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 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/rhymesofchildhoo02rile 
 
RHYMES OF 
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 5/ 
 
 ^ 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
J„!brary of Conflr««8 
 
 ^v^J Copies Rtctivfo 1 
 FEB 1 1901 
 
 . Copyright entry 
 
 N,.>(Xc..^.g.</.X..« 
 
 SECOND COPY 
 
 
 Copyright, 1890, 1898, 1900, 
 
 By James Whitcomb Riley. 
 
 Braunworth, Munn ©* Barber 
 
 Printers and Binders 
 
 Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
TO THE LITTLE NEPHEW 
 HENRY EDMUND EITEL 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 In presenting herein the child dialect upon an 
 equal footing with the proper or more serious 
 English, the conscientious author feels it neither 
 his desire nor province to offer excuse. 
 
 Wholly simple and artless, Nature's children 
 oftentimes seem the more engaging for their very 
 defects of speech and general deportment. We 
 need worry very little for their futures since the 
 All-Kind Mother has them in her keep. 
 
 It is just and good to give the elegantly trained 
 and educated child a welcome hearing. It is no 
 less just and pleasant to admit his homely but 
 wholesome-hearted little brother to our interest 
 and love. J. W. R. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Elder of the Knee 2 
 
 A Boy's Mother 219 
 
 A Child's Home — Long Ago 186 
 
 An Impetuous Resolve 178 
 
 A Nonsense Rhyme 167 
 
 A Mother-Song 53 
 
 A Passing Hail 191 
 
 A Prospective Glimpse 161 
 
 A Sleeping Beauty 210 
 
 A Sudden Shower 179 
 
 At Aunty's House 213 
 
 Babe Herrick 120 
 
 Babyhood 105 
 
 Baby's Dying 93 
 
 Billy Could Ride 199 
 
 Billy Goodin' 189 
 
 BuscH AND Tommy 117 
 
 Christine Braibry 78 
 
 Christmas Afterthought 27 
 
 Curly Locks t ... . 163 
 
 Dusk-Song — The Beetle 103 
 
 Envoy 232 
 
 Exceeding All 69 
 
 Grandfather Squeers 124 
 
 Guiney-Pigs 115 
 
 ix 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 He Called Her In 151 
 
 His Christmas Sled 118 
 
 Honey Dripping from the Comb 198 
 
 In Swimming-Time 220 
 
 In the Night 55 
 
 Jack-in-the-Box 37 
 
 John Tarkington Jameson 113 
 
 Lawyer and Child 68 
 
 Little Girly-Girl 35 
 
 Little Johnts's Chris'mus 141 
 
 Little Mandy's Christmas-Tree 136 
 
 Longfellow's Love for the Children ... 48 
 
 Mabel 33 
 
 Max and Jim 107 
 
 McFeeters' Fourth 133 
 
 Mother Goose , 19 
 
 Naughty Claude 170 
 
 Old Man's Nursery Ehyme 96 
 
 On the Sunny Side 43 
 
 Our Hired Girl 229 
 
 Pansies 13 
 
 Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance .... 193 
 
 She " Displains " It 202 
 
 Song — For November 196 
 
 Some Scattering Remarks of Bub's .... 7 
 
 That-Air Young-Un 88 
 
 The All-Golden 45 
 
 The Boy-Friend 157 
 
 The Boy Lives on our Farm 225 
 
 The Boys 94 
 
 The Boys' Candidate 149 
 
 The Brook-Song 85 
 
 The Bumblebee 150 
 
 s 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Cheistmas Long Ago 30 
 
 The Circus-Day Parade 108 
 
 The Days Gone By 25 
 
 The Dream of the Little Princess .... 70 
 
 The Fishing Party 223 
 
 The Funniest Thing in the World . . . .140 
 
 The Funny Little Fellow 56 
 
 The Happy Little Cripple 20 
 
 The Hunter Boy 181 
 
 The Jolly Miller 204 
 
 The Land of Thus-and-So 121 
 
 The Land of Used-to-Bb 74 
 
 The Little Coat 65 
 
 The Little-Red-Apple Tree 5 
 
 The Little Tiny Kickshaw 129 
 
 The Lugubrious "Whing-Whang 130 
 
 The Man in the Moon 183 
 
 The Nine Little Goblins 62 
 
 The Old Hay-Mow Ill 
 
 The Old, Old Wish" 171 
 
 The Old Tramp 162 
 
 The Orchard Lands op Long Ago 147 
 
 The Pet Coon 165 
 
 The Pixy People 8 
 
 The Prayer Perfect 52 
 
 ' The Preacher's Boy " 173 
 
 The Raggedy Man 217 
 
 The Robins' Other Name 28 
 
 The Runaway Boy 227 
 
 The Song of Yesterday . 99 
 
 The Squirt-Gun Uncle Maked Me 83 
 
 The Way the Baby Came 17 
 
 The Way the Baby Slept 203 
 
 XI 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PA^E 
 
 The Way THE Baby Woke 132 
 
 The Whitheraways 215 
 
 The Youthful Pkess 87 
 
 Time of Clearer Twitterings 39 
 
 To Hattie — On her Birthday 29 
 
 Tommy Smith 3 
 
 Uncle Sidney 12 
 
 Uncle Sidney's Views .- .59 
 
 Uninterpreted 18 
 
 Waitin' fer the Cat to Die 14 
 
 When Early March Seems Middle May . . 60 
 
 When Our Baby Died 77 
 
 When the World Bu'sts Through 159 
 
 Winter Fancies 49 
 
 With the Current 207 
 
 Sl 
 
RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
THE RIDER OF THE KNEE 
 
 Knightly Rider of the Knee 
 Of Proud pra7icing Ufide7y ! 
 Gaily moujit, and wave the sign 
 Of that 7naste7y of thijie. 
 
 Pat thy steed a7id tur7i hitnfree, 
 Knightly Rider of the Kneel 
 Sit thy charger as a thro7ie — 
 Lash hi7n with thy laugh alone: 
 
 Sting hi77i only with the spur 
 Of such wit as may occur ^ 
 Kiightly Rider of the Knee, 
 In thy shriek of ecstasy. 
 
 Would, as now, we might endure, 
 Twai7i as 07ie — thou miniature 
 Ruler, at the rein of me — 
 Knightly Rider of the Kneel 
 
TOMMY SMITH 
 
 Dimple-cheeked and rosy-lipped, 
 With his cap-rim backward tipped, 
 Still in fancy I can see 
 Little Tommy smile on me — 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 Little unsung Tommy Smith — 
 Scarce a name to rhyme it with ; 
 Yet most tenderly to me 
 Something sings unceasingly — 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 On the verge of some far land 
 Still forever does he stand. 
 With his cap-rim rakishly 
 Tilted ; so he smiles on me — ^ 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 3 
 
TOMMY SMITH 
 
 Elder-blooms contrast the grace 
 Of the rover's radiant face — 
 Whistling back, in mimicry, 
 ''Old— Bob— White!" all liquidly— 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 O my jaunty statuette 
 Of first love, I see you yet, 
 Though you smile so mistily, 
 It is but through tears I see. 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 But, w^ith crown tipped back behind, 
 And the glad hand of the wind 
 Smoothing back your hair, I see 
 Heaven's best angel smile on me, — 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
THE LITTLE-RED-APPLE TREE 
 
 The Little-red-apple Tree! — 
 
 O the Little-red-apple Tree ! 
 When I was the little-est bit of a boy 
 
 And you were a boy with me ! 
 The bluebird's flight from the topmost boughs, 
 
 And the boys up there — so high 
 That we rocked over the roof of the house 
 
 And whooped as the winds went by ! 
 
 Hey! The Little-red-apple Tree! 
 
 With the garden-beds below, 
 And the old grape-arbor so welcomely 
 
 Hiding the rake and hoe ! 
 Hiding, too, as the sun dripped through 
 
 In spatters of wasted gold, 
 Frank and Amy away from you 
 
 And me in the days of old ! 
 
 5 
 
THE LITTLE-RED-APPLE TREE 
 
 The Little-red-apple Tree ! — . 
 
 In the edge of the garden-spot, 
 Where the apples fell so lavishly 
 
 Into the neighbor's lot ; — 
 So do I think of you alway, 
 
 Brother of mine, as the tree, — 
 Giving the ripest wealth of your love 
 
 To the world as well as me. 
 
 Ho ! The Little-red-apple Tree ! 
 
 Sweet as its juiciest fruit 
 Spanged on the palate spicily. 
 
 And rolled o'er the tongue to boot, 
 Is the memory still and the joy 
 
 Of the Little-red-apple Tree, 
 When I was the little-est bit of a boy 
 
 And you were a boy with me ! 
 
SOME SCATTERING REMARKS 
 OF BUB'S 
 
 WuNST I took our pepper-box lid 
 An' cut little pie-dough biscuits, I did, 
 An' cooked 'em on our stove one day 
 When our hired girl she said I may. 
 
 Honey's the goodest thing — Oo-ooh I 
 An' blackburry-pies is goodest, too! 
 But wite hot biscuits, ist soakin' wet 
 Wiv tree-mullasus, is goodest yet! 
 
 Miss Maimie she's my Ma's friend, — an' 
 She's purtiest girl in all the Ian' ! — 
 An' sweetest smile an' voice an' face — 
 An' eyes ist looks like p' serves tas'e' ! 
 
 I ruther go to the Circus-show ; 
 But, 'cause vnj par tints told me so, 
 I ruther go to the Sund'y School, 
 'Cause there I learn the goldun rule. 
 
 Say, Pa, — what is the goldun rule 
 'At's alius at the Sund'y School? 
 
 r 
 
THE PIXY PEOPLE 
 
 It was just a very 
 
 Merry fairy dream ! — 
 All the woods were airy 
 
 With the gloom and gleam ; 
 Crickets in the clover 
 
 Clattered clear and strong, 
 And the bees droned over 
 
 Their old honey-song ! 
 
 In the mossy passes, 
 Saucy grasshoppers 
 
 Leaped about the grasses 
 And the thistle-burs ; 
 
 And the whispered chuckle 
 Of the katydid 
 
 Shook the honeysuckle- 
 Blossoms where he hid. 
 8 
 
THE PIXY PEOPLE 
 
 Through the breezy mazes 
 
 Of the lazy June, 
 Drowsy with the hazes 
 
 Of the dreamy noon, 
 Little Pixy people 
 
 Winged above the walk, 
 Pouring from the steeple 
 
 Of a mullein-stalk. 
 
 One — a gallant fellow— 
 
 Evidently King, — 
 Wore a plume of yellow 
 
 In a jewelled ring 
 On a pansy bonnet, 
 
 Gold and white and blue, 
 With the dew still on it. 
 
 And the fragrance, too. 
 
 One — a dainty lady, — 
 Evidently Queen — 
 
 Wore a gown of shady 
 Moonshine and green, 
 
THE PIXY PEOPLE 
 
 With a lace of gleaming 
 
 Starlight that sent 
 All the dewdrops dreaming 
 
 Everywhere she went. 
 
 One wore a waistcoat 
 
 Of rose-leaves, out and in ; 
 And one wore a faced-coat 
 
 Of tiger-lily-skin ; 
 And one wore a neat coat 
 
 Of palest galingale ; 
 And one a tiny street-coat, 
 
 And one a swallow-tail. 
 
 And Ho ! sang the King of them, 
 
 And Hey ! sang the Queen ; 
 And round and round the ring of them 
 
 Went dancing o'er the green; 
 And Hey ! sang the Queen of them, 
 
 And Ho ! sang the King — 
 And all that I had seen of them 
 
 — Wasn't anything! 
 
 10 
 
THE PIXY PEOPLE 
 
 It was just a very 
 
 Merry fairy dream ! — 
 All the woods were airy 
 
 With the gloom and gleam; 
 Crickets in the clover 
 
 Clattered clear and strong, 
 And the bees droned over 
 
 Their old honey-song! 
 
 II 
 
UNCLE SIDNEY 
 
 Sometimes, when I bin bad, 
 An' Pa " currecks " me nen, 
 
 An' Uncle Sidney he comes here, 
 I'm alius good again ; 
 
 'Cause Uncle Sidney says, 
 
 An' takes me up an' smiles, — 
 
 The goodest 7iiens they is airCt good 
 As baddest little childsl 
 
 la 
 
PANSIES 
 
 Pansies! Pansies! How I love you, pansies! 
 
 Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped and dewy-eyed 
 
 with glee; 
 
 Would my song but blossom in little five-leaf 
 
 stanzas 
 
 As delicate in fancies 
 
 As your beauty is to me ! 
 
 But my eyes shall smile on you, and my hands in- 
 fold you. 
 Pet, caress, and lift you to the lips that love 
 you so. 
 
 That, shut ever in the years that may mildew or 
 
 mould you. 
 
 My fancy shall behold you 
 
 Fair as in the long ago. 
 
 IS 
 
WAITIN' FER THE CAT TO DIE 
 
 Lawzy! don't I rickollect 
 
 That-air old swing in the lane! 
 
 Right and proper, I expect, 
 
 Old times can't come back again; 
 
 But I want to state, ef they 
 
 Could come back, and I could say 
 
 What my pick'ud be, i jing! 
 
 I'd say. Gimme the old swing 
 
 'Nunder the old locus'-trees 
 
 On the old place, ef you please! — 
 
 Danglin' there with half-shet eye, 
 
 Waitin' fer the cat to die ! 
 
 I'd say, Gimme the old gang 
 
 O' barefooted, hungry, lean, 
 Omry boys you want to hang 
 
 When you're growed up twic't as mean I 
 
WAITIN FER THE CAT TO DIE 
 
 The old gyarden-patch, the old 
 Truants, and the stuff we stol'd! 
 The old stompin'-groun', where we 
 Wore the grass off, wild and free 
 As the swoop o' the old swing. 
 Where we ust to climb and cling, 
 And twist roun', and fight, and lie — 
 Waitin' fer the cat to die! 
 
 'Pears like I 'most alius could 
 
 Swing the highest of the crowd — 
 Jes sail up there tel I stood 
 
 Downside-up, and screech out loud,- 
 Ketch my breath, and jes drap back 
 Fer to let the old swing slack, 
 Yit my towhead dippin' still 
 In the green boughs, and the chill 
 Up my backbone taperin' down, 
 With my shadder on the groun' 
 Slow and slower trailin* by — 
 Waitin' fer the cat to die ! 
 
 15 
 
WAITIN PER THE CAT TO DIB 
 
 Now my daughter's little Jane's 
 
 Got a kind o' baby-swing 
 On the porch, so's when it rains 
 
 She kin play there — little thing I 
 And I'd limped out t'other day 
 With my old cheer thisaway, 
 Swingin' her and rockin' too, 
 Thinkin' how / ust to do 
 At her age, when suddently, 
 "Hey, Gran'pap!" she says to me, 
 ** Why you rock so slow?" . . . Says I, 
 ''Waitin' fer the cat to die I" 
 
 16 
 
THE WAY THE BABY CAME 
 
 O THIS is the way the baby came : 
 Out of the night as comes the dawn ; 
 
 Out of the embers as the flame ; 
 Out of the bud the blossom on 
 
 The apple-bough that blooms the same 
 As in glad summers dead and gone — 
 
 With a grace and beauty none could name- 
 
 O this is the way the baby came ! 
 
 17 
 
UNINTERPRETED 
 
 Supinely we lie in the grove's shady greenery, 
 Gazing, all dreamy-eyed, up through the trees, — 
 
 And as to the sight is the heavenly scenery. 
 So to the hearing the sigh of the breeze. 
 
 We catch but vague rifts of the blue through the 
 wavering 
 
 Boughs of the maples; and, like undefined. 
 The whispers and lisps of the leaves, faint and 
 quavering, 
 Meaningless falter and fall on the mind. 
 
 The vine, with its beauty of blossom, goes rioting 
 Up by the casement, as sweet to the eye 
 
 As the trill of the robin is restful and quieting 
 Heard in a drowse with the dawn in the sky. 
 
 And yet we yearn on to learn more of the mystery — 
 We see and we hear, but forever remain 
 
 Mute, blind and deaf to the ultimate history 
 Born of a rose or a patter of rain. 
 i8 
 
MOTHER GOOSE 
 
 Dear Mother Goose ! most motherly and dear 
 Of all good mothers who have laps wherein 
 We children nestle safest from all sin, — 
 
 I cuddle to thy bosom, wdth no fear 
 
 To there confess that though thy cap be queer, 
 And thy curls gimlety, and thy cheeks thin, 
 And though the winkered mole upon thy chin 
 
 Tickles thy very nose-tip, — still to hear 
 The jolly jingles of mine infancy 
 
 Crooned by thee, makes mine eager arms, as now, 
 To twine about thy neck, full tenderly 
 
 Drawing the dear old face down, that thy brow 
 May dip into my purest kiss, and be 
 Crowned ever with the baby-love of me. 
 
