dar por Dios. 
 
 His hypocrisy's transparent; 
 
 Even those who kiss his glove-hem 
 Spit upon his baseless v/arrant 
 
 Arrogating him above them. 
 
 Educating but to rape them 
 
 Later, when they're ripe for plund'rin^ 
 Reaching out to first enslave them 
 
 So his "charity" comes thund'ring; 
 
 Devils laughing, angels weeping. 
 O'er the epitaph he's reaping, 
 While his brother man he's "keeping" — 
 On his threadbare knees still creeping. 
 
 Criminal in all his dealings, 
 Gloating o'er his hidden stealings, 
 Trampling down all human feelings, 
 And to personal appealings 
 
 Deaf and dumb, he does distribute 
 
 In minutest subdivision 
 His unclean, ill-gotten tribute 
 
 So the robbed get no reversion. 
 
 Aping Christ with guiles of mammon, 
 Spinning woe like myriad Clothos, 
 
 All his homilies just gammon 
 Hurtar para dar por Dios! 
 
 71 
 
BE MY SWEETHEART! 
 
 M 
 
 Y ears are filled with music, 
 My brain is fired with wine; 
 
 My eyes reflect the madness 
 
 That strikes from thine to mine. 
 
 P'or others, charms of thine may hold 
 No pain, no joy, no danger; 
 
 But when for me thy smiles unfold. 
 To peace I'm then a stranger. 
 
 To me, thy voice, thy face, thy ways, 
 Are glimpses of some heaven 
 
 That every glance of thine portrays — 
 Denied as soon as given. 
 
 Ah me! thou ne'er hast learned to love; 
 
 Mayhap 'tis best thou shouldst not: 
 But sadly round this world I'd rove 
 
 If I but thought thou couldst not. 
 
 What though all other things in me 
 
 Fall, ne'er to rise again, 
 Before my hopeless love for thee. 
 
 If that can but remain? 
 
 For all we seek is woman's charm ; 
 
 All other things lead to it: 
 And he who holds true love a harm, 
 
 Will surely live to rue it. 
 
 72 
 
Nestled against thy loving breast 
 My heart might find its home; 
 
 'Tis only there 'twould really rest 
 With no desire to roam. 
 
 Yes! money, fame and power 
 
 May gild the passing hour, 
 
 But love, a woman's love's, so rare 
 That all these vanish into air 
 
 Before its opening flower! 
 
 CHICAGO, THE CITY BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 A Visual Panegyric Epitome. 
 
 s 
 
 UNSET, and a glory on the stream; 
 
 'Round picturesque tepees bare Indian 
 forms ; 
 Sunrise, and a lake of amethyst; 
 
 Pale pioneers in arms, and quick alarms ! 
 
 Midnight, and a fiery heaven o'erhead ; 
 
 Chaos and a ruined, fleeing host; 
 Noontide, and a vast solemnity 
 
 Where hope deferred has given up the ghost ! 
 
 Twilight, and an uncounted multitude ; 
 
 Greek outlines and art's growing atmosphere; 
 Glory, a splendid future, and a past 
 
 Forgotten in the accolade of seer ! 
 
 73 
 
MUSIC IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 A 
 
 VOICE is sweetly singing, 
 Lifting my soul on high, 
 On starry vault impingeing 
 Far notes that softlv die. 
 
 A night-bird's piping thrilling 
 The cloistered boughs among, 
 
 Prolongs, with startling spilling, 
 Some tone the voice has sung. 
 
 The stellar worlds about me 
 
 Stretch down their beams of love; 
 
 All nature's sounds without me 
 Within me subt'ly move. 
 
 The cooling breeze caresses 
 My fevered, fainting brow, 
 
 And with its balm refreshes 
 All tender things that grow. 
 
 Fair Night, in her lone myst'ry, 
 
 Enfolds me in her arms 
 And croons the wordless hist'ry 
 
 Of music's deathless charms. 
 
 The strains of youth and childhood, 
 The paeans of hope and praise, 
 
 Come lilting through the wildwood 
 Adown a thousand ways. 
 
 Lost scenes of distant pleasures, 
 Forgotten dreams of fame, 
 
 Troop back to vibrant measures; 
 And flares life's dormant flame. 
 
 74 
 
Fond lovers rashly basking 
 In Luna's madd'ning ray, 
 
 The very Godhead tasking 
 By their immortal play, 
 
 Lose all recourse when near them 
 
 Is vv^af ted music's spell ; 
 They cry, but none shall hear them 
 
 Nor know they love too well. 
 
 Nepenthe's sable daughter 
 
 Is music in the night, 
 When th' moon is on the water 
 
 And all the stars are bright. 
 
 75 
 
I 
 
 MY AGONY. 
 
 SORROW not for things I cannot have; 
 
 No, not for common grief, 
 But that the hour to me love's glory gave, 
 
 Was brief. 
 
 The blame may fall where Heaven wills, but I— 
 
 I linger on unblest; 
 There is no bosom where my head may lie 
 
 And rest. 
 
 The lips that once on mine were prest, are fled. 
 
 Their youthful love all told; 
 My hopes so dearly entertained are dead 
 
 And cold. 
 
 I wander through the world love's derelict. 
 
 Of time and tide careless; 
 Unhappy, I accept Fate's interdict, 
 
 Redress 
 
 Without my thoughts — Nor crave I any might 
 
 That god or man e'er used 
 To rescue or avenge a human right 
 
 Abused. 
 
 There has been rapt of me the greatest bliss 
 
 Man e'er encounters here — 
 The love-anointed kiss, that holy kiss 
 
 Still dear. 
 
 Then, know ye who these lines scan passion-free- 
 
 Yea! ponder pityingly. 
 How much they must contain of agony 
 
 For me. 
 
 76 
 
w 
 
 SONG TO COLUMBIA. 
 — 1— 
 
 ONDROUS country! fair vales of valor! 
 
 Fondly to thee we closely cling; 
 With wild anthems our hearts are teeming 
 
 To thy glory now we sing! 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 O Columbia, loveliest nation! 
 
 Fairest land of Nature's creation! 
 High our songs of joy, beautiful land, we raise— 
 
 Thy grandeur vast to praise! 
 
 — 2— 
 
 Round thy banner, thy fame acclaiming. 
 Loud we hail thee, as firm we stand : 
 
 We adore thee, our own dear country! 
 Fane of Freedom ! glorious land ! 
 
 77 
 
KISS ME AGAIN! 
 
 KISS me again! 
 In lover's knot 
 Thy arms around my neck, 
 Thy lips on mine 
 In passion hot; 
 
 Nor of conventions reck. 
 
 Kiss me again ! 
 Thine azure orbs 
 
 Bend on my answering eyes; 
 Language were vain 
 While love absorbs 
 
 Such bliss as in them lies. 
 
 Kiss me again ! 
 Thy tender heart 
 
 Held close against my breast; 
 Sweeter the pain, 
 If we must part. 
 For this ecstatic rest. 
 
 Kiss me again ! 
 Thy naked soul 
 
 Unclothed to my dear gaze; 
 Silent remain 
 Till I control 
 
 My soul's responding blaze. 
 
 Kiss me again! 
 
 Thy yielding form 
 
 Relaxed between my arms; 
 Guiltless of stain 
 
 Thy pressure warm; 
 
 Guileless thy madd'ning charms. 
 
 78 
 
Kiss me again! 
 
 Thy head bent back 
 
 And my swift lips on thine; 
 Who would not fain 
 His heart-thirst slake 
 
 From such a cup divine? 
 
 Kiss me again! 
 
 With bosom bare 
 
 And love-flushed, heaving breasts; 
 Let me regain 
 
 My Eden there — 
 
 List thou to my behests! 
 
 Kiss me again ! 
 
 Pass thy soft hand 
 
 Fondly across my brow; 
 Gently restrain 
 
 Love's last demand ; 
 
 Closed let thy eyes droop now. 
 
 Kiss me again! 
 
 Let me lay thee down, 
 
 Blushing and half distraught! 
 Shall I refrain 
 
 With thee, my own, 
 
 In my embrace fast caught? 
 
 Kiss me again! 
 
 Thy arms entwine 
 
 Round me, and nearer creep; 
 Tenderly train 
 
 Love's growing vine: 
 
 Kiss me again and sleep. 
 
 79 
 
E 
 
 WHAT SHALL I WRITE? 
 
 XPECTANT you sit all about me, 
 Full-feasted and wined to delight, 
 And, though all the Muses may flout me, 
 Bid me verses immortal to write. 
 
 Ah well! it were easy to please you 
 
 Could you immortality judge — 
 If the gods would descend and but seize you, 
 
 Your wisdom I'd never begrudge. 
 
 But I know not the depth of your reason 
 Nor the height of your imag'ry's flight, 
 
 So my boldness might seem to you treason, 
 My coloring darker than night. 
 
 The joys that my harp loved to dwell on 
 
 Might wake but a pain or a sigh, 
 As the cell grows in dread to the felon 
 
 When he dreams of the flowers and sky; 
 
 Or the sadness that slipped from my harp strings 
 Might bring back some sorrow so sweet 
 
 That you'd smile at my tears, and love's carpings 
 Tender-bright glow in memory's heat. 
 
 I might write, if I would, of my hoping; 
 
 I might write of my love if I dared ; 
 I might write of my soul's silent groping: 
 
 But how should I know if you cared? 
 
 No! I'll bare not my heart to your pity, 
 Nor tell of my spirit's long fight — 
 
 Shall I write you a psalm or a ditty? 
 
 Pray tell me, friends, what shall I write? 
 
 80 
 
"A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND 
 INDEED." 
 
 Written on the occasion of the reception to its 
 eight surviving charter members of the original 
 twent}', on the twentieth anniversary of the forma- 
 tion of Ben Franklin Council No. 85, Royal League, 
 February 15th, 1912. 
 
 WE are met here tonight after twenty long 
 years; 
 We meet in laughter, we meet in tears — 
 Tears for the dead and smiles for the living. 
 Blessing our Lord for His taking and giving. 
 
 The twenty who started have dwindled to eight. 
 Though the rest have passed over, yet happy their 
 
 fate ; 
 For they've left none behind them to suffer and 
 
 fret — 
 Their forethought's providing for loved ones yet. 
 
 And we later disciples look on and discern 
 The noble rewards that our principles earn — 
 That brotherly help and insurance of store 
 When the Royal League roll-call we answer no 
 
 81 
 
w 
 
 WE KISSED AND PARTED. 
 
 E kissed and parted where the woodbine 
 Embowered in honejed mystery the porch, 
 
 Her lips on mine, my arms around her, 
 
 Hidden from the moon's too brilliant torch. 
 
 I went away upon life's journey; 
 
 She stayed behind and sung faith's simple lays — 
 In memory, 'twas / who lingered; 
 
 In hope and patience, she trod all my wajs. 
 
 But, yet, we dwelt apart in being, 
 
 With many a dreary, weary mile between; 
 
 And many a summer changed to winter 
 
 And many a winter's gray to summer's green. 
 
 And still we loved, the while I labored, 
 And still we loved, the while she waited me: 
 
 Cold Fortune frowned upon my efforts 
 And swore our happiness was not to be. 
 
 At last I could not live without her, 
 
 And back from lonely haunts of gain I fled ; 
 
 And there where first we kissed and parted 
 I pressed her lips again; but she was dead. 
 
 82 
 
I 
 
 I'VE GOT A HOBBY-HORSE! 
 
 VE got a hobby-horse! I've got a hobby-horse! 
 I've got a hobby-horse with a long tail; 
 I feed him cobby-corn; I feed him cobby-corn; 
 I feed him cobby-corn out of a pail. 
 
 He is a spotty horse; he is a spotty-horse; 
 
 He is a spotty-horse, but he won't bite; 
 He is a rocky-horse; he is a rocky-horse 
 
 He is a rocky-horse — rocks day and night. 
 
 Look at my little whip! Look at my little whip! 
 
 Look at my little whip — that makes him go! 
 Many a pretty trip, many a pretty trip, 
 
 Many a pretty trip he and I know. 
 
 LOVE'S CANDOR. 
 
 NAKED ye came and naked ye shall go 
 Into, out of, this o'erclothed world of woe; 
 Is Hollander more virtuous in his five pairs 
 of pants 
 Than is the Afric belle whose leaf-skirt fills her 
 primal wants. 
 
 Know ye, love needs for its true chastity 
 
 No covering of skins; enough to be 
 
 Clothed in its own perfection, pure as monk in 
 
 holy stole: 
 To it the naked body is the "temple of the soul." 
 
 83 
 
WHEN YOU AND I WERE YOUNG 
 TOGETHER. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN you and I were young together 
 Our sun shone bright in stormy weather, 
 Hope seemed a bird of gorgeous feather 
 That tugged not at love's silken tether. 
 
 Then music lilted to sweet measure, 
 At once our master and our treasure, 
 Filled all our toil with heav'nly leisure 
 And made each hour we breathed a pleasure. 
 
 'Twas long ago — have you forgotten 
 Our drunken days, with love besotten, 
 When in our dreams of life we'd wotten 
 Scarce half the J03's to us allotten? 
 
 Ah! it is lovely to remember 
 Our happy June in bleak December! 
 Once our two hearts and every member 
 Of our two bodies madness' temper 
 
 Contained ; and, tho' long years now sever 
 Our present from our past forever. 
 We still retain love's wondrous lever 
 That towards fruition lifts endeavor. 
 
 You're just as beautiful to me 
 As e'er you were; I cannot see 
 A thing in you that I would change: 
 All others' charms to me are strange. 
 
 84 
 
E 
 
 EVERYBODY. 
 
 VERYBODY loves to tell 
 When things with him are going well, 
 Ever3'body likes to steep 
 His own mistakes in silence deep : 
 
 Everybody likes to show 
 
 How like the sun his banners glow; 
 
 Everybody seeks to hide 
 
 Th' abrasions of his wounded pride: 
 
 Everybody loves and hates, 
 On lover and on vengeance waits; 
 Everybody cries sometime — 
 'Most everybody's tried to rhyme: 
 
 Everybody laughs and plays, 
 Bows down to some good god and prays: 
 Everybody's asked to lend, 
 Everybody's lost a friend: 
 
 Everybody comes to grief 
 Ere he ends this life so brief; 
 Everybody tries to rise 
 On winged hopes to kinder skies : 
 
 Everybody thinks he can 
 Do better than some other man; 
 Yet how few do far advance 
 When they really get the chance! 
 
 85 
 
T 
 
 A JUDGMENT. 
 
 HE two predominant dangers 
 
 With which man's doomed to contend 
 Are jealousy and selfishness — 
 
 Beginning but having no end. 
 
 Rooted in ages of hist'ry, 
 
 Branching in deeds of to-day, 
 
 Seeming a mystery yet, in truth, 
 Nothing but passion in play — 
 
 Rises the devil within us — 
 
 Rises before ev'ry fall — 
 Rising to fall and falling to rise. 
 
 Having no substance at all. 
 
 Jealousy waits on our fortune, 
 Selfishness holds back our crown. 
 
 Scoffing, denying and lying low 
 Just for our little renown. 
 
 Down in the dung of the damned 
 These two blind attributes creep, 
 
 Ready to coil and strike at our hearts, 
 Ready all hate to reap. 
 
 86 
 
THE WAIL OF THE HAPLESS SWAIN. 
 
 I 
 
 NEVER met a pretty girl 
 
 But I adored her; 
 Yet when I'd compliment her curl 
 
 She'd say I bored her. 
 
 Now, did she speak me truthfully, 
 
 Or simply guy me? 
 'Tis very sad indeed to see 
 
 Them sailing by me 
 
 With tilted nose and lofty air, 
 
 Indignant scorning 
 My looks of love, while, standing there, 
 
 My heart in mourning. 
 
 Sometime I'll catch one half asleep. 
 
 To her undoing, 
 And marry her ere she can sweep 
 
 Aside my wooing. 
 
 THE BITTER WIND MUST BLOW. 
 
 T 
 
 HE bitter winds of life must blow. 
 
 And you and I must bend before them; 
 
 E'en as the flow'rs which God's hands sow 
 Bow low and let His blasts pass o'er them. 
 
 87 
 
IF RIP VAN WINKLE CAME TO TOWN. 
 
 I 
 
 F Rip VanWinkle came to town 
 
 Again, as in the long ago, 
 How he would stare at the slit gown 
 
 And hobbles built fair shapes to show ! 
 
 And how he'd cough o'er new mixed drinks. 
 
 And dodge the fiery auto-beast! 
 The things we told him between winks 
 
 Would make him think us gods, at least! 
 
 Our buildings mountains animate 
 
 Windowed with elfin eyes, would seem; 
 
 The seeming magic of life's state 
 Phantasmagoria of his dream ! 
 
 And when some wastrel took him out 
 To see th' explosion in Grant Park, 
 
 Or bet him he could turn about 
 
 The' Masonic Temple, how he'd hark! 
 
 The animals in Lincoln Park 
 
 Would gaze in wonder at his clothes, 
 
 And ask him if old Noah's ark 
 Was still the habitance he chose. 
 
 "Where did you get that hat?" would fall 
 In childish warblings on his ear; 
 
 He'd learn about great King Baseball 
 And Kensington's big-schoonered beer. 
 
 He'd learn that women had the Vote, 
 And tremble lest his wife should hear; 
 
 He'd find our meanings far remote 
 And listen to our jokes with fear. 
 
 88 
 
But when, at last, we got him full 
 And wouldn't let him spend a cent. 
 
 He'd ponder on his new-born pull, 
 And care not where in hell he went 
 
 So long's the bottles did not shrink; 
 
 'Till finally he'd fall asleep 
 
 On some sky-scraper's top, and keep. 
 Another twenty years, from drink ! 
 
 FACT AND FANCY— A HISTORY. 
 
 H 
 
 ER face was plain, yet did I love her; 
 
 She knew the world and I did not; 
 Dim shone hope's dawning star above her — 
 
 Mine eyes scarce marked the radiant spot. 
 
 Her life had been a thing of madness ; 
 
 'Twas vain to hope she still was pure; 
 My life had been a thing of sadness — 
 
 Yet did I trust her smile demure. 
 
 We met; and all the gods forsaken 
 By ages that no more shall be. 
 
 Did whisper me the years had taken 
 But facts and left the fancy free. 
 
 We loved, nor could the grave estrange us; 
 
 She died, but left me not alone — 
 Cold facts no longer may arraign us, 
 
 But fancy can for death atone. 
 
 89 
 
A NOCTURNE. 
 
 FAR in the dreamy night, when slumber calls 
 me 
 Into other worlds which God has also 
 made ; 
 Welcome I its beck'ning, whatsoe'er befalls me, 
 Sure that through some fairer fields its path 
 is laid. 
 
 All that day, that thought and plodding study offer, 
 Is but half the life that here on earth is given ; 
 
 Visions of the night unmeditated proffer 
 
 Heights of outlook on a wisdom nearer Heaven. 
 
 When the eyes are closed the brain continues on- 
 ward, 
 
 Perpetual in motion, toward its hidden goal. 
 As the soul turns, early or belated, Zionward; 
 
 Eyes and feet can rest, but neither brain nor soul. 
 
 What is the long lesson we can never learn 
 
 Though 'tis written on each hour of day and 
 night ? 
 
 Is it patience, love, or something great and stern? 
 Is it dark as history or wholly bright? 
 
 When, at last, we, falt'ring, fare death's Rubicon 
 And the answer to life's riddle fairly test. 
 
 Will our eyes grow sleepless as they gaze upon 
 Things so ultimate that brain and soul may rest? 
 
 90 
 
GENTLE SPRING IS LOST. 
 
 I 
 
 R 
 
 ING the bell! sweet Spring is lost 
 In all her maiden finery; 
 Somewhere, b}' the tempest tost, 
 Holding out her arms to me. 
 
 Through the woodland, o'er the hill, 
 Far I seek her longingly. 
 
 But her voice is mute and still, 
 Nor her footprints can I see. 
 
 Banished to some distant land, 
 There she weeps diurnally; 
 
 Here her stalks all barren stand 
 That should bloom so vernally. 
 
 Come! sweet Spring, ere I despair, 
 
 Coyly, smiling, slenderly. 
 Garlanded your hands and hair; 
 
 Come, and kiss me tenderly. 
 
 MARTYRDOM. 
 
 BIDE my time — why not? — Fate wills it so 
 And I could not do elsewise if I would — 
 
 With open eyes I dream long years and slow, 
 Waiting my call with hope and fortitude. 
 
 91 
 
WHY? 
 
 THE growing child, when told some common 
 truth 
 Or shown the secret of some power's use, 
 Uncomprehending, stares with dreaming eye; 
 Then, with awakening instinct, asks you: "Whyi"' 
 
 So long you've known that truth or power to go 
 Unchallenged, you your own surprise may show 
 At what appears to be his strange reply — 
 Yet, pressed so quickly, scarce can tell him "why." 
 
 Blame not the young because they questions ask — 
 The colt wots nothing of his later task; 
 Hope living ne'er can learn that it must die 
 Without the unconscious question rising: "Why?" 
 
 Fate pla3's us many a prank in wanton spite, 
 And darkening day proclaims a darker night; 
 Then, all unwarranted. Fate sets us high 
 And the night breaks in starry splendor — Why? 
 
 Some heart we trod upon in our mad haste 
 Towards Fortune's goal, seemed but its love to 
 
 waste ; 
 Yet, when disasters swell our lonely sigh, 
 That heart receives us back unquestioned — Why? 
 
 The world's a reappearing question mark — 
 New doubts arise as daylight follows dark; 
 For doubts bring brightness, since they multiply 
 The precious things we learn from asking: "Why?" 
 
 92 
 
Why worry, then, for fear some future day 
 Will find us tangled in untaught dismay? 
 No obstacle can stay us if we try 
 To overcome its strength by asking: "Why?" 
 
 God moves in ways inscrutable to perform 
 
 His wonders: though His wrath rides on the storm. 
 
 His love turns rain to rainbow in the sky — 
 
 And, like children, we can only wonder: "Why?" 
 
 S 
 
 SHE. 
 
 HE'S sweet; she's kind; she's true! 
 She's too good for this world and you! 
 I wish she were mine that her heart might di- 
 vine 
 The things I'd like to do — 
 
 To dwell in her thoughts at night; 
 To kindle love's stormy light 
 
 In her ej^es so demure; to strive and endure 
 Till she trembled before my might! 
 
 For Love is the King of Pow'r, 
 The god of the minute and hour: 
 
 It dazzles hope's eyes and blazons life's skies, 
 Like the rainbow after the shower. 
 
 93 
 
o 
 
 OH! ISNT ITl 
 A Two-Step Lyric. 
 
 H ! isn't it odd, 
 And isn't it sad, 
 
 That you're so good 
 And I'm so bad? 
 
 Oh! isn't it fine! 
 
 Oh ! isn't it joy ! 
 That you're divine 
 
 And I'm a boy ! 
 
 Oh ! isn't it sweet 
 
 Our eyes may glance, 
 Our lips may meet. 
 
 Our feet may dance! 
 
 Oh! isn't it well 
 
 Your heart is true 
 And I can tell 
 
 My love to you? 
 
 Oh! isn't it fate, 
 
 My own sweet heart. 
 That we shall mate. 
 
 No more to part? 
 
 And isn't it right 
 
 That, come what may, 
 Love's quenchless light 
 
 Shall light our way? 
 
 My love, my queen, my goddess, saint! 
 I dream, I pray, I cry, I faint! 
 My looks, my sighs, my songs, my plea, 
 Have one same wondrous cause to be! 
 
 94 
 
UTOPIA. 
 
 THROUGH changing climes m.v feet may 
 tread, 
 And all the past inter its dead ; 
 But, let my face once turn to home, 
 My weary feet will cease to roam. 
 
 Though friends may meet and friends may part, 
 The Lord will heal the wounded heart; 
 But when two hearts are hlent as one 
 The tale of Heaven is just begun. 
 
 o 
 
 THE POET'S PRAYER. 
 
 UR Father which art on Heaven's throne, 
 Hallowed be thy name alone; 
 Thy kingdom come ; thy will be done. 
 Its rule in Heaven and earth be one ; 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread. 
 
 Though by the ravens we be fed ; 
 
 Forgive us, trespassing, our ways — 
 
 Forgive we those who blight our days; 
 
 Temptation place not in our path — 
 
 Keep us from evil's aftermath: 
 
 Thy kingdom, power and glory be 
 
 Omnipotent eternally! 
 Amen. 
 
 95 
 
WHEN WE MEET, NO MORE TO PART. 
 
 w 
 
 HEN we meet, no more to part. 
 Love exchanging, heart to heart. 
 Shall some sadness from the past, 
 Come between our souls at last? 
 
 E'en beneath the wrath of God, 
 Shall our love in slumber nod ; 
 Shall our eye-lids droop In shame 
 O'er some half-forgotten name? 
 
 Shall the miseries we've felt 
 When apart we lonely dwelt, 
 Creep into our heavenly bliss — 
 Steal the nectar from our kiss? 
 
 Shall we sigh or weakly falter — 
 Seek the ways of God to alter — 
 Or, content with what He gave, 
 Mock the mockery of the grave? 
 
 No! when we meet, no more to part. 
 Heart of mine who holy art. 
 Life and death and Heaven will seem 
 But the rainbow of our dream! 
 
 96 
 
WHEN THE MOON SHINES ON THE 
 SNOW. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN the moon shines on the snow 
 We forget, yes! every woe, 
 
 Gulfed within the prismy, white, 
 Silent, translatitious night. 
 
 'For her orb, so soft o'erhead. 
 Life to dreams has subtly led — 
 
 Far beyond cold reason's pale. 
 To imag'ry's scented vale — " 
 
 This I wrote when I came in. 
 
 When alone with night I'd been- 
 
 Brighter words God sent to me 
 While I walked, night's revery 
 
 Wrapped about me like a cloak, — 
 
 Vanishing as I awoke; 
 But my memory could not keep 
 
 Whispers of that silence deep. 
 
 When again I nature seek 
 I'll remember man is weak, 
 
 And, to notate God's command. 
 Bear a pencil in my hand. 
 
 Underneath the Museful moon 
 Lines that come to me too soon 
 
 I'll indite by her own light 
 E'er they can escape me quite. 
 
 97 
 
STAND FOR SOMETHING 
 
 THERE is no being, howsoever handicapped 
 By frailty, ignorance or fickle Fortune's 
 frown, 
 Who cannot, — either through his dulling 
 daily tasks 
 Or by that thing to which his secret heart aspires, — 
 Develop some inherent aptitude beyond 
 Its common application in the lives of men, — 
 If he but give loose rein to fancy, heart and brain. 
 
 No matter what the greatness or simplicity 
 
 Of the idea or ideal obsessing him, 
 
 The constant straining of his soul along one line 
 
 Must lead to heights of individual altitude 
 
 That separate him from the thoughtless mass around 
 
 And mark him for the cynosure of all men's eyes. 
 
 God never meant us to live out our granted days 
 As simple cogs in the great engine of the world ; 
 But planted somewhere in each sentient human 
 
 thing 
 A seed of immortality that must upspring 
 In fronds of some particular, peculiar shape 
 Of beauty or of usefulness that stands alone, — 
 If only it is watered by ambition's tears. 
 
 To stand for something is not only possible, 
 But ordered both by Nature and by God ! 
 "To be or not to be" is the great question still: 
 Whether 'tis best to sink to common, trodden clay. 
 Or like a star, however small, to blaze on high ! 
 
 98 
 
I 
 
 ALONE AT CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 'M brooding lone where fire-light casts 
 No shadows of the past, 
 In steam-fed room of city flat 
 O'er traffic loud and fast. 
 
 No kith nor kin doth here look in ; 
 
 No smiles nor laughter bring 
 The faces that I used to love 
 
 Back to me — bells may ring 
 
 For Christmas morn and all it holds 
 For those who still may dwell 
 
 Among the idols of their hearths: 
 To me 'tis but the knell 
 
 Of all those hopes that, ranging through 
 
 The mind's diurnal round, 
 Must fail and falter when the dead 
 
 Have hallowed common ground. 
 
 Yet there are living just as dead, 
 Yea, far more dead than they: 
 
 The selfish hearts, the closed hands. 
 The feet that part the way. 
 
 There's many a one, who placed like me, 
 Would scoff at loos'ning ties; 
 
 There're just as many droop and grieve 
 'Neath absence's weary sighs. 
 
 But / am oh, so sad to-night 
 
 I wish the coming day 
 Might never dawn, or that its light 
 
 Might bear my soul away! 
 
 99 
 
c 
 
 WALTZ LOVE SONG. 
 
 OME now my love, my dove, my dear; 
 For you I wait, I fear; 
 Brightly the stars, the moon, the sky 
 Light up your hair, your eye ! 
 
 Sadly I grieve, I cry, I sob. 
 Fearing that Fate may rob; 
 Wistf'ly I dream, I long, I pray 
 From me you may not stray. 
 
 Tender the thoughts my heart, my mind, 
 In your incentive find ; 
 Weary the hour, the void, the sigh 
 When, love, you are not by. 
 
 Wantonly cling, and climb and crowd. 
 Calling my name aloud ; 
 Tremulous to your side I'll creep — 
 Watch o'er j^our slumbers keep. 
 
 100 
 
RAPACITY'S SIREN CALL. 
 
 W 
 
 E who forsake the love of human-kind 
 
 For sordid ties, 
 Awake that ruthless envy in the mind, 
 
 That dormant lies. 
 
 Yet there's so much of failure in this world, 
 
 And wounded pride — 
 Ambition with its banner scarce unfurled 
 
 Before it died ! 
 
 All things so quickly change, who would survive 
 
 Must swiftly run; 
 The tasks we set ourselves, howe'er we strive 
 
 Are never done. 
 
 Each goal we think the last is but the gate 
 
 To higher goals 
 Receding, one by one, till courage Fate 
 
 Denies our souls. 
 
 E'en then we falter on, though to be lost 
 
 In dawning doubt; 
 Long since we've ceased to reason out the cost, 
 
 To care about 
 
 Those whom we tread upon to reach that height 
 
 So long desired — 
 There but to bask in wealth and glory's light 
 
 Till joy is tired. 
 
 May not some nobler brain and purer heart. 
 
 With wiser trend. 
 Find, where the paths of gain and virtue part, 
 
 A happier end? 
 
 101 
 
K 
 
 MON AMI. 
 To H. H. H. 
 
 FRIEND in need's a friend indeed" — 
 A worn out saw, you say? 
 Well, man has formed no nobler creed 
 To drive despair away. 
 
 There may be some who've never felt 
 
 The need of one strong heart 
 To lean upon, as Jesus did 
 
 On Gethsemane apart. 
 
 There may be one so steeped in pride 
 
 Or blest by Fortune's whim. 
 That doubts can not with him abide 
 
 Nor penury threaten him. 
 
 But to the multitude of men 
 
 The hour must sometime come 
 When those who once his friends have been, 
 
 To his appeals are dumb. 
 
 Then he will know in some degree 
 
 The pains that Jesus bore 
 Before his soul was tortured free 
 
 From earthly form it wore. 
 
 Then he will learn, if not before, 
 Most friendship's but skin-deep; 
 
 That when one's palmy days are o'er 
 Old friends may hold him cheap. 
 
 Then, in his need, he'll learn the worth 
 
 Of those who've never changed. 
 Whose faith and deeds redeem the earth 
 
 From graciousness estranged. 
 
 102 
 
I, on life's dreary tempest tost, 
 Have found a friend in need — 
 
 'Twas worth the cost of all I'd lost 
 To find a friend indeed. 
 
 SONG OF THE LAZY MAN. 
 
 I WISH I had a pretty girl to 'liminate my 
 sorrow 
 And make the dream of yesterday come back 
 to life tomorrow; 
 And, oh, I wish my pretty girl would never drink 
 
 or smoke, 
 Nor spend my money on herself and make me take 
 the joke. 
 
 But ah! maybe I'm better off to own no fair head 
 
 curly ; 
 Because I then can lie in bed, nor have to get up 
 
 early 
 To earn elusive spondulicks to buy her vanities: 
 Yup! "scratching" for a woman's sake is worse 
 
 than scratching fleas. 
 
 103 
 
THE POOR POET AND HIS ROLL 
 
 T 
 
 HE poet, he lay on his pallet 
 
 And mourned that his muse she was dead, 
 While the rats, nothing loth, formed a ballet. 
 
 And danced on the rafters o'erhead. 
 
 The poet was hungry — his verses 
 Not e'en into sandwiches turned. 
 
 His lines trailed each other like hearses. 
 His soul with its impotence burned. 
 
 Sweet slumber denied him her semblance 
 
 Of happiness, and but awoke 
 His belly's regretful remembrance 
 
 Of poverty's pitiless poke. 
 
 He turned and he tossed in his sorrow; 
 
 Ah! it was so little he asked! 
 Just light and a living tomorrow, 
 
 Just the goddess of fortune unmasked; 
 
 Just the crumbs as they fell from the table 
 
 Of opulence, to him denied. 
 Just to write on the best he was able, 
 
 To strive for Art's mis'rable pride ! 
 
 He prayed, and the gods his demanding 
 Must have heard in their uttermost lairs. 
 
 For next morning he fell on the landing. 
 And had a fine roll — on the stairs! 
 
 104 
 
T 
 
 LEOLA. 
 
 HE night was dark — I could not see — 
 When first Leola came to me; 
 But, still, her voice, so like the brook, 
 Rippled so sweet I longed to look. 
 
 This craving-fret that did possess 
 My senses, all so strained to guess 
 Her outward mould and mien, obsessed 
 My spirit till I could not rest. 
 
 If like her voice her face and form, 
 The whole a strength'ning of each charm, 
 'Twere bliss indeed to contemplate — 
 H such might be my happy fate 
 
 To verify night's prophecy 
 
 In loveliness disclosed to me. 
 
 Oh! foolish doubts! when daylight streamed 
 
 I found her lovelier than I dreamed. 
 
 105 
 
ALL YOUNG THINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Y 
 
 EA, all young things are wildly beautiful — 
 The playful child, the lamb, the budding 
 rose, 
 Th' imaginative kitten and the puppy plump. 
 The gamboling calf, the colt — no thought can 
 clothe 
 
 Itself in words so brightly beautiful 
 
 As are the simple charms of early youth: 
 God gives to all fair beauty's heritage, 
 As He gives all the heritage of use. 
 
 'Tis true that youth is passing beautiful. 
 Aye! more than beautiful, in everything! 
 
 The fresh skin and the wonder-rounded eyes, 
 Th' unconscious dignity of babies, bring 
 
 To naught the vap'rings of the misanthrope 
 Who deals in poisons self-inoculated. 
 
 Who scoffs the bloom of adolescent days 
 With his own ugliness of heart inflated. 
 
 When we are young and strong and life is sweet. 
 The whole wide world seems doubly beautiful ; 
 
 Wide-eyed, we gather, swift and free and gay. 
 All things to loveliness transmutable. 
 
 There's not a flow'r that, lovely in the bud. 
 
 Droops not when it no longer tempts the eye: 
 
 Things live so long as they are beautiful ; 
 When they have lost their beauty slowly die. 
 
 106 
 
O, can you breathe and not yet understand 
 That beauty is the ultimate aim of God, 
 
 Who plants His wondrous image in the womb, 
 His variegated blossoms in the sod? 
 
 What greater, fairer lesson can we learn 
 
 Than that we all are once to beauty given. 
 
 And that the longer we to beauty hold 
 The closer our similitude to Heaven? 
 
 w 
 
 HOPE STILL! 
 
 HEN all thy friends shall pass thee by 
 
 And hope has fled thy sky, 
 I'll take thee by the hand, my friend. 
 
 And bid thee not to die. 
 
 For oh! that sky that gloomed at eve 
 May clear in morning's light, 
 
 And all those wishes held so dear. 
 Come true before to-night. 
 
 Then seek no hope that shall be shy 
 Of love's sweet hour's despair. 
 
 And fight because 'tis shame to fail — 
 With angels on the stair. 
 
 107 
 
IT SEEMS FUNNY TO HAVE MONEY. 
 
 I 
 
 T seems funny to have money 
 
 When you've been a poet long — 
 Though your lines flow sweet as honey 
 No one wants to buy your song. 
 
 Though your heart beats in your measures 
 And your soul cries in each word, 
 
 Those who seek but pelf and pleasures 
 Give no sign that they have heard. 
 
 Till, one day, some aberration — 
 Or strange drink — a critic moves. 
 
 And with sudden admiration 
 Your long-hated verse he loves. 
 
 Other critics and "wise" readers. 
 Knowing not that he was crazed 
 
 When he typed your name in leaders, 
 All in turn rise up amazed 
 
 At the beauty, depth and status 
 Of your work, its fire and fame; 
 
 Worship your "divine afflatus," 
 
 Hang upon your words and name! 
 
 Then you know they understand you. 
 Though you write just as of yore; 
 
 And the money people hand you 
 Makes j'ou smile behind the door. 
 
 108 
 
WHEN FORTUNE AND FRIENDS FOR- 
 SAKE ME. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN Fortune and friends shall forsake me 
 
 ril waste no fair minutes in grief: 
 They may bend but they never can break 
 me; 
 The hour of their passing is brief. 
 
 A smile that can fade when you stumble, 
 Or a frown that can come when you win, 
 
 May impress the obsequiously humble 
 Who dare not tell virtue from sin ; 
 
 But I've learned that to suffer in spirit 
 For slights and indifference shown. 
 
 Is a pain that is empty of merit, 
 
 Nor brings back one hope that is flown. 
 
 I care not for those who observe me; 
 
 Their eyes and their tongues are their own: 
 And when they no longer will serve me, 
 
 I'll breathe just as happy alone. 
 
 They can take back their hearts and their favor- 
 There are others as true and as great — 
 
 The Pharisees laughed at our Savior; 
 The gods were outstripped by their fate. 
 
 So I'll go on my way still rejoicing 
 
 Though Fortune and friends disappear. 
 
 All things that are beautiful voicing, 
 And preaching the folly of fear. 
 
 109 
 
SUNSET ON RED EAGLE LAKE, 
 GLACIER NATIONAL PARK. 
 
 THERE is a region barely trod of man 
 Whose marvelous, mighty glaciers fascinate — 
 A flowery, high-walled fastness far remote — 
 Where Beauty smiles in new-discovered guise. 
 'Tis where the Continental Great Divide, 
 Whose rivers join North, West and, South, com- 
 mands 
 The sweeping stretches of Montana's plains. 
 
 There blue Red Eagle Lake sequestered sleeps, 
 
 A limpid turquoise set in golden band, 
 
 What time the Wind-God folds his quivering 
 
 wings ; 
 And leaping trout flash white and green and pink 
 Where, as the seasons ebbed and flowed through 
 
 those 
 Long ages ere the race of men was spawned, 
 The glaciers dropped their icebergs thundering 
 
 down 
 Abysses chiseled by the hand of Time. 
 
 Where the Great Builder left the odds and ends 
 Of His world-making in disordered heap, 
 And all is as it was when He was done — 
 The twisted strata's angles, spirals, whorls, 
 Tracing like print Convulsion's ancient rule 
 Ere the young world in horror solid froze — 
 Dame Nature kind her wonders has condensed, 
 Run riot with abandon unrestrained ; 
 With unrestricted fancy carved and hewn, 
 And scattered jewels with a reckless heed. 
 
 110 
 
• F l_ O W E R - S T R E 
 "Al R NEIGHBOR 
 
 WILDEST BLOOMS THE PRAIRIE 
 SOMBRE CLIFFS AND TREES'' 
 
'Tis summer sunset and Red Eagle soars, 
 
 Vast, knife-edged, cleft and splintered, sheer aloft; 
 
 Outlined majestic, rude, against the heav'ns, 
 
 Stern, awesome, silent, grave, austere — 
 
 Grim sentinel of the paradise he guards! 
 
 A glory pours adown twixt purple peaks 
 
 With castellated pinnacles aglow. 
 
 Flooding with vaporous light the vale below ; 
 
 Long mist-scarfs stream from the peaks' shoulders 
 
 out, 
 Like foamy hollows on a mountain-sea; 
 Diaphanous, the shadows mount the crags. 
 Curtaining their roughness till 'tis glacial-smooth; 
 Far-seen, the hoary-crowned, primeval heights 
 Reared on great pulpit-stones astounding-hued, 
 Are glittering with a myriad diamonds' sheen. 
 And, mirrored in cold, solemn lake fall-fed 
 By tumbling torrent born of snow and spring — 
 To madly dash, and burst spectacular, 
 'Thwart palisaded amphitheatres; 
 And, tortuous and perpendicular. 
 To leap from precipice to precipice. 
 Roaring, twisting, swirling, frothy-white. 
 Booming, snarling, whining in its rage, 
 'Neath irised arches dancing in its mist, 
 Down deep, weird canyons to a peaceful goal — 
 Dark silhouetted on inverted tints 
 Of glorious, rainbow-colored sunset clouds, 
 The black-tail stands and lifts his lonely call 
 Clear-echoing like music down the wind — 
 The ripples circling from him to the shores, 
 To sway the lush-green-tinted grass and rush. 
 In terraced, lightening shades the colors rise, 
 Past odorous evergreens whose network dense 
 No sun-ray penetrates, past rock and snow. 
 From verdant foreground to a gorgeous sky — 
 The long perspective distancing the eye, 
 That falters o'er such loveliness sublime! 
 
 Ill 
 
'Tis like a painted master-piece of Art 
 Wrought in a tantalizing clare-obscure, 
 Complete, impressionistic, true and grand, 
 Where, each and all, the graces Nature holds 
 Seem to seduce and charm the artist's hand. 
 
 F'lower-strewn with wildest blooms the prairie lies, 
 Fair neighbor to the sombre cliffs and trees; 
 In gaps at turns of wooded, winding trail 
 Bright vistas of white-crested mounts are framed, 
 Red, green and 3^ellow, violet, pink and gold, 
 Where, up and down and in and out and 'round, 
 The perilous rim-rock guides exploring feet; 
 The conifers like suppliant subjects bow — 
 Spruce, cedar, hemlock, pine, fir, tamarack — 
 And pungent incense waft to stony kings ; 
 The fluttering, satin-ribbon waterfall 
 Soft-shimmers o'er the trees' dark, lustrous fur; 
 Dark, thin-lipped caverns' cruel, yawning mouths 
 Low moan, as if some ice-imprisoned breeze 
 Were sobbing for the sunlight and the pines: 
 Each view the parting but the harder makes — 
 Here hunger is forgot whilst eye and soul 
 Are feasting on ambrosia of the gods. 
 
 In this untamed retreat God reigns alone. 
 And man but can look on and startled gasp. 
 His heart upwelling in his speechless throat 
 At its wild grandeur — O, unconscious gem 
 Held pulsing, calm and rare in Nature's clasp! 
 
 The air is keen and balsamic, and strange ; 
 
 The throaty whistle of the wind is like a dirge; 
 
 A quiet of the sepulchre subdues; 
 
 The mind doth cower in inherent awe 
 
 Of the Unknown — one shudders and is still! 
 
 Lost in the wilderness of wonderland : 
 
 Here all the rapt hyperboles of men 
 
 Are dumb before a Beauty too profound ! 
 
 112 
 
If this as lovely as famed Zurich be, 
 Thrice fortunate are they who Zurich see! 
 
 Here from the city's madding daily grind 
 
 One comes — a garden and a God to find! 
 
 To slumber 'neath the starry heavens clear; 
 
 To hunter's epic to give humble ear; 
 
 To thrill to mvstic legends of the past; 
 
 To find the gate to happiness at last; 
 
 With Freedom, blessed Freedom ! 'round to roam, 
 
 And sing his heart out in sweet songs of home: 
 
 And, when he parts, with sighing resignation, 
 From valleys, mountains, woodlands, lakes and 
 streams — 
 Fulfilled and glorified his expectation — 
 
 Of whispering pines and purling floods he dreams. 
 The hours he gives to them will not be taken 
 From his life's sum — will lengthen it, not shorten; 
 They call him back to live and be immortal — 
 To enter, through this Eden, Heaven's Portal! 
 
 113 
 
THE SHINDY AT HAFER'S; 
 
 OR THE BATTLE OF THE SHEEP AND 
 
 GOATS. 
 
 T 
 
 WAS a Saturday night and all the boys 
 
 Were a-feeling of their oats 
 When the trouble began at Hafer's place 
 
 Between the sheep and goats. 
 
 The bar was lined from end to end 
 
 With gentlemen of ease, 
 When some son-of-a-gun locked both the doors 
 
 And threw away the keys. 
 
 Then the Irish and the Dutch took sides, 
 
 With plain drunks in between, 
 And the sound waxed loud and strenuous 
 
 Of "The Wearing of the Green." 
 
 Till up sprung one fat Dutchman wild 
 
 And yelled "Cut out that dope! 
 To h — 1 with all the Irishmen! 
 
 God d — n the Dago pope!" 
 
 With that, the goats and sheep got mixed 
 Till you couldn't tell horns from bleat; 
 
 And after the shindy was over, well! 
 Only two were on their feet. 
 
 Well, the rest got up and formed a ring 
 
 And egged the last two on. 
 Till they surged and rolled like a ship at sea 
 
 That the wild waves beat upon. 
 
 14 
 
One fighter grabbed hold of the other's tie 
 
 And wouldn't let go at all; 
 The other fought with both hands, and feet — 
 
 Sure, it was a lovely squall! 
 
 They got as mad as roosters when 
 
 Neither from 'tother shrinks — 
 But they called it a draw and shook hands all 
 round 
 
 When Hafer set up the drinks. 
 
 ARIADNE. 
 
 A song. Air: "Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior. 
 
 T 
 
 HERE'S no heaven like your presence; 
 
 Mortals can no fairer boon 
 In the mines or 'neath the ocean 
 
 Find, to crown life's happy noon. 
 
 Ah! I tenderly adore you; 
 
 All my happiness you make; 
 Love's bright wings are hov'ring o'er you 
 
 Losing you, my heart must break! 
 
 Joy, health, love and hope 
 
 Be your minst'ring band; 
 While on others you are smiling 
 
 Reach to me your beck'ning hand. 
 
 15 
 
DUST. 
 
 TO-DAY the Spring's wind "bloweth where 
 it listeth," 
 Scatt'ring the dust of winter's long decay 
 Over the sweet young grass and early blos- 
 soms 
 Donning their bright regalia of May. 
 
 It blows its breath in through the open window, 
 Cooling the fevered brow low-bent with care, 
 
 Drawing the weary mind away to nature. 
 Leaving the tang of new emotions there. 
 
 But in my room, where windows now are shuttered, 
 The sun shines through some crevice in the blind, 
 
 The dust motes dancing fast and fascinating 
 Within the slanting beam so clear-defined. 
 
 And in my pain this seems a Jacob's ladder, 
 Reaching from my spent life to joy on high — 
 
 I know it's only dust by sun-rays gilded ; 
 But, 3'^et, it makes me more content to die. 
 
 116 
 
AREN'T YOU GLAD? 
 
 A Song. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN the stars are gleaming 
 And the skies are blue, 
 
 And of love she's dreaming; 
 Isn't she glad it's you? 
 
 When the sun is shining 
 
 On the land and sea, 
 And your love's divining; 
 
 Aren't you glad it's she? 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 If she's glad it's you 
 
 And you're glad it's she. 
 
 And you have each other 
 
 How glad you both might be! 
 
 O 
 
 "MY SYMPHONY." 
 
 H, my! 
 
 My health is good, my hopes are high 
 I love my soup, but O! you pie! 
 I'll surely live until I die: 
 And vi^hile I live, I won't go dry. 
 O, my! 
 
 117 
 
T 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 () love is natural ; the human heart 
 
 Feeds on itself, yet hungers, when alone. 
 
 And, weary with the burden of the void. 
 Bleeds o'er the ruin of sterile fancies sown. 
 
 The man who has not loved some woman well. 
 The woman who has ne'er adored a man. 
 
 Knows not that narrow road to happiness 
 Which broadens, as it were a river ran. 
 
 The jewels that we wear we cherish most 
 When lost or losing luster in their rays ; 
 
 So love, which is the jewel of the heart, 
 
 Seems brightest in the light of dark'ning days. 
 
 The vistas of the stony paths we climbed 
 Grow roseate if love was planted there, 
 
 And, looking back, we find a paradise 
 
 Sprung from forgotten footprints unaware. 
 
 The man has never lived was half a man 
 
 Who had not been by some good woman loved, 
 
 Hope, sympathy and comfort, truth and faith, 
 The fulcrum sure on which his lever moved. 
 
 No woman ever came into her own 
 
 Until like Mary Magdalene she'd knelt, 
 
 Washed with her tears and dried them with her 
 hair 
 The feet of Him she told the love she felt. 
 
 The wild she-wolf's as tender to her whelp 
 As to the helpless lamb the gentle ewe; 
 
 A child who goes unloved 's the saddest thing 
 That from unhappy fortune can ensue. 
 
 118 
 
Christ tells us this in every parable: 
 
 That love's the greatest power we are given 
 
 It moves alike the mighty and the meek, 
 
 Resistlessly it sways the earth and Heaven. 
 
 T 
 
 THE NEW SOCIALISM. 
 
 IME passes; while its changes come- 
 New smiles, new tears, 
 
 Heart calls to heart, tho' lips be dumb, 
 Adown the years. 
 
 For heart on heart has now begun, 
 
 All exorcised 
 Their selfishness, to beat as one — 
 
 The heart of Christ. 
 
 Equality of opportunity 
 
 Approaches to transform humanity 
 To comrades flourishing in unity, 
 
 Beyond the need of greed and vanity. 
 
 119 
 
T 
 
 IT'S GREAT TO BE HUNGRY! 
 
 HE bum with the empty belly 
 
 Whines out his sad appeal 
 For a dime, as a jobless worker 
 
 Who must beg for his food or steal. 
 
 He tells you his tale of sorrow 
 
 And, though you don't half believe. 
 
 When he comes to the part w^here he's hungry 
 You hardly can help but grieve. 
 
 And you dig up a paltry nickle 
 
 Ere imagination cloys 
 O'er the picture that he has painted 
 
 ' CI LUC ^n_Luic Liiau lie iiao jjaii 
 
 Of his loss of the table's joys. 
 
 Now, this plea of his awful hunger 
 
 If you'd but view it aright 
 Gives a glimpse of that bum's sweet heaven- 
 
 A glorious appetite! 
 
 And you know that, in this rich country. 
 
 Men do not die unfed ; 
 That murderers, even, are feasted 
 
 Ere they're up to the scaffold led. 
 
 So don't mourn for the hungry bummer — 
 
 He has his happy times — 
 Remember, it's great to be hungry. 
 
 And the world is still full of dimes! 
 
 120 
 
LOVE AND THE LAW. 
 
 W 
 
 HEREAS, I love you true, 
 
 My life is sweet — 
 My heart is suing you 
 With every beat. 
 
 Whereas, you love me not, 
 
 Your life is cold — 
 Your heart indicts the plot 
 
 Love's words unfold. 
 
 Therefore, I'll try to plead 
 
 A common cause 
 And prove the heart's sore need 
 
 Love's best of laws. 
 
 Moreover, though I err 
 
 And damn my suit, 
 That love can hate incur 
 
 I will refute. 
 
 And finally, I'll pray 
 
 My heart alone 
 Imprisoned be for aye 
 
 Within your own. 
 
 121 
 
o 
 
 THE TOYSHOP WINDOW. 
 
 NE stormy Christmas eve in bleak December 
 I walked the busy marts, as I remember, 
 And, musing on men's reborn zest in life, 
 I mingled in the sweet, unselfish strife. 
 
 I saw the many enter — th' eager eye; 
 I saw the few without o'er awed and shy ; 
 I knew not whether to rejoice with one 
 Or sorrow with the other — passing on 
 
 I fell to moralizing on the time 
 And, later, to reducing it to rhyme — 
 The poet has his place in Nature's plan. 
 Though asinits ad lyt-atn, still, a man. 
 
 Methought, though were the good things of the land 
 Unequally dispensed by Fortune's hand. 
 The happiness they brought to each could not 
 Be measured simply by that part he got. 
 
 For this I would submit to every test, 
 Sure that of all conclusions 'tis the best 
 That whether this or that's for joy or rue, 
 Depends entirely on one's point of view. 
 
 The pampered child expecting all it craves. 
 In infantile, unreas'ning passion raves 
 For some one thing denied it ; while the child 
 Of poverty, by affluence undefiled, 
 
 Looks in the toyshop window as though given 
 In mercy multiplied, a glimpse of heaven. 
 Which, think you, is the happier of the twain — 
 Which, in the hour of death, will least complain? 
 
 122 
 
The rich child's always in ungrateful pet, — 
 No joy was ever made to suit it yet; 
 The poor child's gifted with imagination 
 To equalize their difference in station. 
 
 Some business-men say poetry's all rot — 
 
 Imagination pure — but, like as not. 
 
 When they've but sought, they will this truth have 
 
 found : 
 Imagination makes the world go round ! 
 
 THE LITTLE RED WAGON. 
 
 THE little red wagpn rusts out in the shed ; 
 It rumbles no more, for poor Johnnie is dead. 
 Before little Johnnie fell into the well 
 He played 'twas an engine a-ringing its bell ; 
 Or sometimes, an auto a-tooting its horn ; 
 Or, maybe, the milkman disturbing the morn. 
 'Twas something or other from morning to night — 
 'Twas his own; he could call it whatever he might — 
 // never denied him; but iioiv it is just 
 A little red wagon all covered with dust. 
 
 123 
 
'LUXURIOUS LOBSTER-NIGHTS, FARE- 
 WELL!" 
 
 Air: '"Twas Off the Blue Canaries," 
 or: "It Was My Last Cigar." 
 
 T 
 
 HE shades of penury 'round me fall 
 Where once the crimson cloak 
 
 Bedecked my person: wealth and all 
 Have proved a sorry joke. 
 
 Ne'er more shall fortune toll the bell 
 That summoned me to feasts: 
 
 Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell! — 
 I forage with the beasts. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Luxurious lobster-nights ! 
 Luxurious lobster-nights ! 
 
 Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell ! 
 Turn down the glass and lights. 
 
 For me the beaker ne'er again 
 Shall foam in crystal bubbles; 
 
 No more for me the pot contain 
 Full panacea for troubles: 
 
 The smiles of beaux, the spice of wit. 
 No longer grace my board: 
 
 I'm broke and all the rest of it — 
 Fortuna's turned untoward. 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 
 Now beans and pie look good to me, 
 
 And beer is nectar pure; 
 The sleek cat looks like food to me — 
 
 I banquet with the poor. 
 
 124 
 
They say starvation's now the style, 
 
 And every ill will cure; 
 So I'll be in the swim the while 
 
 Its benefits inure. 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 
 And yet I dream, ah! many a night! 
 
 Of champagne, ducks and salad 
 And all that made that past so bright— 
 
 Before I wrote this ballad: 
 
 I think, sometimes, my clothes I'd sell 
 
 To realize that dream — 
 Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell! — ■ 
 
 My days with sorrows teem. 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 
 125 
 
THE HOUSE OF PLEASURE— A SONG. 
 
 M 
 
 USIC and flowers and wine; 
 Woman — yes, woman divine! 
 
 And champagne's bright bubble — 
 
 The graveyard of trouble, 
 Where we listen and guzzle and dine. 
 
 Laughter and dancing and passion ; 
 Money and folly and fashion; 
 
 Forgetting, forgiving 
 
 In riotous living; 
 Bare bosoms that diamonds flash on. 
 
 Sleepy and happy and drunk — 
 
 Little girl, pack your clothes in my trunk; 
 With your high-diddle-diddle 
 Burn both ends towards the middle; 
 
 You can put your shoes under my bunk. 
 
 Come to the great house of pleasure: 
 
 Joys of unlimited measure 
 
 Blithely await you, to sink 
 
 Into your soul with each drink — 
 
 Take to your heart the delights of tonight 
 
 Lest forever they fade on the morning's light. 
 
 126 
 
I 
 
 IDA. 
 
 DA is my ideal; 
 
 Her eyes are gray, 
 Yet chill not like December 
 But charm like May. 
 
 To blue eyes I'm indiff'rent 
 
 When she is by, 
 And brown or black can hold me 
 
 By no such tie. 
 
 I always thought when authors 
 
 Their heroines 
 Supplied with eyes gray-colored, 
 
 They spoiled their lines. 
 
 For how could gray be pretty 
 
 Compared with blue 
 Or black or brown, save pity 
 
 Made that seem true? 
 
 But now since I've known Ida, 
 I've changed my mind 
 
 And understand how writers 
 Such beauty find 
 
 In eyes of gray, whose glances 
 
 Pierce many a heart; 
 For my own heart has fallen 
 
 Before their dart. 
 
 127 
 
1 
 
 MY HEART. 
 
 N the tangled web of life's drear puzzle 
 
 Low and fast my heart lies cold and bare ; 
 None who passes on her way rejoicing, 
 
 Thinks to drop love's shelt'ring mantle there. 
 
 E'en beneath a calm that's deadly cheerful, 
 Pain may linger where no eye would look; 
 
 Joy is but the light of morning's shadow, 
 Pale at best beside hope's sun-gilt brook. 
 
 So beneath, beyond, the wanton present 
 
 Shall I seek again, and fondly hope 
 There's some timid doe in life's far woodlands 
 
 Toward whose waiting love my heart may grope. 
 
 Where, oh! where in all this heartless world, then. 
 Shall I find this one to love but me? 
 
 No, oh ! no, it is too much to venture — 
 No such happiness for me can be! 
 
 Lone, alone — ah! doubly, dumbly lonely! 
 
 Through the dreary world I'll humbly tread; 
 None shall meet me to alone adore me; 
 
 All who ever loved me once are fled ! 
 
 128 
 
'GOOD NIGHT, DEAR HEART, GOOD 
 NIGHT." 
 
 G 
 
 A Song. 
 
 OOD night, dear heart, good night; 
 The moon is softly beaming; 
 Good night, dear heart, good night, 
 Yon stars of thee are dreaming. 
 
 Good night, dear heart, good night, 
 Go slumber, white and pure. 
 
 Good night, dear heart, good night, 
 I guard without thy door. 
 
 The roses of my love will blush 
 And twine about thy soul, 
 
 Nor ever drop their petals lush 
 While 'round the seasons roll ; 
 
 To them thou art life's only sun — 
 
 A sun that never sets; 
 My fears and dearest hopes are one. 
 
 And banished all regrets. 
 
 Good night, dear heart, good night; 
 Fair angels round thee winging 
 Thy fairer grace are singing — 
 
 Good night, sweetheart! good night! 
 
 129 
 
T 
 
 NIGHT ON THE WATER. 
 
 HE gold moon throws her scarf of light, 
 The silvered rubric of the night, 
 'Thwart the still silence of the deep, 
 Whose bosom heaves in limpid sleep. 
 
 Each shining star gleams sparklingly 
 On its reflection in the sea; 
 Damp, eerie airs from midnight's caves 
 Steal forth, to wanton the stilled waves. 
 
 The distant land looms indistinct, 
 A darker darkness dimly linked 
 To the dark ocean ; heavy clouds 
 Infold the scene, like beauty's shrouds. 
 
 A lighthouse bossed upon the main 
 Winks — white — red — white — then red again, 
 Until a living thing it seems — 
 Phantasmagoria of dreams! 
 