 19 
 
THE HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE 
 
 I'm thist a little crippled boy, an' never goin' to 
 
 grow 
 An' git a great big man at all ! — 'cause Aunty told 
 
 me so. 
 When I was thist a baby onc't I failed out of the 
 
 bed 
 An' got " The Curv'ture of the Spine" — 'at's 
 
 what the Doctor said. 
 I never had no Mother nen — fer my Pa runned 
 
 away 
 An' dassn't come back here no more — 'cause he 
 
 was drunk one day 
 An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't 
 
 pay his fine ! 
 An' nen my Ma she died — an' I got "Curv'ture 
 
 of the Spine"! 
 
 ao 
 
THE HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE 
 
 rm nine years old! An' you can't guess how 
 much I weigh, I bet! — 
 
 Last birthday I weighed thirty-three ! — An' I weigh 
 thirty yet! 
 
 I'm awful little fer my size — I'm purt' nigh lit- 
 tler nan 
 
 Some babies is! — an' neighbers all calls me "The 
 Little Man"! 
 
 An' Doc one time he laughed an' said : "I 'spect, 
 first think you know, 
 
 You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with 
 a show!" 
 
 An' nen I laughed — ^till I looked round an' Aunty 
 was a-cryin' — 
 
 Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got "Curva- 
 ture of the Spine" ! 
 
 I set — while Aunty's washin' — on my little long- 
 leg stool, 
 
 An' watch the little boys an' girls a-skippin' by 
 to school; 
 
 An' I peck on. the winder, an' holler out an' say: 
 
 "Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you 
 all to-day?" 
 
 21 
 
THE HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE 
 
 An' nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little 
 
 girls peeks through, 
 An' they all says: "'Cause you're so big, you 
 
 think we're 'feard o' you!" 
 An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like 
 
 I shake mine — 
 They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 
 
 "Curv'ture of the Spine" ! 
 
 At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's 
 
 fixed the fire. 
 An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick 
 
 an' turned it higher, 
 An' fetched the wood all in fer night, an' locked 
 
 the kitchen door, 
 An' stuffed the old crack where the wind blows in 
 
 up through the floor — 
 She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes 
 
 the tea. 
 An'* fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg 
 
 fer me ; 
 An' sometimes — when I cough so hard — her elder- 
 berry wine 
 Don't go so bad fer little boys with "Curv'ture of 
 
 the Spine"! 
 
 22 
 
tHE HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE 
 
 An' nen when she putts me to bed — an' 'fore she 
 
 does she's got 
 My blanket-nighty, 'at she maked, all good an' 
 
 warm an' hot, 
 Hunged on the rocker by the fire, — she sings me 
 
 hymns, an' tells 
 Me 'bout The Good Man — ^yes, an' Elves, an' 
 
 Old Enchanter spells ; 
 An' tells me more — an' more — an' more! — tel I'm 
 
 asleep^ purt' nigh — 
 Only I thist set up ag'in an' kiss her when she ciy, 
 A-tellin' on 'bout some boy's Angel-mother — an' 
 
 it's mine! 
 My Ma's a Angel— hut I'm got "The Curv'ture 
 
 of the Spine" ! 
 
 But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, 
 
 you see, 
 I'm 'most afeared she'll be took down — an' 'at's 
 
 what bothers met — 
 'Cause ef my good old Aunty ever would git sick 
 
 an' die, 
 
 23 
 
THE HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE • 
 
 I don't know what she'd do in Heaven — till / 
 
 come, by an' by: — 
 Fer she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, 
 
 you know. 
 An' no one there like me, to nurse an' worry over 
 
 so! — 
 'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' 
 
 strong an' fine, 
 They's nary angel 'bout the place with " Curv'- 
 
 ture of the Spine" ! 
 
 Note. — The word " thist," as used in foregoing lines, 
 is an occasional childish pronunciation evolved from the 
 word "just" — a word which in child vernacular has mani- 
 fold supplanters, — such as "jus," "jes," "des," "jis," 
 "dis," ''jist," " dist," "ist," and even "gist," with hard g. 
 In " thist," as above, sound " th " as in the word " the." 
 
 24 
 
THE DAYS GONE BY 
 
 O THE days gone by! O the days gone by! 
 The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through 
 
 the rye ; 
 The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the 
 
 quail 
 As he piped across the meadows sweet as any 
 
 nightingale ; 
 When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue 
 
 was in the sky, 
 And my happy heart brimmed over, in the days 
 
 gone by. 
 
 In the days gone by, when my naked feet were 
 
 tripped 
 By the honeysuckle tangles where the water-lilies 
 
 dipped, 
 
 25 
 
THE DAYS GONE BY 
 
 And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along 
 
 the brink 
 Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came 
 
 to drink, 
 And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's 
 
 wayward cry 
 And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days 
 
 gone by. 
 
 O the days gone by ! O the days gone by ! 
 
 The music of the laughing lip, the lustre of the eye ; 
 
 The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic 
 ring— 
 
 The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in every- 
 thing,— 
 
 When life was like a story holding neither sob nor 
 sigh. 
 
 In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. 
 
 26 
 
CHRISTMAS AFTERTHOUGHT 
 
 After a thoughtful, almost painful pause, 
 Bub sighed, "I'm sorry fer old Santy Claus. 
 They wuz no Santy Claus, ner couldn't be, 
 When he wuz ist a little boy like me!" 
 
 27 
 
THE ROBINS' OTHER NAME 
 
 In the Orchard-Days, when you 
 
 Children look like blossoms, too ; 
 
 Bessie, with her jaunty ways 
 
 And trim poise of head and face, 
 
 Must have looked superior 
 
 Even to the blossoms, — for 
 
 Little Winnie once averred 
 
 Bessie looked just like the bird 
 
 Tilted on the topmost spray 
 
 Of the apple-boughs in May, 
 
 With the red breast, and the strong, 
 
 Clear, sweet warble of his song.— 
 
 "I don't know their name,*^ Win said- 
 
 "I ist 7naked a name instead.'' — 
 
 So forever afterwards 
 
 We called robins "Bessie-birds." 
 
 28 
 
TO HATTIE—ON HER BIRTHDAY 
 
 Written in '-'-A Child's Garden of Verses'^ 
 
 When your "Uncle Jim" was younger, 
 In the days of childish hunger 
 For the honey of such verses 
 As this little book rehearses 
 
 In such sweet simplicity, — 
 Just the simple gift that this is 
 V/ould have brimmed his heart with blisses 
 Sweet as Hattie's sweetest kisses, 
 
 On her anniversary. 
 
 29 
 
THE CHRISTMAS LONG AGO 
 
 Come, sing a hale Heigh-ho 
 For the Christmas long ago! — 
 When the old log-cabin homed us 
 
 From the night of blinding snow, 
 When the rarest joy held reign, 
 And the chimney roared amain, 
 With the firelight like a beacon 
 
 Through the frosty window-pane. 
 
 Ahi the revel and the din 
 From without and from within. 
 The blend of distant sleigh-bells 
 With the pi inking violin ; 
 The muffled shrieks and cries — 
 Then the glowing cheeks and eyes — 
 The driving storm of greetings, 
 Gusts of kisses and surprise. 
 30 
 
THE CHRISTMAS LONG AGO 
 
 Sing — sweetest of all glees — 
 Of the taffy-makers, please, — 
 And, round the saucers in the snow, 
 The children thick as bees ; 
 And sing each chubby cheek, 
 Chin and laughing lip astreak 
 With still a sweeter sweetness than 
 The tongue of Song can speak. 
 
 Sing in again the mirth 
 Of the circle round the hearth, 
 With the rustic Sindbad telling us 
 The strangest tales on earth ! 
 And the Minstrel Bard we knew, 
 With his " Love-i-er so True,'* 
 Likewise his "Young House-K-yarpen-Z^r," 
 And "Loved Henry," too! 
 
 And, forgetting ne'er a thing, 
 
 Lift a gladder voice and sing 
 
 Of the dancers in the kitchen — 
 
 Clean from.start to "pigeon-wing"! 
 Sing the glory and the glee 
 And the joy and jubilee, — 
 
 31 
 
THE CHRISTMAS LONG AGO 
 
 The twirling form — the quickened breath- 
 The sigh of ecstasy. — 
 
 The eyes that smile alone 
 Back into our happy own — 
 The leaping pulse — the laughing blood — 
 The trembling undertone ! — 
 Ho ! pair us off once more, 
 With our feet upon the floor 
 And our heads and hearts in heaven, 
 As they were in days of yore ! 
 
 32 
 
MABEL 
 
 Sweet little face, so full of slumber now — 
 
 Sweet lips uplifted now with any kiss — 
 Sweet dimpled cheek and chin, and snowy brow, — 
 What quietude is this ? 
 
 O speak! Have you forgotten, yesterday. 
 
 How gladly you came running to the gate 
 To meet us in the old familiar way, 
 So joyous — so elate — 
 
 So filled with wildest glee, yet so serene 
 
 With innocence of song and childish chat, 
 With all the dear caresses in between — 
 Have you forgotten that? 
 
 Have you forgotten, knowing gentler charms, 
 The boisterous love of one you ran to greet 
 When you last met, who caught you in his arms 
 
 And kissed you, in the street? 
 
 3 33 
 
MABEL 
 
 Not very many days have passed since then, 
 
 And yet between that kiss and him there lies 
 No pathw^ay of return — unless again, 
 In streets of Paradise, 
 
 Your eager feet come twinkling down the gold 
 
 Of some bright thoroughfare ethereal, 
 To meet and greet him there just as of old. — 
 Till then, farewell — farewell. 
 
 34 
 
LITTLE GIRLY-GIRL 
 
 Little Girly-Girl, of you 
 
 Still forever I am dreaming.- 
 Laughing eyes of limpid blue — 
 
 Tresses glimmering and gleaming 
 Like glad waters running over 
 Shelving shallows, rimmed with clover, 
 
 Trembling where the eddies whirl, 
 
 Gurgling, "Little Girly-Girl !'' 
 
 For your name it came to me 
 
 Down the brink of brooks that brought it 
 Out of Paradise — and we — 
 
 Love and I — we, leaning, caught it 
 From the ripples romping nigh us, 
 And the bubbles bumping by us 
 
 Over shoals of pebbled pearl, 
 
 Lilting, "Little Girly-Girl!'' 
 
 35 
 
LITTLE GIRLY-GIRL 
 
 That was long and long ago, 
 But in memory the tender 
 
 Winds of summer weather blow, 
 And the roses burst in splendor; 
 
 And the meadow's grassy billows 
 
 Break in blossoms round the willows 
 Where the currents curve and curl, 
 Calling, "Little Girly-Girl!" 
 
 36 
 
JACK-IN-THE-BOX 
 
 \_Grandfather^ musing"^ 
 
 In childish days! O memory, 
 
 You bring such curious things to me ! — 
 
 Laughs to the lip — tears to the eye, 
 
 In looking on the gifts that lie 
 
 Like broken playthings scattered o'er 
 
 Imagination's nursery floor! 
 
 Did these old hands once click the key 
 
 That let "Jack's" box-lid upward fly, 
 
 And that blear-eyed, fur-whiskered elf 
 
 Leap, as though frightened at himself, 
 
 And quiveringly lean and stare 
 
 At me, his jailer, laughing there? 
 
 A child then ! Now — I only know 
 They call me very old ; and so 
 They will not let me have my way, — 
 But uselessly I sit all day 
 37 
 
JACK-IN-THE-BOX 
 
 Here by the chimney-jamb, and poke 
 The lazy fire, and smoke and smoke, 
 And watch the wreaths swoop up the flue, 
 And chuckle — ay, I often do — 
 Seeing again, all vividly, 
 Jack-in-the-box leap, as in glee 
 To see how much he looks like me ! 
 
 . . . They talk. I can't hear what they say- 
 But I am glad, clean through and through 
 Sometimes, in fancying that they 
 Are saying, "Sweet, that fancy strays 
 In age back to our childish days!'* 
 
 38 
 
TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS 
 
 Time of crisp and tawny leaves, 
 And of tarnished harvest sheaves, 
 And of dusty grasses — weeds — 
 Thistles, with their tufted seeds 
 Voyaging the Autumn breeze 
 Like as fairy argosies : 
 Time of quicker flash of wings, 
 And of clearer twitterings 
 In the grove or deeper shade 
 Of the tangled everglade, — 
 Where the spotted water-snake 
 Coils him in the sunniest brake; 
 And the bittern, as in fright. 
 Darts, in sudden, slanting flight. 
 Southward, while the startled crane 
 Films his eyes in dreams again. 
 
 39 
 
TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS 
 II 
 
 Down along the dwindled creek 
 We go loitering. We speak 
 Only with old questionings 
 Of the dear remembered things 
 Of the days of long ago, 
 When the stream seemed thus and so 
 In our boyish eyes: — The bank 
 Greener then, through rank on rank 
 Of the mottled sycamores. 
 Touching tops across the shores: 
 Here, the hazel thicket stood — 
 There, the almost pathless wood 
 Where the shellbark hickoiy-tree 
 Rained its wealth on you and me. 
 Autumn ! as you loved us then, 
 Take us to your heart again ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Season halest of the year! 
 How the zestful atmosphere 
 Nettles blood and brain and smites 
 Into life the old delights 
 40 
 
TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS 
 
 We have wasted in our youth, 
 And our graver years, forsooth! 
 How again the boyish heart 
 Leaps to see the chipmunk start 
 From the brush and sleek the sun's 
 Very beauty, as he runs ! 
 How again a subtle hint 
 Of crushed pennyroyal or mint 
 Sends us on our knees, as when 
 We were truant boys of ten — 
 Brown marauders of the wood, 
 Merrier than Robin Hood ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Ah ! will any minstrel say, 
 In his sweetest roundelay, 
 What is sweeter, after all, • 
 
 Than black haws, in early Fall? — 
 Fruit so sweet the frost first sat, 
 Dainty-toothed, and nibbled at I 
 And will any poet sing 
 Of a lusher, richer thing 
 
 41 
 
TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS 
 
 Than a ripe May-apple, rolled 
 Like a pulpy lump of gold 
 Under thumb and finger-tips, 
 And poured molten through the lips ? 
 Go, ye bards of classic themes, 
 Pipe your songs by classic streams ! 
 I would twang the redbird's wings 
 In the thicket while he sings ! 
 
 42 
 
ON THE SUNNY SIDE 
 
 Hi and whoop-hooray, boys! 
 
 Sing a song of cheer! 
 Here's a holiday, boys, 
 
 Lasting half a year! 
 Round the world, and half is 
 
 Shadow we have tried ; 
 Now we're where the laugh is,- 
 
 On the sunny side ! 
 
 Pigeons coo and mutter. 
 
 Strutting high aloof 
 Where the sunbeams flutter 
 
 Through the stable roof. 
 Hear the chickens cheep, boys, 
 
 And the hen with pride 
 Clucking them to sleep, boys, 
 
 On the sunny side ! 
 
 Hear the clacking guinea ; 
 
 Hear the cattle moo ; 
 Hear the horses whinny. 
 
 Looking out at you ! 
 43 
 
ON THE SUNNY SIDE 
 
 On the hitching-block, boys, 
 
 Grandly satisfied, 
 See the old peacock, boys. 
 
 On the sunny side ! 
 
 Robins in the peach-tree ; 
 
 Bluebirds in the pear; 
 Blossoms over each tree 
 
 In the orchard there ! 
 All the world's in joy, boys. 
 
 Glad and glorified 
 As a romping boy, boys, 
 
 On the sunny side I 
 
 Where's a heart as mellow — 
 
 Where's a soul as free — 
 Where is any fellow 
 
 We would rather be? 
 Just ourselves or none, boys. 
 
 World around and wide, 
 Laughing in the sun, boys, 
 
 On the sunny side I 
 
 44 
 
THE ALL-GOLDEN 
 
 Through every happy line I sing 
 I feel the tonic of the Spring. 
 The day is like an old-time face 
 That gleams across some grassy place- 
 An old-time face — an old-time chum 
 Who rises from the grave to come 
 And lure me back along the ways 
 Of time's all-golden yesterdays. 
 Sweet day ! to thus remind me of 
 The truant boy I used to love — 
 To set, once more, his finger-tips 
 Against the blossom of his lips, 
 And pipe for me the signal known 
 By none but him and me alone ! 
 45 
 
THE ALL-GOLDEN 
 II 
 
 I see, across the school-room floor, 
 
 The shadow of the open door, 
 
 And dancing dust and sunshine blent 
 
 Slanting the way the morning went, 
 
 And beckoning my thoughts afar 
 
 Where reeds and running waters are; 
 
 Where amber-colored bayous glass 
 
 The half-drown'd weeds and wisps of grass. 
 
 Where sprawling frogs, in loveless key, 
 
 Sing on and on incessantly. 
 
 Against the green wood's dim expanse 
 
 The cattail tilts its tufted lance. 
 
 While on its tip — one might declare 
 
 The white "snake-feeder" blossomed there! 
 
 Ill 
 
 I catch my breath as children do 
 In woodland swings when life is new, 
 And all the blood is warm as wine 
 And tingles with a tang divine. 
 My soul soars up the atmosphere 
 And sings aloud where God can hear, 
 
 46 
 
THE ALL-GOLDEN 
 
 And all my being leans intent 
 To mark His smiling wonderment. 
 O gracious dream, and gracious time, 
 And gracious theme, and gracious rhyme- 
 When buds of Spring begin to blow 
 In blossoms that we used to know 
 And lure us back along the ways 
 Of time's all-golden yesterdays! 
 
 47 
 
LONGFELLOW'S LOVE FOR THE 
 CHILDREN 
 
 Awake, he loved their voices, 
 And wove them into his rhyme ; 
 
 And the music of their laughter 
 Was with him all the time. 
 
 Though he knew the tongues of nations, 
 And their meanings all were dear, 
 
 The prattle and lisp of a little child 
 Was the sweetest for him to hear. 
 
 48 
 
WINTER FANCIES 
 
 Winter without 
 
 And warmth within ; 
 The winds may shout 
 
 And the storm begin ; 
 The snows may pack 
 
 At the window-pane, 
 And the skies grow black, 
 
 And the sun remain 
 Hidden away 
 
 The livelong day — 
 But here — in here is the warmth of May ! 
 
 II 
 
 Swoop your spitefuUest 
 Up the flue, 
 Wild Winds— do! 
 What in the world do I care for you? 
 4 49 
 
WINTER FANCIES 
 
 O delightfullest 
 
 Weather of all, 
 Howl and squall, 
 And shake the trees till the last leaves fall ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 The joy one feels, 
 
 In an easy-chair, 
 Cocking his heels 
 
 In the dancing air 
 That wreaths the rim of a roaring stove 
 Whose heat loves better than hearts can love. 
 Will not permit 
 
 The coldest day 
 To drive away 
 The fire in his blood, and the bliss of it! 
 
 IV 
 
 Then blow. Winds, blow! 
 
 And rave and shriek, 
 And snarl and snow, 
 
 Till your breath grows weak — 
 
 SO 
 
WINTER FANCIES 
 
 While here in my room 
 I'm as snugly shut 
 
 As a glad little worm 
 
 In the heart of a nut ! 
 
 51 
 
THE PRAYER PERFECT 
 
 Dear Lord ! kind Lord ! 
 
 Gracious Lord ! I pray 
 Thou wilt look on all I love, 
 
 Tenderly to-day ! 
 Weed their hearts of weariness ; 
 
 Scatter every care 
 Down a wake of angel-wings 
 
 Winnowing the air. 
 
 Bring unto the sorrowing 
 
 All release from pain; 
 Let the lips of laughter 
 
 Overflow again; 
 And with all the needy 
 
 O divide, I pray, 
 This vast treasure of content 
 
 That is mine to-day ! 
 
 52 
 
A MOTHER-SONG 
 
 Mother, O mother! forever I cry for you, 
 Sing the old song I may never forget ; 
 
 Even in slumber I murmur and sigh for you. — 
 Mother, O Mother, 
 
 Sing low, " Little brother, 
 
 Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!*' 
 
 Mother, O mother! the years are so lonely, 
 Filled but with weariness, doubt and regret! 
 
 Can't you come back to me — for to-night only, 
 Mother, my mother. 
 
 And sing, "Little brother, 
 
 Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!" 
 
 Mother, O mother ! of old I had never 
 
 One wish denied me, nor trouble to fret; 
 Now — must I cry out all vainly forever, — 
 Mother, sweet mother, 
 
 O sing, "Little brother, 
 Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yetl" 
 53 
 
A MOTHER-SONG 
 
 Mother, O mother! must longing and sorrow 
 Leave me in darkness, with eyes ever wet. 
 
 And never the hope of a meeting to-morrow ? 
 Answer me, mother. 
 
 And sing, "Little brother, 
 
 Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!" 
 
 54 
 
IN THE NIGHT 
 
 When it's night, and no light, too, 
 
 Wakin' byyourse'f, 
 With the old clock mockin' you 
 
 On the mantel-she'f ; 
 In the dark — so still and black, 
 
 You're afeard you'll hear 
 Somepin' awful pop and crack, — 
 
 ''Go to sleep, my dear!" 
 
 That's what Mother says. — And theri's 
 
 When we ain't afeard I 
 Wunder, when we be big mens. 
 
 Then 'ul we be skeerd ? — 
 Some night Mother's goned away, 
 
 And ist us is here, 
 Will The Good Man wake and say, 
 
 ''Go to sleep, my dear" ? 
 
 55 
 
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW 
 
 'TwAS a Funny Little Fellow 
 
 Of the very purest type, 
 For he had a heart as mellow 
 
 As an apple overripe ; 
 And the brightest little twinkle 
 
 When a funny thing occurred. 
 And the lightest little tinkle 
 
 Of a laugh you ever heard ! 
 
 His smile was like the glitter 
 
 Of the sun in tropic lands, 
 And his talk a sweeter twitter, 
 
 Than the sv/allow understands ; 
 Hear him sing — and tell a story — 
 
 Snap a joke — ignite a pun, — 
 'Twas a capture — rapture — glory. 
 
 And explosion — all in one ! 
 
 56 
 
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW 
 
 Though he hadn't any money — 
 
 That condiment which tends 
 To make a fellow "honey" 
 
 For the palate of his friends ; — 
 Sweet simples he compounded — 
 
 Sovereign antidotes for sin 
 Or taint, — a faith unbounded 
 
 That his friends were genuine. 
 
 He'wasn't honored, maybe — 
 
 For his songs of praise were slim,- 
 Yet I never knew a baby 
 
 That wouldn't crow for him ; 
 I never knew a mother 
 
 But urged a kindly claim 
 Upon him as a brother, 
 
 At the mention of his name. 
 
 The sick have ceased their sighing, 
 And have even found the grace 
 
 Of a smile when they were dying 
 As they looked upon his face ; 
 
 57 
 
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW 
 
 And I've seen his eyes of laughter 
 Melt in tears that only ran 
 
 As though, swift-dancing after, 
 Came the Funny Little Man. 
 
 He laughed away the sorrow 
 
 And he laughed away the gloom 
 We are all so prone to borrow 
 
 From the darkness of the tomb ; 
 And he laughed across the ocean 
 
 Of a happy life, and passed, 
 With a laugh of glad emotion, 
 
 Into Paradise at last. 
 
 And I think the Angels knew him, 
 
 And had gathered to await 
 His coming, and run to him 
 
 Through the widely opened Gate, 
 With their faces gleaming sunny 
 
 For his laughter-loving sake, 
 And thinking, "What a funny 
 
 Little Angel he will make ! ' ' 
 
 58 
 
UNCLE SIDNEY'S VIEWS 
 
 I HOLD that the true age of wisdom is when 
 We are boys and girls, and not women and men, — 
 When as credulous children we know things because 
 We believe them — however averse to the laws. 
 It is faith ^ then, not science and reason, I say. 
 That is genuine wisdom. — And would that to-day 
 We, as then, were as wise and ineffably blest 
 As to live, love and die, and trust God for the rest! 
 
 So I simply deny the old notion, you know, 
 That the wiser we get as the older we grow ! — 
 For in youth all we know we are certai^t of. — Now 
 The greater our knowledge, the more we allow 
 For sceptical margin. — And hence I regret 
 That the world isn't flat, and the sun doesn't set. 
 And we may not go creeping up home, when we 
 
 die, 
 Through the moon, like a round yellow hole in the 
 
 sky. 
 
 59 
 
WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE 
 MAY 
 
 When country roads begin to thaw 
 In mottled spots of damp and dust, 
 
 And fences by the margin draw- 
 Along the frosty crust 
 Their graphic silhouettes, I say, 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When morning-time is bright with sun 
 And keen with wind, and both confuse 
 
 The dancing, glancing eyes of one 
 With tears that ooze and ooze — 
 And nose-tips weep as well as they. 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When suddenly some shadow-bird 
 Goes wavering beneath the gaze. 
 And through the hedge the moan is heard 
 Of kine that fain would graze 
 In grasses new, I smile and say. 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 60 
 
WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 
 
 When knotted horse-tails are untied, 
 And teamsters whistle here and there, 
 
 And clumsy mitts are laid aside 
 
 And choppers' hands are bare, 
 And chips are thick where children play, 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When through the twigs the farmer tramps, 
 And troughs are chunked beneath the trees, 
 
 And fragrant hints of sugar-camps 
 Astray in every breeze, — 
 When early March seems middle May, 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When coughs are changed to laughs, and when 
 Our frowns melt into smiles of glee. 
 
 And all our blood thaws out again 
 In streams of ecstasy. 
 And poets wreak their roundelay. 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 6i 
 
THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS 
 
 They all climbed up on a high board-fence — 
 Nine little goblins, with green-glass eyes — 
 Nine little goblins that had no sense, 
 
 And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince-pies ; 
 And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat — 
 And I asked them what they were staring at. 
 
 And the first one said, as he scratched his head 
 
 With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear 
 And rasped its claws in his hair so red — 
 ''This is what thjs little arm is fer!" 
 
 And he scratched and stared, and the next one 
 
 said, 
 "How on esiYthdo you scratch your head?'* 
 
 And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge — 
 Laughed and laughed till his face grew.black ; 
 
 And when he choked, with a final twing% 
 Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back 
 62 
 
THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS 
 
 With a fist that grew on the end of his tail 
 Till the breath came back to his lips so pale. 
 
 And the third little goblin leered round at me — 
 
 And there were no lids on his eyes at all, — 
 And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he, 
 " What is the style of your socks this fall?" 
 And he clapped his heels — and I sighed to see 
 That he had hands where his feet should be. 
 
 Then a bald-faced goblin, gray and grim, 
 
 Bowed his head, and I saw him slip 
 His eyebrows off, as I looked at him, 
 And paste them over his upper lip ; 
 
 And then he moaned in remorseful pain — 
 "Would — Ah, would I'd me brows again!" 
 
 And then the whole of the goblin band 
 Rocked on the fence-top to and fro, 
 And clung, in a long row, hand in hand, 
 Singing the songs that they used to know — 
 Singing the songs that their grandsires sung 
 In the goo-goo days of the goblin-tongue. 
 
 63 
 
THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS 
 
 And ever they kept their green-glass eyes 
 
 Fixed on me with a stony stare — 
 Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise, 
 And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair, 
 And I felt the heart in my breast snap to. 
 As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do. 
 
 And they sang: "You're asleep! There is no 
 board-fence, 
 And never a goblin with green-glass eyes ! — 
 'Tis only a vision the mind invents 
 After a supper of cold mince-pies. — 
 
 And you're doomed to dream this way," they 
 
 said, — 
 '•'•And you sha'nH wake uf till you're clean 
 flum deadV^ 
 
 64 
 
THE LITTLE COAT 
 
 Here's his ragged "roundabout." . 
 Turn the pockets inside out: 
 See; his penknife, lost to use, 
 Rusted shut with apple-juice; 
 Here, with marbles, top and string, 
 Is his deadly "devil-sling," 
 With its rubber, limp at last 
 As the sparrows of the past! 
 Beeswax — buckles — leather straps — 
 Bullets, and a box of caps, — 
 Not a thing of all, I guess, 
 But betrays some waywardness — 
 E'en these tickets, blue and red, 
 For the Bible-verses said — 
 Such as this his mem'ry kept, — 
 
 "Jesus wept." 
 
 65 
 
THE LITTLE COAT 
 
 Here's a fishing-hook and -line, 
 
 Tangled up with wire and twine, 
 
 And dead angleworms, and some 
 
 Slugs of lead and chewing-gum, 
 
 Blent with scents that can but come 
 
 From the oil of rhodium. 
 
 Here — a soiled, yet dainty note. 
 
 That some little sweetheart wrote. 
 
 Dotting — "Vine grows round the stump," 
 
 And — "My sweetest sugar-lump!" 
 
 Wrapped in this — a padlock key 
 
 Where he's filed a touch-hole — see! 
 
 And some powder in a quill 
 
 Corked up with a liver pill ; 
 
 And a spongy little chunk 
 
 Of "punk." 
 
 Here's the little coat — ^but O 
 Where is he we've censured so? 
 Don't you hear us calling, dear? 
 Back! come back, and never fear. — 
 You may wander v/here you will, 
 Over orchard, field and hill; 
 
 ee 
 
THE LITTLE COAT 
 
 You may kill the birds, or do 
 Anything that pleases you ! 
 Ah, this empty coat of his! 
 Every tatter worth a kiss ; 
 Every stain as pure instead 
 As the white stars overhead : 
 And the pockets — homes were they 
 Of the little hands that play 
 Now no more — ^but, absent, thus 
 Beckon us. 
 
 67 
 
LAWYER AND CHILD 
 
 How large was Alexander, father, 
 
 That parties designate 
 The historic gentleman as rather 
 
 Inordinately great? 
 
 Why, son, to speak with conscientious 
 
 Regard for history, 
 Waiving all claims, of course, to heights 
 pretentious, — 
 
 About the size of me. 
 
 68 
 
EXCEEDING ALL 
 
 Long life's a lovely thing to know, 
 
 With lovely health and wealth, forsooth, 
 And lovely name and fame — But O 
 
 The loveliness of Youth I 
 
 69 
 
THE DREAM OF THE LITTLE 
 PRINCESS 
 
 'TwAS a curious dream, good sooth! — 
 The dream of The Little Princess; 
 
 It seemed a dream, yet a truth, 
 
 Long years ago in her youth. — 
 It came as a dream — no less 
 It was not a dream, she says. 
 
 (She is singing and saying things 
 
 Musical as the wile 
 Of the eerie quaverings 
 That drip from the grieved strings 
 
 Of her lute. — ^We weep or smile 
 
 Even as she, meanwhile.) 
 
 70 
 
In a day, long dead and gone, 
 
 When her castle-tuiTets threw 
 
 Their long, sharp shadows on 
 
 The sward like lances, — wan 
 And lone, she strayed into 
 Strange grounds where lilies grew. 
 
 There, late in the afternoon, 
 
 As she sate in the terrace shade, 
 
 Rav'ling a half-spun tune 
 
 From a lute like a wee new-moon, — 
 High off was a bugle played, 
 And a sound as of steeds that neighed. 
 
 And the lute fell from her hands, 
 
 As her eyes raised, half in doubt, 
 To the arch of the azure lands 
 Where lo ! with the fluttering strands 
 Of a rainbow reined about 
 His wrist, rode a horseman out. 
 
 And The Little Princess was stirred 
 No less at his steeds than him ; — 
 
 71 
 
THE DREAM OF THE LITTLE PRINCESS 
 
 A jet-black span of them gird 
 In advance, he bestrode the third; 
 
 And the troop of them seemed to swim 
 
 The skies as the Seraphim. 
 
 Wingless they were, yet so 
 
 Upborne in their wondrous flight — 
 
 As their master bade them go, 
 
 They dwindled on high ; or lo ! 
 
 They curved from their heavenmost height 
 And swooped to her level sight. 
 
 And the eyes of The Little Princess 
 Grow O so bright as the chants 
 
 Of the horseman's courtliness, — 
 
 Saluting her low — Ah, yes! 
 
 And lifting a voice that haunts 
 Her own song's weird romance. 
 
 For (she sings) at last he swept 
 
 As near to her as the tips 
 Of the lilies, that whitely slept, 
 As he leaned o'er one and wept 
 
 And touched it with his lips — 
 
 Sweeter than honey-drips! 
 72 
 
THE DREAM OF THE LITTLE PRINCESS 
 
 And she keeps the lily yet- — 
 
 As the horseman bade (she says) 
 
 As he launched, with a wild curvet, 
 
 His steeds toward the far sunset, 
 Till gulfed in its gorgeousness 
 And lost to The Little Princess: 
 
 But O, my master sweet! 
 
 He is coTuing again I {she sings) 
 My Prince of the Cotcrsers fleets 
 
 With his buglers echoings^ 
 
 And the breath of his voice for the wings 
 Of th e sandals of h is feet I 
 
 73 
 
THE LAND OF USED-TO-BE 
 
 And Where's the Land of Used-to-be, does little 
 baby wonder? 
 Oh, we will clap a magic saddle over "Poppie's'* 
 knee 
 And ride away around the world, and in and out 
 and under 
 The whole of all the golden sunny Summer- 
 time and see. 
 
 Leisurely and lazy-like we'll jostle on our journey, 
 And let the pony bathe his hooves and cool them 
 in the dew. 
 As he sidles down the shady way, and lags along 
 the ferny 
 And green, grassy edges of the lane we travel 
 through. 
 
 And then we'll canter on to catch the bubble of the 
 thistle 
 /As it bumps among the butterflies and glimmers 
 down the sun, 
 
 74 
 
THE LAND OF USED-TO-BE 
 
 To leave us laughing, all content to hear the robin 
 whistle 
 Or guess what Katydid is saying little Katy's 
 done. 
 