 No bird, no fish, nor humankind. 
 Awakes to hark the whisp'ring wind ; 
 Life with the soundlessness of death 
 Pervades the whole with bated breath. 
 
 A mist comes o'er the water now. 
 Like sweat upon its sleeping brow; 
 Less tranquil its slow-pulsing breast, 
 As though the dawn disturbed its rest. 
 
 The stars are slipping, one by one, 
 Behind their curtains; murk's cold sun 
 Grows wan with watching and declines 
 To couch beyond the night's confines. 
 
 130 
 
The day is coming : all the hosts 
 Of night break camp and, like pale ghosts, 
 Depart mysterious as they came — 
 Dissolved from substance into name. 
 
 CHRIST INCARNATE. 
 
 A Christmas Carol. Air: "Take Back the Heart 
 That Thou Gavest." 
 
 o 
 
 NE only thought it revealeth. 
 One only heart it betrays; 
 Yet ev'ry sorrow it healeth, 
 For ev'ry mortal it prays — 
 
 This is the Spirit of Yuletide, 
 
 Green as the summering hills, 
 Fresh as the bloom by the poolside, 
 
 Dear as the loving it wills. 
 
 Cold though the world 'neath its snow-shroud. 
 Spring has no charm in her train, 
 
 Half so attuned to the slow, loud, 
 Pealing bells' Christmas refrain. 
 
 On the one day Christ incarnate 
 
 Dwells in the children of men; 
 Love, and Compassion, its star-mate. 
 
 Shine then together again. 
 
 131 
 
I HAVEN'T GOT A CENT, BUT I'M 
 HAPPY. 
 
 I 
 
 HAVEN'T got a cent, but I'm happy 
 
 All the bright day long, 
 And when the day is dark and dreary 
 
 I sing its glooms among: 
 
 Little bits of hope and pleasure 
 
 Spot my skies with blue; 
 Eagerly I grasp and treasure 
 
 Thoughts that joy renew. 
 
 Sorrow, let it come, and penury, 
 Sickness, disrepute and death! — 
 
 Heavy as the weight of ages 
 
 They're but a feather on joy's breath. 
 
 Money is the god ye worship, 
 Lonely on his gilded throne — 
 
 Rather would I serve with th' poorest 
 Than reign with such a god alone. 
 
 I haven't got a cent, but I'm happy — 
 
 Christ was poor as I ; 
 Never did he teach that riches 
 
 Happiness could buy. 
 
 When I've got the price of eating, 
 
 A place to lay my head, 
 Mug and pipe and book and music, 
 
 A love that is not fled ; 
 
 I can ride my precious hobbies, 
 Steeple-chase the longest night: 
 
 Woman, wine and song and glory 
 Brighter shine than gold's cold light 
 
 132 
 
In my waking dreams' elation — 
 Happy is that one who dreams; 
 
 Free as is the lark in th' meadow, 
 Careless as the laughing streams. 
 
 Love and hope and joy and nature 
 Mingle in my mounting glee; 
 
 Ev'ry bird and flow'r and beauty 
 Teaches happiness to me. 
 
 This is as the Father wishes — 
 He who will not happy be 
 
 Prisons his own soul unwitting; 
 Chains it by his own decree. 
 
 \33 
 
I 
 
 CHRISTMAS IS COMING. 
 
 DREAM the odor of the pine; 
 I see its branches, line on line, 
 Outspread betwixt the candles' light, 
 By love-gifts bowed on Christmas night. 
 
 Oh! such a time comes not in vain, 
 But, like the harvest after rain, 
 Repays alike the doubt and hope 
 That through the past and future grope. 
 
 I see the children's eager eyes 
 Turn opal as the sunset skies; 
 I see their lips part tremblingly 
 In wonder o'er the Christmas tree. 
 
 I hear the bells pour out their prayer 
 Like angels' incense on the air; 
 I seem to feel each heart that beats 
 With love towards ev'ry heart it meets. 
 
 The church, the hearth, the lovers' shrine. 
 
 Seem floating in a flame divine 
 
 That ev'ry evil thing devours 
 
 Yet lights with happiness the hours. 
 
 Ah, me! if Christ left nothing else 
 But happiness like this, the wealth 
 Of expectation He devised 
 Must still be prized, for aye be prized. 
 
 134 
 
T 
 
 PAULA. 
 
 HEY say that bards are born and can't be 
 made ; 
 
 I know not, of myself, if this be true; 
 But if to think in language of the flowers 
 
 E'er makes a poetress, I swear 'tis you. 
 
 Your thoughts are dreams you know not zuhy you 
 dream 
 
 But, so you dream of TTie, I am content: 
 The gods have wastreled many a busy hour 
 
 That less of unshamed blissfulness has lent 
 
 To those on whom their passions were bestowed 
 Than you have often lent to me, my dear — 
 
 They dwelt on heights no mortal ever scaled. 
 But / am nearer heaven's blisses here. 
 
 At once you are my angel and my art ; 
 
 My eyes adore you and my holiest heart: 
 I look around my world — there is no joy 
 
 Of which you're not an ever-salient part. 
 
 Somewhat I ask, can seraphs be more fair. 
 
 Somewhat I wonder why you love me so; 
 Somewhat I care not, amply satisfied 
 
 To take my heaven here with you below. 
 
 135 
 
MY PART. 
 
 IT is my part to write the unencumbered, 
 Irrefragable lines that make men pause and 
 think — 
 Oh ! not because true virtue e'er has slum- 
 bered ; 
 Nor yet because from Truth the many shrink; 
 
 But just because the constant repetition 
 Of common sense soon ceases to impress 
 
 Unless some bard revives our drugged volition 
 With words whose soul-elixir we confess. 
 
 It is my part, ye gods — I don't deny it — 
 To prove the poet's right to magnify 
 
 The good that buried lies in wrongs that try it, — 
 The evil that men do to holy die. 
 
 Where shall I turn to prove life's absolution 
 
 Unless to woman and Heaven with their powers 
 
 To breathe in softened numbers life's solution 
 And win the game of pity 'gainst the hours. — 
 
 I would not like to be the last, lorn blossom 
 
 That trembled on the bough when spring had 
 died; 
 
 I would not like to be the floating flotsam 
 That plays around the edge of human-tide; 
 
 So, while I live to make my own impression 
 
 Upon the steely surfacing of fate, 
 I live to teach all innocence this lesson : 
 
 'Twere better it wrought wrong than wrought 
 too late. 
 
 136 
 
If half the wisdom over which we smatter, 
 Were so well learned that we could amplify 
 
 Its greatness in plain language, then the matter 
 Would need but the desire to simplify-. 
 
 When mind and heart and soul shall walk with 
 Nature, 
 And cradle their grave longings on the sod, 
 They'll put behind them learning's craft and hau- 
 teur, 
 And, in Love's higher knowledge, talk with God. 
 
 H 
 
 TESSIE. 
 
 ERE she comes! — just look at her! 
 And your love will grow: 
 Deadest hearts begin to stir 
 When her blushes blow. 
 
 So she is externally — 
 
 When you come to know 
 All her charms internally 
 
 Still your love will grow ! 
 
 137 
 
PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 ONCE Cromwell ruled while Milton waiting 
 stood and served — 
 Milton was only a poet, anyhow: 
 Cromwell's prose was weighted sure with 
 pow'r enow — 
 Which of the twain seems greatest to us now? 
 
 Though any "hack" can prose intelligently indite, 
 
 And any editor can understand it, 
 Yet neither one oft can ascend that blinding height 
 
 Where Truth is gorgeous as the gods demand it. 
 
 When all the wealth of Now is counted but as dross 
 And kings of finance smell from memory's grave, 
 
 Some few words by a starving poet purely penned, 
 O'er them new generations long may rave. 
 
 Much money's but a means to other, doubtful, 
 ends — 
 
 Though lined with gold the pig's pen's still a sty; 
 Man may live great though living without principle, 
 
 But, O ye gods! how he must hate to die! 
 
 Come, then ! ye bards, your flowery measures cheerlv 
 lilt; 
 Let Truth and Beauty smile along your lines. 
 And tears and laughter ramble, swinging hand in 
 hand. 
 Far, far beyond cold prose's unlit confines! 
 
 138 
 
I WOULD BE THINE. 
 
 WHEN memory twines her myrtle wreaths 
 'Round every sigh ere I repine, 
 And every opening blossom breathes 
 An odor of thy sweets divine; 
 When underneath the burgeoning trees 
 Each shadow drapes a couch benign, 
 And every faithless fancy flees: 
 
 I would be thine; I would be thine! 
 
 The ardent light of naiads' eyes. 
 
 Reflecting in the cooling stream; 
 Though once it tempted e'en the wise. 
 
 Could ne'er so bright, so luring, seem 
 As do those rays that burning rise 
 
 When liquid orbs no longer dream 
 And on thy lips the murmur dies: 
 
 "I will be thine — I will be thine!" 
 
 So coy thy heart, so fleet thy feet, 
 
 A feather on a helmless wind 
 Were less elusive, less replete 
 
 With vagaries to mock the mind ; 
 But I will deck thy pure retreat 
 
 With every flower true love can find 
 And swear there, while my heart can beat: 
 
 "Thou shalt be mine; thou shalt be mine!" 
 
 139 
 
WE NEED YOU, MR. ROOSEVELT! 
 A Campaign Song. 
 
 w 
 
 E need you, Mr. Roosevelt; 
 
 Though some may call you mad, 
 We need you, Mr. Roosevelt, 
 
 And we need you d bad! 
 
 Though plutocrats may smile their scorn 
 
 And politicians groan, 
 You lend to Freedom's prescient morn 
 
 A promise all your own. 
 
 The poor in you a prophet see; 
 
 The downtrod see a god ; 
 Only the wicked from you flee, 
 
 As from God's chastening rod. 
 
 God raiseth up in His own Hour 
 
 His banner-bearers true; 
 Thrice hath He sent them with His Power 
 
 His wondrous work to do. 
 
 And still a fourth time woman's son 
 
 His Genius doth imbue — 
 First sent He Christ ; then Washington ; 
 
 Then Lincoln — noiv come you! 
 
 By Christ the souls of men were saved, 
 
 By Washington were freed ; 
 Lincoln the lords of slavery braved ; 
 
 You brave the lords of greed. 
 
 140 
 
Though first benighted minds condemn 
 Your words and deeds, like theirs. 
 
 Like theirs they shall prevail with them 
 And guide them down the years. 
 
 We need you, Mr. Roosevelt; 
 
 Though some may call you mad. 
 We need j^ou, Mr. Roosevelt, 
 
 And we need you d bad! 
 
 P 
 
 "TERRY." 
 
 ETITE and sweet and recherche, 
 She laughs and smiles the days away; 
 
 So merry is her heart, and gay. 
 
 Forsooth, Love's lightnings round it play. 
 
 And she's so tender, too, and true; 
 
 'Twould warm the coldest heart of you 
 To see her pitying tears of rue. 
 
 Her eyes like sunbeams shining through. 
 
 Oh! such a charm to life is giv'n 
 
 By her, who sheds such light-o'-Heav'n 
 
 We seem to walk, in Summer's noon, 
 Beneath a rainbow-haloed moon. 
 
 141 
 
N 
 
 REGENERATION. 
 
 OT a sound escaped from her lips; 
 
 Not a pang escaped from her heart; 
 She lay in the dark of her couch, 
 A thing from the world apart. 
 
 And misery dwelt in her eyes, 
 
 And pain was companion to thought, 
 
 All alone, on the bosom of night, 
 The meaning of fate she caught. 
 
 But she 'rose, like the phoenix of old. 
 From the slough of her mortal despond ; 
 
 And the God of her fathers upheld 
 Her belief in the promise beyond. 
 
 And, when forth on the new world she stepped, 
 All regrets that once owned her were fled ; 
 
 For her heart had full-blossomed at last 
 And all her misgivings were dead. 
 
 Then down through the valley of life 
 She trailed the bright minions of hope, 
 
 Elate, and elected of Love 
 
 To prove human happiness' scope. 
 
 142 
 
w 
 
 RECOMPENSE. 
 A Hymn. 
 
 HEN your spirit is sad and you walk forlorn, 
 And the flowers fade 'round your path; 
 
 When the terrors of night overshade the morn, 
 And you flee from the coming wrath; 
 
 Then but take to your heart this retrieving thought, 
 Though it seem but a blissful dream: — 
 
 How our Savior has suffered, that we be taught 
 His power and will to redeem. 
 
 There is naught, there is none, who may gainsay 
 Him 
 In his love that He bears to us ; 
 He will lend us his Light when our road grows 
 dim; 
 He will lead as a shepherd doth: 
 
 As He tempers the wind to the shorned lamb. 
 So our sins in his blood He'll lave; 
 
 He will burn on his Altar our worship's ram, 
 And prove He is mighty to save. 
 
 143 
 
w 
 
 BE A MAN! 
 
 HEN the die is cast 
 
 Be strong, 
 Hammer hard and fast 
 And long; 
 Though all cry, aghast. 
 
 You're wrong. 
 Let your answer last 
 A song. 
 
 When life's billows speak 
 
 New prey 
 Steer not, sick and meek, 
 
 Away; 
 Shift your helm, and seek 
 
 More play 
 'Twixt the rocks that reek 
 
 With spray. 
 
 When you are betrayed 
 
 By Fate 
 Let her know she's played 
 
 Too late; 
 Tell her she's afraid, 
 
 And wait — 
 She can ne'er degrade 
 
 True state. 
 
 Be a man and trust 
 
 Your star. 
 Though without a crust 
 
 You are; 
 To its load adjust 
 
 Your car: 
 Hold the world's distrust 
 
 Afar. 
 
 144 
 
Men who're "mighty good" 
 
 May fail, 
 Men of boldest blood 
 
 May quail, 
 Yet your hardihood 
 
 Avail 
 Just because you would 
 
 Not fail. 
 
 LOVE AND LIFE. 
 
 CL is short, but love is sweet, 
 Pausing with unconscious feet 
 Where the heart is ripe to bloom, 
 Ling'ring, too, about the tomb. 
 
 Life doth give and take away; 
 Love, more generous, asks no pay 
 For the raptures that it brings; 
 Where it lights it folds its wings. 
 
 Though to hatred men may turn it. 
 Though the blind may not discern it. 
 Love is love — it cannot change — 
 Wild and strong and wise and strange. 
 
 Life may cease, but love's eternal, 
 Holy, quenchless and supernal: 
 Seek thou it to be immortal — 
 Love is vital! Heaven's portal! 
 
 145 
 
c 
 
 THERE IS NO TO-MORROW. 
 
 OOK not to to-morrow for surcease of sorrow; 
 To-day and to-morrow are one: 
 Old Time with his harrow has no need to 
 borrow 
 The future to show what he's done. 
 
 He's here on the minute for all there is in it; 
 
 He cares not for human delay : 
 Life's web he can spin it, and end or begin it, 
 
 As though we had nothing to say. 
 
 Do It now or forget it — 'tis folly to let it 
 
 Entangle your thoughts, as it may 
 If you worry and fre.t it, yet slyly abet it, 
 
 When it lures you away from to-day. 
 
 Now is ever: be clever and make it your lever 
 
 For all that you hope to attain: 
 To-morrow is never — one night more may sever 
 
 Some link in your adamant chain. 
 
 No, there's no half measure for profit or pleasure, 
 But all that you have must you give — 
 
 Your labor and leisure, your passion and treasure, 
 To each single day that you live! 
 
 146 
 
A 
 
 ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 Song to the Old School. Air:— 
 "Another Morn in Beauty Lives." 
 
 1. 
 
 NOTHER year in darkness's fled; 
 Another light before us burns; 
 Our doubts are numbered with the dead: 
 Towards brighter days our vision turns. 
 
 Unlike dumb beasts, which know no past, 
 Nor future see 'yond their next meal 
 
 Or the night's coming rest at last, 
 To us hope, memory, appeal. 
 
 Let us play 
 
 While we may, 
 
 Yet make memorial each new day. 
 
 And may that God who rules on high 
 Teach us in living how to die 
 
 Crowned with bay. 
 
 Wise and gray. 
 
 Our footsteps blazing the true way. 
 
 147 
 
A 
 
 ODE TO A DEAD FRIEND. 
 
 LAS ! thy place knows thee no more ; 
 
 The wanton winds no answer bear 
 To my heart's call — thou art not there !- 
 For me love, hope and peace are o'er. 
 
 I stifle in the cruel air ; 
 
 1 but can breathe thine only name; 
 
 I can but bow my head in shame 
 That I still live while thou so rare 
 
 Art dead. Ah, Love! how merciless 
 
 Thy darts that, poison-tipped by Death, 
 Must, soon or late, bate in a breath 
 
 All the world holds of loveliness 
 
 For us! My friend, thou wast to me 
 My brother, saviour, soul, delight! — 
 Amongst the myriad stars of night 
 
 Dost thou watch o'er me tenderly 
 
 Now that I cry in vain thy name 
 
 Throughout the dumb, deaf, heartless earth? 
 
 Thy spirit, in its new star-birth, 
 Does it shine on me just the same 
 
 As erst within thy form it did? 
 
 It must be — else would I go mad! 
 
 Ah! never more could I be glad 
 If 'twas not so: dreams come unhid 
 
 I must believe, or die! Ah! dear, 
 I only fear how thou must grieve, 
 Even in Heaven, since thou must leave 
 
 Me yet a while so lonely here. 
 
 148 
 
How jealous of our love that God 
 Who, taking thee, lets me despair 
 In rooms grown empty, cold and drear, 
 
 Life's glory rapt, an Ichabod ! 
 
 The light that once between us burned 
 For the last time its beckoning flame 
 Has shed, and in the window frame 
 
 No welcoming smile is towards me turned. 
 
 My heart no more expectant hastes 
 Its throbbing at thy near approach ; 
 My lips no longer thrill to broach 
 
 That love which flowers life's barren wastes. 
 
 Yet comes this gleam will grief forefend — 
 Far bitterest when hope's beams are dim:- 
 'Tis happier to have buried him 
 
 Than never to have loved a friend. 
 
 I love thee so, that, an thou wert 
 To endless tortures e'en condemned, 
 Twixt blendless ice and fire inhemmed. 
 
 And Hell, dominion to assert. 
 
 Made day and night to be as one 
 And sea and land together merge ; 
 I'd brave th' abysmal chaos' verge 
 
 And light thy doom with my love's sun. 
 
 When from its mortal cage it slips. 
 My spirit thine will seek in isliss, 
 And my undying love shall kiss 
 
 In sacrament thy waiting lips. 
 
 149 
 
As, in our wanderings up and down, 
 Some distant mount the vision stays 
 And rears above the purple haze 
 
 The hoary glory of its crown ; 
 
 So round our olden love there rings 
 
 Encircling memory's misty play, 
 
 Till rapture, piling day on day. 
 Soars from them on white-lustrous wings. 
 
 Life is but dreaming; death awakes 
 
 The soul, that through our living sleeps: 
 They say: "He sleeps in death" — He keeps 
 
 But now the tryst that Psyche makes. 
 
 In Paradise no shadow falls 
 
 When, heart to heart and soul to soul, 
 Along Elysium's paths they stroll 
 
 And strophe antistrophe calls 
 
 In seraph voices tuned to Love, — 
 
 The air of Heaven's harmony, — 
 
 Rolling along eternally 
 O'er gemmed mead, through golden grove. 
 
 When, my frail form all sickened o'er, 
 I die and make my life complete. 
 In thee my very soul I'll meet 
 
 And grief and loss shall be no more. 
 
 This life's now but a tragedy 
 
 Wherein I stalk the boards alone, 
 My only lines a hollow moan, 
 
 "Until the angels come for me." 
 
 150 
 
I care not for the passing show, 
 
 E'en music palls on deafened ears; 
 
 The Muse for me has only tears; 
 Dulled to all joys my senses grow; 
 
 The rose to me is odorless ; 
 I buried Bacchus long ago: 
 There's little worth in all I know; 
 
 Except in madness, no redress! 
 
 The flesh, receding from thy face. 
 
 Back to its youthful lines it grew; 
 
 And o'er those lines a beauty threw 
 Death's hands when, in thy coffined place, 
 
 I kissed thy forehead, lips and hand, 
 
 And, gazing up to Paradise, 
 
 A miserere in my eyes, 
 Saw Azrael and Sandalphon stand 
 
 Where prayers and spirits, passing through 
 The portal, changed to flowers and wings; 
 And, as I thought upon these things. 
 
 My heart to thee in Heaven flew. 
 
 Some say pain's but imagery 
 
 And that the will can make us well, 
 But who in Earth or Heaven or Hell 
 
 Has felt not Sorrow's mastery? 
 
 Dead friend! dead world! dead hope! dead heart! 
 
 I would, ah, me! I too could die 
 
 And on thy breast as peaceful lie 
 As oft I lay ere we did part. 
 
 151 
 
I shudder that the crawling worm 
 May share thy bed and eat thine eyes 
 And tunnel in thy heart, whose sighs 
 
 I hear, and desecrate thy form. 
 
 In all I sing I cannot say. 
 
 Nor make men feel, what me befell: 
 
 Can words or music ever tell 
 The half that with thee passed away? 
 
 By shady banks and shallow brooks 
 
 I wander with thy memory. 
 
 And very tender is to me 
 The solace of thy written books. 
 
 For, as thy verses rare expand 
 
 Their human touch, their Nature-heart, 
 Some flash of passion makes me start 
 
 And feel the pressure of thy hand. 
 
 The seasons come, the seasons go ; 
 
 But since thou'rt gone forever, friend, 
 
 For me the winters never end. 
 My summer flowers never blow. 
 
 I move as I were in a trance; 
 I sense not what all others feel. 
 Nor man's nor nature's last appeal, 
 
 And never give the world a glance. 
 
 If only I could hear thy voice 
 
 Though countless spheres revolved between, 
 Methinks life's winter had not been 
 
 So much my fate, so long my choice. 
 
 152 
 
Peace to thy ashes, sacred friend ; 
 
 Peace to thy soul and peace to mine: 
 Upon God's bosom, calm, divine, 
 
 To rest, while angels o'er us bend, 
 
 Is all that thou and I may ask, 
 And asking, ne'er will be denied ; 
 His face our Father will not hide, 
 
 And loving Love's a loving task. 
 
 And if in Heaven the blessed sleep 
 I hope we sleep together there. 
 My lips on thine, thy breathing fair 
 
 An oriole on slumber's deep 
 
 Warbling of endless happiness 
 
 That's thine and mine and cannot die, 
 But e'en in Heaven must multiply; 
 
 Till break its chords with tender stress. 
 
 Presto! my lids God's fingers press: 
 My eyes wax strong — I see thee now! 
 An aureole above thy brow 
 
 And on thy face a smile's caress. 
 
 Thine orbs with God's clear wisdom look 
 Down into mine, and read my soul. 
 While round the Heaven of Heavens roll 
 
 The thunders that no silence brook. 
 
 Above, below, the angel band 
 
 Bows low in worship, and its song 
 Carries the empyreal Vast along. 
 
 Obedient to thy timing wand. 
 
 153 
 
I fear, I doubt; nor understand: 
 How can I hope to claim thee so? 
 How upward to thy greatness grow, 
 
 From star to star, at love's command? 
 
 Receive me, O my wondrous friend ! 
 Because I love thee, nothing more : 
 I come! but be thou at the door 
 
 To hail me at my journey's end. 
 
 I come as close and faithfully 
 
 Keen Phosphor follows Hesperus; 
 As surely Ishtar follows us 
 
 Through eons, to eternity. 
 
 154 
 
c 
 
 LEAD THOU MY FEET. 
 
 EAD thou my feet — 
 
 So oft I've thought I'd found the path 
 
 To that true fane where Glory dwells, 
 Yet found its end in the dark wood 
 
 Whose silence no direction tells. 
 
 Lead thou my feet — 
 The rosy light of dawning hope 
 
 How oft changed sleep's to waking dreams 
 But to be clouded by doubt's storms — 
 
 How impotent my passion seems! 
 
 Lead thou my feet — 
 The way is long; my faith is tried 
 And sorely sleeps, and but my pride 
 Keeps watch : there is no one to guide 
 But thou — I have no hope beside. 
 
 Lead thou my feet — 
 Lord, if it be thy kindly will ; 
 That I my mission may fulfill 
 To coin thy beauties, love and might 
 In words which men can read aright. 
 
 155 
 
T 
 
 STEWED POET A LA MODE 
 A lyrical cocktail. 
 
 HE poet was stewed, and he sure was imbued 
 With miraculous visions of fame, 
 
 When to him ensued a low bar-room brood 
 Of loafers sans beauty, sans name, 
 Of loafers both wild and tame. 
 
 He sang them a song — it was not very long — 
 
 Of satyrs and naiads and such; 
 But his notes were all wrong, tho' his breath it was 
 strong 
 
 And he bellowed to baffle the Dutch, 
 
 Till he lost his melodious clutch. 
 
 He bought then again, both mixed drinks and plain; 
 
 And sure 'twas a holy sight 
 The way he mixed beers with his maudlin tears 
 
 As he sang to the moon's love-light. 
 
 As he sang of the angels bright. 
 
 When one o'clock came he swore 'twas a shame 
 
 To turn a (hie) gentleman out; 
 He said he'd not go, and that that bartender Joe 
 
 Was a shrimp and a grouch and a lout — 
 
 Was a crook and a bum and a tout ! 
 
 Then the fighting began, and they mixed, man to 
 
 man, 
 And the poet soon had the floor; 
 Then he ranted some more and kicked down the 
 
 door, 
 And the rest of the rabble they ran. 
 Like an alley dog tied to a can. 
 
 156 
 
The big cop on the beat had had nothing to eat, 
 And came roaring: "Fee-fi-fo-fum!" 
 
 And he jumped with his feet on the poet's soft seat 
 And rattled him round like a drum — 
 Bum ! bum ! rolled him around like a drum. 
 
 Well, the wagon backed up, and, in manner abrupt, 
 They shooed the stewed poet therein : 
 
 Next morn he woke up in the prosy lockup. 
 And asked where, the Lord, he had been — 
 Where the "demnition bow-wows" he'd been! 
 
 The desk sergeant he said: "I'm a little afraid 
 You've been all round Sheol in a way: 
 
 You've busted some glass; got a kick in the — ; 
 And now there's the Devil to pay !" — 
 So the poet's now "living on hay." 
 
 157 
 
CHANGING PHASES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 T 
 
 HE golden moon in stately flight 
 Swings through the baldric of the night: 
 Still clouds reflect her argent zone ; 
 A single star shines out alone, 
 
 A pilot-light on sable sea, 
 
 The deep night's airy canopy. 
 
 To guide lost spirits in their course 
 
 When from men's souls they struggle forth. 
 
 But northward, where the city lies, 
 The clouds are pink though dark the skies. 
 As if a midnight sun had set 
 And left his hues to wander yet. 
 
 More blue the heav'ns begin to grow 
 And other stars begin to show 
 Above, beneath, white, cloudy bars 
 That vie in glory with those stars. 
 
 The east turns gloomed, the west more bright 
 
 As, basking in the moon's near light. 
 
 The dim horizon softly gleams; 
 
 Like dew-light glow the distant streams. 
 
 The fragrance which the sun distilled 
 In tree and flow'r, around is spilled 
 Upon the heavy, healing air. 
 And star on star now blazes there. 
 
 The night's now old and growing gray; 
 I watch its beauties fade away; 
 The moon is dying as the blest 
 Pass onward to eternal rest. 
 
 158 
 
She sinks beyond my mortal eye, 
 Her shroud the paling morning sky; 
 The trees their hymning branches wave; 
 The flow'rs weep, dew-eyed, o' er her grave. 
 
 E'en thus, in life, we rise and shine 
 From birth to zenith and decline — 
 O may our light soothe like the moon's 
 Yet brighten like a thousand noons! 
 
 J 
 
 A CHILD'S PRAYER. 
 
 Childhood's Faith. 
 
 ESUS, You love little children — 
 Bless my little dog and me; 
 And, my sister and her dolly, 
 
 Bless them too — they're good, you see; 
 
 Send my papa and my mama 
 All the blessings you can spare: 
 
 Should I die before the dawning, 
 Guide my soul to where You are. 
 
 159 
 
ON A SUMMER DAY. 
 A Ballad. 
 
 W 
 
 ALKING down the valley 
 
 On a summer day, 
 All the brooks were lilting: 
 Drive dull care awav!" 
 
 There I met a maiden, 
 Arms and bosom bare ; 
 
 Quoth I, mischief-laden: 
 "Prithee, why so fair?" 
 
 Then she dropped a curtsy, 
 Shyly looked, and blushed : 
 
 And my laughing banter 
 On my lips was hushed. 
 
 For I saw a tear-drop 
 
 Tremble on a lid 
 As in arms and tresses 
 
 Swift her face she hid. 
 
 Tenderly I opened 
 
 Both those lovely arms; 
 Raced my heart, a-throbbing 
 
 O'er her vernal charms. 
 
 And her heart it answered 
 All the joy in mine: 
 
 Youth and hope and rapture 
 Made the maid divine! 
 
 160 
 
1 
 
 ■^;- 
 
 ON A SUMMER DAY 
 
Thus we met in fondness; 
 
 Soon we learned to love, 
 God's green earth around us, 
 
 God's blue skv above. 
 
 Ev'ry day seems summer's 
 
 Now, and ever will ; 
 For we've never parted — 
 
 And we're lovers still! 
 
 She smiles, my arm about her; 
 
 More beautiful she's grown 
 Now, while her locks gold-lustred 
 
 Grow white beside my own. 
 
 161 
 
YOUNG-LOVE'S GONE A-WOOING. 
 
 H 
 
 EARTS and fortunes soon shall break, 
 Naiads fair forsake the lake, 
 Time shall sleep and Heaven awake 
 Young-love's gone a-wooing! 
 
 Men shall flee and vainly hide, 
 Maidens blush aw^ay their pride, 
 Anarchy alone abide — 
 
 On the altar of his shrine 
 Blood shall flow like purple wine. 
 And the clusters from the vine 
 Prove the heart's renewing. 
 
 Up and down the sacred way 
 He will turn night into day. 
 Fiddling while the passions play 
 To eternal rueing. 
 
 Life and death shall dance for him 
 Other miracles grow dim, 
 Flutt'ring round the wine-glass' rim 
 White doves sweetly cooing. 
 
 With his breath he'll blow the horn 
 At whose blast the dead are born ; 
 Steal its glories from the morn — 
 Greater glories brewing. 
 
 O, beware! Young-love is wand-ring, 
 Bliss like baubles wildly squand'ring, 
 Grief and joy alike unpond'ring, 
 Doing and undoing! 
 
 162 
 
Let us hie away to-night, 
 
 Where the stars alone are bright, 
 Like a crown with gems bedight — 
 
 Young-love's gone a-wooing! 
 
 THE PRAIRIE QUEEN. 
 
 A Tribute. 
 
 5"^ TEATH glamour of heroic past 
 I^L I Wrapt in a dest'ny still more vast, 
 I ^ The Queen of rolling prairies wide. 
 
 Of inland seas sans salt or tide — 
 Plain "She-kau-gou" by Indians named — 
 From rank morass by faith reclaimed. 
 She stands; eternal testament 
 To daring intellects still bent 
 To push her ever up (and strong 
 To build her hopes the years along) 
 From She-kau-gou the Redmen knew — 
 From "Skunks and Onions" and a slue — 
 To Chicago, th' Metropolis — 
 A striving, thriving, splendid Miss, 
 The graceful Empress of the Lakes, 
 Who here. Imperial Beauty, takes 
 Her stand, with banners brave unfurled — 
 The Fascination of the world ! 
 
 163 
 
H 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 ARK! the angel's wings are whirring; 
 All the souls on earth are stirring: 
 Heart to heart glad news repeats; 
 Heart for heart more loving beats. 
 
 What is this each heart is telling, 
 Tenderness within it welling? — 
 'Tis that Christ will come again 
 To compassionate all men. 
 
 Oh ! the tale is far more wondrous 
 Than the wrath of war so thund'rous! 
 Hope is greater than despair — 
 War is strong, but Love is fair ! 
 
 In the last days of December, 
 Farther back than we remember, 
 Always has Christ come again 
 To compassionate all men. 
 
 Little children's intuition 
 Teaches them without volition 
 Absolutely to believe 
 Christ can all their dreams retrieve. 
 
 And we older ones who listen 
 To the stars that brightly glisten 
 In the solemn, silent night, 
 Know that they have learned aright. 
 
 Christ is coming in new glory 
 To re-tell the "old, old story": 
 Pray to-night and give to-morrow: 
 Purge with joy the soul of sorrow! 
 
 164 
 
o 
 
 SUMMER SOLSTICE. 
 A Siesta Song, 
 
 NCE, when farthest beyond the equator, 
 Topping his long ecliptical hill, 
 Old Sol, Nature's beauty's translator. 
 Seemed to gasp for his breath and stand 
 still: 
 
 The day grew so lang'rously lazy 
 
 'Neath the still-clouded heavens of June 
 
 With its shim'ring horizon blue-hazy 
 And the drone of the rivulet's tune, 
 
 That I lolled on my couch, and my day-dreams 
 Formed the only employ of my brain 
 
 As I watched the motes dance in those stray beams 
 Of gold did my privacy gain : 
 
 And the sweetness of utter abandon 
 
 To the idle, idyllic repose, — 
 As selfishly, cloyingly wanton 
 
 As the breeze stealing scent from the rose. 
 
 Wrapped me gently as ever did Morpheus 
 
 In a somnolent, soundless delight. 
 Till the homing birds' faint-warbled curfews 
 
 Soft did herald the vesper of night: 
 
 And I slumbered, in dreamland the summer 
 
 My spirit still rocking to sleep 
 The while angels' bright eyes without number 
 
 Seemed to guard me like stars on the deep. 
 
 165 
 
LET THY LIGHT SHINE OUT. 
 
 W 
 
 OULDST thou be God's "Good Fellow' 
 
 And banish grief and doubt 
 To those who pass in darkness ? 
 
 Oh! let thy light shine out! 
 
 Christ fed the poor and healed them 
 
 B}- man\' a miracle, 
 But more than that He gave them — 
 
 His Love so wonderful. 
 
 See, thou, that on Christ's birthdaj' 
 
 No little heart is sad, 
 But holds such bliss and yearning 
 
 As once the shepherds had. 
 
 Bring thou some simple presents 
 By which young hearts are moved; 
 
 Fill empty stockings crying: 
 "Alas! ye are not loved!" 
 
 Like Heaven without glory 
 
 Is Christmas to the child 
 Who's heard Christ's wondrous story 
 
 With credence undefiled, 
 
 To wake on Christmas morning 
 With expectations chilled. 
 
 However poor and timid 
 
 The dreams its slumber filled. 
 
 Be thou Christ's new disciple — 
 Join the "Good Fellows" band, 
 
 And show His love to children 
 In ways they understand. 
 
 166 
 
Then there'll be light in darkness 
 Because they're not forgot; 
 
 Unselfish, silent kindness 
 
 Will change their gloomy lot 
 
 From bitter disappointment 
 To faith and hope and joy, 
 
 Save from a pain heart-breaking 
 Some little girl or boy. 
 
 The real and ideal 
 
 With humankindness blend, 
 Christ, Santa Claus, "Good Fellow, 
 
 All to one loving end. 
 
 167 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 LOOKING back o'er the days half-forgotten, 
 Through the haze of time's mellowing 
 mist, 
 ^ With my soul now attuned to their music. 
 Whose sweetness my senses once missed ; 
 
 There is many a bright scene and happy 
 That far dearer grows now to my heart 
 
 As my steps grow more falt'ring and heavy. 
 While my last hours on swift wings depart. 
 
 I remember the time of my childhood 
 And its wonders of nature's display, 
 
 And comes back to me oft in the silence 
 Its laughter and study and play. 
 
 Now I watch in the children's minds 'round me 
 
 The dawning of things that I knew 
 In their simplest and purest constructions. 
 
 That lost their fresh charm as I grew — 
 
 The songs of the birds and the sighing 
 Of winds in the branches that swayed 
 
 O'er the flowers and grasses so tender; 
 The darkness that made me afraid. 
 
 I remember my mother who loved me, 
 And my brothers and sisters so gay 
 
 (Now she lies where the flowers are withered. 
 And the rest all are wandered away.) 
 
 168 
 
Yet I try to bemoan not my loneness, 
 
 By living again in the past; 
 So my sorrows are softened to solace 
 
 That brightens my spirit at last. 
 
 Ah, 'tis sad to grow old, but my sadness 
 Is tempered with mercy and hope; 
 
 For my memory comes like a comrade, 
 And hand-in-hand backward we grope 
 
 Through those ways which we traveled together 
 When life was a passion and dream, 
 
 Till we come to the River of Lethe 
 
 And float like dead leaves on its stream. 
 
 169 
 
w 
 
 BARBARA. 
 
 HEN my heart with long waiting was 
 weary — 
 Long waiting for one still unknown, 
 And my days lay before me all dreary 
 As I wandered unloved and alone ; 
 
 I was shocked from my moping lethargic 
 
 By a face so resistless to me, 
 So nudely and grandly barbaric, 
 
 That my heart fluttered passionately. 
 
 Yet 'twas weeks before courage I mustered 
 To approach and beleaguer its charm : 
 
 Dark locks round its oval were clustered ; 
 Its cheeks with pure blushes were warm. 
 
 I trembled lest I in my madness 
 
 Should frighten this maiden away, 
 But she changed all my sadness to gladness 
 
 When a smile brought her dimples in play- 
 Such a smile as to Eros gave Psyche, 
 
 Erotic and holy and sweet. 
 Her presence so regal and likely 
 
 That I longed to kneel down at her feet. 
 
 We talked, and I learned she was christened 
 A name I have always adored — 
 
 'Twas "Barbara:" how her teeth glistened 
 Between her red lips at the word ! 
 
 170 
 
Then I stole a veiled glance o'er her bosom, 
 
 Her arms Galatean and thighs 
 And her wonderful blooming and blossom, 
 
 Till my heart and my soul and my eyes 
 
 Were drunk with a frenzy Byronic 
 
 That ended in reason's eclipse ; 
 And shyly her name, so euphonic, 
 
 Came soft and unhid to my lips. 
 
 s 
 
 LIEBLING. 
 
 WEET as flowers after rain, 
 Cool as shadow after sun, 
 
 Rich as harvest's golden train. 
 Dear as all of these in one; 
 
 Art thou to me, my darling! 
 
 171 
 
JUNE. 
 
 JUNE, with her brilHant train of followers, has 
 come; 
 The flowery pageant gathers numbers with 
 each hour; 
 The boisterous winds grow gentle to her quiet touch, 
 And every breathing, budding, thing proclaims 
 her pow'r. 
 
 All sentient life looks up, and, with a livelier pulse, 
 Measures its footsteps to her jubilating march; 
 
 And every throat and heart joins her diurnal song 
 Winging along beneath the bright cerulean arch. 
 
 Even the stars of night look down with brighter 
 eyes; 
 The Pleiades, those far-transported sisters seven. 
 Seem now to vie with Orpheus in music's charm, 
 Singing the list'ning spheres that it is June in 
 Heav'n. 
 
 172 
 
THE MIRACLE OF A WOMAN'S HEART. 
 
 s 
 
 HE was sweet from her head to her feet; 
 She was wise from her soul to her eyes ; 
 She was kind from her heart to her mind ; 
 And to wrath she gave gentle replies. 
 
 She was fine as the angels divine ; 
 
 She was bright as the planets of night; 
 She was young as the blossoms that swung 
 
 And danced in the soft vernal light. 
 
 And how, then, she could ever endure 
 To be loved by one so obscure 
 As myself, was a myst'ry to me 
 As deep as the fathomless sea. 
 
 O, the heart of a woman is part 
 
 Of the Plan the Creator began 
 To unroll from His wonderful Soul 
 
 For the edification of man ; 
 
 And the things each new century brings 
 
 Of the limitless knowledge of Him 
 Show the length and the breadth and the strength 
 
 Of his mercy and power and vim : 
 
 But He saveth the best till the last, 
 When the die of Perfection is cast ; 
 Only then will He deign to impart 
 The rare secret of woman's strange heart. 
 
 173 
 
THE DREAM ROSE. 
 
 A Song. Air: " 'Tis the Last Rose of Summer. 
 
 FAR back in the garden 
 Of memory's dream 
 There is blooming a rose 
 B.V a whispering stream ; 
 And the breath of its perfume 
 That's wafted to me 
 O'er the mellowing years 
 Is still fragrant and free. 
 
 There is not in that garden 
 A flower so sweet, 
 With beauty and odor 
 And grace so replete ; 
 'Tis not that no other 
 Bright flow'rets are there 
 But while others are fading 
 This blooms on so fair. 
 
 Through storm and neglect 
 It has thriven and grown, 
 With its roots in that past 
 Where its seed-bud was sown, 
 With its stem intertwined round 
 My heart strings to-day 
 And its leaves gently brushing 
 My sorrows away. 
 
 The thorns that from wanton 
 
 Hands hold it aloof, 
 
 Turn inward for me 
 
 In soft virginal proof; 
 
 And its petals turn towards me, 
 
 As if to their sun, 
 
 Its tears on my griefs 
 
 Dropping down one by one. 
 
 174 
 
And that rose is your love, Dear, 
 You planted so true; 
 And its stem is your arms, 
 And its virtue is you; 
 And its petals your eyes are — 
 Its leaves are love's art: 
 And that garden it grows in 
 Is, Dearest, my heart. 
 
 EXHORTATION ON OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 DEDICATED TO SENATOR INGALLS AND 
 JUDGE MALONE. 
 
 WAIT not for Opportunity to knock, 
 But haste to seek her where she errant fares 
 Along the slippery highroad of success. 
 There speak her: if she turn and lift her veil. 
 Gaze on her features with a steadfast heart ; 
 Take thou her hand and lead her, an she wills. 
 To thine own hearth ; there love and nourish her 
 So that she may, contented, bide a while 
 And teach thee Wisdom : which if thou shalt gain 
 And use, she must, departing, e'en return. 
 In glad obedience, at thy just commands. 
 
 175 
 
HOW SIMPLY MUST I WRITE? 
 
 H 
 
 OW simply must I write 
 
 To please the common mind 
 What genius must I prostitute 
 A common ground to find? 
 
 It cannot be I lack 
 
 In penury or woe ; 
 Alas! I know as much of these 
 
 As any here below! 
 
 What is it, then, that keeps 
 
 My lines from sinking in 
 The brains and hearts that lowly beat 
 
 In ignorance and sin? 
 
 I write but of the truth, 
 
 However subtly clothed, 
 In words that came to me unsought 
 
 When wisdom's lips unclosed. 
 
 How can I make less heavy 
 The cross mankind must bear, 
 
 Or kiss the rose within a close 
 If roses grow not there? 
 
 How can I paint less graphic 
 The joys that 'round me swing. 
 
 Or tell of less than Heaven's hope 
 When sentiment takes wing? 
 
 Ah me! I'm at a loss 
 
 To show my meaning plainer, 
 
 Unless for virtue and for art 
 I'd stoop to a retainer. 
 
 Oh! friends of every heart 
 
 That ever roamed astray, 
 Forget art's subterfuges sad 
 
 And love me while you may! 
 
 176 
 
c 
 
 EIGHTY AND NINE. 
 
 To Mrs. R . In Memoriam, 
 
 OME, Peace, and spread thy wings 
 Over this stricken home; 
 Let Sorrow kneeling come 
 Where Memory fondly clings. 
 
 A spirit to the vast 
 
 Is fled in joy divine: 
 
 Her years were eighty and nine, 
 But, like a dream, they've passed. 
 
 Thirteen small heads have pressed 
 That bosom thirteen blessed ; 
 Half are gone on before 
 To wait on the golden shore 
 
 Till the other dear half shall pass over to kiss; 
 
 And midway between these, the quick and the 
 dead. 
 
 Stands She whose love's luster on either is shed 
 Like a rainbow connecting that one half with this. 
 
 177 
 
THE ORACLES. 
 
 THE sun is setting in the west 
 And lilting birds are gone to rest; 
 O'er the hoar mountains far away, 
 Bathed in the light of waning day, 
 The sun shines, robed in crimson, gold 
 And purple; though the sky, less bold, 
 Is veiling in the shades of night. 
 
 The stream, from laughing ripples free, 
 Reflects and mirrors cloud tints three; 
 But, swiftly as it flows along 
 A boat is deftly guided on 
 Against its current; th' boatman's song 
 By th' crisp, clear air is carried down — 
 Hark! 'tis an old, remembered tune. 
 
 The silent plain, the trackless wood, 
 Seats of the hunter's hardihood ; 
 Drift by like phantoms; at the marge 
 The swaying water grass looms large 
 And darkly green : the shadows reach 
 Their length'ning arms athwart the beach 
 By prismy, pebbly gems bedight. 
 
 Mysterious twilight's solemn reign 
 O'er stream and forest, sea and main. 
 But now begins; the heavenly hosts 
 Of stars assemble their outposts 
 And slowly constellate: a breeze 
 Comes moaning through the eerie trees, 
 And goes to meet the rising moon. 
 
 178 
 
Night-sounds, a book to trained ear, 
 The panther and the hunted deer. 
 Now grace the gloom ; along the brink 
 God's speechless creatures come to drink 
 At nature's font; each separate kind 
 Alone, as b}^ a common mind 
 
 Their frail existence to preserve. 
 
 Back to its lair each fleeting form 
 Again departs ; the lowly worm 
 Pursues his humble task unturned ; 
 The owl and bat the fates have learned 
 Of their intended victims: earth 
 Has gathered for the morrow's birth 
 Her vigintillion seeds of life. 
 
 'Tis midnight — all the dreaming world 
 Through the dim void of space is whirled 
 On its own axis ; 3 et one more 
 Dread revolution to the score 
 Of unretraceable dead days 
 Its number adds: the spectral rays 
 Eternity's domain subserve. 
 
 Time yawns ; the thousand eyes of night 
 Behold a gray, ungarish light 
 Around diffused ; the eye of morn. 
 As mourning for a race forlorn. 
 In shrouded glory slow appears ; 
 And night dissolves in dewy tears, 
 Forerunners of our mortal strife. 
 
 179 
 
Thus, came the Christ to Bethlehem, 
 A star from heaven's diadem 
 His only harbinger; and through 
 The dark of desohition drew 
 His Father's children to the dawn 
 Of Love; the lion and the fawn, 
 
 The weak and strong, companions made. 
 
 He who wept o'er Jerusalem, 
 Declined the robbers to condemn, 
 Forgave the Magdalene her past. 
 And loved the harsh world to the last; 
 Now sends us nature's miracles 
 As His perennial oracles 
 
 Of Kindly Light that ne'er can fade. 
 
 180 
 
I 
 
 I LOVE THEE. 
 
 LOVE thee! ah! sweetheart, I love thee! 
 In ev'ry shining sphere of night 
 I see thy spirit bright ! 
 
 And yet thou'rt dead, and round above thee 
 Sweet flowers claim the scent and sight 
 To hide my spirit's blight. 
 
 From out thy flow'ry tomb thou callest 
 In answer to my broken prayer, 
 Till my heart Heth there. 
 
 The dying sun's smile on thee falleth, 
 Making thee his bride of air, 
 Ethereal and fair. 
 
 A rarer fragrance than the flowers' 
 Ariseth from the memory 
 Of all thou wast to me. 
 
 A greater glory gilds the hours 
 Than the sun's rainbow-tinted lea 
 When I but think on thee. 
 
 I loved thee living, and in Heaven 
 Christ can not love thee more than I 
 Who can not even die. 
 
 Only once on earth 'tis given 
 
 The wings of such a love to try: 
 On them to thee I'd fly! 
 
 181 
 
BEAUTY. 
 
 HERE is no power on earth that does not 
 bow to beauty ; 
 For beauty is the soul's embodiment ; 
 The subtle essence of the pennate flight of 
 passion, 
 Resurgence of all loveliness that died. 
 
 T 
 
 In nature or in man or the inanimate, 
 
 There is a hidden chord that does respond 
 
 To the light touch of beauty's wand'ring magic 
 hand ; 
 It cries to us from art or face or frond. 
 
 God placed it there, and taught the eye and mind 
 and heart 
 
 This was their Heav'n, if only they would look: 
 He formed nor walls nor laws to govern its retreat. 
 
 And with it interlined love's open book. 
 
 Blest is the ear that lists to and the eye that seeks 
 The beautiful alone, nor stays content 
 
 With passing drams of mediocre happiness, 
 When beauty is forever freely lent. 
 
 Transplendent lines by bards in hour inspired writ- 
 ten; 
 
 The breathing marble's Galatean fame ; 
 Colors of the skies — to blossoms wild translated ; 
 
 These give to beauty substance and a name. 
 
 182 
 
The painter o'er his palette mixes soul with pig- 
 ment; 
 
 The rapt composer grasps th' elusive strain : 
 As, waiting beauty's light, they labor intermittent, 
 
 So, link by link, they shatter beauty's chain. 
 
 We say some thing is beautiful, and only know 
 
 That pride and pelf subsidiary are 
 To this one chord which wafts us to that higher 
 plane 
 
 Where dwell our dreams, miraculously fair. 
 
 Sufficient that unwittingly we idolize 
 
 The beautiful, and, in inglorious shame, 
 
 Hide from our hideous thoughts and deeds when we 
 inhale 
 The incense from its quenchless altar-flame. 
 
 183 
 
GOING DOWN THE AGES. 
 
 GOING down the deathless ages the long 
 road is broad and bare, 
 [ You can count upon your finger-tips the 
 handful passing there; 
 Some are bent with their achievements, some no 
 
 longer young and fair; 
 Some, there are, so lightly borne by Hope they seem 
 to walk on air. 
 
 There are laureled brows and halos and the cross 
 
 of heroism. 
 There are artist, sage and warrior and saint of 
 
 bloody schism: 
 Lo! each fares along in his own way, nor steps to 
 
 common rhythm 
 Though anointed by one Genius and immersed in 
 
 one Baptism. 
 
 They have traveled far, these seekers bold for 
 
 Glory's holy grail; 
 They have threaded their lone passage through the 
 
 millions born to fail ; 
 Thev have trod upon oppression and on ugliness, to 
 
 hail 
 The resplendent angel guidons as they press upon 
 
 the Veil. 
 
 184 
 
But, alas ! they've been so lonely in their ploddings, 
 
 from the start; 
 There is many a year and many a world between 
 
 each struggling heart; 
 For while some have died for humankind, still 
 
 others died for art, 
 And by some was science glorified and some dwelt 
 
 pure apart. 
 
 And the seraphim and cherubim are crowding at 
 the Gate 
 
 Raising sounding hallelujahs, to salute in royal state 
 
 These slow-passing down the ages, wresting victory 
 from Fate 
 
 While the mighty's seats are falling and the sleep- 
 ers wake too late. 
 
 185 
 
T 
 
 THE DOODLE-BUGS' PARTY. 
 
 HE doodle-bug gave a party 
 
 One stilly night in June 
 In the wildwood glen, where now and then 
 
 The night-bird lent his tune. 
 
 All the little bugs for rods around 
 
 Came hopping along in glee, 
 And the way they formed for the first quadrille 
 
 Was a noble sight to see. 
 
 The grasshopper paired with the bumble-bee, 
 
 The ant with the angle-worm, 
 The potato bug tumbled about till he 
 
 Just laughed till he couldn't squirm. 
 
 The night-moth weaved a "ladies' change" 
 
 With his partner, the lady-bug. 
 While the sly little beetle and wicked fly 
 
 Strolled out in the dark to hug. 
 
 The firefly's torch and the glow-worm's lamp 
 
 Low-lighted the festive scene, 
 And the butterfly's wings flashed round in rings, 
 
 Like a gorgeous painted screen. 
 
 Back and forth and around they swung, 
 
 All humming away for fair, 
 Till they shuffled and slid as the katydid 
 
 "Katvdid, katv-didn't" the "air." 
 
 186 
 
They danced till the moon, like a great arc light, 
 
 Lit up their fairy hall ; 
 Then drank the dew for a banquet brew 
 
 Till they got drunk one and all. 
 
 Soon the rest dropped asleep in the grasses deep, 
 While the moon winked, smiling grim; 
 
 But the doodle-bug lit on a wakeful tomtit, — 
 And that was the last of him! 
 
 H 
 
 THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 IS memory is like an old manorial ruin, 
 Broken but grand ; 
 Or like the deathless sun of some departed noon, 
 Beyond the land. 
 
 His scion launched the airy filaments of dreams, 
 
 Like winged birds; 
 The melodies and mysteries of woods and streams 
 
 Wrought into words. 
 
 The youth that is, his the inherent signet of 
 
 A greatness gone; 
 In him shall blend all glories that have been, and 
 Love 
 
 Impel him on ! 
 
 187 
 
MY HEART IS HEAVY TONIGHT. 
 
 O 
 
 H ! my heart is heavj' tonight — 
 
 Fame and Fortune have passed me by; 
 Though the stars are shining bright, 
 I only pray to die. 
 
 My love has died while I fold it, 
 A ghastly corpse, to my heart: 
 
 With my spirit's eyes I behold it 
 Like a rainbow fade apart. 
 
 I've lost all faith in the world ; 
 
 The world's lost faith in me: 
 My soul, to oblivion hurled. 
 
 Takes hold on eternity. 
 
 Is there one so depraved, so low, 
 Could stoop to love me again, 
 
 For what I hope to show 
 Or what I once have been? 
 
 Ah ! there are depths I have sounded 
 Of human woe and dread 
 
 That with vast despair so abounded 
 I wished that I were dead. 
 
 Has life so little to offer 
 
 That death can offer more? 
 
 Are all the gifts that I proffer 
 All worthless, o'er and o'er? 
 
 Why must I live and suffer? 
 
 Come Death with thy relief! 
 False hope is but a buffer 
 
 For unrelenting grief. 
 
 188 
 
Come Sleep and kiss mj' eyes now — 
 You're the only sweetheart I know: 
 
 My mind and my heart and my soul bow 
 Down to thy mesmeric glow. 
 
 If I had never been born, 
 
 Never hoped and suffered and aged ; 
 If my heart had never been torn 
 
 By longings no havings assuaged ; 
 
 My heart were not heavy tonight, 
 IVIy anguish would never have come, 
 
 My spirit might wander in light, 
 My mortal complainings be dumb. 
 
 189 
 
I. MET THEE— TO MY SORROW. 
 
 WHEN I was young I met thee — to my 
 sorrow — 
 My past is sad, but hopeful my to-mor- 
 row — 
 Love proffered thee a shepherd and a fold, 
 But thou despisedst all gifts but gifts of gold. 
 
 When thou'rt arraigned before the Court of Heaven, 
 Thou wilt be asked to whom thou e'er wast true ; 
 
 And, tho' thy loves were seventy times seven. 
 Doubts of thy faithfulness will there accrue. 
 
 Thou must explain, when in the door came penury, 
 Why to the window suddenly thou flewest ; 
 
 Why, when the heart thou swor'st to keep forever 
 Broke on fate's wheel, 'twas then thou proved 
 not truest. 
 
 There is a thing no woman e'er has vanquished 
 Though in her throes she bid all earth defiance : — 
 
 That calm which comes at last to hearts she an- 
 guished 
 When her own acts denied her heart's alliance. 
 
 This is her way : — to strew her path with passion 
 Heedless and proud, yet fooling most herself, 
 
 Rotten at heart, but in the height of fashion, 
 Owning no gods but selfishness and pelf. 
 
 I'm but a man, the poorest of poor mortals. 
 With but a heart and poorly trained hands. 
 
 But when I die and kneel at heaven's portals, 
 
 I'll come with prayers, and not with vain de- 
 mands. 
 
 190 
 
Seers say there are no marriages in heaven ; 
 
 Art says there are no female angels even : 
 Woman, at best a necessary evil, 
 
 Spurns God and man to fawn upon the devil! 
 
 A 
 
 ALONE ! 
 
 H me ! that I should live to know 
 That poignancy of speechless woe. 
 That shrouding of affection's glow. 
 That tells me I'm alone — alone! 
 
 If all the souls that loved and lost, 
 If all the hearts which Fortune crossed, 
 If all the tears dead hopes have cost. 
 Could speak — such k 
 
 The days, for me no longer fair, 
 The jo3's I may no longer share, 
 The griefs that I alone must bear ; 
 My spirit's GethSemane disown. 
 
 And only there is left to me 
 The heights I can not reach, to see. 
 To crave the love that may not be. 
 And, all alone, my loss bemoan. 
 
 191 
 
w 
 
 THE HYMN OF THE AMERICAN 
 PATRIOT. 
 
 — 1— 
 
 HO doth not feel a martial thrill 
 
 When the drums and the fifes are passing, 
 Keeping time with his feet to the rhythmical 
 beat, 
 With his eyes like bay'nets flashing? — 
 Feel his heart and his hand steeled to fight for his 
 land 
 With his own flag streaming o'er him? 
 Oh ! the glory and bliss of a moment like this 
 With Vict'ry's goal before him! 
 Winged Vict'ry's goal before! 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 To march, to march, with shoulders square, 
 
 Our souls on our arms attendant. 
 That our land be freed from the tyrant's greed, — 
 
 The star of hope resplendent, 
 
 Is our burning thought and prayer. 
 
 — 2— 
 
 Who that doth roam afar from home 
 
 But doth feel its ties draw the stronger? 
 To the land of our youth we arc anchored, in truth, 
 
 By our heart's wild thirst and hunger. 
 There's a sound in its waves we would hear in our 
 graves — 
 
 There's a balm comes from its flowers — 
 There's a light in its skies that must live in our eyes 
 
 Till Death's dark shadow lowers, — 
 Till our last, dying hours. 
 
 192 
 
— 3— 
 
 And there's one land's the fairest land 
 
 Among all the fair lands around us — 
 'Tis that land where the star-spangled banner still 
 waves ; 
 'Tis the land where Freedom found us ! 
 Seems each fireside Love's shrine, — some bright bea- 
 con divine, 
 In that land, when left behind us: 
 There's no solace in tears — there's no power in years, 
 To break the ties that bind us, 
 Our country's ties that bind ! 
 
 193 
 
MAIDEN'S LOVE SONG— (Waltz Air). 
 
 D 
 
 OWN low in the shadows, 
 Under the whisp'ring tree, 
 Lies dreaming my loved one, 
 Dreaming, perhaps, of me. 
 
 There's where I would linger 
 
 After the day had flown, 
 Hung'ring for his heart's beat. 
 
 Calling to him alone. 
 
 If there I might meet him 
 Filling night's holy shrine, 
 
 If there I might greet him, 
 Love in his eyes and mine; 
 
 What more could I long for — 
 Holding him fast till death, 
 
 Rocked low on his bosom, 
 
 Hushing his rapt'rous breath? — 
 
 Chaste nature about us 
 
 Sighing in sympathy, 
 Yon wan lunar goddess 
 
 Blessing our ectasy. 
 
 O, ye! who would falter. 
 Beckoned of blissful fate, 
 
 Think, think how love's flower 
 Often must bloom too late! 
 
 Gold, glory and grandeur 
 Pale as the twilight turn 
 
 When, pressed to your sweet-heart, 
 Secrets of love vou learn. 
 