 And pausing here a minute, where we hear the 
 squirrel chuckle 
 As he darts from out the underbrush and scam- 
 pers up the tree, 
 We will gather buds and locust-blossoms, leaves 
 and honeysuckle. 
 To wreathe around our foreheads, riding into 
 Used-to-be ; — 
 
 For here's the very rim of it that we go swinging 
 over — 
 Don't you hear the Fairy bugles, and the tinkle 
 of the bells. 
 And see the baby-bumblebees that tumble in the 
 clover 
 And dangle from the tilted pinks and tipsy pim- 
 pernels ? 
 
 75 
 
THE LAND OF USED-TO-BE 
 
 And don't you see the merry faces of the daffo- 
 dillies, 
 And the jolly Johnny-jump-ups, and the butter- 
 cups a-glee, 
 And the low, lolling ripples ring around the water- 
 lilies? — 
 All greeting us with laughter, to the Land of 
 Used-to-be ! 
 
 And here among the blossoms of the blooming 
 vines and grasses, 
 With a haze forever hanging in the sky forever 
 blue, 
 And with a breeze from over seas to kiss us as it 
 passes. 
 We will romp around forever as the airy Elfins 
 do! 
 
 For all the elves of earth and air are swarming 
 here together — 
 The prankish Puck, King Oberon, and Queen 
 Titania too ; 
 And dear old Mother Goose herself, as sunny as 
 the weather. 
 Comes dancing down the dewy walks to wel- 
 come me and you ! 
 
 76 
 
WHEN OUR BABY DIED 
 
 When our baby died — 
 My Ma she ist cried an' cried ! 
 Yes 'n' my Pa he cried, too — 
 An' / cried — An' me an' you. — 
 An' I 'tended like my doll 
 She cried too — An' ever' — all — 
 O ist everybody cried 
 
 When our baby died 1 
 
 When our baby died — 
 Nan I got to took a ride ! 
 An' we all ist rode an' rode 
 Clean to Heav'n where baby goed- 
 Mighty nigh! — An' nen Ma she 
 Cried ag'in — an' Pa — an' me. — 
 All but ist the Angels cried 
 
 When our baby died ! 
 
 77 
 
CHRISTINE BRAIBRY 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL DOLLY WHO COMES FROM 
 
 TENTOLEENA LAND 
 
 BRINGING A STRANGE LETTER 
 
 The Letter 
 
 This little Dolly's name is Christine Braibry.* 
 She was born in Tentoleena Land, where lilies 
 and red roses grow in the air, and humming-birds 
 and butterflies on stalks. 
 
 You must be kind to Christine, for everything 
 about her in your land will be very strange to her. 
 If she seems to stare in a bewildered way, and will 
 not answer when you ask her why, you must know 
 that she is simply dazed with the wonders that she 
 sees on every hand. It will doubtless be a long, 
 lone while before Christine will cease to marvel at 
 the Sunshine of your strange country ; for in Ten- 
 
 * The terminal of this name is sounded short, as in 
 
 " lovely." 
 
 78 
 
CHRISTINE BRAIBRY 
 
 toleena Land there is never any shine but Moon- 
 shine, and sometimes that gets so muddied up with 
 shade it soils the eyesight to gaze at it overmuch. 
 
 It will be trying, in your land, for Christine to 
 keep silent all the time, for, in your country, Dol- 
 lies cannot walk and talk at all perfectly, because 
 they only think they are dreaming all the time, 
 and they dare not speak for fear their voices will 
 awaken them, and they dare not move for fear of 
 falling out of bed. So, you see, you should be 
 very kind indeed to little Christine Braibry. 
 
 In Tentoleena Land the Dollies do not sleep 
 long — they are always the first ones up at Moon- 
 dawn — for Moon-dawn is the Dollies' morning. 
 Then they go out in the fragrant grasses, where the 
 big, ripe dewdrops grow — much nicer, purer dew 
 than yours on earth, for in Tentoleena Land they 
 gather it before it has been skimmed, and all the 
 pearly cream that gathers on the surface of the 
 drops they stir up with the rest and bathe in that; 
 and this is why the Dollies always have such deli- 
 cate complexions. Then, when the baths are over, 
 they dress themselves, and waken their parents, 
 
 79 
 
CHRISTINE BRAIBRY 
 
 and dress them — for in Tentoleena Land the par- 
 ents are the children. Is not that odd? 
 
 Sometime Christine may get used to your 
 strange land and all the wonders that she sees; 
 and if she ever does, and smiles at you, and pulls 
 your face down close to hers and kisses you, why, 
 that will be the sign by which you'll know she's 
 coming to again and wants to talk ; and so the first 
 thing you must ask of her is to sing this little song 
 she made of Tentoleena Land. Only the words 
 of it can be given here — (not half the beauty of the 
 dainty song) — for when you hear it, in the marvel- 
 lously faint, and low, and sweet, and tender, tink- 
 ling tongue of Tentoleena Land, you will indeed 
 be glad that the gracious fairy Fortune ever sent 
 you Christine Braibry. 
 
 So, since all the sounds In the melodious utter- 
 ance of Tentoleena Land are so exquisitely, so 
 chastely, rarely beautiful no earthly art may hope 
 to reproduce them, you must, as you here read the 
 words, just shut your eyes and j^^^cy that you hear 
 little Christine Braibry singing this eerie song of 
 hers: — 
 
 80 
 
CHRISTINE'S SONG 
 
 Up in Tentoleena Land — 
 
 Tentoleena ! Tentoleena ! 
 All the Dollies, hand in hand, 
 
 Mina, Nainie, and Serena, 
 Dance the Fairy fancy dances, 
 With glad songs and starry glances, 
 Lisping roundelays; and, after, 
 Bird-like interludes of laughter 
 Strewn and scattered o'er the lawn 
 Their gilt sandals twinkle on 
 Through light mists of silver sand 
 
 Up in Tentoleena Land. 
 
 Up in Tentoleena Land — 
 
 Tentoleena! Tentoleena! 
 Blares the eerie Elfin band — 
 
 Trumpet, harp and concertina- 
 Larkspur bugle — honeysuckle 
 Cornet, with a quickstep chuckle 
 In its golden throat; and, maybe, 
 Lilies-of-the-valley they be 
 6 8i 
 
CHRISTINE BRAIBRY 
 
 Baby-silver-bells that chime 
 Musically all the time, 
 Tossed about from hand to hand — 
 Up in Tentoleena Land. 
 
 Up in Tentoleena Land — 
 
 Tentoleena! Tentoleena! 
 Dollies dark, and blonde and bland — 
 
 Sweet as musk-rose or verbena — 
 Sweet as moon-blown daffodillies, 
 
 Or wave-jostled water-lilies, 
 Yearning to'rd the rose-mouths, ready 
 Leaning o'er the river's eddy, — 
 Dance, and glancing fling to you, 
 Through these lines you listen to, 
 Kisses blown from lip and hand 
 
 Out of Tentoleena Land ! 
 
 82 
 
THE SQUIRT-GUN UNCLE MAKED ME 
 
 Uncle Sidney, when he was here, 
 
 Maked me a squirt-gun out o' some 
 Elder-bushes 'at growed out near 
 Where wuz the brick-yard — 'way out clear 
 To where the Toll Gate come ! 
 
 So when we walked back home again, 
 
 He maked it, out in our woodhouse where 
 Wuz the old work-bench, an' the old jack-plane. 
 An' the old 'poke-shave, an' the tools all lay'n' 
 1st like he wants 'em there. 
 
 He sawed it first with the old hand-saw ; 
 
 An' nen he peeled off the bark, an' got 
 Some glass an' scraped it ; an' told 'bout Pa, 
 When he wuz a boy an' fooled his Ma, 
 
 An' the whippin' 'at he caught. 
 
 S3 
 
THE SQUIRT-GUN UNCLE MAKED ME 
 
 Nen Uncle Sidney, he took an' filed 
 
 A' old am ramrod; an' one o' the ends 
 He screwed fast into the vise ; an' smiled, 
 Thinkin', he said, o' when he wuz a child, 
 'Fore him an' Pa wuz mens. 
 
 He punched out the peth, an' nen he putt 
 
 A plug in the end with a hole notched through ; 
 Nen took the old drawey-knife an' cut 
 An' maked a handle 'at shoved clean shut 
 But ist where yer hand held to. 
 
 An' he wropt th'uther end with some string an' 
 white 
 Piece o' the sleeve of a' old tored shirt; 
 An' nen he showed me to hold it tight, 
 An' suck in the water an' work it right. — 
 An' it 'ud ist squirt an' squirt! 
 
 84 
 
THE BROOK-SONG 
 
 Little brook! Little brook! 
 You have such a happy look — 
 Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and 
 curve and crook — 
 And your ripples, one and one, 
 Reach each other's hands and run 
 
 Like laughing little children in the sun ! 
 
 Little brook, sing to me : 
 Sing about a bumblebee 
 That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled mum- 
 blingly, 
 Because he wet the film 
 Of his wings, and had to swim, 
 
 While the water-bugs raced round and 
 laughed at him ! 
 
 85 
 
THE BROOK-SONG 
 
 Little brook — sing a song 
 Of a leaf that sailed along 
 Down the golden-braided centre of your current 
 swift and strong, 
 And a dragon-fly that lit 
 On the tilting rim of it, 
 
 And rode away and wasn't scared a bit. 
 
 And sing — how oft in glee 
 Came a truant boy like me, 
 Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, 
 Till the gurgle and refrain 
 Of your music in his brain 
 
 Wrought a happiness as keen to him as 
 pain. 
 
 Little brook — laugh and leap ! 
 Do not let the dreamer weep : 
 Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in 
 softest sleep ; 
 And then sing soft and low 
 Through his dreams of long ago — 
 
 Sing back to him the rest he used to know ! 
 
 86 
 
THE YOUTHFUL PRESS. 
 
 Little Georgie Tompers, he 
 Printed some fine cards for me ; 
 But his press had "J" ior James — 
 By no means the choice of names. — 
 
 Yet it's proper, none the less, 
 That his little printing-press 
 Should be taught th^i James for "J" 
 Always is the better way. 
 
 For, if left to its own whim. 
 Next time it might call me "Jim,'* — 
 Then The Cultured Press would be 
 Shocked at such a liberty. 
 
 Therefore, little presses all 
 
 Should be trained, while they are small. 
 
 To develop taste in these 
 
 Truths that shape our destinies. 
 
 87 
 
THAT-AIR YOUNG-UN 
 
 That- AIR young-un ust to set 
 By the crick here day by day, — 
 Watch the swallers dip and wet 
 Their slim wings and skoot away ; 
 Watch these little snipes along 
 The low banks tilt up and down 
 'Mongst the reeds, and hear the song 
 Of the bullfrogs croakin' roun' : 
 Ust to set here in the sun 
 Watchin' things, and listenun, 
 'Peared-like, mostly to the roar 
 Of the dam below, er to 
 That-air riffle nigh the shore 
 Jes acrost from me and you. 
 Ust to watch him from the door 
 Of the mill. — Ud rigg him out 
 With a fishin'-pole and line — 
 Dig worms fer him — nigh about 
 88 
 
THAT- AIR YOUNG-UN 
 
 Jes spit on his bait! — but he 
 Never keered much, 'pearantly, 
 To ketch fish! — He 'druther fine 
 Out some sunny place, and set 
 Watchin' things, with droopy head, 
 And " a-listenun," he said — 
 "Kindo' listenun above 
 The old crick to what the wet 
 Warter was a-talkin' of!" 
 
 Jevver hear sich talk as that? 
 Bothered Mother more'n me 
 What the child was cipher' n' at. — 
 Come home onc't and said 'at he 
 Knowed what the snake-feeders thought 
 When they grit their wings ; and knowed 
 Turkle-talk, when bubbles riz 
 Over where the old roots growed 
 Where he th'owed them pets o' his — 
 Little turripuns he caught 
 In the County Ditch and packed 
 In his pockets days and days ! — 
 Said he know^ed what goslin's quacked — 
 Could tell what the killdees sayes, 
 89 
 
THAT-AIR YOUNG-UN 
 
 And grasshoppers, when they lit 
 In the crick and "minnies" bit 
 Off their legs. — "But, blame V^ says he, 
 Sorto' lookin' clean above 
 Mother's head and on through me — 
 (And them eyes! — I see 'em yet!) — ■ 
 '''' Blame r^ he says, "ef I kin see, 
 Er make out^ jes what the wet 
 Warter is a-talkin' of!" 
 
 Made me nervous I Mother, though. 
 Said best not to scold the child — 
 The Good Bein' knowed. — And so 
 We was only rickonciled 
 When he'd be asleep. — And then. 
 Time, and time, and time again, 
 We've watched over him, you know — 
 Her a-sayin' nothin' — ^jes 
 Kindo' smoothin' back his hair, 
 And, all to herse'f, I guess, 
 Studyin' up some kind o' prayer 
 She ain't tried yet. — Onc't she said, 
 Cotin' Scriptur', " 'He,' " says she, 
 In a solemn whisper, " 'He 
 
 Givuth His beloved sleep T " 
 90 
 
THAT-AIR YOUNG-UN 
 
 And jes then I heerd the rain 
 Strike the shingles, as I turned 
 Res'less to'rds the wall again. 
 Pity strong men dast to weep ! — 
 Specially when up above 
 Thrash I the storm comes down and you 
 Feel the midnight plum soaked through 
 Heart and soul, and wunder, too, 
 What the warter's talkin' of ! 
 
 Found his hat 'way down below 
 Hinchman's Ford. — 'Ves' Anders he 
 Rid and fetched it. Mother she 
 Went wild over that, you know — 
 Hugged it! kissed it! — Turrihull 
 My hopes then was all gone too. . . . 
 Brung him in, v/ith both hands full 
 O' warter-lilies — 'peared-like new- 
 Bloomed fer him — renched whiter still 
 In the clear rain, mixin' fine 
 And finer in the noon sunshine. . . . 
 
 9^ 
 
THAT-AIR YOUNG-UN 
 
 Winders of the old mill looked 
 On him where the hill-road crooked 
 In on through the open gate. . . . 
 Laid him on the old settee 
 On the porch there. Heerd the great 
 Roarin' dam acrost — -and we 
 Heerd a crane cry in amongst 
 The sycamores — and then a dove 
 Cutterin' on the mill-roof — then 
 Heerd the crick, and thought again, 
 '-'Now what's it a-talkin' of?" 
 
 92 
 
BABY'S DYING 
 
 Baby's dying, 
 
 Do not stir — 
 
 Let her spirit lightly float 
 Through the sighing 
 Lips of her — 
 
 Still the murmur in the throat ; 
 Let the moan of grief be cuTbed — 
 Baby must not be disturbed! 
 
 Baby's dying, 
 
 Do not stir — 
 
 Let her pure life lightly swim 
 Through the sighing 
 Lips of her — 
 
 Out from us and up to Him — 
 Let her leave us with that smile — 
 Kiss and miss her after while. 
 
 93 
 
THE BOYS 
 
 Where are they? — the friends of my childhood 
 enchanted — 
 The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own, 
 And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so 
 wanted, 
 As when we raced over 
 
 Pink pastures of clover, 
 And mocked the quail's whir and the bumblebee's 
 drone ? 
 
 Have the breezes of time blown their blossomy 
 faces 
 Forever adrift down the years that are flown? 
 Am I never to see them romp back to their places, 
 Where over the meadow, 
 
 In sunshine and shadow. 
 The meadow-larks trill, and the bumblebees drone ? 
 
 94 
 
THE BOYS 
 
 Where are they ? Ah ! dim in the dust lies the 
 clover; 
 The whippoorwill's call has a sorrowful tone, 
 And the dove's — I have wept at it over and over ; — 
 I want the glad lustre 
 
 Of youth, and the cluster 
 Of faces asleep where the bumblebees drone ! 
 
 95 
 
OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME 
 
 In the jolly winters 
 
 Of the long-ago, 
 It was not so cold as now — 
 
 "O! No! No! 
 Then, as I remember, 
 
 Snowballs to eat 
 Were as good as apples now, 
 
 And every bit as sweet! 
 
 II 
 
 In the jolly winters 
 Of the dead-and-gone, 
 
 Bub was warm as summer, 
 With his red mitts on, — 
 
 96 
 
OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME 
 
 Just in his little waist- 
 And-pants all together, 
 
 Who ever heard him growl 
 About cold weather? 
 
 Ill 
 
 In the jolly winters 
 
 Of the long-ago — 
 Was it half so cold as now? 
 
 O ! No ! No ! 
 Who caught his death o' cold, 
 
 Making prints of men 
 Flat-backed in snow that now's 
 
 Twice as cold again? 
 