 194 
 
Far brighter than Heaven, 
 Deeper than depths of Hell, 
 
 Those joys that befall you 
 An he but love 30U well. 
 
 Ah, God! noiu I have found him, 
 My lover, my lord, my hope ! 
 
 Blind mine eyes with his kisses. 
 In passionate dreams I grope! 
 
 Though night passes to morning, 
 I pray I may ne'er awake — 
 
 Fortune never could bring me 
 The half that to-night I take. 
 
 195 
 
"WORDS ARE THE ONLY THINGS THAT 
 LAST FOREVER." 
 
 T 
 
 IS not the words themselves, but what they 
 
 say — 
 The place they occupy in mind and heart — 
 That lives forever: there are books that do 
 Compress all time to fill but one short hour. 
 Men die, or low or high, that history 
 May live; but history itself must die 
 In turn, if it were not for simple words 
 To keep its memory green against decay. 
 The inarticulate beasts can not survive 
 Their fall, nor render to posterity 
 One single legend of their transient days 
 Except through man — nor he except through 
 
 words. 
 And hence, the caviler of literature 
 Aspires to be but "brother to the ox," 
 Thinking, in his littleness of soul, 
 His vain exploits are their own chroniclers : 
 He scoffs at composition, this dumb brute, 
 Yet, dying, hopes words will commemorate 
 
 him. 
 Thus do materialists sustain their pride — 
 Insane, they think that they alone are sane. 
 We come, we go; whence, whither, who may 
 
 know? 
 And all the trace we leave behind is words : 
 Words are the only things that last forever, 
 To multiply the future by the past. 
 
 196 
 
H 
 
 PUPPY-LOVE. 
 
 I loved her; 
 
 She loved him; 
 
 The daj^ died in glory 
 He told her, 
 She told him, 
 
 The old golden story. 
 
 The trees sighed, 
 The moon spied, 
 
 The leaves danced awhirl ; 
 The breeze sprung. 
 The brook sung, 
 
 When the boy kissed the girl. 
 
 The cov^ coughed. 
 The horse laughed. 
 
 The pig squealed with joy; 
 The dove cooed. 
 The owl whooed. 
 
 When the girl kissed the boy. 
 
 197 
 
HE'S BUT A SWEET MEMORY NOW. 
 Air: "Take Back the Heart Thou Gavest." 
 
 KISS his mute lips in long parting; 
 
 Whaf can they say to thee more? 
 Drop not thy tears on his shroudings ; 
 Cry not thy anguish so sore! 
 
 Fold his still hands o'er his bosom; 
 
 Push back those locks from his brow ; 
 Cover him gently with roses — 
 
 He's but a memory now. 
 
 Though thy tears flow like the river, 
 Sweeter that mem'ry will grow ; 
 
 Like a lone star in thy darkness 
 Brightly for thee will it glow. 
 
 Break not thy heart that he sleepeth; 
 
 O'er thy own slumbers he guards; 
 Half of thyself's now in Heaven — 
 
 Time but reunion retards. 
 
 Deep in thy heart build a temple ; 
 
 Shrine him and worship him there: 
 Heaven will seem to thee closer 
 
 Glassed in his image so fair. 
 
 Look! all around thee fond mothers, 
 Like Asher's widows they wail ; 
 
 Trailed in dust are their garments; 
 Under Love's lashes they quail. 
 
 Gird up thy loins with hope's prescience; 
 
 Shake off that sorrow that clings — 
 Love ne'er was given to crush thee ; 
 
 Rise on sweet memory's wings! 
 
 198 
 
Think of the hearts e'er were childless: 
 Wouldst thou change places with them? 
 
 For their dull, passionless freedom 
 Give thy sweet memory's gem? 
 
 No ! — 'tis far sweeter to love on — 
 Death cannot rob thee of this: 
 
 E'en though he's but a sweet mem'ry, 
 Memory cherished is bliss. 
 
 Here at thy table his spirit 
 
 Smiles reassurance and love ; 
 Still his endearing young laughter 
 
 Calleth to thee from the grove. 
 
 And in thy dreamings of night-time 
 
 Astral and patient he stands, 
 Waiting for thee at Love's Portal, 
 
 Holding thy crown in his hands. 
 
 Tenderly fondle his mem'ry ; 
 
 Let him continue to live; 
 Pour out thy heart — he will hear thee — 
 
 Death cannot steal what you give. 
 
 There is no love like a mother's: 
 Law, death, nor heaven, nor hell, 
 
 Nor all these taken together. 
 Can its advances repel. 
 
 Feeding upon its own sweetness. 
 
 Ne'er can it hunger in vain ; 
 All that it squanders so lavish 
 
 199 
 
A 
 
 WHEN. 
 
 S one by one thy hopes depart," 
 
 And none comes to replace them 
 
 And grief and anger rule thy heart, 
 
 And faith can not efface them; 
 
 When all thy idols broken lie 
 
 And dead is thy ideal, 
 And those who know thee pass thee by 
 
 As though they could not feel ; 
 
 When all thy love is turned to hate 
 And God seems to forget thee; 
 
 When ev'ry blessing comes too late. 
 And promises but fret thee; 
 
 When weakness, penury and pain 
 
 And secret shame and worry 
 Oppress thee, and thy kin complain. 
 
 And daunt thee by their hurry; 
 
 When only one or two are true 
 
 Of all who once upheld thee, 
 And those thou helpedst when life was new 
 
 Have silently repelled thee; 
 
 When Heaven seems in league with Hell 
 
 To humble and undo thee, 
 And they who strove not half so well 
 
 Are condescending to thee; 
 
 200 
 
When wise and foolish mock at thee 
 And saints and sinners scoff thee — 
 
 Nor women smile nor look at thee; 
 Nor even children love thee ; 
 
 When the cold world sweeps heedless past, 
 
 And lonely hours affright thee, 
 With only wrongs to dream at last, 
 
 And dreads and doubts to bite thee: 
 
 Forget it all ! be calm and strong ; 
 
 Grasp thine own meed and station ! — 
 The world will take thee then, ere long, 
 
 jit thine own valuation. 
 
 201 
 
'TIS NOT ENOUGH TO DO YOUR BEST. 
 
 T 
 
 IS not enough to do 
 The best you can : 
 
 Your art may be steel-true 
 Yet please not man ; 
 
 Your aim may be sublime 
 Yet your work tame — 
 
 Give hostages to Time 
 Yet leave no name. 
 
 There's something subtler far 
 
 Than energy — 
 Some unattained star 
 
 That must be free 
 
 From ev'ry coil of earth, 
 
 Its orbit ruled 
 By glory's sun, its birth 
 
 Nepenthe-cooled. 
 
 Forever you must seek 
 That bright star, too; 
 
 Or arrogant or meek, 
 It seeks not you. 
 
 Your soul must enter in, 
 
 Lone habitue; 
 To stellar worlds akin. 
 
 Your mind imbue 
 
 With deathless attributes, 
 
 Eternal rays. 
 Omniscience that confutes 
 
 All common ways. 
 
 202 
 
WHEN WITH NEWER FRIENDS YOU'RE DRINKING 
 
WHEN WITH NEWER FRIENDS YOU'RE 
 DRINKING. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN with newer friends you're drinking, 
 And of joys and passion thinking, 
 Listening with glass uplifted. 
 While soft light through crystal's sifted ; 
 
 Pause and dream — oh ! then remember — 
 
 If 'tis June — that cold December 
 
 Brings back mem'ries of that night 
 
 When all the world with love seemed bright- 
 
 When within your arms I slumbered, 
 Careless of the doubts unnumbered 
 That once held me trembling slave 
 To convention — Love is brave! 
 
 Tilt your glass now, but forget not 
 I have changed not and still wait 
 
 For your footsteps on my staircase, 
 Which can never come too late. 
 
 203 
 
N 
 
 A STILL NIGHT. 
 
 O breeze or sound was stirring; 
 E'en fancy ceased its flight: 
 No wave moved 'long the water 
 To wake the hushed night. 
 
 The solitude entombed me, 
 
 So sepulchral its spell; 
 And where I was passed from me 
 
 And what I was as well. 
 
 The darkness and the silence 
 
 More soporific grew, 
 Till all that lay within me 
 
 Fell dark and silent too. 
 
 Then Luna half her splendor 
 Threw o'er the quiet scene, 
 
 A camera-obscura 
 
 Flashed on a living screen. 
 
 A moveless panorama 
 
 Dim-outlined far around ; 
 The distant arch above me 
 
 With blue-white gems was crowned. 
 
 With arm bent o'er the taffrail, 
 I sought the water's touch, 
 
 Too close to nature's solace 
 To think or wonder much. 
 
 No breath disturbed the ether — 
 There stillness reigned supreme, 
 
 With not a single cloudlet 
 To make the watcher dream. 
 
 204 
 
The minutes fled uncounted. 
 No worldly woes oppressed, 
 
 And dreamlessly I slumbered 
 In perfect peace and rest. 
 
 TWILIGHT REVERY. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN the twilight deepens 
 And the stars glow brighter 
 And the winds droop silent 
 And the waves grow quiet, 
 
 Comes a moment pulsing 
 With suppressed emotions, 
 O'er the spirit stealing, 
 Bearing its sweet message. 
 
 Then, the world forgotten, 
 On the wings of rapture. 
 Into wondrous spaces 
 Flies the soul anointed 
 
 With the love of Nature 
 And of Nature's children. 
 Threading shadowy mazes 
 To ethereal music. 
 
 205 
 
WHEN WE LOSE THE LOOK OF YOUTH. 
 
 W 
 
 HEN we lose the look of youth, 
 
 As we older grow, 
 Bowed down with that weight of ruth 
 
 Bends us here below, 
 
 Then, oil, then! it is that tears 
 From the heart should flow; 
 
 Memory, reaping the dead years. 
 Gleans those flowers did blow 
 
 In our childhood's simple days 
 When the heart was pure — 
 
 Ere we passed along the ways 
 Where men's wrongs endure. 
 
 In each other's face we trace 
 
 Lines of cruelty 
 That those lines of youth efface 
 
 Once so good to see. 
 
 For that fleeting look of youth 
 
 Search I every face 
 That I meet — that look of truth 
 
 Which at first does grace 
 
 Each new countenance which Heaven 
 Moulds, with plastic pow'r: 
 
 Must such beauty to us given 
 Flee with youth's sweet hour? 
 
 God grant that, whatsoe'er betide, 
 Despite of age, despite of pride, 
 Be my lot blest or be it sad. 
 Unchanged, I live and die a lad! 
 
 206 
 
'TIS TWO LONG MONTHS AGONE! 
 
 A 
 
 S I look back to-night 
 
 O'er the slow-crawling daj's 
 Stretching out, like a blight, 
 From our parting of ways, 
 
 My tried spirit grows weary 
 With waiting and longing — 
 
 Your endearments, my dearie, 
 Around me are thronging; 
 
 And I call up the zest 
 
 Of Fame's glamour in vain : 
 
 My heart never can rest 
 Till I see you again ! 
 
 'Tis two long months agone 
 Since your head on my breast 
 
 And your lips on my own, 
 Made me happy and blest. 
 
 Now ril measure the hours 
 Till our meeting shall come, 
 
 And we gather love's flow'rs 
 In the garden of home; 
 
 While that child at your knee. 
 Who's awaiting me, too, 
 
 Shall remind you of me, 
 And remind me of you. 
 
 207 
 
JUST REMEMBER— DON'T FORGET. 
 
 D 
 
 ON'T forget to kiss your wife 
 Ev'ry time you leave her; 
 And remember, on your life, 
 Always to believe her. 
 
 Don't forget to be on time 
 
 For her ev'ning dinner; 
 And, remember, just a dime 
 
 Buys a flow'r to win her. 
 
 Don't forget your little boys 
 
 Think you are a wonder ; 
 When they make an awful noise 
 
 Don't you flash and thunder! 
 
 Don't forget your little girls 
 
 Long for pretty clothes: 
 Asks one ribbons for her curls 
 
 Don't you tweak her nose! 
 
 Don't forget your mother dear ; 
 
 Bring some gift to please her ; 
 Search your heart and brain to cheer. 
 
 Interest and ease her. 
 
 To your father go to school, 
 
 Be he dull or clever ; 
 Try to make the golden rule 
 
 Fulcrum for your lever. 
 
 Don't forget to pay your bills — 
 When you have the money — 
 
 Tell the doctor all your ills; 
 Keep your temper sunny. 
 
 208 
 
Read and play and drink and smoke- 
 Pleasure is not sinning — 
 
 Learn to make and take a joke; 
 Keep love's top a-spinning. 
 
 And remember God to thank 
 In your humble way: 
 Put some pennies in the bank 
 For a rainy day. 
 
 All your friends remember too; 
 
 Just forget the evil 
 Thoughtless persons do to you ; 
 
 Speak your servers civil. 
 
 Don't forget the poor and meek — 
 E'en the bard remember — 
 
 Let j^our words seem, when you speak, 
 Roses in December. 
 
 Just remember little things, 
 
 And the big will come, 
 Time will fly on golden wings, 
 
 Happy be your home. 
 
 209 
 
w 
 
 MY GETHSEMANE. 
 
 An Invocation. 
 
 ITH arms upraised I beg Thee, Father, 
 Bless Thou, help, my heart's mean labors, 
 
 That my soul new pow'rs may gather 
 From Thy mercy's vouchsafed favors! 
 
 Oh! dear Christ who died for Beauty! 
 Teach my falt'ring brain its duty. 
 That my heart and soul may utter 
 Truths that round them vaguely flutter! 
 
 Give me, my God, that wondrous clearness 
 Of language proving Beauty's nearness! 
 Forsake me not in my endeavor ! 
 Hope is my fulcrum. Love my lever! 
 
 "let the bitter cup pass from me" — 
 Lay not Thy curse of dumbness on me! 
 
 1 come as comes a little child, 
 In perfect Faith — be reconciled ! 
 
 Grant Thou my prayer, O fluent Master, 
 To use Thy speech without disaster. 
 To show to those who sense it not 
 That Beauty which Thy plan begot. 
 
 Ah, I beseech Thee, Lord of All! 
 Let Thy Word's mantle on me fall, 
 And I will tell as man ne'er told it 
 Thy wonder-work as I behold it ! 
 
 210 
 
Holy, High Omnipotent 
 Whose pitying ear to me is bent ! 
 Thou hearest me, I know, I feel — 
 My tears, my sobs, my poor appeal ! 
 
 1 thank Thee! and no more shall doubt 
 My power to bring the lost words out; 
 My tongue Thy tongue shall understand : 
 My pen be guided by Thy hand. 
 
 T 
 
 "SANCTUARY!" 
 
 HEY were four — no more — 
 Seated round the frugal board ; 
 Three were angelic, the other was 
 What circumstances made him. 
 
 The graces of the three entombed 
 The misanthropic visions of the fourth, 
 And, like a reared monument above 
 His misery, shone forth resplendent. 
 
 And, in his sad minority, he craved 
 
 That peace and sweet serenity of soul 
 
 That breathed from out the others' quiet presence. 
 
 211 
 
HEARTS MENDED WHILE YOU WAIT. 
 
 HE winter day was closing, 
 
 The gale did not abate; 
 I heard a woman's chanting cry: 
 
 "Hearts mended while vou wait! 
 
 T 
 
 Through crowding mists of darkness 
 Naught could my eyes descry 
 
 Of her who gave that siren call, 
 Unnoticed drifting by. 
 
 I leaned from out my casement 
 
 And to the minstrel cried : 
 "Wait! wait! I come!" — she heeded not; 
 
 Only the night replied. 
 
 Dressed in my smoking-jacket, 
 Thoughtless of slippered feet, 
 
 I pushed my wind-prest door ajar 
 And sought the stormy street. 
 
 Distantly disappearing 
 
 A form I vaguely saw, 
 Breasting alone the wintry blast 
 
 Cold as an iceberg's maw. 
 
 Hurrying ever onward. 
 
 Wasting my futile strength, 
 
 Gasping a-low, I panted past 
 The thoroughfare's dark length. 
 
 Fleeting, just beyond me, 
 Ever the vision moved — 
 
 Soul and sinews bent in vain 
 O'er the path she roved, 
 
 212 
 
Ne'er could my outstretched arms meet 
 
 'Round the ethereal form; 
 E'er came her wild words back to me 
 
 Over the wilder storm. 
 
 Till in complete exhaustion, 
 
 Under the sky I stood, 
 And the voice soared up and fell on me 
 
 From some high altitude. 
 
 I laughed it to derision, 
 
 I cursed it for a snare. 
 And blindly, with a bursting heart, 
 
 To my lone hearth did fare. 
 
 All through the night I pondered 
 
 Upon this freak of Fate, 
 Tempting a love-scorned bosom with 
 
 "Hearts mended while you wait." 
 
 It seemed to me a lesson 
 
 That women teach to men : — 
 "There are no birds in last year's nest;" 
 
 Trust once, but ne'er again. 
 
 The vine that clings unsheltered, 
 
 Once ruthless torn away. 
 New vines cannot in years replace — 
 
 Heart's flow'r not in a day. 
 
 The sun came out with the dawning day. 
 The storm with the night had fled, 
 
 The snow-drifts lay like a diamond shroud 
 My heart — my heart was dead ! 
 
 213 
 
WHEN GENTLE SPRING COMETH. 
 
 O 
 
 H, the gentle spring is coming like a maiden, 
 With its sunny smiles and beauty-making 
 tears ; 
 And the air, with promised hues and odors 
 laden. 
 Wafts to me the benediction of the spheres. 
 
 All the stars that stared so coldly through the win- 
 ter, 
 
 Now take on a more resplendent, warmer glow; 
 And like pallid wine her rays the lunar vintner 
 
 Pours about me till they shame the vanished snow. 
 
 Tender florets raise their heads, in apprehension ; 
 Soothing zephyrs kiss, and lift them to their 
 breasts ; 
 All of Nature seems to stir in vibrant tension. 
 From her sleeping valleys to her mountain- 
 crests. 
 
 There's a sound of waking voices all around me 
 And a whirring in the meadows and the woods — ■ 
 
 Still they come, until their melodies have drowned 
 me 
 In a flood of vagrant reveries and moods. 
 
 And, I re-born, my fancies quaff spring's God-stilled 
 nectar 
 Till my very exaltation brings a sigh, 
 And I cling, close as Andromache to Hector, 
 To sweet Nature, as upon her heart I lie. 
 
 214 
 
I 
 
 MY NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 Written the Morning After. 
 
 WALKED in the footsteps of many 
 Who had passed on before me, last night; 
 
 I tried to walk straight, but I could not, 
 Though the welkin with candles was bright. 
 
 Now, the snow it lay deep, and their footprints 
 Helped to save me from catching a cold ; 
 
 But their wav'ring, like wandering riv'lets, 
 Was a dizzying sight to behold. 
 
 Still, regardful of health and my comfort. 
 My unknown predecessors I trailed 
 
 O'er the intricate path they had broken. 
 And I laughed and I sang as I reeled. 
 
 Well, you know, I am usually sober, 
 
 Though I sometimes will drink with a friend — • 
 I am not one to glibly turn backward 
 
 Moral somersaults at the year's end ; 
 
 Yet, there're those who've not scrupled to tell me 
 That my "fine explanation" was "bunk," 
 
 And I lied when I said I was sober, 
 
 And walked crooked because I was drunk! 
 
 215 
 
H 
 
 CROSSING THE BRIDGE. 
 
 ALF way 'cross I stop and shiver 
 O'er the dark and tragic river, 
 Cruel, deep, in deathless motion, 
 Bearing dead things to the ocean. 
 
 With a lure all but resistless, 
 
 As I lean there lost and listless. 
 
 Call the siren waters to me. 
 
 Thrills their beck'ning murmur through me. 
 
 Calling, beck'ning, urging, sighing, 
 Holding out the peace of dying. 
 Like a woman's arms they woo me, 
 Whispering nepenthe, sue me. 
 
 Giddy, I look down and tremble 
 Where the waters truth dissemble ; 
 Morbidly I brood, and sadly, 
 On the woes I'd quit so gladly. 
 
 Almost am I now persuaded; 
 From my skies all hope seems faded : 
 When above the clouds are riven 
 And the moon transforms the heaven. 
 
 Like one awakened from dread dreaming 
 Far I watch the moon-rays streaming, 
 Till in wonder and revulsion 
 Turn I from the stream's compulsion. 
 
 Then I know no present sorrow 
 Can eclipse that bright tomorrow 
 Nature and my soul both show me 
 While the river moans below me. 
 
 216 
 
THE BABY AND THE STARS. 
 
 W 
 
 EE little baby 
 Open 5'our eyes; 
 
 Look at the pretty stars 
 Up in the skies. 
 
 Baby, those stars 
 
 So tiny and bright, 
 Like angels' candles 
 
 Lighting the night, 
 
 Are really big worlds 
 
 Where, I'm told, children play 
 And drink lemonade 
 
 And eat candy all day. 
 
 Though no one's yet been there 
 
 To see if it's true, 
 'Tis nice to believe it 
 
 I'm thinking, don't you? 
 
 217 
 
SALUTATIO CHRISTI 
 A Christmas Carol. 
 
 T 
 
 IS Christmas Eve; 
 
 Yon stars how bright! 
 How white the world! 
 
 How deep the night ! 
 
 Expectantly 
 
 Our hearts await — 
 To-night Love knocks 
 
 At ev'ry gate, 
 
 The tidings glad 
 
 To men to bring: — 
 "Christ comes again 
 
 On morning's wing!" 
 
 Adored one! 
 
 Ere now we sleep 
 Thy Festival 
 
 Of Love we'll keep. 
 
 While far and near 
 
 Thy minst'ring band 
 Shall chant Thy praise 
 
 On sea and land ; 
 
 And not an idle breeze shall blow 
 But wafts Thy glory o'er the snow! 
 
 Across the morn 
 
 Wild bells shall ring 
 While wilder tongues 
 
 Thy carols sing. 
 
 218 
 
Again Thy Peace 
 
 Around shall spread, 
 Thy blessings fall 
 
 On ev'ry head ; 
 
 Compassion fly 
 
 From heart to heart; 
 Lips meet and kiss, 
 And kiss and part. 
 
 Oh! happiest of happy times, 
 
 That ushers in Thy Christmas chimes! 
 
 219 
 
MOONLIGHT. 
 
 T 
 
 HE moonlight falls on dark court walls, 
 And touches with transforming wand 
 
 The dreariest spots the mind recalls, 
 In every clime, in every land. 
 
 The sun enhances nature's works 
 And brings all beauties into play; 
 
 The moon beams down where squalor lurks, 
 And charms its ugliness away. 
 
 Those works of man the sun proclaims 
 
 Abortions and to eyes a pain, 
 The moon with soft'ning shadows frames 
 
 That break imagination's chain. 
 
 O'er nature's death and dun decay 
 
 The moonshine spreads its glist'ning shroud. 
 
 That mocks the searching eye of day 
 And wakes that faith by bards avowed. 
 
 The sky-lines of the city's blocks, 
 
 The outlines of the dusky trees, 
 Loom fanciful as distant rocks 
 
 Against the sky's cerulean frieze. 
 
 The moon is there, and all the world 
 Encamped beneath her silvery tent — 
 
 Its mercenary banners furled, 
 Its ear to love and music lent. 
 
 The sun can only beauty aid ; 
 
 The moon unsightliness can gild : 
 So, splendid as the day is made. 
 
 The night with greater splendor's filled. 
 
 220 
 
SOBBING SONG. 
 
 WHILE the mocking bird all melody is rob- 
 - bing, 
 While the throstle's throat with ecstacy is 
 throbbing, 
 While the violin its plaintive notes is sobbing, 
 Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, so bitterly and low; 
 
 Sorrow drains the dregs of sad anticipation, 
 All the sadness of the past's elimination. 
 With sweet melancholy's mystic emanation 
 
 Plucking on the heart-strings solemnly and slow. 
 
 When our dearest hopes are stricken low and dying, 
 When our weary souls for Heaven's light are sigh- 
 ing, 
 When our lonely hearts for human love are crying. 
 Crying, sobbing, sighing their miseries away ; 
 
 To the soothing night we turn in our lamenting, 
 All our agony in supplication venting. 
 Invoking and beseeching, imploring its relenting 
 For night's holy hour, the Nemesis of day. 
 
 221 
 
"BEHOLD, THOU ART FAIR, MY LOVE." 
 
 FAIR as the rising sun o'er Eden with no 
 clouds between, 
 Fair as the fairest goddess b)' immortals loved 
 or seen, 
 Fair as eternal hills embowered in radiant skies of 
 
 June, 
 Fair as ethereal shapes of nymphs beneath erotic 
 moon; 
 
 No hart that bounds from crag to cray, no fish that 
 
 swims the sea. 
 No flower that blooms, no bird that flies, can half 
 
 compare with thee; 
 No art of man, nor dreams of bard; no angels' 
 
 harps or song, 
 Can show or wield that grace and charm to thee 
 
 alone belong. 
 
 Thou art the matchless image of perfection deified ; 
 For thy production myriads were born and lived 
 
 and died; 
 Tis "after thee the deluge ;" for nor Nature can, 
 
 nor man. 
 Produce another such as thou, in whom the end 
 
 began. 
 
 What grief there must have been in Heav'n when 
 
 thou to earth wast lent! 
 What joy must be in Heaven when thy soul is 
 
 homeward bent! 
 How tender are thy eyes, my love, how fair thy 
 
 form and face: 
 No brush or pen or sculptor's tool thy beauty half 
 
 can trace! 
 
 222 
 
lEHOLD, THOU ART FAIR, MY LOVE' 
 
WINTER. 
 
 A Sonnet. 
 
 THE mountains stand unclothed, their naked- 
 ness 
 Shamed by the evergreens, till the pure 
 snow 
 Covers their nudity, and night bends lov^ 
 Compassionate, with garments dark to dress 
 Their shapes. — They sleep to wake as, in caress, 
 The mounting sun's transmogrifying glow 
 Tints, shades, bejewels till they beauteous blow 
 In majesty arrayed in sacredness. 
 
 So, in "the winter of our discontent," 
 
 Those heights whose plains hope's eager feet 
 have trod 
 Lose all their bright adorn, to our shamed gaze, 
 Until chaste patience, pitying sleep, are sent 
 To break their bleakness, and the golden god 
 Of glory's dawning decks them in its blaze. 
 
 223 
 
H 
 
 "MARK TWAIN." 
 
 Finis Coronat Opus. 
 
 IS work is done, his crown awaits; 
 We watch him glide through glory's gates ; 
 The whole world bears his spirit-pall 
 To rest in Fame's immortal hall. — 
 
 Toll not! ye bells! though he departs, 
 He lives forever in our hearts! 
 So high his art, so fine the man, 
 E'en jealousy to worship ran. 
 
 The ricli, the poor, the old, the young. 
 Enraptured o'er his pages hung; 
 If bitter truths sometimes in jest 
 Dropped from his pen, he told them best. 
 
 Pretensions, shams, hypocrisy, 
 He mocked with a frank nobility, 
 And innocence's absurdity 
 Rapped with love-like facility. 
 
 Oft did his heart outstrip his wit. 
 And genius on some page was writ 
 Wlien, hand in hand, he ushered in 
 Humor and pathos so akin. 
 
 Some tears must on the volumes fall 
 Treasured of him who wrote for all, 
 But those pure smiles he loved to wake, 
 Upon his memory e'er must break. 
 
 224 
 
When o'er his humorously dry 
 Posthumous words we laugh and cry, 
 With smiling lips we'll softly sigh: 
 "Friend, ' au revoir, but not good bye.' 
 
 His kind, fantastic humors 
 Grew mellow with the years; 
 
 He gave to life its laughter. 
 But left to death its tears. 
 
 225 
 
T 
 
 DISSERTATION ON LIFE. 
 
 O look into the face of Fate 
 And see no sign of mercy there, 
 To beat the ground in wild despair 
 
 O'er chance too early or too late, 
 
 Or that chance never came at all, 
 
 Or, coming, found them deaf and blind ; 
 Is what must happen all mankind 
 
 Ere tongueless Death's dumb shadow fall. 
 
 With rounded eyes the babies look 
 Upon a new world wondrous large; 
 There on life's green and coaxing marge 
 
 They stand like Spring beside the brook. 
 
 They do not clearly understand, 
 But know instinctively 'tis right 
 When rosy morning follows night, 
 
 Pink as their own fresh cheek and hand. 
 
 They learn sleep, hunger, are desire, 
 And that the breast for them is blest, 
 The equal source of food and rest, 
 
 The whole to which they yet aspire. 
 
 Then, as they grow, they come to know 
 Vague meanings of surrounding things: 
 Imagination, donning wings. 
 
 Soars oft too high and oft too low. 
 
 They learn to lisp strange vocal' sounds 
 And point to what those sounds describe: 
 They meet new faces of their tribe 
 
 Upon their circumscribed' rounds. 
 
 226 
 
They learn to love, and e'en to hate — 
 To laugh and ciy was born with them — 
 They find the flower on the stem ; 
 
 Its thorns their feelings penetrate. 
 
 They learn to read, they learn to write, 
 
 To reason and to classify; 
 
 They drink in learning through the eye 
 And wisdom through their aural right. 
 
 They bed with pain and convalesce ; 
 
 They breed young hope^ of tender bloom; 
 
 They bury them, forget their tomb. 
 And all their little world re-dress. 
 
 Gregariously they learn to fight — 
 Or is that born within them too? 
 And sometimes they must grieve anew 
 
 In learning right's not always might. 
 
 They choose their own from girls and boys 
 To cherish with their childish likes; 
 They come to dread the clock's cold strikes 
 
 That call to bed, away from joys. 
 
 They rouse to young ambition's call 
 And strive some simple prize to win ; 
 They gaze without and gaze within; 
 
 Broods o'er them their first sorrow's pall. 
 
 They look upon the face of Death, 
 And wonder and are made afraid, 
 Till on some older heart they've laid 
 
 The specter of the parting breath. 
 
 227 
 
They learn from Nature to adorn 
 
 Their persons, and awake to pride ; 
 
 They learn their evil thoughts to hide: 
 They own the earth from morn to morn. 
 
 Some creature of the other sex 
 
 Now draws them by strong, unseen cords; 
 
 Love conquers war — they sheath their swords: 
 Strange hopes and doubts their reason vex. 
 
 They wake to bliss — if not to woe — 
 They count the minutes they're apart; 
 Each yearns to read the other's heart: 
 
 Together, hand in hand, they blow. 
 
 They harness their young limbs to work; 
 They learn of money's double curse — 
 Too much is wrong — too little worse — 
 
 Yet no man may life's labors shirk. 
 
 They marry — some — the others don't: 
 
 Which is the wiser much depends 
 
 On what each to the other lends 
 Of hope and faith and "Will" and "Wont" 
 
 When two are added into one ; 
 
 Or what the one who single sta)?s 
 
 Can gather of the human rays 
 Of gladness for his own bright sun. 
 
 Along the devious paths of life 
 
 They scatter as life's winds may blow; 
 Nor hail each other as they go, 
 
 The one to peace, the one to strife. 
 
 228 
 
The human cycle rounds again; 
 
 New souls are born to these before — 
 Through generations, o'er and o'er, 
 
 New stars arise and shine and wane. 
 
 Then those who learned remain to teach, 
 And marvel at the mystery 
 Of birth, their own birth's history 
 
 A past to which they cannot reach. 
 
 But, happy in new burdens given, 
 The automatic strength comes too 
 To conquer larger worlds and new, 
 
 Be valiant in the eyes of Heaven. 
 
 Some grow to wealth — to penury more ; 
 
 Some bow down to the golden calf ; 
 
 Some only dream of joys and laugh : 
 Some drive the wolf from others' door. 
 
 To many harmonies appeal ; 
 
 There're some to Nature lend their days: 
 Still fewer follow science's ways: 
 
 To one or two the Muse is real. 
 
 Each goes his way, and lives or dies 
 By what he gives or what he takes; 
 Who gives the most, most happy makes; 
 
 Who takes the most, loss multiplies. 
 
 On flowing tide to many a port 
 
 Their laden ships come sailing proud, 
 Or battered hulk and tattered shroud 
 
 Float in and strand, the ebb-tide's sport. 
 
 229 
 
Oh ! wise is he who nothing holds 
 All-precious but his own delight 
 In Art and Nature and the bright 
 
 And beautiful his mind unfolds. 
 
 Oh! happy he who has no care 
 
 But thoughts of others' happiness, — 
 How in the rainbow's hues to dress 
 
 Their sombre skies and make them fair. 
 
 Oh ! blessed he who talks with God 
 And tells him of his splendid aim — 
 To glorify His works and name 
 
 In words that spring like grass from sod. 
 
 The glaciers moving one brief inch 
 
 In centuries, no slower are 
 
 Than is God's wrath though fabled far. 
 The souls of men with fear to pinch. 
 
 The power of His Mercy moves 
 The universe: sun, moon and stars 
 Are but His Love's triumphal cars 
 
 That flash its glory 'long their grooves. 
 
 If, then, God loves us, why despair? 
 Or rather, why not be content 
 And question not our good was meant, 
 
 Nor waste our wailings on the air? 
 
 In common welfare lies success — 
 Not in the individual gain : 
 Nations are rising, and complain; 
 
 And times draw near when nothing less 
 
 230 
 
Than fair abundance shared by all — 
 
 No very poor — no very rich — 
 
 Will satisfy that unrest which 
 The opulent mob-clamor call. 
 
 From w^hat Christ said and did we learn 
 The poor man's due is just as great 
 As due those privileged by Fate 
 
 To squander what they do not earn. 
 
 Court marriage : there's so much in life 
 Which singly dies and doubly lives, 
 So much of solace marriage gives, 
 
 That single life's but death-in-life. 
 
 Then, when want threatens, stop and think 
 How safe you are, how armed for strife. 
 Your buckler, lance and sword your wife, 
 
 More potent than the strongest drink 
 
 To brace the mind yet calm the nerve, 
 Uphold you till you give at length 
 "The last, full measure" of your strength. 
 
 Nor one hair's breadth from duty swerve. 
 
 Fate is of course — of course she is; 
 
 Yet, cruel though she seem and be. 
 
 She is not mad at you or me 
 But shapes us to the love that's His. 
 
 If we might with all-seeing eyes 
 
 From high look down on all the strings 
 Of life that guide and govern things, 
 
 And watch how intricacy plies; 
 
 231 
 
The pluvial days would jovial shine, 
 Unerringly we'd follow Fame, 
 All failure would be but a name, 
 
 Fate's bitterest cordials smack of wine. 
 
 But since we can unravel not 
 
 Life's tangled skeins 'yond our small ken 
 Of what is, was, or might have been. 
 
 We have no power to change our lot. 
 
 Could it be otherwise and still 
 All things move on in unison 
 As they have moved since time begun, 
 
 Subservient to one Master Will? 
 
 If men God's infinite knowledge held. 
 Could they be trusted with such power — 
 To work as one from hour to hour 
 
 With every jealousy dispelled? 
 
 No, not while man was only man ! 
 
 Hence it behooves us to entice 
 
 Such benefits, sent in disguise. 
 From seeming hardships as we can. 
 
 Full in the middle life, when age, 
 
 With loos'ning teeth and whit'ning hair. 
 Leers at us from Time's lonely lair, 
 
 And Faith alone can dread assuage; 
 
 We learn to live our lives again 
 In the new lives our children live: 
 It is for this that God would give 
 
 Them to us; so, we young remain. 
 
 232 
 
Who has not felt an equal joy 
 In laurels won or virtues gained, 
 Or equal grieved o'er record stained, 
 
 With his own growing girl or boy ; 
 
 Or watched some younger brother climb 
 With giddy feet the heights he failed. 
 And trembled every time he quailed. 
 
 And gloried in his feats sublime? 
 
 So, God doth watch our earnestness. 
 And counsel offer in our dreams 
 That waft us o'er life's dreariest streams, 
 
 And as we pray our efforts bless. 
 
 The tiger and the wolf are dead — 
 Comes now old age like wintry blast. 
 And all is desolate, spent and past. 
 
 The lion hides his cowed head. 
 
 The treble's turned to barytone, 
 To bass, and back to treble's notes ; 
 Come trembling forth from aged throats 
 
 Broke warblings from their youth agone. 
 
 Toujours perdrix the days become; 
 
 Laborum dulce lenimen 
 
 Has naught to do with humans then. 
 They seek but food and rest and home. 
 
 Close to the ingleside they creep. 
 Gumming and dawdling life away; 
 With imbecile delight they're gay; 
 
 Their worn-out tear ducts idly weep. 
 
 233 
 
Now the obverse: — age can descend 
 From its Olympus like a god 
 That steps on clouds — ah! why applaud 
 
 Life's glorious story ere its end? 
 
 Up and on and out and in 
 
 The truly great in mind and heart 
 Continuous play well their part, 
 
 As new as hope, though old as sin. 
 
 Their intellect, as their frame decays, 
 Grows stronger, brighter : full of days 
 They pass adown resplendent ways 
 
 That lead to coronating bays — 
 
 "Yes — but to die!" you say — 'Tis true 
 All men must die: the difference 
 Is only how they live — from hence 
 
 To thence is but a pang or two. 
 
 Around the couch of death kneel those 
 Who shall come after, whispering low 
 How sad it seems this one must go ; 
 
 With dread and prayer his lids they close. 
 
 But Avhen, the bitter parting o'er. 
 They lay him by his mother's side, 
 Reborn, in all men's hearts abide 
 
 His deeds and presence, more and more. 
 
 Sombre, awful, majestic Death 
 
 Can strip the bones, but not the soul ; 
 Nor can he fair renown control. 
 
 That lives, and grows, from breath to breath. 
 
 234 
 
well for him whose self-deceit 
 Makes real the children of his brain, 
 If he Death's summons can restrain, 
 
 His magnum opus to complete. 
 
 These verses, like man's granted days 
 
 Three score and ten, though in their flight 
 Their wings reflect not glory's light, 
 
 May shed, at least, some starlike rays. 
 
 They say life's of a muchness much: 
 E'en so, we can its course so leav'n 
 That we are "not as other men." 
 
 But sensate to its beauty's touch. 
 
 1 look around me, and I see 
 
 A floating palace in each cloud, 
 An angel's wing in bellying shroud, 
 A picture in each flower and tree. 
 
 I list around me, and I hear 
 
 A symphony in wood and field, 
 
 A harmony that seems to yield 
 To Nature's baton far and near. 
 
 And, though men's ways seem oft to clash, 
 There, too, I feel the undertone, 
 The underljang chords alone 
 
 That vibrate to the spirit's flash. 
 
 We are but One that moves along 
 To that fair End which will unroll, 
 In its own time, God's mighty Scroll 
 
 One World, one Heart, one Soul, one Song! 
 
 235 
 
o 
 
 AUTUMN EVENING. 
 
 ER a vista of yellow and jade 
 
 'Neath a zenith of silver and blue, 
 A sunset of purple and gold 
 
 Its vespertine signal-flame threw. 
 
 And the breath of the breezes seemed tinted 
 With a fragrance of colors so rare 
 
 That the silence poured over me scented 
 By the hues in that ambient air. 
 
 Then Twilight let fall her dark hair 
 
 And her tears o'er the face of the world, 
 
 The dew-drops out shining the stars 
 
 As the moon her white banner unfurled. 
 
 And methought all this beauty thus given 
 To mortals — so priceless and free, 
 
 Seemed a promise and token of Heaven — 
 Of the fruitage of Love's prodromy. 
 
 236 
 
s 
 
 THE KITTEN. 
 
 HE climbed upon my knee ; 
 I stroked her fur, 
 And she began to purr. 
 
 She knew contentment, 
 
 This wise little cat, 
 
 Although, perchance, she'd leave me for a rat. 
 
 Her eyes were big and wide; 
 Her coat was soft; 
 She held her tail aloft. 
 
 We played together: 
 
 Though she could not understand 
 
 My words, she sensed the kindness in my hand 
 
 And voice — God gave to her 
 The instinct sure to know 
 
 And choose her friends through all "life's fleeting 
 show." 
 
 God bless thee, little kitten. 
 
 For the lesson wise 
 
 You place before our eyes — 
 
 That faith brings kindness. 
 And the innocent 
 To happiness are lent. 
 
 They say she has no soul. 
 Poor, trusting little cat — 
 But I am not so sure of that ! 
 
 237 
 
STELLA. 
 
 T 
 
 HOU human star that shinest but for me, 
 Thrilling my lonely nights with melody, 
 The music of thy lips love's only song 
 Rolling the arches of my soul along; 
 
 Thine eyes my only light, thy winsome way 
 My only path, my goal, by night or day. 
 My only couch thy breast, my dream thy heart, 
 Beneath thy smile to rest, life's dearest part; 
 
 Thy will my own, thy lightest grief a pang 
 To me, thy joy as if an angel sang 
 To me, thy trust in me a sacred thing 
 Yet giving all my passions wanton wing; 
 
 Star-angel of a changed earth, replete 
 With all that's noblest, wonderful and sweet ; 
 Shine on and sing in thine own firmament, 
 Love's irised halo 'round thy temples bent ! 
 
 Shine on and sing the while I can contain 
 My madness o'er thy Lorelei refrain. 
 My blindness o'er thy sense-enslaving light — 
 Till slumber comes to kiss my eyes good-night. 
 
 238 
 
D 
 
 RESURGAM. 
 
 EATH is not death, but a quiescent passing, 
 A quickening of the spirit as its goal 
 Approaches with the doom of the deep night 
 That falls upon the bodj^, ere its flight. 
 We go, nor leave the world the less behind us 
 But hold the more communion with that 
 
 Power 
 Whose hands weave on the checkless loom of 
 
 Time 
 Endless designs all in one Purpose blent. 
 Our passions, griefs and loves, our industries, 
 Are woven, each an individual thread 
 Of crossing warp and woof of right and 
 
 wrong, 
 Into the pattern of our lives till Death 
 Snaps short the skeins; but the great loom 
 
 runs on 
 And in some other part picks up anon 
 The golden filaments of our existence 
 Reborn to newer, calmer, nobler form. 
 The all-completed fabrics of our lives 
 Are laid aside forever, but our souls 
 Travail, and bear the nucleus of such shape 
 We henceforth take beyond the punj^ realm 
 Of man: and thus we all shall rise again. 
 Higher, fairer, better than we were 
 Or ever hoped to be — We shall awake 
 From this our restless sleep of life to gaze 
 On brighter things than we have ever known. 
 
 239 
 
INDIAN SUMMER TIME. 
 
 THE lake is a smooth marble, dully veined by 
 waters brown and green and blue ; 
 The boughs shrink naked where the dying 
 leaves erst trembled when }oung zephyrs 
 drew; 
 White pillowy clouds gleam high and luminous ; the 
 
 zenith a blue distance grows; 
 No wintry crispness permeates the air, no odor of 
 midsummer rose. 
 
 Yet we in-drink the zests of all the seasons, mingled 
 
 in one vital breath — 
 Spring's early promise, summer's sunny days, fair 
 
 autumn and cold winter's death: 
 Now steps dance lightly to the lyrics in our hearts, 
 
 the guardant spectral spheres 
 Irradiate, far-resplendent, the emotional night — It is 
 
 no time for tears. 
 
 Old sadness sleeps with silence, while young happi- 
 ness awakes alone and sings, 
 
 Rhapsodically, the rejuvenated bliss that Indian sum- 
 mer brings ; 
 
 And Nature wears her loveliest gown — to those who 
 court her through poetic eyes — 
 
 Though unadorned by blossoms, flowers, snow-crys- 
 tals or rich autumn's Tyrian dyes. 
 
 It is the time I worship most of all the varied cycles 
 of the year ; 
 
 Hope leaps exultant in my throbbing breast, and 
 those I love seem doubly dear ; 
 
 It is the time when life seems best to live — when 
 doubts in softest slumber lie; — 
 
 The time to dream immortal deeds, the time to con- 
 quer Fate, or conquered die. 
 
 240 
 
R 
 
 RENA. 
 
 EN A is a vernal queen, 
 
 Lissom, slight and brown 
 As a naiad by the stream — 
 With her hair let down. 
 
 And whene'er her head she crowns 
 
 With her piled-up locks. 
 Smooth and clear the tawny neck 
 
 That my vision mocks. 
 
 Kissable her lips and eyes; 
 
 Lovable her way; 
 Mutable, her many moods 
 
 'Round one object play; — 
 
 For her heart's immutable, 
 
 And to me 'tis giv'n: 
 When she smiles I seem to catch 
 
 Fleeting peeps of Heav'n. 
 
 241 
 
o 
 
 OH! LIFE IS SO FULL! 
 
 H, life is so full of the things that delight, 
 With nature and music and beauty so bright, 
 What a desperate pity it seemeth, that man 
 Is blind and unhearing, — joy under the ban! 
 
 To be sure he sees something, and something he 
 
 hears ; 
 But he gathers not joys as he gathers the years, 
 Piling one on another from birth unto death — 
 All the wisdom that quiets, the pleasures that bless. 
 
 Lo, none need be unhappy who'll learn, from within. 
 And not from without, his true solace has been ; 
 'Tis by that which one gives and unconsciously takes, 
 And not what he's given, he happiness makes. 
 
 The recipe's simple — just seek, and you'll find 
 A wondrous assortment of joys for the mind, 
 A wonderful harmony striking j'our ear. 
 And colors and contours to eager eye dear. 
 
 And then, too, your soul and your heart will expand, 
 You'll worship your God and his beautiful land ;— 
 Of all the wise sayings this seemeth most clear : 
 You make your own Hell, or your Heaven, right 
 
 242 
 
s 
 
 ELINE. 
 
 A Song. 
 
 ]. 
 
 OMETHING must I say, Eline, 
 
 To prove my love is true? 
 Something must I do, Eline, 
 To show my heart to 3'ou? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 All the world is but a frame 
 For your beauty, love, and fame : 
 All that's wondrous, sweet and true 
 Finds embodiment in you. 
 
 2. 
 
 Words were never made, Eline, 
 Could half express my plea; 
 
 Actions cannot speak, Eline, 
 The half that's mute in me! 
 
 Words are idle things, Eline, 
 And deeds but broken reeds: 
 
 Just to look and love, Eline, 
 Must satisfy my needs, 
 
 4. 
 
 Listen to my heart, Eline, 
 And hear its beating prayer; 
 
 Look into my eyes, Eline, 
 
 And read your answer there! 
 
 My undying love, Eline, 
 
 'Twill, like a rose in bloom. 
 
 Perfume all your paths, Eline, 
 And twine about your tomb. 
 
 243 
 
THE CONVENTION OF THE 
 IMMORTALS. 
 
 W 
 
 A Modern Myth. 
 
 HERE erst but gods their feet had set 
 And shafts of Heavenlj^ light beat down 
 
 Too bright for mortal eyes, once met 
 The living dead the ages crown, 
 
 To pass upon the question vexed 
 
 Of whether Death made rich or poor — 
 
 What prizes new they had annexed, 
 
 What old gains lost, through his dark door. 
 
 Much wisdom did they formulate. 
 And, pro and con, their arguments 
 
 Waxed wondrous ; for their high estate 
 Gave test of all emoluments. 
 
 This single point did each concede: 
 That none did crave to live again 
 
 On earthly sphere, with worldly need, 
 E'en highest grandeur to attain. 
 
 For one had lost a lover there 
 With eyes of dew- wet-violet blue ; 
 
 Another had bowed low to care. 
 
 One grieved o'er others' wrongs he knew — 
 
 And so it went : not one had Fate 
 Dismissed unchastened, albeit Fame 
 
 Had breathed upon him, quick or late, 
 And wrought her magic in his name. 
 
 244 
 
"Beyond the Alps lies Italy;" 
 
 Never on earth had one content — 
 
 Aye towards the mountain pass of Death 
 And Glory were his strivings bent. 
 
 Yet, was death richer, in its peace. 
 
 Than life with worlds to conquer still ? 
 
 Outgrew not Alexander Greece? 
 Could France Napoleon's visions fill? 
 
 So pondered they, and more they said, 
 Till one till now had smiled apart — 
 
 Who greatness' corner-stone had laid 
 In darkness on a broken heart — 
 
 Stood forth graced transcendentally 
 
 By Love Regained: they looked, and learned 
 The deeper, higher pansophy 
 
 Which he, and he alone discerned. 
 
 Then were the heavens cleft cruciform 
 By hands unseen, and hidden lips 
 
 Dropped irised notes that, deiform. 
 Proclaimed the Great Apocalypse. 
 
 245 
 
THE POET'S QUERY. 
 
 OFT in the night while still the wide world 
 slumbers, 
 I waking lie and wonder if ///;• mind 
 Holds aught of those immortal, hidden numbers 
 That lend the breath of music to the wind. 
 
 The bards who gave to words their mystic splendor, 
 Were thej-, themselves, aware that in them lay 
 
 The pagans of grandeur, or the songs so tender, 
 That threw the veil of fanc\^ o'er their day? 
 
 Or did they in their inmost beings tremble 
 For fear the tools of gods they'd only break, 
 
 And truth and beauty seem but to dissemble 
 
 If in their hands those tools of gods they'd take? 
 
 I know not, but, I know some dormant power 
 Within me, guides my pen and bids me write: 
 
 It speaks to me through ev'ry op'ning flower; 
 It calls to me from ev'ry star of night. 
 
 Ah ! e'en should Greatness in her toils involve 7ne — 
 So poor a plaything for her hours of ease ; 
 
 Then, tired of men, forget. Love would absolve me 
 For my desire to worship and to please. 
 
 246 
 
T 
 
 CHRIST'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 HE hour grows on to midnight; 
 
 The snow lies deep ; 
 The stars are lamping clear-bright 
 
 The wild winds sleep. 
 
 All nature in quiescence 
 
 Its heart-throbs stills; 
 Await the Master's presence 
 
 Th' eternal hills. 
 
 In Paradise an angel 
 The gate throws wide, 
 
 And speeds the glad evangel 
 Of Christmas-tide. 
 
 The shepherd in his dream 
 
 The message hears ; 
 Again the starry beam 
 
 To him appears. 
 
 O'er teeming town and plain 
 
 It sheds its ray; 
 And Love is born again • 
 
 On Christ's birthday. 
 
 247 
 
w 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 A Song. 
 
 HEN your heart goes wand'ring through 
 the cold, cold world, 
 And can find no resting-place at night. 
 And your soul is dying in its dark, dark cell. 
 Longing for Love's holy light; 
 
 Comes a strain of music from an unseen throat. 
 Like a stream of sunlight through the gloom; 
 
 And the walls move outward from your weary 
 couch, 
 And a splendor fills the room. 
 
 Then the tears of solace fill your lifting eyes, 
 And a sob of passion parts your lips; 
 
 And your heart falls beating to a thousand joys. 
 And your soul its fetters slips. 
 
 248 
 
D 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 
 EEP in the solemn woodland ancient, 
 Where my heart lies 
 Under the brooding skies, 
 All that is vulgar passes from me, 
 All in me worthless, dies. 
 
 There, where the fickle sunlight flickers 
 
 Through branches still. 
 
 Gilding the babbling rill. 
 Thoughts and emotions throng my musings 
 
 That with contentment fill. 
 
 Birds, flow'rs and softly-whisp'ring zephyrs 
 
 Form a prelude 
 
 To my soul's altitude; 
 And music comes to me immortal 
 
 From Nature's instruments rude. 
 
 Hear I the voices of the angels, 
 
 Spirits of air 
 
 All unsurpassably fair; 
 Love, sympathy and veneration 
 
 Possess me unaware. 
 
 What care I for pale Vict'ry's laurels — 
 
 What can she show 
 
 Shaming the sunset's glow? 
 What can the busy world e'er proffer 
 
 Like these old w^oods I know? 
 
 249 
 
w 
 
 WILLIE BOY. 
 
 ILLIE boy, Willie boy, where are you wand- 
 'ring? — 
 Over the mountains? — over the sea? 
 
 Willie, my Willie boy, have you forgotten 
 All that you told me that night you kissed trie? 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy, don't you remember 
 How I clung to you so passionately? 
 
 Why did you leave me alone and heart-broken ?- 
 Was there some one you loved better than me? 
 
 Willie, blind Willie boy! oh, it was cruel! 
 
 Night after night I have wept as I prayed! 
 Ah, I could never believe you would do it? — 
 
 Lone in the night are you never afraid? 
 
 Willie, dear Willie boy, can you not realize 
 How strong my love is, how kind I would be 
 
 If but once more in your arms you'd but hold me?- 
 Willie! oh! Willie bov! come back to me! 
 
 250 
 
O THOU BEAUTIFUL SPRING! 
 
 T 
 
 HY breath is in mj^ nostrils, 
 Thy fervor in my heart; 
 
 Thy skies are wrought of rapture 
 Of which my soul's a part. 
 
 'Tis madness, rapture, pleasure! 
 And dancing to quick measure; 
 A glimpsing of such treasure 
 As proves the Joy thou art! 
 
 Thy buds and blades and flowerets 
 Are bursting forth to view ; 
 
 Thy zephyrs, tints and harmonies 
 Are soft and bright and true. 
 
 Oh! let me, hand-in-hand with thee. 
 From winter's prison passion-free. 
 Rejoice and sing diurnally; 
 Give thee thy beauty's due! 
 
 Thy ways are ways of gorgeousness ; 
 
 Thy days and nights are bliss! 
 How dark and grov'ling is that soul 
 
 That would thy w^elcome miss ! 
 
 'Tis beauty, music, ecstacy; 
 'Tis wisdom, solace, gain to me; 
 'Tis all I feel and hear and see: — 
 Is there a dream like this? 
 
 251 
 
THE CHORUS OF HOURS. 
 
 T 
 
 HE western sky 
 
 Incarnadine 
 Is streaked with hues 
 
 That flow like wine. 
 
 The sun declines, 
 The flower bends, 
 
 The dew distills. 
 And dusk descends 
 
 The moon ascends. 
 The stars appear, 
 
 The zephyr croons, — 
 And night is here. 
 
 The night-bird calls 
 The horned owl hoots, 
 
 The firefly gleams, — 
 And midnight broods. 
 
 The gloom recedes. 
 The insects hum, 
 
 Aurora wakes, — 
 And dawn is come. 
 
 The sun returns, 
 The mists are torn, 
 
 The flow'rs look up, — 
 And day is born. 
 
 252 
 
The skylark soars, 
 The clouds roll by, 
 
 The shadows hide, — 
 And noon is high! 
 
 So, sunset, dusk 
 
 And night beat time, 
 And midnight, dawn 
 
 And day keep rhyme 
 
 For circling hours 
 That, keyed in tune, 
 
 A chorus sing 
 To lilting noon. 
 
 I 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE STARS. 
 
 NEVITABLE— inexorable— eternal ! 
 
 Through illimitable immensity they fly; 
 Immutable, inscrutable, supernal, 
 
 Yet the playthings of His pansophy, they lie 
 
 In the hollow of God's omnipresent hand. 
 His omnipotent omniscience doth command 
 
 Their gyrations and their never-ending flight: 
 From their nebulous beginnings they expand 
 
 Till they scintillate with Heaven's holy light. 
 
 253 
 
w 
 
 BEATITUDE. 
 
 HEN the scarlet sun is dying 
 On his pyre of irised clouds, 
 
 And the new-ploughed lands are lying 
 Wrapt in soft-empurpled shrouds; 
 
 While the young moon looms alluring 
 
 In a blue and silver sky, 
 And the evening star assuring 
 
 Wards alone the zenith high ; 
 
 When the brooklet purls and tinkles 
 
 Down its opalescent bed — 
 Each new star it gleams and twinkles 
 
 Througli the foliage overhead ; 
 
 And the fragrance liberated 
 
 From the flowers by the dew, 
 
 Wafts abroad, and is translated 
 In the loveliness of you; 
 
 When the night-bird wakes the gloaming 
 
 With its twilight orison, 
 And, beneath the moon-rays roaming. 
 
 Our two shadows blend in one: 
 
 Then, indeed, are Time and Sorrow 
 Conquered by Love's latitude. 
 
 Yesterday, to-night, to-morrow 
 Bursting with beatitude! 
 
 254 
 
YE WHO SNEER AT BOOKS AND ART. 
 
 Y 
 
 E who sneer at books, but never read them, 
 Thinking you proclaim your wisdom so, 
 Deeming that great thoughts, you do not need 
 them, 
 Satisfied with money, or with show; 
 
 Ye who sneer at Art and never buy it, 
 In that dearth of sentiment you own. 
 Dooming to starvation those who try it 
 Striving on unlauded and alone; 
 
 Drunken with your ignorance of all things 
 That do not directly coin produce. 
 Blindly cold-condemning all those callings 
 Whose works are wrought for unplebeian use: 
 
 Ye are crazy! — or mayhap too lazy 
 
 To pursue the charms of things aesthetic — 
 
 The science of the beautiful's too hazy 
 
 For your dull minds, your dark souls apathetic. 
 
 Lo! artists, bards, romancers, sculptors, sages. 
 Own half the world — a half you cannot blight: 
 While they're in glory linking age to ages, 
 God help you in 3^our money-lighted night! 
 
 255 
 
o 
 
 HALYCON NIGHTS. 
 
 H ! to lie upon my bed 
 When the fretful day is fled 
 And the tranquilizing rays 
 Of the moon around are spread ! 
 
 Looking from my casement rude 
 On the solemn solitude 
 
 Where no harlequins of wealth, 
 Nor of ignorance intrude, 
 
 While upon the vasty deep 
 Tiny wavelets rock and creep 
 
 And the night-wind's lullaby 
 Gently lulls me into sleep ; 
 
 Ah ! the dreams which come before 
 Slumber closes soft the door 
 
 Of my consciousness, are bright 
 With imaginings that soar 
 
 To such sublimating heights 
 
 That the countless heavenly lights 
 
 Crowd about me like new souls 
 Beautiful with new delights. 
 
 There are moments when I feel 
 The whole universe's unreal, 
 
 And the world of dreams alone 
 To my senses can appeal: 
 
 There are moments when my heart 
 Seems a sentient thing apart 
 
 From my cold corporeal clay — 
 Filled with ecstasy's sweet mart. 
 
 256 
 
Tell me not of halcyon days — 
 Of fair, vernal, flowery Mays 
 
 When the crocus lifts its head 
 Far from all the trodden ways: — 
 
 There's more beauty in one night. 
 More of majesty and might, 
 
 Than a thousand days can lend 
 To the ear, the soul or sight! 
 
 LOVE'S EPITOME. 
 
 s 
 
 INGE 
 I'm 
 
 Not 
 
 Your 
 
 Lover, 
 
 All 
 
 Of 
 
 Life 
 
 Is 
 
 Over, 
 
 And 
 
 Hope 
 
 Can 
 
 Not 
 
 Mend 
 
 The 
 End. 
 
 257 
 
T 
 
 MY LOVE AND HER WHITE, 
 WHITE FEET. 
 
 WAS dark on the banks of the Cumberland, 
 
 And its waters ran unsheened; 
 No stars but the fireflies' flickering lamps 
 Where the night-winds fragrance gleaned. 
 
 I was wand'ring there in as dark despair; 
 
 No light from the ej^es I loved, 
 But the come and go, growing dim and slow, 
 
 Of the dreams that in me moved; 
 
 When, on clipped wings clefting the sable shades, 
 
 Lo! a shapeless phantom shape 
 Grew out of the background drear of the night 
 
 While I gazed, wide-ej^ed, agape. 
 