 IV 
 
 In the jolly winters 
 
 Of the dead-and-gone, 
 
 Startin' out rabbit huntin' — 
 Early as the dawn, — 
 
 97 
 
Who ever froze his fingers, 
 Ears, heels, or toes, — 
 
 Or'd 'a' cared if he had? 
 Nobody knows ! 
 
 V 
 
 Nights by the kitchen-stove, 
 
 Shellin' v^hite and red 
 Corn in the skillet, and 
 
 Sleepin' four abed ! 
 Ah ! the jolly v^inters 
 
 Of the long-ago ! 
 We were not as old as now- 
 
 01 No! Nol 
 
 98 
 
THE SONG OF YESTERDAY 
 
 I 
 But yesterday 
 I looked away 
 
 O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay 
 In golden blots 
 Inlaid with spots 
 Of shade and wild forget-me-nots. 
 
 My head was fair 
 
 With flaxen hair, 
 
 And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, 
 
 And, warm with drouth 
 
 From out the south. 
 
 Blew all my curls across my mouth. 
 
 And, cool and sweet, 
 
 My naked feet 
 
 Found dewy pathways through the wheat ; 
 
 And out again 
 
 Where, down the lane, 
 
 The dust was dimpled with the rain. 
 
 99 
 
 L^iQ, 
 
THE SONG OF YESTERDAY 
 
 II 
 
 But yesterday! — 
 
 Adream, astray, 
 
 From morning's red to evening's gray, 
 
 O'er dales and hills 
 
 Of da££odills 
 
 And lorn sweet-fluting whippoorwills. 
 
 I knew nor cares 
 
 Nor tears nor prayers — 
 
 A mortal god, crowned unawares 
 
 With sunset — and 
 
 A sceptre-wand 
 
 Of apple blossoms in my hand I 
 
 The dewy blue 
 
 Of twilight grew 
 
 To purple, with a star or two 
 
 Whose lisping rays 
 
 Failed in the blaze 
 
 Of sudden fireflies through the haze. 
 
 lOO 
 
THE SONG OF YESTERDAY 
 III 
 
 But yesterday 
 
 I heard the lay 
 
 O summer birds, when I, as they 
 
 With breast and wing, 
 
 All quivering 
 
 With life and love, could only sing. 
 
 My head was lent 
 
 Where, with it, blent 
 
 A maiden's o'er her instrument; 
 
 While all the night. 
 
 From vale to height, 
 
 Was filled with echoes of delight. 
 
 And all our dreams 
 
 Were lit with gleams 
 
 Of that lost land of reedy streams, 
 
 Along whose brim 
 
 Forever swim 
 
 Pan's lilies, laughing up at him. 
 
THE SONG OF YKSTERDAT 
 
 IV 
 
 But yesterday ! . . . 
 
 O blooms of May, 
 
 And summer roses — where away? 
 
 O stars above ; 
 
 And lips of love, 
 
 And all the honeyed sweets thereof !- 
 
 O lad and lass, 
 
 And orchard pass, 
 
 And briered lane, and daisied grass! 
 
 O gleam and gloom, 
 
 And woodland bloom. 
 
 And breezy breaths of all perfume !- 
 
 No more for me 
 
 Or mine shall be 
 
 Thy raptures — save in memory, — 
 
 No more — no more — 
 
 Till through the Door 
 
 Of Glory gleam the days of yore. 
 
 I02 
 
DUSK-SONG— THE BEETLE 
 
 The shrilling locust slowly sheathes 
 
 His dagger-voice, and creeps away 
 Beneath the brooding leaves where breathes 
 
 The zephyr of the dying day : 
 One naked star has waded through 
 
 The purple shallows of the night, 
 And faltering as falls the dew 
 
 It drips its misty light. 
 
 O^er garden blooms^ 
 
 On tides of musk^ 
 The beetle booms adown the glooms 
 
 And bumfs along the dusk. 
 
 The katydid is rasping at 
 
 The silence from the tangled broom: 
 On drunken wings the flitting bat 
 
 Goes staggering athwart the gloom ; 
 103 
 
DUSK-SONG THE BEETLE 
 
 The toadstool bulges through the weeds, 
 And lavishly to left and right 
 
 The fireflies, like golden seeds, 
 Are sown about the night. 
 
 O^er slumbrous blooms^ 
 
 On Jloods of 7nusk^ 
 The beetle booms adown the glooms 
 
 And bumfs along the dusk. 
 
 The primrose flares its baby-hands 
 
 Wide open, as the empty moon, 
 Slow lifted from the underlands, 
 
 Drifts up the azure-arched lagoon ; 
 The shadows on the garden walk 
 
 Are frayed with rifts of silver light ; 
 And, trickling down the poppy-stalk. 
 
 The dewdrop streaks the night. 
 
 O^ er folded blooms^ 
 
 On swirls of musk, 
 The beetle boo7ns adown the glooms 
 
 A?id bumps along the dusk. 
 
 104 
 
BABYHOOD 
 
 Heigh-ho ! Babyhood ! Tell me where you lin- 
 ger! 
 Let's toddle home again, for we have gone as- 
 tray; 
 Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the 
 • finger 
 Back to the lotus-lands of the far-away! 
 
 Turn back the leaves of life. — Don't read the 
 story. — 
 
 Let's find the pictures, and fancy all the rest; 
 We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory 
 
 Than old Time, the story-teller, at his very best. 
 
 Turn to the brook where the honeysuckle tipping 
 O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze. 
 And the bee and humming-bird in ecstasy are sip- 
 ping 
 
 From the fairy-flagons of the blooming locust- 
 trees. 
 
BABYHOOD 
 
 Turn to the lane where we used to "teeter-totter," 
 Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mould — 
 
 Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water 
 Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups 
 of gold. 
 
 Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel 
 Of the sunny sand-bar in the middle tide, 
 
 And the ghostly dragon-fly pauses in his travel 
 To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. 
 
 Heigh-ho ! Babyhood ! Tell me where you linger I 
 Let's toddle home again, for we have gone 
 astray ; 
 Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the 
 finger 
 Back to the lotus-lands of the far-away! 
 
 io6 
 
MAX AND JIM 
 
 Max an' Jim, 
 
 They're each other's 
 Fat an' slim 
 
 Little brothers. 
 
 Max is thin, 
 
 An' Jim, the fac's is. 
 Fat ag'in 
 
 As little Max is ! 
 
 Their Pa 'lowed 
 
 He don't know whuther 
 He's most proud 
 
 Of one er th' other! 
 
 Their Ma says 
 
 They're both so sweet — 'ml- 
 That she guess 
 
 She'll haf to eat 'em! 
 
THE CIRCUS-DAY PARADE 
 
 Oh! the Circus-Day Parade! How the bugles 
 phiyed and played I 
 
 Aud how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes 
 and neighed, 
 
 As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drum- 
 mer's time 
 
 Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody 
 sublime ! 
 
 How the grand band-wagon shone with a splendor 
 
 all its own, 
 And glittered with a glory that our dreams had 
 
 never known ! 
 And how the boys behind, high and low of every 
 
 kind, 
 Marched in unconscious capture, with a rapture 
 
 undefined ! 
 
 io8 
 
 \ 
 
THE CIRCUS-DAY PARADK 
 
 How the horsemen, two and two, with their plumes 
 
 of white and blue 
 And crimson, gold and purple, nodding by at me 
 
 and you, 
 Waved the banners that they bore, as the knights 
 
 in days of yore, 
 Till our glad eyes gleamed and glistened like the 
 
 spangles that they wore ! 
 
 How the graceless-graceful stride of the elephant 
 
 was eyed, 
 And the capers of the little horse that cantered at 
 
 his side ! 
 How the shambling camels, tame to the plaudits 
 
 of their fame. 
 With listless eyes came silent, masticating as they 
 
 came. 
 
 How the cages jolted past, with each wagon bat- 
 tened fast, 
 
 And the mystery within it only hinted of at last 
 
 From the little grated square in the rear, and 
 nosing there 
 
 The snout of some strange animal that sniffed the 
 
 outer air! 
 
 109 
 
THE CIRCUS-DAY PARADE 
 
 And, last of all, The Clown, making mirth for all 
 the town, 
 
 With his lips cui*ved ever upward and his eye- 
 brows ever down, 
 
 And his chief attention paid to the little mule that 
 played 
 
 A tattoo on the dash-board with his heels, in the 
 Parade. 
 
 Oh! the Circus-Day Parade! How the bugles 
 played and played ! 
 
 And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy 
 manes and neighed, 
 
 As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drum- 
 mer's time 
 
 Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sub- 
 lime I 
 
 no 
 
THE OLD HAY-MOW 
 
 The Old Hay-mow's the place to play 
 Fer boys, when it's a rainy day! 
 I good 'eal ruther be up there 
 Than down in town, er anywhere ! 
 
 When I play in our stable-loft. 
 The good old hay's so dry an' soft, 
 An' feels so fine, an' smells so sweet, 
 I 'most ferget to go an' eat. 
 
 An' one time onc't I did ferget 
 
 To go tel dinner was all et, — 
 
 An' they had short-cake- — an' — Bud he 
 
 Hogged up the piece Ma saved fer me ! 
 
 Nen I won't let him play no more 
 In our hay-mow where I keep store 
 An' got hen-eggs to sell, — an' shoo 
 The cackle-un old hen out, too ! 
 Ill 
 
THE OLD HAY-MOW 
 
 An' nen, when Aunty she was here 
 A-visitun from Rensselaer, 
 An' bringed my little cousin, — he 
 Can come up there an' play with me. 
 
 But, after while — when Bud he bets 
 'At I can't turn no summersetts, 
 I let him come up, ef he can 
 Ac' ha'f-way like a gentleman! 
 
 112 
 
JOHN TARKINGTON JAMESON 
 
 John Jameson, mj^ jo John ! 
 
 Ye're bonnie wee an' sma' ; 
 Your ee's the morning violet, 
 
 Wi' tremblin' dew an' a' ; 
 Your smile's the gowden simmer-sheen, 
 
 Wi' glintin' pearls aglow 
 Atween the posies o' your lips, 
 
 John Jameson, my jo ! 
 
 Ye hae the faither's braith o' brow. 
 
 An' synes his look benign 
 Whiles he hings musin' ower the burn, 
 
 Wi' leestless hook an' line ; 
 Ye hae the mither's mou' an' cheek 
 
 An' denty chin — but O ! 
 It's maist ye're like your ain braw sel', 
 
 John Jameson, my jo ! 
 
 8 
 
 113 
 
JOHN TARKINGTON JAMESON 
 
 John Jameson, my Jo John, 
 
 Though, wi' sic luvers twain, 
 Ye dance far yont your whustlin' frien* 
 
 Wha laggart walks his lane,-^ 
 Be mindet, though he naps his last 
 
 Whaur kirkyird thistles grow. 
 His ghaist shall caper on wi' you, 
 
 John Jameson, my jo ! 
 
 114 
 
GUINEY-PIGS 
 
 GuiNEY-PiGS is awful cute, 
 
 With their little trimbly snoot 
 
 Sniffin' at the pussly that 
 
 We bring 'em to nibble at. 
 
 Looks like they're so clean an' white, 
 An' so dainty an' polite, 
 They could eat like you an' me 
 When they's company! 
 
 Tiltin' down the clover-tops 
 Till they spill, an' over drops 
 The sweet morning dew — Don't you 
 Think they might have napkins, too? 
 Ef a guiney-pig was big 
 As a shore-an^ -certain pig, 
 Nen he wouldn't ac' so fine 
 When he come to dine. 
 
 115 
 
GUINEY-PIGS 
 
 Nen he'd chomp his jaws an' eat 
 Things out in the dirty street, 
 Dirt an' all ! An' nen lay down 
 In mud-holes an' waller roun' ! 
 So the guiney-figs is best, 
 'Cause they're nice an' tidiest ; 
 They eat 'most like you an' me 
 When they's company! 
 
 ii6 
 
BUSCH AND TOMMY 
 
 Little Busch and Tommy Hays — 
 Small the theme, but large the praise,- 
 
 For two braver brothers, 
 Of such toddling years and size. 
 Bloom of face, and blue of eyes, 
 Never trampled soldier-wise 
 
 On the rights of mothers ! 
 
 Even boldly facing their 
 Therapeutic father's air 
 
 Of complex abstraction, 
 But to kindle — kindlier gaze, 
 Wake more smiles and gracious ways 
 Ay, nor find in all their days 
 
 Ampler satisfaction ! 
 
 Hail ye, then, with chirp and cheer, 
 All w-an patients, waiting here 
 
 Bitterer medications ! 
 Busch and Tommy, tone us, too. — 
 How our life-blood leaps anew, 
 Under loving touch of you 
 
 And your ministrations ! 
 117 
 
HIS CHRISTMAS SLED 
 
 I WATCH him, with his Christmas sled 
 
 He hitches on behind 
 A passing sleigh, with glad hooray. 
 
 And whistles down the wind ; 
 He hears the horses champ their bits. 
 
 And bells that jingle-jingle — 
 You Woolly Cap ! you Scarlet Mitts ! 
 
 You miniature "Kriss Kringle!" 
 
 I almost catch your secret joy — 
 
 Your chucklings of delight. 
 The while you whiz where glory is 
 
 Eternally in sight ! 
 With you I catch my breath, as swift 
 
 Your jaunty sled goes gliding 
 O'er glassy track and shallow drift, 
 
 As I behind were riding! 
 ii8 
 
HIS CHRISTMAS SLED 
 II 
 
 He winks at twinklings of the frost, 
 
 And on his airy race, 
 Its tingles beat to redder heat 
 
 The rapture of his face : — 
 The colder, keener is the air, 
 
 The less he cares a feather. 
 But, there! he's gone! and I gaze on 
 
 The wintriest of weather ! 
 
 Ah, Boy! still speeding o'er the track 
 
 Where none returns again. 
 To sigh for you, or cry for you. 
 
 Or die for you were vain. — 
 And so, speed on! the while I pray 
 
 All nipping frosts forsake you — 
 Ride still ahead of grief, but may 
 
 All glad things overtake you ! 
 
 119 
 
BABE HERRICK 
 
 As a rosebud might, in dreams, 
 'Mid some lilies lie, meseems 
 Thou, pink youngling, on the breast 
 Of thy mother slumberest. 
 
 ISO 
 
THE LAND OF THUS-AND-SO 
 
 "How would Willie like to go 
 To the Land of Thus-and-So ? 
 Everything is proper there — 
 All the children comb their hair 
 Smoother than the fur of cats, 
 Or the nap of high silk hats ; 
 Every face is clean and white 
 As a lily washed in light ; 
 Never vaguest soil or speck 
 Found on forehead, throat or neck; 
 Every little crimpled ear, 
 In and out, as pure and clear 
 As the cherry-blossom's blow 
 In the Land of Thus-and-So. 
 
 "Little boys that never fall 
 Down the stair, or cry at all — 
 Doing nothing to repent, 
 Watchful and obedient; 
 
 131 
 
THE LAND OF THUS-AND-SO 
 
 Never hungry, nor in haste — 
 Tidy shoe-strings always laced ; 
 Never button rudely torn 
 From its fellows all unworn ; 
 Knickerbockers always new — 
 Ribbon, tie, and collar, too; 
 Little watches, worn like men, 
 Always promptly half-past ten — 
 Just precisely right, you know, 
 For the Land of Thus-and-So ! 
 
 "And the little babies there 
 Give no one the slightest care — 
 Nurse has not a thing to do 
 But be happy and sigh 'Boo!' 
 While Mamma just nods, and knows 
 Nothing but to doze and doze : 
 Never litter round the grate ; 
 Never lunch or dinner late ; 
 Never any household din 
 Peals without or rings within — 
 Baby coos nor laughing calls 
 On the stairs or through the halls — 
 Just Great Hushes to and fro 
 Pace the Land of Thus-and-So! 
 
 122 
 
THE LAND OF THUS-AND-SO 
 
 "Oh! the Land of Thus-ahd-So !— 
 Isn't it delightful, though?" 
 "Yes," lisped Willie, answering me 
 Somewhat slow and doubtfully — 
 "Must be awful nice, but I 
 Ruther wait till by and by 
 'Fore I go there — maybe when 
 I be dead I'll go there then. — 
 But"— the troubled little face 
 Closer pressed in my embrace — 
 "Le's don't never ever go 
 To the Land of Thus-and-So!" 
 
 123 
 
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS 
 
 "My grandfather Squeers," said The Raggedy 
 
 Man, 
 As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began — 
 
 "The most indestructible man, for his years, 
 And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather 
 * Squeers ! 
 
 "He said, when he rounded his threescore-and-ten, 
 'I've the hang of it now and can do it again !' 
 
 "He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he 
 Could tell by them just what the weather would be ; 
 
 "And would laugh and declare, 'while the Alma- 
 nac would 
 Most falsely prognosticate, he never could!* 
 
 "Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers 
 That, though he'd used ^7zavy^ for sixty-odd years, 
 
 "He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the 
 
 week. 
 
 While the seventh he passed with a chew in each 
 
 cheek. 
 