 Onward it came till my reason perceived 
 
 A form in a streaming shroud, 
 Ghastly and still as the River of Death, 
 
 Smooth-gliding and light as a cloud. 
 
 It passed me by and was gone in a breath, 
 
 Full weird and fearful to see ; 
 And the earthy smell of a new-made grave 
 
 Was wafted faintly to me. 
 
 Apparition horrific! my brain did reel 
 
 And my blood did cease to flow ; 
 For it bent down the grasses with white, white feet — 
 
 White feet that I seemed to know. 
 
 Then I knew 'twas my love's dead love had passed; 
 
 That no more our lips should meet, 
 And my heart forever in gloom must lie, 
 
 Crushed under her white, white feet. 
 
 258 
 
T 
 
 TO JOHN KEATS. 
 An Appreciation. 
 
 HY memory forever glittering lies 
 
 Sweet-scented in the alabastrites of our 
 hearts ; 
 
 Thy lines were Melody incarnated 
 
 By visions visible alone to thine deep eyes. 
 
 Like sighing winds and gently heaving waters 
 Their rhythmus rose and fell; or like a rocket 
 shot, 
 To burst in showering syllables of splendor 
 
 That dazzled even those who understood them 
 not. 
 
 Peace to thine ashes, bird-like lilting bard! 
 
 Oh! what a soul and mind must thine have been 
 indeed! 
 So few thy years thy pearly notes but freed, 
 
 Ere unregarding Death dissolved them into tears. 
 
 All nature mourns thee, and all men regret 
 
 Thy untimely passing; for such sweetly wilding 
 strain 
 As did the senses rape whene'er thy lyre 
 
 God-like thou twangedest, men shall never hear 
 again ! 
 
 259 
 
EVERYBODY GRAFTS BUT FATHER. 
 
 EVERYBODY grafts but father; 
 He's up at peep o' day 
 g Looping the loop of the "L" road 
 To earn his monthly pay. 
 Mother picks his pockets 
 
 While he's sound asleep ; 
 Sister piles the bills up 
 
 Until he's buried deep; 
 Cook, she gets her rake-off 
 From every grocer-man : 
 Everybody grafts 'round our house 
 But my old man. 
 
 Father's beard is growing gray, 
 
 His hair is getting thin, 
 His back is bending double 
 
 With the straits they put him in: 
 Lunching on beer and sandv^^ich 
 
 While sis dines at the club, 
 And mother's social-climbing — 
 
 Say! ain't he just the "dub?" 
 No matter hov^r he hustles, 
 
 He's just where he began. 
 Everybody grafts 'round our house 
 
 But my old man. 
 
 Now, when I get big and husky 
 
 I'm a-going to help my dad. 
 And you bet I'll let no woman 
 
 Go and put me to the bad ; 
 
 260 
 
I'll take the old man fishing, 
 
 And let him play and rest, 
 And, when I get the money, 
 
 Dress him to beat the best. 
 I'll ne'er forget how good he was. 
 
 And I'll boost him all I can — 
 Nobody'll graft 'round 7ny house 
 
 But mv old man ! 
 
 "LET US PRAY." 
 
 OTHOU who couldst behold thine own Son 
 crucified 
 And still forgive them for whose sins he died ! 
 How great thy Mercy and thy Love must be, 
 Even for me ! 
 
 Lord! Thou whose power reacheth to the farthest 
 
 star. 
 To whom the universe's deepest secrets are 
 But simple things, though mystery ominous 
 To such as us! 
 
 Hear Thou our prayer — our humble supplications 
 
 grant — 
 Though lost as sybarite and sycophant, 
 Redeem us; nor our pleading hearts condemn 
 For harboring them! 
 
 And Thou, O Source of all that was, is, or will be, 
 
 Master of life, death and eternity! 
 
 For thy Son's sake let thy omniscience fall 
 
 On each and all! 
 
 261 
 
"I HOPE THAT YOU'LL REMEMBER ME: 
 FOR I'LL REMEMBER YOU." 
 
 To a Beloved Child. 
 
 WHEN childhood's hour is passing and light 
 ringlets turning dark, 
 And twilight of young innocence is falling 
 with the lark, 
 When life takes on new semblance to the mind's 
 
 expanding view; 
 I hope that you'll remember me: for I'll retnember 
 you. 
 
 When youth from its "bright lexicon" eliminates 
 
 "to fail" 
 And blossoms from the tender boughs drop in the 
 
 scented vale, 
 When love o'ershades and fructifies — with th' ber- 
 
 gamot and yew ; 
 I hope that you'll remember me: for I'll remember 
 
 you. 
 
 When high noon of maturity perfects your bourge- 
 
 'ning aims, 
 And flow'ring gladioles glare and swing unplucked 
 
 upon their stems, 
 When thoughts are only noble and your heart is 
 
 only true; 
 I hope that you'll remember me: for I'll remember 
 
 you. 
 
 When birds begin their mating and the eggs to fill 
 
 the nest, 
 And on some gentle human soul you long to lean 
 
 and rest — 
 
 262 
 
Your nights are always love-lit and 3'ou teach the 
 dove to coo; 
 
 Dear, I hope that you'll remember me: for I'll re- 
 member you. 
 
 When baby eyes around you throng like newly pair- 
 ing stars, 
 
 And baby arms around you twine, strong, ivy-mant- 
 ling bars, 
 
 When memory turns so fondly 'round each loving 
 glance you woo; 
 
 I hope that you'll remember me: for I'll remember 
 you. 
 
 When age has found you weary of the olden work 
 and play 
 
 And locks were once so dark and thick are growing 
 sparse and gray, 
 
 When Death holds in his beck'ning hands the roses 
 and the rue ; 
 
 Then I hope that you'll remember me: for I'll re- 
 member you. 
 
 When standing rapt amidst the hosts who strike 
 the harp and cry: 
 
 "It is not all of life to live, nor all of death to 
 die," 
 
 I meet you at the pearly gate, with angels passing 
 through ; 
 
 Oh! I hope that you'll forget me not: for I'll re- 
 member you! 
 
 263 
 
'HANGED BY THE NECK TILL DEAD." 
 
 H 
 
 ANGED by the neck till dead ! 
 No one to help or care; 
 Hung by the neck till dead; 
 Swung on the heartless air ! 
 
 Sunrise nor sunset nor night 
 
 Bringing him surcease of shame; 
 
 Justice, that robber of right, 
 Branding forever his name. 
 
 Shudder ye simple and wise! 
 
 Shudder, and hasten afar! 
 Blot the damned scene from your eyes; 
 
 Cover dread memory's scar ! 
 
 Think, ye, of Christ on the cross 
 
 Pleading for those who Him spurned- 
 
 This was your brother ; his loss 
 Evil for evil returned. 
 
 Surely the drear world was sad enough 
 Lacking this spectacle grim; 
 
 Might not the happy be glad enough 
 Minus such shaming of himf 
 
 Pray that man's law be forgiven 
 For this mad thing that it did — 
 
 Storm not the Portals of Heaven 
 Thinking this spectre is hid! 
 
 " 'Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord' — 
 What is this thing ye have done? 
 
 When will ye learn from the Word 
 Justice and Mercy are one? 
 
 264 
 
"Can ye one mortal create? 
 
 This was My creature, not yours! 
 Ape ye the powers of Fate, 
 
 Deeming your judgment endures? 
 
 "What though your laws he had broken? 
 
 Dare ye the meting of Death ? 
 Sent I not Christ as a token 
 
 Sacred to Me is man's breath? 
 
 "I am the Judge and the Jury — 
 I only, who made, may break! 
 
 Lawless you?- vengeance, your fury: 
 I only, who gave, may take!" 
 
 265 
 
w 
 
 SABIANISM AND CHRIST. 
 
 HEN the ancient Chaldeans in Babylon fair, 
 That "gate of the gods" with its gardens 
 
 of air, 
 Kneeled down and adored at the shrines of 
 
 the stars, 
 Saturn, Jupiter, Mercury, Venus and Mars, 
 
 They were not so unwise as at first it would seem: 
 There was something unique in their beautiful 
 
 dream — 
 That poetic conception of gods in the night 
 Beaming down starry-eyed from their tourmaline 
 
 height. 
 
 And though Babylon fell and her temple of Bel 
 These their heavenly shrines trembled not at her 
 
 knell. 
 But argent, serene and untroubled of man. 
 Still harked to those prayers that no mortal could 
 
 ban. 
 
 It was thousands of years before Jesus was born 
 And the Star of Nativity challenged the morn ; 
 Yet tliese childlike Chaldeans' preinstinct of Love 
 Chose the same stellar symbol to guide them above. 
 
 In Accadian fields, through the night's triple ward, 
 The lone shepherd, rapt-orbed, sought his star- 
 spirit lord; 
 The prophetical prototype, humble and true. 
 Of his brothers who watched for the Nazarene 
 Jew. 
 
 266 
 
SABIANISM AND CHRIST 
 
Came this beautiful thought of a beautiful faith 
 As I walked in God's night-blooming garden of 
 
 grace 
 And the light of the stars seemed so holy and still 
 Shining down on the altar of ev'ry green hill. 
 
 And this faith was, I felt, the forerunner disguised 
 Of the promise and coming and glory of Christ, 
 And the pure heart's libations had pow'r to atone 
 In that past ere the Bright Star of Bethlehem shone. 
 
 A 
 
 DESTINY— AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 SINGLE figure stands against the sky 
 
 Upon life's hill top; aii that shows below 
 Is dimmed by its own background ; for the eye 
 May wiser, but no stronger, grow. 
 
 And yet, against that background which obscures 
 Coming events, the future shapes the keys, 
 
 No two alike, which are to fit the doors 
 Of all our various destinies. 
 
 And we have but to watch that sky line clear 
 In patience till our destinies appear; 
 
 Then search in wisdom's background for the key 
 That fits each his own destiny. 
 
 267 
 
NIGHT, MYSTERIOUS NIGHT. 
 
 WHEN the sun shines, ah! my heart is joy- 
 full- 
 When the sun shines and the days are 
 bright; 
 But my heart grows tend'rest when moonbeams 
 Light the myst'ries of the brooding night. 
 
 When the moon mounts slow her throne of azure, 
 When the winds breathe low their scented strain 
 
 To the flow'r-eyes closed on Nature's bosom; 
 All the spells of youth come back again. 
 
 Where the river trails the drowsy valley, 
 Laughing, gleaming, loit'ring on its way, 
 
 Meanders, too, my world-forgetting fancy. 
 Aimless as an idle child at play. 
 
 Swaying shadows sprinkled by the moonlight 
 Fall, assuaging as an angel's prayer. 
 
 On my soul so full with griefs unspoken; 
 
 Naught that bids me fear or doubt is there. 
 
 Solemn stars look down in silent wonder 
 How my little woe can move me so, 
 
 When through aeons the heav'ns they ride so tran- 
 quil 
 Though a million adverse winds may blow. 
 
 Softly sounds the distant moaning ocean; 
 
 Insect choirs their petty treble pipe; 
 The hid night-bird sets his flute in motion: 
 
 Time and tide with melody are ripe. 
 
 268 
 
A sweet melancholy wraps my musings 
 
 In the misty haze of other days; 
 Vanished dreams and wandered hopes of childhood 
 
 Master me anew 'neath Luna's rays. 
 
 Slumber comes; etherealized my visions; 
 
 Other worlds still more resplendent glow; 
 Sleeping or awake, are passing through me 
 
 Thoughts that liquid as the river flow. 
 
 Though alone with night I am not lonely — 
 Dark the hour that sheds no spirit-light — 
 
 Mem'ry kneels more fondly by love's grave-side 
 When night shields its faith from morning's 
 blight. 
 
 While, mysterious night, thy shades enfold me, 
 Peace and strange content my longings bless; 
 
 All of splendor that the day can show me. 
 Pales before thy beauty's calm caress. 
 
 269 
 
PHYLLIS O' THE WATERY SOUP. 
 
 s 
 
 HE works in all cheap restaurants; 
 
 Her hands are hams, her feet are lead; 
 She flirts with wagon-men and such; 
 
 The food she serves would strike vou dead 
 
 The coffee's beans and chicory, 
 
 The butter's only oleo; 
 The meat is number three or four. 
 
 The eggs were frozen years ago. 
 
 She "hollers" to the dirty cook. 
 And turns and stabs you with a look 
 If you complain or beg her to 
 Pass any little thing to you. 
 
 Her apron's spotted, coarse her stare. 
 She wears a dozen pounds of hair ; 
 She swaggers like a comic queen, — 
 She is the "limit" I have seen! 
 
 Her finger nails she always trims 
 Above the water glasses' rims. 
 And picks her teeth and scowls, and talks 
 To her co-workers as she walks. 
 
 It is enough to sicken dogs! 
 
 Phyllis! when you left the bogs 
 
 You might have left their muck behind — 
 'Tis in your manner, heart and mind ! 
 
 If you'd exchange your soup for soap 
 
 1 might retain some ling'ring hope 
 Of your salvation; but, ah, me! 
 
 I fear that never is to be! 
 
 270 
 
s 
 
 SWEET, DREAMY AND TENDER. 
 
 OFT are thy shades, O night, 
 
 And quiet that tints, O dawn; 
 Brilliant thy rays, O sun, 
 
 Purple-shadowing the green lawn: 
 
 Cool is thy breath, O wind, 
 
 And soothing thy calm, O sea; 
 Thrilling thy notes, O bird — 
 
 Wondrous thy hues to me! 
 
 But softness and quietude, brilliance and purple, 
 And coolness and soothingness, thrilling and won- 
 der 
 Fade, fade ! and are nevermore worth the remem- 
 brance 
 When Maude comes to meet me — sweet, dreamy 
 and tender. 
 
 271 
 
B 
 
 BE A PHILOSOPHER! 
 
 E a philosopher, my friend — 
 
 You'll surely find it is great fun ; 
 If you two apples can't afford 
 Take twice as long in eating one. 
 
 If two drinks to your taste appeal 
 
 And you can't buy both last and first, 
 
 Fill higher up the glass you use 
 
 And thus with wisdom quench your thirst. 
 
 If you can't marry both sweet maids 
 Take one, — the chances are that you 
 
 Will have less trouble on your hands 
 Than if you tried to marry two. 
 
 If you are blessed with but one child 
 Love twice as dear the one you own ; 
 
 Divide your pleasures, and you'll find 
 You like them best when not alone. 
 
 If editors won't buy your lines, 
 
 Though many those you send along. 
 
 Work harder o'er one single "gem," 
 Until it moves them like a song. 
 
 If life and death seem intertwined 
 Just live the one, forget the other; 
 
 To every living thing be kind. 
 
 To creatures friend, to man a brother. 
 
 If all the world seems rushing past 
 And you despair of keeping pace. 
 
 Just put one foot before its mate. 
 
 Repeat, and you'll soon conquer space. 
 
 272 
 
For what you have thank God and smilcj 
 
 And thus appendicitis shun; 
 (They say 'tis born of gloomy views) 
 
 Soak in your coffee your dry bun 
 
 And it will taste as good as pie; 
 Learn how to use your ear and eye, 
 Your mind and heart, so that they brin| 
 To you the joy in everything. 
 
 Life is not life that does not grow; 
 
 Sleep is not sleep that does not rest: 
 Within yourself lies happiness 
 
 Unlimited, — why be depressed? 
 
 273 
 
R 
 
 TO MY ALMA MATER. 
 
 OUND your ancient elms, O Yale, 
 Centers many an ancient tale — 
 All about the freshman pale 
 And the sophomore's strong ale. 
 
 But your charms more mean to me 
 Than those tales of fear or spree; 
 I remember tenderly 
 Other things you've been to me! 
 
 In those hours when life was young 
 
 My affections round you hung, 
 
 And my spirit's harp was strung 
 
 With tense chords that trembling sprung 
 
 To the touch of martial peace. 
 To the ancient arts of Greece, 
 To the Knights of Golden Fleece, 
 And the glory hid beneath 
 
 Tomes of valor's well-worn binding, 
 Where ambition still is finding 
 Food for thoughts that, grinding, grinding, 
 Of the mills of God reminding, 
 
 Render to the past its due, 
 Render to the future, too, 
 All that's virile, vast and new; 
 Make hope's prophecies come true. 
 
 Alma Mater, hear my prayer! — 
 As upon your bosom fair 
 I once learned your joys to share, 
 Let me spread them everywhere! 
 
 274 
 
A DROP OF WINE. 
 
 ■1— 
 
 A 
 
 S a single drop of wine 
 
 Will tinge a glass of water red, 
 So a soul is blackened o'er 
 
 Which has a drop of blood ill-shed. 
 
 — 2— 
 
 So a tear to pity turns 
 
 The angry thoughts that seek redress, 
 And a single glance discerns 
 
 The atmosphere of happiness. 
 
 Just a careless action caught 
 Will turn a lover jealous-green 
 
 Just one little drop too much 
 Will make a donkey of a dean. 
 
 — 4— 
 
 For one kiss, one stolen hour, 
 
 Dan Cupid gets you in his power, 
 
 And a sigh, a tender eye. 
 
 Can change an attic to a bower. 
 
 — 5— 
 
 One wise word that's timely spoke 
 Can save a youth from life-long yoke ; 
 One true friend is oft enough 
 To smooth awav the world's rebuff. 
 
 Christ, alone upon the Cross, 
 
 Has changed to hope all men's despair, 
 Tingeing, like a drop of wine. 
 
 Their hueless lives with visions fair. 
 
 275 
 
TITANIC SOULS. 
 
 Commemorating the sinking of the steamship Ti- 
 tanic with the loss of over 1500 souls on April 
 Fifteenth, 1912. 
 
 THEY have gone down to bitterest death 
 Cloaked in nobility; their end 
 A light from out the darkness shines, 
 Transfiguring all mankind ; their deeds. 
 Or wrong or right within the past, 
 O'ershadowed by one gallant act 
 Of self-forgetting heroism. 
 
 Old Ocean never welcomed yet 
 
 A nobler company to her Hall 
 
 Of Deathless Fame, where every name's 
 
 Washed in the blood of bravery: 
 
 The waves that close above their forms 
 
 In hideous, moving, hiding pall, 
 
 Cannot shut out their hallowed shapes 
 
 From our hearts' visions, but the more 
 
 Portray indelibly their grave 
 
 And god-like features to our dreams. 
 
 Spontaneous prayers and tears upwell 
 In every mortal heart and eye; 
 And Memory pens upon her scroll, 
 In fire, their unforgetable names. 
 
 Grief has its recompense, and loss 
 
 Its gain; and, while a whole world weeps, 
 
 It weeps unsullied tears that break 
 
 With irised splendor into smiles 
 
 Of adoration for these dead : 
 
 'Twas such a little thing they did, 
 
 And yet how wondrous high it looms — 
 
 Greater than this man cannot do: 
 
 Freely to die that others live. 
 
 276 
 
They have passed on to their reward: 
 
 Ours to bind up the bruised hearts 
 
 Crying to be comforted, 
 
 Endeared to us by suffering; 
 
 To drive the terror from those eyes 
 
 Upon whose retinas is burnt 
 
 That awful moment picturing 
 
 The men they left behind them there. 
 
 God give th' bereft in time may learn 
 To look into His face and feel 
 His healing grace about them steal. 
 
 THE DIGNITY OF EFFORT. 
 
 M 
 
 ANY a youth from home-ties parting 
 Faints and falls along life's way; 
 
 Many the plans that, fair at starting, 
 In the end our hopes betray. 
 
 For we take not life's true measure — 
 
 Through the dreams that hold us thrall- 
 Oft what seemed our surest treasure 
 Proves elusive after all. 
 
 Yet we conquer in our weakness. 
 Just because we dreamed and tried, 
 
 And the world, in all its bleakness 
 Could not crush our patient pride. 
 
 277 
 
THE INFINITE PATIENCE. 
 
 T 
 
 HOUGH the hours grow long 
 And the sunlight fades away, 
 
 Still the hand is strong 
 
 That remoulds the plastic clay. 
 
 Though the shadows creep 
 Like still specters o'er the deep, 
 Still the fingers race 
 O'er the manuscript of grace. 
 
 Though the stars show pale 
 Through the morning's misty veil, 
 Still the brow bends low 
 O'er discoveries that grow. 
 
 Though the sun crawls back 
 O'er its long diurnal track, 
 Still the brush portrays 
 All its glories while it rays. 
 
 Though the noon-day heat 
 May upon the attic beat, 
 Still ambition's slave 
 Races with the racing grave. 
 
 Though the da3's and years 
 Drown the heart in patient tears, 
 Still the soul delves on 
 Slowly turning every stone. 
 
 Though the ages roll 
 'Round the awful Master-Soul, 
 Still their gloom is lit 
 By the Patience Infinite. 
 
 278 
 
I KISSED HER HAND. 
 
 I KISSED her hand in adoration; 
 She started like a nymph surprised 
 In her heart's virtue's nakedness. 
 A flush of shame, a flash of anger, 
 Inflamed her eyes, her ruddy cheeks; 
 But when I seized her in my arms, 
 Sad, sweet, resigned her looks, yet happy. 
 And tender as a doe her gaze. 
 A smile, a look of infinite longing. 
 Stole o'er her face, and stole away 
 My heart — she never has returned it, 
 This lovely kidnaper of love; 
 It languishes, for life imprisoned, 
 Yet full content, within her own. 
 
 279 
 
THE DOUGHNUT. 
 
 'R 
 
 OUND and 'round it goes, 
 And rounder still it grows, 
 Fragrant to the nose 
 And crumbling on your clothes. 
 
 In the morning early, 
 When your hair is curly 
 And day's hurlyburly 
 Scarcely has begun, 
 
 Leaving its warm basement. 
 Out through the cold casement, 
 Hast'ning to effacement, 
 Forth the doughnut comes. 
 
 Gallop fast the horses 
 On their various courses, 
 Must'ring all their forces, 
 Waking every one. 
 
 Knowing well their burden 
 Is man's highest guerdon 
 And its praise is heard on 
 Lips in humble homes. 
 
 And in eating places 
 Soon the eager faces 
 Show the doughnuts' traces 
 On their hungry jowls; 
 
 And their eyes roll fearful, 
 
 Watching, almost tearful. 
 
 Lest they be not "careful 
 
 Not to eat the holes." 
 
 280 
 
SOMETHING NEW. 
 
 H 
 
 AVE you something new to say- 
 In a new, attractive way? 
 Then say it! 
 
 Have you something new to do 
 That will start the world anew? 
 Then do it! 
 
 Have you something new to sing 
 That new visions fair will bring? 
 Then sing it! 
 
 Have you something new to preach 
 A new brotherhood will teach? 
 Then preach it! 
 
 Have you something new to make 
 Science's precedents will break? 
 Then make it! 
 
 Have you something new to seek 
 That will help the poor and weak? 
 Go, seek it! 
 
 Have you something new in mind 
 That is neither fair nor kind? 
 Forget it! 
 
 281 
 
THE SECRET BETWEEN JUST YOU 
 AND ME. 
 
 T 
 
 HE Secret just between us two, 
 That you've asked me to tell to you- 
 It's safe to tell you, I suppose(?) — 
 Say! there's a cinder on your nose. 
 
 The secret just between us two — 
 I'll tell you with no more ado; 
 It is the truth; I would not lie! — 
 Hold on ! there's something in your eye ! 
 
 The secret just between us two — 
 
 The loveliest thing, so strange and new — 
 
 I am so happy I could cry ! — 
 
 Wait till this choking smoke gets by! 
 
 The secret just between us two — 
 That blissful dream that's coming true; 
 That will God's blessings multiply — 
 Your collar's dirty as a stye! 
 
 The secret just between us two — 
 Don't be impatient; I'm most through! — 
 Is, dearest, that before we die 
 The I. C. will electrify! 
 
 282 
 
TINKLING NOTES. 
 
 E 
 
 ARLY in the morning, 
 
 When the sky is bright, 
 And the birds are calling 
 To their new delight, 
 
 Come some notes a-tinkling 
 Through my drowsy brain ; 
 
 Notes I heard by moonlight 
 Ravish me again. 
 
 Like a purling riv'let 
 
 Tinkle they along, 
 Rend'ring, in their cadence. 
 
 Love's eternal song. 
 
 And they bring before me 
 One I met by night. 
 
 When her eyes were brighter 
 Than the starry light. 
 
 On my lips the nectar 
 
 Of her kiss I feel ; 
 Over me the rapture 
 
 Of her voice does steal. 
 
 While I hear that tinkling 
 
 In my drowsy brain 
 All my heart is bent on 
 
 283 
 
PLUCK YE NOT MY FLOWERS OF 
 FANCY! 
 
 P 
 
 LUCK ye not my flowers of fancy! 
 Let them grow, safe in my heart, 
 Where no cruel blast of critic 
 
 Comes to tear their leaves apart. 
 
 Let them blossom unmolested — 
 They are wild and simple blooms 
 
 That would wither if you plucked them 
 Just to grace you lovers' rooms. 
 
 And they would not understand them— 
 They would let them droop and die 
 
 All unwept, and I should miss them, 
 And my heart for them would cry. 
 
 They are many, and I love them 
 Big and little — every one — 
 
 Gorgeous-petaled or soft-tinted. 
 Like the lily, like the sun. 
 
 In the garden of my fancy. 
 
 Where I wander all alone, 
 I am happy with my flowers — 
 
 They for every grief atone. 
 
 There are buds in that enclosure 
 Never seen or dreamed of men; 
 
 There are fully opened roses 
 That may never bud again; 
 
 284 
 
But each's place is ever taken 
 
 By some other bloom as sweet 
 That, spontaneously implanted, 
 
 Rises smiling at my feet. 
 
 It is never dark or w^intry 
 
 Where my wondrous blossoms blow, 
 And they breathe a thousand odors 
 
 None but I can ever know. 
 
 I would show you all my flowers 
 If I thought you'd let them be — 
 
 They would wither if you plucked them- 
 They would die in leaving me! 
 
 285 
 
THE MAD-HOUSE. 
 
 CGHTER and weeping and screaming; 
 Dancing, grimaces and rocking; 
 Happiness, moping and dreaming; 
 Wit all unwittingly shocking! 
 
 Eyes that are vacant of meaning; 
 
 Steps with no intellect guiding ; 
 Bodies' unnatural leaning; 
 
 Furtive and fugitive hiding! 
 
 Flashes of rational reason; 
 
 Hearts that reach out in crazed loving 
 Strugglings against the brain's treason : 
 
 Idle hands restlessly moving! 
 
 Gibbering, genius and dullness; 
 
 Moaning and slj^ness and passion ; 
 Shifty eyes, holy eyes, coolness; 
 
 Dressing of hair in strange fashion! 
 
 Eagerness, shyness and roughness; 
 
 Negligent, madly intrusive; 
 Tenderness maudlin, and toughness; 
 
 Questions and answers elusive! 
 
 Swaying to music and skipping. 
 
 Brightening quick to its soothing ; 
 Swilling and starving and stripping; 
 Notions of time, of God, losing! 
 
 Swaggering, kind and abusive; 
 
 Fighting and singing and playing; 
 Flying from phantoms delusive; 
 Cursing, despairing and praying! 
 
 286 
 
Oh! it is terrible! jolting! — 
 
 Madd'ning the sane with its horror! 
 
 Ghastly! appalling! revolting! — 
 Turning their sorrow to terror! 
 
 Oh ! how its mysteries fascinate ! 
 Former conceptions assassinate, 
 Turning our judgments dispassionate, 
 Leaving us tender, compassionate ! 
 
 What are these dumb souls demanding, 
 God, alone, them understanding? 
 Pow'rless the Devil to harm them; 
 Music, alone, it can charm them! 
 
 287 
 
ASK NOT A WOMAN WHY SHE LOVES. 
 
 A 
 
 SK not a woman why she loves — 
 She doesn't know! 
 If in erratic curves her conduct moves, 
 She's laying low! 
 
 Her instinct tells her: "This is He!" — 
 
 She follows it; 
 Although her reason says: '"Tis not to be," 
 
 It makes no hit! 
 
 She tries to shape her lover square 
 
 To pride's round hole: 
 'Tis good enough for him she's fair — 
 
 To hell with "soul !" 
 
 She makes excuses for her Man 
 
 She would not take 
 From other men ; she thinks he can 
 
 Make no mistake 
 
 So long as he kow-tows to her 
 
 Vain, selfish whim: 
 'Tis not his love for her, as 'twere, 
 
 But hers for him, 
 
 That rules her action's vagary. 
 
 O foolish chump. 
 Just stick around a while, and see 
 
 Which way she'll jump! 
 
 She cannot be relied upon 
 
 To keep her vow 
 If she should change her mind anon; 
 
 But, anyhow, 
 
 288 
 
Whether she does or not's all one 
 
 To such as you; 
 You couldn't guess her reasons an 
 
 You wanted to! 
 
 F 
 
 THE BUBBLE-BLOWER. 
 
 ANCY blows a million bubbles, 
 Full of pleasures, full of troubles; 
 Most of them, as bubbles must, 
 Burst into but fairy dust. 
 
 Yet, if fancy were to die — 
 Build no castles in the sky — 
 Would not life be desolate — 
 Who would care to cope with Fate? 
 
 Life's a dream from which awaken 
 But those souls which Faith has taken 
 For its own : they wake to see 
 A more bright reality. 
 
 289 
 
I 
 
 THE LOST POEM. 
 
 WAS hunting last night for an old poem of mine 
 That troubled me still, like some vision divine; 
 Its title's escaped me, and most of the thought, 
 Yet some sweetness inherent my memory's caught. 
 
 Like a voice from the past it now^ whispers to me, 
 Soft-cadenced, sweet-noted, melodiously; 
 Till my heart beats in time to its message unknown 
 As it beats when I walk in the wildwood alone. 
 