 124 
 
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS 
 
 " Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular 
 
 knack 
 Of sitting around on the small of his back, 
 
 "With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the 
 
 grate 
 Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate. 
 
 "He was fond of tobacco in fnanifold ways. 
 And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days, 
 
 "And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for 
 The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War." 
 
 And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl 
 Of his own pipe and leisurely picking a coal 
 
 From the stove with his finger and thumb, "You 
 
 can see 
 What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me! 
 
 And my grandfather Squeers took a special de- 
 light 
 In pruning his corns every Saturday night 
 
 125 
 
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS 
 
 With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused 
 By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used ; 
 
 "And, though deeply etched in the haft of the 
 
 same 
 Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name, 
 
 " 'Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the 
 
 blade 
 As 'A Seth Thomas razor — the best ever made!' 
 
 "No Old Settlers' Meeting, or Pioneers' Fair, 
 Was complete without grandfather Squeers in the 
 chair, 
 
 "To lead off the program by telling folks how 
 'He used to shoot deer where the Court-House 
 stands now' — 
 
 "How 'he felt, of a truth, to live over the past, 
 When the country was wild and unbroken and 
 vast, 
 
 " 'That the little log cabin was just plenty fine 
 For himself, his companion, and fambly of nine ! — 
 
 126 
 
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS 
 
 " 'When they didn't have even a pump, or a tin, 
 But drunk surface-v^ater, year out and year in, 
 
 *' 'From the old-fashioned gourd that was sweeter, 
 
 by odds, 
 Than the goblets of gold at the lips of the gods !' '* 
 
 Then The Raggedy Man paused to plaintively say 
 It was clockin' along to'rds the close of the day — 
 
 And he'd ought to get back to his work on the 
 
 lawn, — 
 Then dreamily blubbered his pipe and went on: 
 
 "His teeth were imperfect — my grandfather owned 
 That he couldn't eat oysters unless they were 
 'boned' ; 
 
 "And his eyes were so weak, and so feeble of 
 
 sight, 
 He couldn't sleep with them unless, every night, 
 
 "H^e put on his spectacles — all he possessed, — 
 Three pairs — with his goggles on top of the rest. 
 
 "And my grandfather alwaj^s, retiring at night, 
 Blew down the lamp-chimney to put out the light ; 
 
 127 
 
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS 
 
 "Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed, 
 And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said: 
 
 "And would snore oftentimes, as the legends re- 
 late. 
 Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state, — 
 
 "Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and 
 
 there 
 In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew 
 
 air. 
 
 "And so glaringly bald was the top of his head 
 That many's the time he has musingly said, 
 
 "As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the glass, — 
 'I must set out a few signs of Keep Off the Grass V 
 
 "So remarkably deaf was my gi-andf ather Squeers 
 That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears 
 
 "To even hear thunder — and oftentimes then 
 He was forced to request it to thunder again." 
 
 128 
 
THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW 
 
 O THE little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, 
 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on 
 
 the tree, 
 Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie, 
 The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. 
 
 'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower 
 
 the sea, 
 An' e'en its fragrance gars me laugh wi' langin' 
 
 lip an' ee, 
 Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten 
 
 hinnie be — 
 Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae 
 
 me. 
 
 O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips 
 
 wi' glee, 
 Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie, 
 But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the 
 
 giftie gie 
 O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. 
 
 9 129 
 
THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG 
 
 The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best 
 
 Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs, 
 'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest, 
 An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed, 
 An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest. — 
 
 Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 
 I don't know what in the world it means — 
 
 Tickle me. Love, In these Lonesome Ribs! — 
 An' nen when I tell him I don't, he leans 
 Like he was a-grindin' on some machines 
 An' says: Ef I don't^ w'y, I don't know beans I 
 Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 
 Out on the margin of Moonshine Land, 
 
 Tickle me. Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 Out where the Whing-Whang loves to stand. 
 Writing his name with his tail in the sand. 
 And swiping it out with his oogerish hand ; 
 
 Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 130 
 
THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG 
 
 Is it the gibber of Gungs or Keeks ? 
 
 Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 Or what is the sound that the Whing- Whang 
 
 seeks ? — 
 Crouching low by the winding creeks, 
 And holding his breath for weeks and weeks ! 
 
 Tickle me. Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 
 Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things ! 
 
 Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! 
 'Tis a fair Whing- Whangess, with phosphor rings, 
 And bridal-jewels of fangs and stings; 
 And she sits and as sadly and softly sings 
 As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings, — 
 
 Tickle me. Dear, 
 Tickle me here, 
 
 Tickle me, Love, in me Lonesome Ribs! 
 
 131 
 
THE WAY THE BABY WOKE 
 
 And this is the way the baby woke : 
 
 As when in deepest drops of dew 
 The shine and shadows sink and soak, 
 
 The sweet eyes glimmered through and through ; 
 And eddyings and dimples broke 
 
 x\bout the lips, and no one knew 
 Or could divine the words they spoke— 
 And this is the way the baby woke. 
 
 132 
 
McFEETERS' FOURTH 
 
 It was needless to say 'twas a glorious day, 
 And to boast of it all in that spread-eagle way 
 That our Forefathers had since the hour of the birth 
 Of this most patriotic republic on earth ! 
 But 'twas justice, of course, to admit that the sight 
 Of the old Stars-and-Stripes was a thing of delight 
 In the eyes of a fellow, however he tried 
 To look on the day with a dignified pride 
 That meant not to brook any turbulent glee 
 Or riotous flourish of loud jubilee ! 
 
 So argued McFeeters, all grim and severe. 
 Who the long night before, with a feeling of fear, 
 Had slumbered but fitfully, hearing the swish 
 Of the sky rocket over his roof, with the wish 
 That the boy-fiend who fired it were fast to the end 
 Of the stick to for ever and ever ascend ! 
 Or to hopelessly ask why the boy with the horn 
 And its horrible havoc had ever been born ! 
 Or to wish, in his wakefulness, staring aghast, 
 That this Fourth of July were as dead as the last ! 
 
 133 
 
MCFEETERS FOURTH 
 
 So, yesterday morning, McFeeters arose, 
 With a fire in his eyes, and a cold in his nose, 
 And a guttural voice in appropriate key 
 With a temper as gruff as a temper could be. 
 He growled at the servant he met on the stair, 
 Because he Vv^as whistling a national air. 
 And he growled at the maid on the balcony, who 
 Stood enrapt with the tune of *'The Red-White- 
 
 and-Blue" 
 That a band was discoursing like mad in the street, 
 With drumsticks that banged, and with cymbals 
 
 that beat. 
 
 And he growled at his wife, as she buttoned his 
 
 vest. 
 And applausively pinned a rosette on his breast 
 Of the national colors, and lured from his purse 
 Some change for the boys — for fire-crackers — or 
 
 worse ; 
 And she pointed with pride to a soldier in blue 
 In a frame on the wall, and the colors there, too ; 
 And he felt, as he looked on the features, the glow 
 The painter found there twent}'- long years ago. 
 
 134 
 
MCFEETERS FOURTH 
 
 And a passionate thrill in his breast, as he felt 
 Instinctively round for the sword in his belt. 
 
 What was it that hung like a mist o'er the room ? — 
 The tumult without — and the music — the boom 
 Of the cannon — the blare of the bugle and fife? — 
 No matter! — McFeeters was kissing his wife, 
 And laughing and crying and waving his hat 
 Like a genuine soldier, and crazy, at that ! 
 — Was it needless to say 'twas a glorious day 
 And to boast of it all in that spread-eagle way 
 That our Forefathers had since the hour of the 
 
 birth 
 Of this most patriotic republic on earth ? 
 
 135 
 
LITTLE MANDY'S CHRISTMAS-TREE 
 
 Little Mandy and her Ma 
 'S porest folks you ever saw! — 
 Lived in porest house in town, 
 Where the fence 'uz all tore down. 
 
 And no front-door steps at all — 
 1st a' old box 'g'inst the wall; 
 And no door-knob on the door 
 Outside. — Aly ! but they 'uz pore! 
 
 Wuz no winder-shutters on, 
 And some of the winders gone. 
 And where they 'uz broke they'd pas'e 
 1st brown paper 'crost the place. 
 
 Tellyo\x\ when it's tvinter there^^ 
 And the snow istever'where, 
 Little Mandy' s Ma she say 
 'Spec' they'll freeze to death some day. 
 
 Wunst my Ma and me — when we 
 Be'n to church, and's goin' to be 
 Chris'mus purty soon, — we went 
 There — like the Committee sent. 
 136 
 
A^zdsir ! when we're in the door, 
 Wuz no carpet on the floor, 
 And no fire — and heels-and-head 
 Little Mandy's tucked in bed! 
 
 And her Ma telled my Ma she 
 Got no coffee but ist tea, 
 And fried mush — and's all they had 
 Sence her health broke down so bad. 
 
 Nen Ma hug and hold me where 
 Little Mandy's layin' there; 
 And she kiss her, too, and nen 
 Mandy kiss my Ma again. 
 
 And my Ma she telled her we 
 Goin' to have a Chris' mus-Tree, 
 At the Sund'y School, 'at's fer 
 All the childern, and fer her. 
 
 Little Mandy think — nen she 
 Say, "What is a Chris'mus-Tree?" , 
 Nen my Ma she gived her Ma 
 Somepin' 'at I never saw, 
 
LITTLE MANDY S CHRISTMAS-TREE 
 
 And say she 7nust take it, — and 
 She ist maked her keep her hand 
 Wite close shut, — and nen she kiss 
 Her hand — shut ist like it is. 
 
 Nen we corned away. . . . And nen 
 When its Chris' mus Eve again, 
 And all of us childerns be 
 At the Church and Chris 'mus-Tree — • 
 
 And all git our toys and things 
 'At old Santy Claus he brings 
 And puts on the Tree ; — wite where 
 The big Tree 'uz standin' there, 
 
 And the things 'uz all tooked down, 
 And the childerns, all in town, 
 Got their presents — nen we see 
 They's a little Chris'mus-Tree 
 
 Wite behind the big Tree — so 
 We can't see till ne?i^ you know, — 
 And it's all ist loaded down 
 With the purtiest things in town ! 
 
 138 
 
LITTLE MANDY'S CHRISTMAS-TREK 
 
 And the teacher smile and say: 
 "This-here Tree 'at's hid away 
 It's marked '•Little Majzdy's Tree,*- 
 Little Mandy ! Where is she ?' ' 
 
 Nen nobody say a word. — 
 Stillest place you ever heard ! — [ 
 Till a man tiptoe up where 
 Teacher's still a-waitin' there. 
 
 Nen the man he whispers, so 
 1st the Teacher hears, you know. 
 Nen he tiptoe back and go 
 Out the big door — ist as slow ! 
 
 Little Mandy ^ though, she don't 
 Answer — and Ma say "she won't 
 Never ^ though each year they'll be 
 'Little Mandy' s Chris' mus-Tree' 
 
 Fer pore childern" — my Ma says — 
 And Co7nmittee say they guess 
 "Little Mandy's Tree" 'ull be 
 Bigger than the other Tree ! 
 
 139 
 
THE FUNNIEST THING IN THE 
 WORLD 
 
 The funniest thing in the world, I know, 
 Is watchin' the monkeys 'at's in the show! — 
 Jumpin' an' runnin' an' racin' roun', 
 'Way up the top o' the pole; nen down! 
 First they're here, an' nen they're there, 
 An' ist a'most any an' ever' where! — 
 Screechin' an' scratchin' wherever they go, 
 They're the funniest thing in the world, I know! 
 
 They're the funniest thing in the world, I think: — 
 
 Funny to watch 'em eat an' drink; 
 
 Funny to watch 'em a-watchin' us. 
 
 An' actin' 'most like grown folks does ! — 
 
 Funny to watch 'em p'tend to be 
 
 Skeerd at their tail 'at they happen to see; — 
 
 But the funniest thing in the world they do 
 
 Is never to laugh, like me an' you ! 
 
 140 
 
LITTLE JOHNTS'S CHRIS'MUS 
 
 We got it up a-purpose, jes fer little Johnts, you 
 know; 
 
 His mother was so pore an' all, an' had to man- 
 age so — 
 
 Jes bein' a War-widder, an' her pension mighty 
 slim, 
 
 She'd take in weavin', er work out, er anything 
 fer him! 
 
 An' little Johnts was puny-like — ^but law, the nerve 
 
 he had! — 
 You'd want to kindo' pity him, but couldn't, very 
 
 bad, — 
 His pants o' army-blanket an' his coat o' faded 
 
 blue 
 Kep' hintin' of his father like, an' pity wouldn't do ! 
 
 So we collogued together, onc't, one winter-time, 
 'at we — 
 
 Jes me an' mother an' the girls, an' Wilse, John- 
 Jack an' Free — 
 
 141 
 
LITTLE jOHNTS*S CHRIS*MUS 
 
 Would jine an' git up little Johnts, by time 'at 
 
 Chris' mus come, 
 Some sort o' doin's, don't you know, 'at would 
 
 su 'prise him some. 
 
 An' so, all on the quiet, Mother she turns in an* 
 
 gits 
 Some blue-janes — cuts an' makes a suit ; an' then 
 
 sets down an' knits 
 A pair o' little galluses to go 'long with the rest — 
 An' putts in a red=flannen back, an' buckle on the 
 
 vest. — 
 
 The little feller'd be'n so much around our house, 
 
 you see, 
 An' be'n sich he'p to her an' all, an' handy as 
 
 could be, 
 'At Mother couldn't do too much fer little Johnts — 
 
 No, Sir! 
 She ust to jes declare 'at ''he was meat-an'-drin^ 
 
 toherl" 
 
 142 
 
LITTLE JOHNTS'S CHRIS*MUS 
 
 An' Piney, Lide, an' Madaline they watch their 
 
 chance an' rid 
 To Fountaintown with Lijey's folks; an' bought 
 
 a book, they did, 
 O' fairy tales, with pictur's in ; an' got a little pair 
 O' red-top boots 'at John- Jack said he'd be'n a- 
 
 pricin' there. 
 
 An' Lide got him a little sword, an' Madaline, a 
 
 drum ; 
 An' shootin' -crackers — Lawzy-day! an' they're so 
 
 danger-some ! 
 An' Piney, ever' time the rest 'ud buy some other 
 
 toy, 
 She'd take an' turn in then an' buy more candy 
 
 f er the boy ! 
 
 "Well," thinks-says-I, when they got back, '''•your 
 
 pocket-books is dry!" — 
 But little Johnts was there hisse'f that afternoon, 
 
 so I — 
 Well, all of us kep' mighty mum, tel we got him 
 
 away 
 By tellin' him be shore an' come to-njorry — Chris'- 
 
 mus Day — 
 
 143 
 
LITTLE JOHNTS S CHRIS MUS 
 
 An' fetch his mother 'long with him ! An' how he 
 
 scud acrost 
 The fields — his towhead, in the dusk, Jes like a 
 
 streak o' frost! — 
 His comfert fluttern as he run — an' old Tige, don't 
 
 you know, 
 A-jumpin' high for rabbits an' a ploughin' up the 
 
 snow! 
 
 It must 'a' be'n 'most ten that night afore we got 
 to bed — 
 
 With Wilse an' John- Jack he'ppin' us ; an' Free- 
 man in the shed. 
 
 An' Lide out with the lantern while he trimmed 
 the Chris 'mus Tree 
 
 Out of a little scrub-oak-top 'at suited to a <'T" ! 
 
 All night I dreamp' o' hearin' things a-skulkin' 
 round the place — 
 
 An' "Old Kriss," with his whiskers off, an' freck- 
 les on his face — 
 
 An' reindeers, shaped like shavin'-hosses at the 
 cooper-shop, 
 
 A-stickin' down the chitnbly, with their heels out 
 
 at the top ! 
 
 144 
 
LITTLE JOHNTS S CHRIS MUS 
 
 By time 'at Mother got me up 'twas plum day- 
 light an' more — 
 
 The front yard full o' neighbers all a-crowdin' 
 round the door, 
 
 With Johnts's mother leadin' ; yes — an' little 
 Johnts hisse'f, 
 
 Set up on Freeman's shoulder, like a jug ^up on 
 the she'f! 
 
 Of course I can't describe It when they all got in 
 to where 
 
 We'd conjered up the Chris' mus-Tree an' all the 
 fixin's there! — 
 
 Fer all the shouts o' laughture — clappin' hands, 
 an' crackin' jokes, 
 
 Was heap o' kissin' goin' on amongst the women- 
 folks:— 
 
 Fer, lo-behold-ye ! there they had that young-un ! — 
 
 An' his chin 
 A-wobblin'-like ; — an', shore enough, at last he 
 
 started In — 
 An' — sich another bellerin', in all my mortal days, 
 I never heerd, er 'spect to hear, In woe's app'inted 
 
 ways! 
 
 lo 145 
 
LITTLE JOHNTS'S CHRIS'MUS 
 
 An' Mother grabs him up an' says: "It's more*n 
 
 he can bear — 
 It's all too suddent fer the child, an' too su'prisin* ! 
 
 — There r' 
 "Oh, no it ain't" — sobbed little Johnts — "I ain't 
 
 su'prised — but I'm 
 A-cryin' 'cause I watched you all, an' knowed it 
 
 all the time!" 
 
 146 
 
THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 
 
 The orchard lands of Long Ago ! 
 O drowsy winds, awake, and blow 
 The snowy blossoms back to me. 
 And all the buds that used to be ! 
 Blov^r back along the grassy ways 
 Of truant feet, and lift the haze 
 Of happy summer from the trees 
 That trail their tresses in the seas 
 Of grain that float and overflow 
 The orchard lands of Long Ago ! 
 
 Blow back the melody that slips 
 In lazy laughter from the lips 
 That marvel much if any kiss 
 Is sweeter than the apple's is. 
 Blow back the twitter of the birds — 
 The lisp, the titter, and the words 
 
 H7 
 
THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG ASO 
 
 Of merriment that found the shine 
 
 Of summer-time a glorious wine 
 
 That drenched the leaves that loved it so, 
 
 In orchard lands of Long Ago ! 
 
 O memory ! alight and sing 
 Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, 
 And golden russets glint and gleam, 
 As, in the old Arabian dream, 
 The fruits of that enchanted tree 
 The glad Aladdin robbed for me ! 
 And, drowsy winds, awake and fan 
 My blood as when it overran 
 A heart ripe as the apples grow 
 In orchard lands of Long Ago ! 
 
 148 
 
THE BOYS' CANDIDATE 
 
 Las' time 'at Uncle Sidney come, 
 He bringed a watermelon home — 
 
 An' half the boys in town 
 Come taggin' after him. — An' he 
 Says, when we et it, — '^Gracious me I 
 
 'kS* the boy 'house fell downF' 
 
 149 
 
THE BUMBLEBEE 
 
 You better not fool with a Bumblebee! — 
 
 Ef you don't think they can sting — you'll see! 
 
 They're lazy to look at, an' kindo' go 
 
 Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow, 
 
 An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out, 
 
 Danglin' their legs as they drone about 
 
 The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in 
 
 'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out ag'in ! 
 
 Wunst I watched one climb clean 'way 
 
 In a jimson-blossom, I did, one day, — 
 
 An' I ist grabbed it — an' nen let go — 
 
 An' '•'•Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so V 
 
 Says the Raggedy Man ; an' he ist run 
 
 An' pulltout the stinger, an' don't laugh none, 
 
 An' says: "They A^i- be'n folks, I guess, 
 
 'At thought I wuz prejudust, more er less, — 
 
 Yit I still muntain 'at a Bumblebee 
 
 Wears out his welcome too quick fer me!" 
 
 150 
 
HE CALLED HER IN 
 
 He called her in from me and shut the door. 
 And she so loved the sunshine and the sky! — 
 She loved them even better yet than I 
 That ne'er knew dearth of them — my mother dead, 
 Nature had nursed me in her lap instead : 
 And I had grown a dark and eerie child 
 That rarely smiled, 
 
 Save when, shut all alone in grasses high, 
 Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky 
 And coaxing Mother to smile back on me. 
 Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly 
 Came on me, nestled in the fields beside 
 A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide — 
 The sunshine beating in upon the floor 
 Like golden rain. — 
 
 O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again 
 And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache 
 Within my throat so gripped it I could make 
 1=^1 
 
HE CALLED HER IN 
 
 No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so, 
 I felt her light hand laid 
 Upon my hair — a touch that ne'er before 
 Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid — 
 It seemed the touch the children used to know- 
 When Christ was here, so dear it was — so dear, — 
 At once I loved her as the leaves love dew 
 In midmost summer when the days are new. 
 Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl 
 Of silken sunshine did she clip for me 
 Out of the bright May-morning of her hair, 
 And bound and gave it to me laughingly. 
 And caught my hands and called me '•'•Little girl ^^^ 
 Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there! 
 And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress 
 Of my great happiness. 
 
 She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean 
 The raiment — drew me with her everywhere : 
 Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green: 
 Put up her dainty hands and peeped between 
 Her lingers at the blossoms — crooned and talked 
 To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked, — 
 Said this one was her angel mother — this^ 
 Her baby-sister — come back, for a kiss, 
 
HE CALLED HER IN 
 
 Clean from the Good-World ! — smiled and kissed 
 
 them, then 
 Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. 
 And so did she beguile me — so we played, — 
 She was the dazzling Shine — I, the dark Shade — 
 And we did mingle like to these, and thus, 
 Together, made 
 
 The perfect summer, pure and glorious. 
 So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon 
 Our happiness. — She, startled as a fawn. 
 Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father! " — all the blossoms gone 
 From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp. — 
 Harsher the voice came : — She could only gasp 
 Affrightedly, "Good-bye! — good-bye! good- 
 bye!" 
 And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry 
 Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame 
 Through soul and frame, 
 
 And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,— 
 "He called her in from me and shut the door!" 
 
 153 
 
HE CALLED HER IN 
 
 II 
 
 He called her in from me and shut the door ! 
 
 And I went wandering alone again — 
 
 So lonely — O so very lonely then, 
 
 I thought no little sallow star, alone 
 
 In all a world of twilight, e'er had known 
 
 Such utter loneliness. But that I wore 
 
 Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair 
 
 To lighten up the night of my despair, 
 
 I think I might have groped into my grave 
 
 Nor cared to wave 
 
 The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. 
 
 And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face 
 
 That bent above me in my hiding-place 
 
 That day amid the grasses there beside 
 
 Her pleasant home! — '■^'Heic pleasant home!" I 
 
 sighed. 
 Remembering; — then shut my teeth and feigned 
 The harsh voice calling 7ne^ — then clinched my 
 
 nails 
 So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained. 
 And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who 
 
 pales 
 
HE CALLED HER IN 
 
 In splendid martyrdom, with soul serene, 
 
 As near to God as high the guillotine. 
 
 And I had envied her? Not that — O no! 
 
 But I had longed for some sweet haven so! — 
 
 Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride 
 
 Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide 
 
 Where those that loved me touched me with their 
 
 hands, 
 And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped 
 Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands 
 Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped 
 My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. 
 Then bitterly I murmured as before, — 
 "He called her in from me and shut the door!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 He called her in from me and shut the door! 
 After long struggling with my pride and pain — 
 A weary while it seemed, in which the more 
 I held myself from her, the greater fain 
 Was I to look upon her face again; — 
 At last — at last — half conscious where my feet 
 Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet 
 Green grasses there where she 
 First came to me. — 
 
HE CALLED HER IN 
 
 The very blossoms she had plucked that day, 
 
 And, at her father's voice, had cast away, 
 
 Around me lay, 
 
 Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine ; 
 
 And as I gathered each one eagerly, 
 
 I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine 
 
 Her kisses left there for the honey-bee. 
 
 TherL, after I had laid them with the tress 
 
 Of her bright hair w^ith lingering tenderness, 
 
 I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound 
 
 Her pleasant-seeming home — but all around 
 
 Was never sign of her! — The windows all 
 
 Were blinded ; and I heard no rippling fall 
 
 Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call; — 
 
 But, clutching to the tangled grasses, caught 
 
 A sound as though a strong man bowed his head 
 
 And sobbed alone — unloved — ^uncomforted ! — 
 
 And then straightway before 
 
 My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought 
 
 A vision that is with me evermore: — 
 
 A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears 
 
 Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears. — 
 
 And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er, — 
 
 "God called her in from him and shut the door!" 
 
 156 
 
THE BOY-FRIEND 
 
 Clarence, my boy-friend, hale and strong! 
 
 O he is as jolly as he is young; 
 And all of the laughs of the lyre belong 
 
 To the boy all unsung : 
 
 So I want to sing something in his behalf — 
 To clang some chords, for the good it is 
 
 To know he is near, and to have the laugh 
 Of that wholesome voice of his. 
 
 I want to tell him in gentler ways 
 
 Than prose may do, that the arms of rhyme, 
 Warm and tender with tuneful praise, 
 
 Are about him all the time. 
 
 I want him to know that the quietest nights 
 We have passed together are yet with me, 
 
 Roistering over the old delights 
 That were born of his company. 
 
 157 
 
THE BOY-FRIEND 
 
 I want him to know how my soul esteems 
 
 The fairy stories of Andersen, 
 And the glad translations of all the themes 
 
 Of the hearts of boyish men. 
 
 Want him to know that my fancy flows, 
 With the lilt of a dear old-fashioned tune, 
 
 Through "Lewis Carroll's" poemly prose, 
 And the tale of "The Bold Dragoon." 
 
 O this is the Prince that I would sing- 
 Would drape and garnish in velvet line, 
 
 Since courtlier far than any king 
 Is this brave boy-friend of mine. 
 
 58 
 
WHEN THE WORLD BU'STS THROUGH 
 
 {Casually Suggested by an Earthquake^ 
 
 Where's a boy a-goin', 
 
 An' what's he goin' to do, 
 An' how's he goin' to do it, 
 
 When the v/oiid bu'sts through? 
 Ma she says "she can't tell 
 
 What we're comin' to!" 
 An' Pop says "he's ist skeered 
 
 Clean — plum — through ! ' ' 
 
 S'pose we'd be a-playin' 
 
 Out in the street, 
 An' the ground 'ud split up 
 
 'Bout forty feet ! — 
 Ma says "she ist knows 
 
 We 'ud tumble in" ; 
 An' Pop says "he bets you 
 
 Nen we wouldn't grin!" 
 
 S'pose we'd ist be 'tendin' 
 
 Like we had a show, 
 Down in the staBle 
 
 Where we mustn' go, — 
 X59 
 
WHEN THE WORLD BU STS THROUGH 
 
 Ma says, "The earthquake 
 
 Might make it fall"; 
 An' Pop says, "More'n like 
 
 Swaller barn an' all!" 
 
 Landy ! ef we both wuz 
 
 Runnin' 'way from school, 
 Out in the shady woods 
 
 Where it's all so cool! — 
 Ma says ''a big tree 
 
 Might sqush our head" ; 
 An' Pop says, "Chop 'em out 
 
 Both— killed— dead!" 
 
 But where' s a boy goin', 
 
 An' what's he goin' to do, 
 An' how's he goin' to do it, 
 
 Ef the world bu'sts through? 
 Ma she says "she can't tell 
 
 What we're comin' to!" 
 An' Pop says "he's ist skeered 
 
 Clean — plum — through ! " 
 
 i6o 
 
A PROSPECTIVE GLIMPSE 
 
 Janey Pettibone's the best 
 Little girl an' purtiest 
 In this town ! an' lives next door, 
 Up-stairs over their old store. 
 
 Little Janey Pettibone 
 An' her Ma lives all alone, — 
 'Cause her Pa broke up, an' nen 
 Died 'cause they ain't rich again. 
 
 Little Janey' s Ma she sews 
 Fer my Ma sometimes, an' goes 
 An' gives music-lessuns — where 
 People's got pianers there. 
 
 But when Janey Pettibone 
 
 Grows an' grows, like I'm a growin', 
 
 Nen I'm go' to keep a store, 
 
 An' sell things — an' sell some more — 
 
 Till I'm ist as rich! — An' nen 
 Her Ma can be rich again, — 
 Yuil'in rich enough to own 
 Little Janey Pettibone ! 
 II i6i 
 
THE OLD TRAMP 
 
 A' OLD Tramp slep' in our stable wunst, 
 An' The Raggedy Man he caught 
 
 An' roust him up, an' chased him off 
 Clean out through our back lot! 
 
 An' th' old Tramp hollered back an' said,- 
 "You're 2i furty man! — Ton air! — 
 
 With a pair o' eyes like two fried eggs, 
 An' a nose like a Bartlutt pear!" 
 
 163 
 
CURLY LOCKS 
 
 Curly Locks I Curly Locks I wilt thou he mine? 
 Thoti shalt not wash the dishes^ nor yet feed the 
 
 swine^ — 
 But sit on a cushion and sew a Jine seam^ 
 And feast upon strazvberries^ sugar and C7'eain. 
 
 Curly Locks ! Curly Locks ! wilt thou be mine ? 
 The throb of my heart is in every line, 
 And the pulse of a passion as airy and glad 
 In its musical beat as the little Prince had ! 
 
 Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the 
 
 swine ! — 
 O I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine 
 Till the pink of the nail of each finger shall be 
 As a little pet blush in full blossom for me. 
 
 But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam. 
 And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream, — 
 The red of my veins, and the white of my love. 
 And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof. 
 163 
 
CURLY LOCKS 
 
 And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream 
 From a sei"vice of silver, with jewels agleam, — 
 At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise, 
 And twinkle my soul in the night of thine eyes ! 
 
 Curly Locks! Curly Locks I wilt thou be minef 
 Thou shalt not wash the dishes^ nor yet feed the 
 
 swine ^ — 
 But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam^ 
 And feast u^on strawberries^ sugar and cream. 
 
 164 
 
THE PETXOON 
 
 NoEY BiXLER ketched him, an' fetched him in to 
 me 
 When he's ist a little teenty-weenty baby-coon 
 'Bout as big as little pups, an' tied him to a tree ; 
 An' Pa gived Noey fifty cents, when he come 
 home at noon. 
 Nen he buyed a chain fer him, an' little collar, too, 
 An' sawed a hole in a' old tub an' turnt it upside 
 down; 
 An' little feller' d stay in there and won't come out 
 fer you — 
 'Tendin' like he's kindo' skeered o' boys 'at 
 lives in town. 
 
 Now he ain't afeard a bit! he's ist so fat an' tame, 
 We on'y chain him up at night, to save the little 
 chicks. 
 Holler "Greedy! Greedy!" to him, an' he knows 
 his name. 
 An' here he'll come a-waddle-un, up fer any 
 tricks I 
 
 16:; 
 
THE PET COON 
 
 He'll climb up my leg, he will, an* waller in my 
 lap, 
 An' poke his little black paws 'way in my pock- 
 ets where 
 They's beechnuts, er chinkypins, er any little scrap 
 Of anything 'at's good to eat — an' he don't care ! 
 
 An' he's as spunky as you please, an' don't like 
 dogs at all. — 
 Billy Miller's black-an'-tan tackled him one day, 
 An' "Greedy" he ist kindo' doubled all up like a 
 ball, 
 An' Billy's dog he gived a yelp er two an' runned 
 away ! 
 An' nen when Billy fighted me, an' hit me with a 
 bone, 
 An' Ma she purt' nigh ketched him as he dodged 
 an' scooted through 
 The fence, she says, "You better let my little boy 
 alone, 
 Or 'Greedy,' next he whips yer dog, shall whip 
 you, too!" 
 
 ^ee 
 
A NONSENSE RHYME 
 
 Ringlety- jiNG ! 
 
 And what will we sing? 
 Some little crinkety-crankety thing 
 
 That rhymes and chimes, 
 
 And skips, sometimes, 
 As though wound up with a kink in the spring. 
 
 Grunkety-krung ! 
 And chunkety-plung ! 
 Sing the song that the bullfrog sung, — 
 A song of the soul 
 Of a mad tadpole 
 That met his fate in a leaky bowl : 
 And it's O for the first false wiggle he made 
 In a sea of pale pink lemonade ! 
 And it's O for the thirst 
 
 Within him pent, 
 And the hopes that burst 
 As his reason went — 
 When his strong arm failed and his strength was 
 spent ! 
 
 167 
 
A NONSENSE RHYMB 
 
 Sing, O sing 
 Of the things that cling, 
 And the claws that clutch and the fangs that sting — 
 Till the tadpole's tongue 
 And his tail upflung 
 Quavered and failed with a song unsung! 
 
 O the dank despair in the rank morass, 
 Where the crawfish crouch in the cringing 
 grass, 
 And the long limp mine of the loon wails on 
 For the mad, sad soul 
 Of a bad tadpole 
 
 Forever lost and gone I 
 
 Jinglety-jee ! 
 And now we'll see 
 WhsLt the last of the lay shall be. 
 
 As the dismal tip of the tune, O friends, 
 Swoons away and the long tale ends. 
 And it's O and alack! 
 
 For the tangled legs 
 And the spangled back 
 
 Qf the green grig's eggs. 
 
 1 68 
 
A NONSENSE RHYME 
 
 And the unstrung strain 
 Of the strange refrain 
 That the winds wind up like a strand of rain ! 
 
 And it's O, 
 
 Also, 
 Por the ears wreathed low, 
 Like a laurel-wreath on the lifted brow 
 Of the frog that chants of the why and how, 
 
 And the wherefore too, and the thus and so 
 Of the wail he weaves in a woof of woe ! 
 Twangle, then, with your wrangling strings. 
 The tinkling links of a thousand things ! 
 And clang the pang of a maddening moan 
 Till the Echo, hid in a land unknown. 
 