 I have searched everywhere, I have pondered in 
 
 vain ; 
 That dream so illusive illudes me again ; 
 Like a beautiful spirit ethereal-bright 
 It haunts me and flaunts me and calls me to-night. 
 
 'Tis some child of my fancy that's wandered and 
 
 lost, 
 On the winds of the waste and the wilderness tost ; 
 Its sobbing and sighing I hear me apart ; 
 Oh! if it could only win back to my heart! 
 
 I grieve like a father bereft of his son — 
 
 His brave, incomparable, idolized one; 
 
 I open the door of my soul and look out 
 
 In the hope I may find my dear lost one about. 
 
 Will it never come back? Has God taken it home? 
 Is it destined to die, or forever to roam? — 
 You may laugh, if you will, but to me it's so real 
 Ynu would weep if you suffered the half that I feel! 
 
 Alas! I shall never be tranquil, and rest, 
 Till I clasp my lost darling once more to my breast ; 
 It may be that in Heaven 'tis waiting for me, 
 Till my spirit shall shatter its fetters and flee. 
 
 290 
 
G 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 RACIOUS, unselfish, warm-hearted and true, 
 Earth holds no nobler young woman than you ; 
 Deep in the night, when my candle flares low. 
 Out through the darkness my longing thoughts 
 flow; 
 
 Far in the distance I see your light burn. 
 Back from all others to you then I turn; 
 Home is where you are, and Heaven as well: 
 Living without you is living in Hell ! 
 
 Soft fall the notes of your voice on my ear. 
 Bright on your eyelid a pitiful tear, 
 Strong is the clasp of your beautiful hand, 
 When my crushed hopes to your presence expand. 
 
 God makes some women so wonderfully 
 
 Man can but trust His omnipotency; — 
 
 // prayers He answers and dreams He brings true, 
 
 My prayers and dreams will all flower in you! 
 
 291 
 
THE FIGHTING CHANCE. 
 
 OF all the names writ on the scroll of 
 Glory, 
 Of warriors, seers, bards, courtly syco- 
 phants. 
 Not one but tells the oft repeated story 
 
 Of the strong heart that took the fighting chance. 
 
 The easy road leads shortly to oblivion ; 
 
 The many throng it, till its shadows deep 
 Are filled with slumberers, in sloth's admixtion, 
 
 Who with fair Glory have no tryst to keep. 
 
 All hist'ry's but a list of fighting chances 
 
 Accepted by some wise or careless One 
 Who measured life by his own swift advances, 
 And braved unto the End each thing begun. 
 
 And there is never dearth of fighting chances 
 
 In every line of thought and bold emprise — 
 
 No lack of fair excuse for breaking lances 
 For kingdoms, principles or ladies' eyes. 
 
 When all is said and done, who lives the longest 
 In his own life and in the hearts of men? 
 
 Is't not the one who battled on the strongest — 
 Who took the fighting chance again — again? 
 
 Who knows but in some higher, nobler sphere 
 Forever dwell the dead who did not die, 
 
 Who asked for fighting chance or nothing here. 
 And thei-e their honors still do multiply? 
 
 Would'st thou take hold on everlasting day, 
 And bid fates wait upon thy sufferance? 
 
 Then turn, thou, from the sure and easy way 
 Of preferment, and take the fighting chance ! 
 
 292 
 
RELIGION. 
 
 HONESTLY and strictly speaking, 
 All religion's superstition — 
 A belief in something mystic 
 Physically non-existent — 
 An instinctive half-reliance 
 On the overstrained mercy 
 Of impossible omniscience; 
 But, still, man, how-wise-soever, 
 Can not be at peace without it. 
 
 Yet, there is a God ; all nature 
 Proves it by its search for Happiness, 
 And for Love, its only High-Priest; 
 Which could not of Evolution 
 Be the aim, since that is heartless. 
 
 Christ the ?nan, if not the Saviour, 
 Wrought a god-like transformation 
 Moving on through bright'ning centuries; 
 And the lesson his life teaches 
 Will continue through the ages. 
 Till at last man, in heart-wisdom, 
 Is not capable of thinking 
 Any evil of his brother. 
 
 And if this makes not religion j 
 
 Then religion's but fear's fancy, 
 
 And men's prayers are worse than useless! 
 
 293 
 
THE SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE. 
 
 TIRELESS, patient, inexorable! 
 Praying fo Evil Chance for forty years! 
 Vast, infinite faith that waits and will not die ; 
 Receiving in the end the boon it asks: 
 Living to deal a fate as tragic-dark 
 As any storied in the Book of Kings; 
 Pursuit relentless of supernal whim — 
 Unquenched, fierce passion of a buried youth! 
 Calling on the wrath of God to send 
 A doom unequaled, e'en in Yahveh's Wars — 
 The hidden tragedy slow-working towards 
 Its climax, in the heart of perfect day — 
 All unbelievable amidst the play 
 Of children, the activity and calls 
 Of honest men, the love and laugh of maids! — 
 The fantasy grotesque of nightmared brain; 
 Yet winning to its end in spite of Time — 
 Hellish, hideous, insuff 'rable ; 
 But changeless, cold, indomitable, sure! 
 Satisfied with naught but ruin and death ! 
 Dying with its victim in its clutch! 
 
 294 
 
I 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE VOLTURNO. 
 
 Burned at sea, October Ninth, 1913. 
 
 T is cold on the ocean to-night 
 
 And cold in the hearts of men; 
 For the god of the storm, by the fire-god's 
 light, 
 Has gambled and won again; 
 
 And men were the pawns and the stakes 
 
 In this game of life and death. 
 On the trackless waste where the billow breaks 
 
 Christ walks with bated breath; 
 
 For man in his faith has perished 
 
 And man in his strength is dead, 
 And they who in love were cherished 
 
 To the bottomless gulf are sped. 
 
 Though hands were extended to aid them. 
 All pow'rless those hands to free — 
 
 The storm-god but laughed as he played them 
 And tossed them like coins to the sea. 
 
 There has fallen on Hope a blight 
 
 Too deep for the subtlest pen: 
 It is cold as the grave on the ocean to-night 
 
 And cold in the hearts of men ! 
 
 295 
 
w 
 
 FEAR NOT AGE. 
 
 HEN you grow old and your legs get stiff 
 
 And your back begins to ache 
 And time lets loose his remorseless "biff," 
 
 Which vou must take: 
 
 Hark then to the bard and his lovely words 
 Which well from his unspoiled heart — 
 
 Which gleam and pierce in the well-tried swords 
 Of honesty and art. 
 
 He speaks for age as well as youth ; 
 
 To him all things are fair ; 
 He bares the heart of eternal truth: 
 
 His creatures walk on air. 
 
 In fortune least, in famine most. 
 
 His pen is ne'er at rest. 
 It strikes on the iron of the soul 
 
 And shapes it for the best. 
 
 To live needs but the breath of life; 
 
 To die is more than death: 
 Forget that fears of age are rife ! 
 
 Hark what the poet saith ! 
 
 296 
 
SALUTATORY. 
 
 A Song. Air: "Afterwards." 
 1. 
 
 COME, ye lorn hearts however unrequited, 
 Come in love's pow'r, your Christ-begot- 
 ten right; 
 Come with your charm and innocence united. 
 Come like the rainbow-haloed moon of 
 night ! 
 
 Here, when the darkness of our lives is thickest. 
 Beam like a star flashed on a vacant sky; 
 
 Swift as the light when the sun's rays are quickest, 
 Reach 'round the world and apathy defy! 
 
 Long have ye waited for your absolution ; 
 
 Freely ye gave though naught to you was giv'n; 
 Fate chose you not for Favor's distribution, 
 
 Yet have ye gazed with dazeless eyes on Heav'n ! 
 
 Yet have ye gazed with dazeless eyes on Heav'n ! 
 
 Yet have ye gazed with dazeless eyes on Heav'n ! 
 
 2. 
 There is more bliss for lover than beloved ; 
 
 There is more joy in giving than to get; 
 Far, fair and free your spirits wide have roved 
 
 While colder souls were darkly crawling yet. 
 
 Welcome! ye hearts with humankindness beating; 
 
 For you we'll search through all our coming 
 days. 
 When once departed, our own hearts repeating 
 
 All that ye told of Love's eternal ways. 
 
 And when in Heav'n we meet you clad in glory. 
 
 Twanging your harps with rapt, supernal eyes, 
 We will remember still that golden story, 
 
 And join the Song to Love that never dies! 
 
 And join the Song to Love that never dies ! 
 
 And join the Song to Love that never dies ! 
 
 297 
 
I 
 
 THE WAY OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 F you another's friend would be, 
 Be to that one good company — 
 The thing by mankind most desired 
 Is to admire and be admired. 
 
 Does he do something more than well? 
 To him your admiration tell ; 
 Let him praise you for something else — 
 Be it but beauty, faith or health. 
 
 Believe in him, and he in you 
 Will, too, believe ; so will come true 
 What each believes the other is — 
 There is no surer way than this. 
 
 He highest soars who can admire 
 Those who display diviner fire; 
 Encomium from these greater brings 
 To him who follows stronger wings. 
 
 Joy never kills; be joyous then; 
 Live long to find the best in men; 
 Felicitate — their errors spare : 
 They in return will deem you fair, 
 
 Because you're such good company; 
 For, though you, sometimes, don't agree, 
 You still admire them, till in turn, 
 You to esteem at length they learn. 
 
 298 
 
B 
 
 FOLLOWING THE MOON. 
 
 Written from a Car Window. 
 
 LOWN scents of aromatic prayers 
 
 Touched by the madness of the moon 
 And wafted on pale, e3^e-blue airs 
 That faint along my spirit's noon. 
 
 Dim, dusky shapes that glint and stream 
 Phantastic as a poppied dream. 
 And unweaned murmurs far apart 
 That suck the nipples of my heart. 
 
 A swooning passion's holy bliss 
 Star-lit by worlds too far to kiss; 
 A mist of mj'steries deified 
 That flows about me as I ride. 
 
 Racing along the moon abreast, 
 Never a pause in visions blest; 
 Sable Night and Luna bright, 
 Peace and langorous, soft delight. 
 
 Ah ! forever might it be. 
 Wrapped in Night's tranquillity 
 I could soar in spirit-flight 
 Through the cool, voluptuous light! 
 
 299 
 
F 
 
 TO CORA IN SEATTLE. 
 
 AR from Chicago's smoky skies 
 Our lovely Cora sits and sighs, 
 And sighs again as she does ponder 
 Upon the "good old times" back yonder. 
 
 And we, who dream so oft of her, 
 We feel regret within us stir 
 That she no more is here to play, 
 Back with us, in the good old way. 
 
 Sometime, "in the sweet bye and bye, 
 Our Cora shall no longer cry, 
 But kiss and laugh and sing amain ; 
 For she'll be back with us again. 
 
 Ah, little wanderer, far from home. 
 How well we know where'er you roam 
 Your heart to us will still be true, 
 As our own hearts still beat for you ! 
 
 When Sol in au revoir his kiss 
 Throws to you from his farthest track 
 And stars but light your loneliness; 
 Remember we expect you back. 
 
 300 
 
THE LITTLE JESUS. 
 A Christmas Song. 
 
 Air: "Refuge" — "Jesus, Lover of My Soul, 
 Let Me to Thy Bosom Fly." 
 
 J 
 
 ESUS came a little child 
 Full of faith and undefiled ; 
 Came while watched his natal star 
 In the deep-blue depths afar. 
 
 Jesus came without a crust 
 
 But his uncondemning trust; 
 
 In a manger he was born 
 
 On that wondrous Christmas morn ! 
 
 To make young our aging hearts — 
 Grow our youths' own counterparts — 
 Other children come like H'wi 
 From the holy cherubim: 
 
 So, on Jesus' Birthday now 
 Every child expects somehow 
 Jesus will remember it. 
 With the Christmas candles lit. 
 
 Oh ! that childhood's faith sublime 
 Might not pass with pinioned Time — 
 That, unquestioning and pure, 
 Childhood's love might still endure! 
 
 For the wiser that we grow 
 Still the less we seem to know 
 Of that Heaven once so near. 
 Of that Jesus once so dear. 
 
 301 
 
Then, at Christmas let us be 
 Children once again, and see 
 With the eyes no wisdom blinds, 
 Adoring hearts, believing minds. 
 
 All the Glory shining down 
 From Christ's fac,e 'neath thorned crown 
 Feel the Love and Hope Eternal 
 Flowing from the Heart Supernal ! 
 
 T 
 
 PALLIATIVE VS. PANACEA. 
 
 A campaign verse for 1912. 
 
 HE body politic's diseased. 
 With growing pains it's daily seized ; 
 Till now a doctor we must choose 
 Of skillful hands and cheerful views. 
 
 There's old Doc Taft; how will he do? — 
 He'll ease its pain an hour or two ; 
 There's Roosevelt, who don't practice now— 
 He cured it once, though, anyhow. 
 
 But since he turned his patient o'er 
 To Taft, it's weakened more and more : 
 Taft's palliatives were boomerangs 
 That but changed pangs to other pangs. 
 
 No panacea does Taft carry 
 Protects the poor the rich would harry, 
 But Roosevelt strikes right at the root 
 Of the complaint — I think he'll suit. 
 
 302 
 
T 
 
 DYING. 
 
 HE leaves are falling from the trees, 
 And autumn's breath is cold and drear; 
 Bare winter's hopelessness is near ; 
 
 A bleakness falls on all one sees. 
 
 The year is dying; the bitter wind 
 
 Saps helpless tree and with'ring shrub ; 
 The sky is an inverted tub 
 
 With naught but woe for humankind 
 
 Concealed beneath — O baleful thought 
 That drags the entrails of the heart 
 Through sombre scenes, from rest apart, 
 
 Our spirits in hell's meshes caught! 
 
 We all seem dying with the world, 
 With spring so dim and far away 
 We cannot for its coming stay. 
 
 But must be to oblivion hurled ! 
 
 Is there no peace in nature's grave? 
 Comes back to us no thing we gave 
 To love and beauty? Must despair 
 Be our lone gaoler forever there? 
 
 303 
 
o 
 
 THE CHICAGO RIVER. 
 
 THE mad, mad river 
 That flows and flows forever 
 As though men's ways to sever 
 Like banks it flows between ! 
 
 No verdure grows anent it 
 Since ugly commerce bent it 
 To homely use, and blent it 
 With human passions mean. 
 
 Far-cast upon its bosom 
 The things but found to lose them, — 
 Dead hopes and those who choose them 
 From Fortune's prophecy. 
 
 Low o'er it broods the magic 
 Of solemn thoughts and tragic. 
 The beck'ning wraith antalgic 
 That lures from life to flee. 
 
 And only light and color 
 Can mitigate the horror. 
 The unremitting dolor, 
 
 That it transmits to men. — 
 
 Yet, when the sunset's glory 
 Paints its gray waters gory, 
 Comes back to us the story 
 Of what it once has been ; 
 
 By night its softened glimmer, 
 Its hue-reflecting shimmer. 
 Fills with delight the limner 
 And gives his pencil wings; 
 
 304 
 
THE CHICAGO RIVER 
 
And when the moon, full big, shines 
 On hull and spar and rig-lines. 
 On bridge and dock and gig-lines, 
 The bard its beauty sings: 
 
 Its pulsing shadows' darklings. 
 Its wriggling arc-light markings 
 Like pouring champagne's sparklings, 
 Art full of mystery. 
 
 r?^ •;,..,.,,_ . >: 
 
 With heaving, lazy motion, 
 Resistless as the ocean. 
 It laughs at men's devotion 
 And human-hearted plea. 
 
 Flow on ! O soulless river ! 
 That stops and barkens never 
 To man's low moan, and fever 
 Of loud activity: 
 
 Thy slinking, slimy boldness. 
 Thy dark and cruel coldness. 
 Thy blind and heartless oldness; 
 Shall sometimes cease to be! 
 
 305 
 
w 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 A Melody. 
 
 HAT is that pounding 
 On my door astounding; 
 
 What can the busy world be wanting 
 me to do? 
 
 I'd rather slumber, 
 Visions without number 
 
 Wafting me to other worlds where hopings all 
 come true. 
 
 Sleep is a blessing, 
 Keeping mortals guessing 
 
 Why the sun should ever shine, when night is 
 far more fair. 
 
 Daylight and labor 
 Bring not good behavior, 
 
 As do hours one spends in bed — there is no mis- 
 chief there. 
 
 When time is ended, 
 And this life emended. 
 
 In some twilit realm of peace, through all eter- 
 nity, 
 
 We will turn over, 
 Pull up high the cover, 
 
 And go back to dreams of bliss, from "calls" 
 forever free! 
 
 306 
 
I CAN NOT TELL. 
 
 WHERE is the heart that wanders thru' the 
 wildwood 
 And trembles not o'er bliss words can 
 not tell? 
 Where is the soul that finds its own salvation 
 And lingers not 'midst charms it loves so well? 
 
 Where is the mind that sorrow stole from solace? 
 
 Where is the joy that can not grief repel? 
 Where is the hope that is not everlasting? 
 
 "Ask me no more;" because I cannot tell. 
 
 Down in the depths of preordained disaster 
 There is a balm that only gods may sell; 
 
 And genius holds the price the gods are asking 
 For this desire delivered by their spell. 
 
 How can we live and have not aspirations? 
 
 How can we die and know not Heaven nor 
 Hell? 
 Where shall we seek for love's sweet consolation ? 
 
 "And ask no more;" because I can not tell. 
 
 There is but One / treasure in remembrance; 
 
 There's but one source whence all my visions 
 well : 
 When shall we meet and kiss beside love's fountain ? 
 
 "Ask me no more;" because I can not tell. 
 
 She was the sun that shone upon my morning; 
 
 She was the star that led me through the dell ; 
 She was the goal a gracious God vouchsafed me : 
 
 "Ask me no more;" alas! I can not tell! 
 
 307 
 
T 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 HE stars grow bright; 
 The solemn night 
 
 Is nigh: 
 Pale Luna's light 
 As 'long the bight 
 
 I sigh. 
 
 Dim, spectral ships 
 Their ghostly trips 
 
 Pursue 
 Whilst from my lips 
 My longing slips — 
 
 For you. 
 
 More distant far 
 Your treasures are 
 
 From me 
 Than yon high car, 
 The evening star, 
 
 Can be. 
 
 Yet, if 'tis true 
 Dreams may indue 
 
 With passion, 
 My dreams of you 
 Your heart anew 
 
 Shall fashion; 
 
 And, Julia fair, 
 Your love, I swear, 
 
 Shall pine, 
 Or passion rare 
 Your bosom bare 
 
 To mine ! 
 
 308 
 
A 
 
 THE DAWNING YEAR. 
 
 THWART life's darkness 
 
 Hope's dim dawn appears, 
 Slowly advancing 
 
 Through a mist of tears. 
 
 Rise from your weeping — 
 Cast your burdens down — 
 
 From iron crosses 
 
 Forge hope's golden crown I 
 
 Time rolls the cycle 
 
 Of Last Year away; 
 Out from oblivion 
 
 Springs a newer day. 
 
 Stretch forth your yearnings; 
 
 Grasp it ere it flies! 
 Read God's sure promise 
 
 Blazoned on its skies. 
 
 O'er life's fresh pages 
 
 Let Love guide your hand — 
 All through the ages 
 
 What you write will stand, 
 
 Bearing its tidings 
 
 Of new hope, and cheer 
 
 To th' heavy-hearted, 
 With each dawning year. 
 
 309 
 
M 
 
 "REGRETS." 
 
 Y room is papered with "regrets" from 
 
 every magazine on earth, 
 And, even then, there's plentj' left to ade- 
 quately drape my hearse 
 And line my coffin ; and my heirs, whatever may be 
 
 life's reverse. 
 However they may doubt their luck, will find of 
 
 manuscripts no dearth: 
 And though I naught else leave behind they're sure 
 
 to get their money's worth — 
 — For paying for my last sad rites and humble 
 
 slab — in endless verse. 
 These valued letters from the editorial great, one's 
 
 soul immerse 
 In countless kinds of sublimated woe, and hopes 
 
 that die in birth ; 
 Some vie with Jap and Chinese ones in blandish- 
 ments and some are terse : 
 But neither sort the bard for midnight oil nor 
 
 genius reimburse. 
 I sometimes think I'll build a pyre of them, and 
 
 on its top rehearse 
 My little fillip to mfsfortune in the words "it 
 
 might be worse;" 
 And there, on that famed apex, throw my faithless 
 
 muse my empty purse; 
 Then light the "regretful" pile with my heart's 
 
 burning frenzy, while I nurse 
 In my expiring bosom dreams at once my comfort 
 
 and my curse: 
 But, meanwhile, on the virgin backs of these "re- 
 grets" I'm not averse 
 To writing more immortal lines for editorial choice 
 
 perverse. 
 
 310 
 
H 
 
 JOHN CHINAMAN, POET. 
 
 OW doth the gentle Chinaman improve the 
 
 English tongue 
 As though the ghost of Chaucer's style above 
 
 his writing hung: 
 His rhythmus sure is gifted with a rare 
 
 euphonic swing; 
 In China's new Republic this is all the rage 
 
 to sing: — 
 
 "Singee songee sick a pence, 
 
 Pockee muchee lye: (rye) 
 Dozen two time blackbird 
 
 Cookee in a pie. 
 When him cuttee topside 
 
 Birdee bobbery sing; 
 Himee tinkee nicee dish 
 
 Setee force King. 
 
 "Kingee in a talkee loom (room) 
 
 Countee muchee money : 
 Queene in a kitchee, 
 
 Chow chow breadee honey. 
 Servant girlee shakee, 
 
 Hangee washee clothes; 
 Chop chop walkee blackbird, 
 
 Nipee off her nose." 
 
 311 
 
STATE STREET. 
 
 C3KING down from a sky-scraper on the hu- 
 man mass below, 
 'Tis a dream kaleidoscopic as its colors come 
 and go; 
 For the passers in their hurry, as they cross each 
 
 other's path 
 Form a myriad combinations, like quick-shifting bits 
 of glass. 
 
 Then descending from my vantage point and min- 
 gling with the throng. 
 
 On its constant, eddying currents I am swiftly 
 borne along. 
 
 Passing faces, cold and heartless, passing bodies 
 bent with care. 
 
 Looking back when e'er a kindly smile or pretty 
 face is there. 
 
 To a stranger in a city 'tis a spirit-damp'ning thing 
 
 To behold the seeming unconcernedness of the time- 
 serving — 
 
 'Tis as though the world condemned him all un- 
 heard and all unseen — 
 
 Not a nod of recognition, just a hurrying and din. 
 
 There's a roaring, screaming, banging, clattering, 
 
 strident hullabaloo 
 That, unless you knew its meaning'd scare the 
 
 life right out of you; 
 There's such seeming intricateness in the madding 
 
 human show, 
 That you wonder where they all come from and 
 
 where in hell they go! 
 
 312 
 
There are ladies in the show-windows that stare 
 
 you in the eye; 
 They are dressed in heights of fashion it would 
 
 frighten you to buy; 
 They are patterned so convincing, that, for half 
 
 a glance or two. 
 You forget that they are dummies — for they seem 
 
 to smile at you ! 
 
 And you think how mighty pleasant it might be 
 
 to marry one, 
 Since She'd never ask for money nor talk back 
 
 if you begun ; 
 And because her legs were wooden and she hadn't 
 
 any heart 
 She could never kick or hate you, nor compel you 
 
 to depart. 
 
 Well, I wandered 'round the corner, and I saw a 
 
 place I knew, 
 And I met another poet and we had a drink or 
 
 two; 
 And he told me of another place which served a 
 
 bully lunch; 
 So we wandered on again, and there we found 
 
 another bunch. 
 
 And we proved men could be happy if they didn't 
 get too dry. 
 
 And we told the city's glories to a stranger pass- 
 ing by; 
 
 And his heart was so uplifted by our hospitality 
 
 That he hailed an autobubble, and we all went 
 on a spree. 
 
 313 
 
Well, I've told you now how State Street seems to 
 the poetic mind, 
 
 Of the beauties and conveniences a poet there can 
 find; 
 
 And, if you will take the trouble to observe it 
 usefully, 
 
 You'll discover I have painted its attractions truth- 
 fully. 
 
 IRENE. 
 
 W 
 
 HICHEVER way I look, 
 Whatever thing I do, 
 
 In 7ny heart's inner nook, 
 Irene, dwells but you; 
 
 Your eyes its only light, 
 Your love its only lore. 
 
 That, each new day and night. 
 But light and fill it more. 
 
 Has your heart, too, its glory, 
 
 And bear / any part 
 In the new, old, old story 
 
 You read within that heart? 
 
 Give me your lips in answer. 
 And let your eyes tell mine 
 
 What Love, the necromancer. 
 Has conjured so divine! 
 
 314 
 
T 
 
 VALEDICTORY. 
 
 IS long since I have put my pen to paper; 
 
 Because the world seemed consciousless 
 and daft — 
 An evanescent, unresponding demon, 
 
 A thing of grinding greed and secret graft. 
 
 What can I write to please the mass who think not ? 
 
 What can I write to please the selfish rich? — 
 They all are following the winds of ign'rance: 
 
 Shunning the cleaner road to seek the ditch. 
 
 There are a very few who do not falter 
 
 In waj's of healthfulness towards happiness; 
 
 But few and far between they swiftly pass me 
 Upon the universal road to death. 
 
 Ah! it is lonely on the Heights of Reason, 
 And deep sin's shadows on life's valleys lie ; 
 
 For all the v/orld seems bent on simply living — 
 It gives no single thought to how to die! 
 
 Let me dream on alone if none will hear me. 
 And back men to their great god Mammon turn ; 
 
 What matters it, if Love and Truth and Beauty 
 For wf, at least, with quenchless glory burn? 
 
 315 
 
G 
 
 O FATEFUL WORDS ! 
 
 OD spoke to me in the night; 
 My heart beat swift in his sight; 
 His face was turned from the light 
 Lest I should faint at its might. 
 
 And this he said unto me: — 
 "Thy spirit now I set free 
 To walk the world and to see 
 Its truth and beauty and glee, 
 
 "Its wrongs and darkness and pains; 
 And all the lore that it gains 
 And grief and love it retains, 
 Shall guide the mind that it trains, 
 
 "I make a tongue of thy hand. 
 And of thy hand I demand 
 To write, that men understand 
 The glories of water and land. 
 
 "The wise, the good and their plea 
 Shall find expression in thee; 
 The knave, from sea unto sea, 
 From thy anathemas flee. 
 
 "Thy words shall flower in deeds 
 Which spread humanity's seeds; — 
 False pow'rs shall bend as the reeds 
 To the wind of the multitude's needs. 
 
 316 
 
"Go now and slumber in peace; 
 But wake at dawning, nor cease, 
 While yet thy days shall increase. 
 The burden of mankind to ease. 
 
 "Thy lines shall blazon in fire 
 The heart's pure prayer and desire, 
 The souls that grasp and aspire, 
 Thy hands vivifying the lyre;" 
 
 Thus was my nightly petition 
 Answered by bright apparition, 
 And this my humble rendition — 
 O fateful words, of God's mission ! , 
 
 T 
 
 TO HIM. 
 
 HOUGH many a friend has left me. 
 And youth has left me, too. 
 
 In vain have they bereft me 
 So long as you are true. 
 
 For fortune shuns the worthy. 
 And fame in grief may end; 
 
 And power is "of earth, earthy" 
 Beside one faithful friend. 
 
 317 
 
FINALE. 
 A SWAN SONG. 
 
 G 
 
 OOD-BYE! fair puppets of my tales; 
 
 You've served me well and served me 
 long ; 
 And if my heartfelt message fails 
 'Tis I, not you have writ it wrong. 
 
 Through many a saddened hour and gay 
 My boon companions you have been ; 
 
 We've wantoned o'er the flowery way 
 And slept in many a bosky glen. 
 
 Through beauties and philosophies 
 Together hand-in-hand we'd roam. 
 
 And immortelles of fancy wreathe 
 
 About the throbbing thoughts of home. 
 
 We've tried to show unthinking men 
 How blessed it is to see and hear; 
 
 To show how generous Christ has been, 
 And tell of love and all that's dear. 
 
 We've laughed and cried and danced and prayed, 
 And languished for sweet maidens' hearts; 
 
 We've limned the sunset, gorgeous-rayed, 
 And lauded all the Muse's arts. 
 
 We've "stooped to conquer," and aspired 
 To daring heights on wings to win; 
 
 With fillets brave our brows attired 
 
 As though Fame's halos they had been ! 
 
 318 
 
We've never tired of the pursuit 
 Of happiness, and man's advance 
 
 Have helped with our horns' little toot, 
 And made our Pegasus to prance 
 
 With spur of golden imag'ry — 
 
 With whip of madd'ning passion-lash; 
 
 Nor could men's dead misanthropy 
 Our living faith at all abash. 
 
 We've made the world a better place 
 
 So far as in us humbly lay; 
 Shown Beauty to the human race; 
 
 Undying wonders did portray. 
 
 But now, dream-friends, you fare away 
 
 And leave me to my lonely fate ! 
 I seek my couch, and there I pray — 
 
 Heav'n's fairer dreams than mine I wait! 
 
 319 
 
DEC -4 
 
 ■i]l3 
 
 Thanks are due to the publishers of Collier's 
 National Weekly, The National Magazine, The 
 Twentieth Century Magazine, The American 
 Sheep Breeder, The Skandinaven, Alfred Beirly's 
 "Columbia and Her Flag, a Cantata," The 
 Chicago Record Herald, and other publications, 
 for their kind permission to reprint such of the con- 
 tents of this volume as originally appeared in them. 
 
 320 
 
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