 Shall leap as he hears, and hoot and hoo 
 Like the wretched wraith of a Whoop ty-Doo 
 
 169 
 
NAUGHTY CLAUDE 
 
 When Little Claude was naughty wunst 
 
 At dinner-time, an' said 
 He won't say '•'- Thank you'' ^ to his Ma, 
 
 She maked him go to bed 
 An' stay two hours an' not git up, — 
 
 So when the clock struck Two, 
 Nen Claude says, — "Thank you, Mr. Clock, 
 
 I'm much obleeged to you!" 
 
 170 
 
THE OLD, OLD WISH 
 
 Last night, in some lost mood of meditation, 
 The while my dreamy vision ranged the far 
 Unfathomable arches of creation, 
 
 I saw a falling star: 
 
 And as my eyes swept round the path it embered 
 
 With the swift-dying glory of its glow, 
 With sudden intuition I remembered, 
 A wish of long ago — 
 
 A wish that, were it made — so ran the fancy 
 
 Of credulous young lover and of lass — 
 As fell a star, by some strange necromancy, 
 Would surely come to pass. 
 
 And, of itself, the wish, reiterated 
 
 A thousand times in youth, flashed o'er riiy 
 brain. 
 And, like the star, as soon obliterated, 
 
 Dropped into night again. 
 171 
 
THE OLD, OLD WISH 
 
 For my old heart had wished for the unending 
 
 Devotion of a little maid of nine — 
 And that the girl-heart, with the woman's blend- 
 ing, 
 
 Might be forever mine. 
 
 And so it was, with eyelids raised, and weighty 
 
 With ripest clusterings of sorrow's dew, 
 I cried aloud through heaven: "O little Katie! 
 
 When will my wish come true?" 
 
 17a 
 
"THE PREACHER'S BOY" 
 I RiCKOLLECT the little tad, back, years and years 
 
 "The Preacher's Boy" that every one despised 
 and hated so ! 
 
 A meek-faced little feller, with white eyes and 
 foxy hair, 
 
 And a look like he expected ser'ous trouble every- 
 where : 
 
 A sort o' fixed expression of suspicion in his glance ; 
 
 His bare-feet always scratched with briers; and 
 green stains on his pants ; 
 
 Molasses-marks along his sleeves; his cap-rim 
 turned behind — 
 
 And so it is "The Preacher's Boy" is brought 
 again to mind ! 
 
 My fancy even brings the sly marauder back so 
 
 plain, 
 I see him jump our garden-fence and slip off down 
 
 the lane ; 
 
"the preacher's boy" 
 
 And I seem to holler at him and git back the old 
 
 reply : 
 "Oh, no: your peaches is too green fer such a 
 
 worm as I ! " 
 Fer he scorned his father's phrases — every holy 
 
 one he had — 
 "As good a man," folks put it, "as that boy of 
 
 his was bad!" 
 And again from their old buggy-shed, I hear the 
 
 "rod unspared" — 
 Of course that never "spoiled the child" for which 
 
 nobody cared ! 
 
 If any neighber ever found his gate without a latch, 
 Or rines around the edges of his watermelon-patch ; 
 His pasture-bars left open; or his pump-spout 
 
 chocked with clay. 
 He'd swear 'twas "that infernal Preacher's Boy," 
 
 right away! 
 When strings was stretched acrost the street at 
 
 night, and some one got 
 An everlastin' tumble, and his nose broke, like as 
 
 not, 
 
 174 
 
"THE PREACHERS BOY 
 
 And laid it on "The Preacher's Boy'* — no powers, 
 
 low ner high, 
 Could ever quite substantiate that boy's alibi! 
 
 And did nobody like the boy? — Well, all the fets 
 
 in town 
 Would eat out of his fingers ; and canaries would 
 
 come down 
 And leave their swingin' perches and their fish- 
 bone jist to pick 
 The little warty knuckles that the dogs would leap 
 
 to lick. — 
 No little snarlin', snappin' fiste but what would 
 
 leave his bone 
 To foUer, ef he whistled, in that tantalizin' tone 
 That made the goods-box whittlerblasphemeously 
 
 protest 
 "He couldn't tell, 'twixt dog and boy, which one 
 
 was ornriest!" 
 
 'Twas such a little cur as this, onc't, when the 
 
 crowd w^as thick 
 Along the streets, a drunken corner-loafer tried to 
 
 kick, 
 
 175 
 
"THE PREACHERS BOY 
 
 When a sudden foot behind him tripped him up, 
 
 and falling so 
 He "marked his man," and jerked his gun — 
 
 drawed up and let 'er go ! 
 And the crowd swarmed round the victim — hold- 
 ing close against his breast 
 The little dog unharmed, in arms that still, as they 
 
 caressed. 
 Grew rigid in their last embrace, as with a smile 
 
 of joy 
 He recognized the dog was saved. So died "The 
 
 Preacher's Boy" ! 
 When it appeared, before the Squire, that fatal 
 
 pistol-ball 
 Was fired at "a dangerous beast," and not the boy 
 
 at all, 
 And the facts set forth established — it was like-be- 
 
 fittin' then 
 To order out a possy of the "city councilmen" 
 To kill the dog! But, strange to tell, they searched 
 
 the country round, 
 And never hide-ner-hair of that "said" dog was 
 
 ever found ! 
 
 176 
 
'* THE preacher's BOY " 
 
 And, somehow, then I sorto' thought — and half- 
 way think, to-day — 
 
 The spirit of "The Preacher's Boy" had whistled 
 him away. 
 
 13 177 
 
AN IMPETUOUS RESOLVE 
 
 When little Dickie Swope's a man, 
 
 He's go' to be a Sailor; 
 An' little Harney Tincher, he's 
 
 A-go' to be a Tailor: 
 Bud Mitchell, he's a-go' to be 
 
 A stylish Carriage-Maker; 
 An' when /grow a grea'-big man, 
 
 I'm go' to be a Baker! 
 
 An' Dick'll buy his sailor-suit 
 
 O' Hame; an' Hame'll take it 
 An' buy as fine a double-rig 
 
 As ever Bud kin make it: 
 An' nen all three'll drive roun' fer me, 
 
 An' we'll drive off togevver, 
 A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road 
 
 Ferever an' ferever! 
 
 17S 
 
A SUDDEN SHOWER 
 
 Barefooted boys scud up the street 
 Or scurry under sheltering sheds ; 
 And school-girl faces, pale and sweet, 
 
 Gleam from the shawls about their heads. 
 
 Doors bang; and mother-voices call 
 . From alien homes ; and rusty gates 
 Are slammed ; and high above it all, 
 The thunder grim reverberates. 
 
 And then, abrupt, — the rain! the rain! — 
 The earth lies gasping ; and the eyes 
 
 Behind the streaming window-pane 
 Smile at the trouble of the skies. 
 
 The highway smokes; sharp echoes ring; 
 
 The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank; 
 And into town comes galloping 
 
 The farmer's horse, with steaming flank. 
 179 
 
A SUDDEN SHOWER 
 
 The swallow dips beneath the eaves 
 
 And flirts his plumes and folds his wings; 
 
 And under the Catawba leaves 
 The caterpillar curls and clings. 
 
 The bumblebee is pelted down 
 The wet stem of the hollyhock ; 
 
 And sullenly, in spattered brown, 
 The cricket leaps the garden-walk. 
 
 Within, the baby claps his hands 
 
 And crows with rapture strange and vague 
 Without, beneath the rose-bush stands 
 
 A dripping rooster on one leg. 
 
 i8o 
 
THE HUNTER BOY 
 
 Hunter Boy of Hazelwood — 
 Happier than Robin Hood! 
 Dance across the green, and stand 
 Suddenly, with lifted hand 
 Shading eager eyes, and be 
 Thus content to capture me! — 
 Cease thy quest for wilder prey 
 Than my willing heart to-day ! 
 
 Hunter Boy ! with belt and bow, 
 Bide with me, or let me go, 
 An thou wilt, in wake of thee, 
 Questing for my mine infancy! 
 With thy glad face in the sun, 
 Let thy laughter overrun 
 Thy ripe lips, until mine own 
 Answer, ringing, tone for tone 1 
 
 i8i 
 
THE HUNTER BOY 
 
 O my Hunter ! tilt the cup 
 Of thy silver bugle up, 
 And like wine pour out for me 
 All its limpid melody! 
 Pout thy happy lips and blare 
 Music's kisses everywhere — 
 Whiff o'er forest, field and town, 
 Tufts of tune like thistle-down ! 
 O to go, as once I could. 
 Hunter Boy of Hazelwood ! 
 
 182 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON 
 
 Said The Raggedy Man, on a hot afternoon : 
 
 My! 
 
 Sakes! 
 
 What a lot o' mistakes 
 Some little folks makes on The Man in the Moon! 
 But people that's be'n up to see him, like me^ 
 And calls on him frequent and intimuttly. 
 Might drop a few facts that would interest you 
 Clean! 
 
 Through! — 
 
 If you wanted 'em to — 
 Some actual facts that might interest you ! 
 
 O The Man in the Moon has a crick in his back ; 
 Whee ! 
 
 Whimm ! 
 
 Ain't you sorry for him? 
 And a mole on his nose that is purple and black ; 
 And his eyes are so weak that they water and run 
 If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun, — 
 
 183 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON 
 
 So he jes dreams of stars, as the doctors advise — 
 My! 
 
 Eyes ! 
 
 But isn't he wise — 
 To jes dream of stars, as the doctors advise? 
 
 And The Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear — 
 Whee! 
 
 Whing! 
 
 What a singular thing! 
 I know ! but these facts are authentic, my dear,— 
 There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin — 
 He calls it a dimple — ^but dimples stick in — 
 Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know! 
 Whang! 
 Ho! 
 
 Why, certainly so ! — 
 It might be a dimple turned over, you know ! 
 
 And The Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee — 
 
 Gee! 
 
 Whizz ! 
 
 What a pity that is ! 
 
 And his toes have worked round where his heels 
 
 ought to be. — 
 
 184 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON 
 
 So whenever he wants to go North he goes Souths 
 And comes back with porridge-crumbs all round 
 
 his mouth, 
 And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan, 
 Whing! 
 
 Whann! 
 
 What a marvellous man ! 
 What a very remarkably marvellous man ! 
 
 And The Man in the Moon, sighed The Raggedy 
 Man, 
 Gits! 
 So! 
 
 Sullonesome, you know, — 
 Up there by hisse'f sence creation began! — 
 That when I call on him and then come away, 
 He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay, — 
 Till — Weill if it wasn't iev Jimmy-cum-ji7n^ 
 Dadd! 
 
 Limb! 
 
 I'd go pardners with him — 
 Jes jump my job here and be pardners with 
 him! 
 
 185 
 
A CHILD'S HOME— LONG AGO 
 
 Even as the gas-flames flicker to and fro, 
 The Old Man's wavering fancies leap andglow,- 
 As o'er the vision, like a mirage, falls 
 The old log cabin with its dingy walls, 
 And crippled chimney with its crutch-like prop 
 Beneath a sagging shoulder at the top : 
 The coonskin battened fast on either side — 
 The wisps of leaf-tobacco — "cut-and-dried" ; 
 The yellow strands of quartered apples, hung 
 In rich festoons that tangle in among 
 The morning-glory vines that clamber o'er 
 The little clapboard roof above the door: 
 The old well-sweep that drops a courtesy 
 To every thirsting soul so graciously, 
 The stranger, as he drains the dripping gourd, 
 Intuitively mumurs, "Thank the Lord! " 
 Again through mists of memory arise 
 The simple scenes of home before the eyes: — 
 i86 
 
A CHILD'S HOME LONG AGO 
 
 The happy mother, humming, with her wheel, 
 The dear old melodies that used to steal 
 So drowsily upon the summer air. 
 The house-dog hid his bone, forgot his care. 
 And nestled at her feet, to dream, perchance, 
 Some cooling dream of winter-time romance : 
 The square of sunshine through the open door 
 That notched its edge across the puncheon floor. 
 And made a golden coverlet whereon 
 The god of slumber had a picture drawn 
 Of Babyhood, in all the loveliness 
 Of dimpled cheek and limb and linsey dress : 
 The bough-filled fireplace, and the mantel wide. 
 Its fire-scorched ankles stretched on either side, 
 Where, perched upon its shoulders 'neath the joist. 
 The old clock hiccoughed, harsh and husky-voiced, 
 And snarled the premonition, dire and dread. 
 When it should hammer Time upon the head: 
 Tomatoes, red and yellow, in a row, 
 Preserved not then for diet, but for show, — 
 Like rare and precious jewels in the rough 
 Whose worth was not appraised at half enough : 
 The jars of jelly, with their dusty tops ; 
 The bunch of pennyroyal ; the cordial drops ; 
 187 
 
A child's home LONG AGO 
 
 The flask of camphor, and the vial of squills, 
 The box of buttons, garden-seeds, and pills ; 
 And, ending all the mantel's bric-a-brac, 
 The old, time-honored "Family Almanack." 
 And memory, with a mother's touch of love, 
 Climbs with us to the dusky loft above. 
 Where drowsily we trail our fingers in 
 The mealy treasures of the harvest bin ; 
 And, feeling with our hands the open track, 
 We pat the bag of barley on the back ; 
 And, groping onward through the mellow gloom, 
 We catch the hidden apple's faint perfume. 
 And, mingling with it, fragrant hints of pear 
 And musky melon ripening somewhere. 
 Again we stretch our limbs upon the bed 
 Where first our simple childish prayers were said ; 
 And while, without, the gallant cricket trills 
 A challenge to the solemn whippoorwills, 
 And, filing on the chorus with his glee. 
 The katydid whets all the harmony 
 To feather-edge of incoherent song, 
 We drop asleep, and peacefully along 
 The current of our dreams we glide away 
 To the dim harbor of another day. 
 1 88 
 
BILLY GOODIN' 
 
 ^^A big fiece 6* pie^ and a big fiece d' fuddifi^ — 
 I laid it all by fer little Billy Goo din' /" 
 
 Boy-Poet. 
 
 Look so neat an' sweet in all yer frills an' fancy 
 
 pleatin' ! 
 Better shet yer kitchen, though, afore you go to 
 Meetin' ! — 
 Better hide yer mince-meat an' stewed fruit an' 
 
 plums ! 
 Better hide yer pound-cake an' bresh away the 
 
 crumbs ! 
 Better hide yer cubbord-key when Billy Goodin' 
 comes, 
 
 A-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! 
 
 189 
 
BILLY GOODIN' 
 
 Sight o' Sund'y-doin's done 'at ain't done in 
 
 Meetin' ! 
 Sun acrostyer garden-patch a-pourin' an' a-beatin' ; 
 Meller apples drappin' in the weeds an' roun' 
 
 the groun' — 
 Clingstones an' sugar-pears a-ist a-plunkin' 
 
 down! — 
 Better kindo' comb the grass 'fore Billy comes 
 aroun', 
 
 A-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' ! 
 
 J9tlly Goodzn' ain't a-go' to go to any Meetin' ! 
 JVe 'uU watch an' ketch an' give the little sneak a 
 beatin' ! — 
 Better hint we want'o stay 'n' snoop yer grapes 
 
 an' plums! 
 Better eat 'em all yerse'f an' suck yer stingy 
 
 thumbs! — 
 Won't be nothin' anyhow when Billy Goodin' 
 comes ! 
 
 A-eatin' I an' a-eatin' ! an' a-eatin' I 
 
 190 
 
A PASSING HAIL 
 
 Let us rest ourselves a bit ! 
 Worry? — ^wave your hand to it — 
 Kiss your finger tips, and smile 
 It farewell a little while. 
 
 Weary of the weary way 
 We have come from Yesterday, 
 Let us fret us not, instead. 
 Of the weary way ahead. 
 
 Let us pause and catch our breath 
 On the hither side of death. 
 While we see the tender shoots 
 Of the grasses — not the roots, — 
 
 While we yet look down — not up^ — 
 To seek out the buttercup 
 And the daisy where they wave 
 O'er the green home of the grave. 
 191 
 
A PASSING HAIL 
 
 Let us launch us smoothly on 
 The soft billows of the lawn, 
 And drift out across the main 
 Of our childish dreams again : 
 
 Voyage off, beneath the trees, 
 O'er the field's enchanted seas, 
 Where the lilies are our sails, 
 And our sea-gulls, nightingales: 
 
 Where no wilder storm shall beat 
 Than the wind that waves the wheat, 
 And no tempest-burst above 
 The old laughs we used to love: 
 
 Lose all troubles — gain release. 
 Languor, and exceeding peace, 
 Cruising idly o'er the vast, 
 Calm mid-ocean of the Past. 
 
 Let us rest ourselves a bit! 
 Worry? — Wave your hand to it — 
 Kiss your finger-tips, and smile 
 It farewell a little while. 
 
 192 
 
PRIOR TO MISS BELLE'S APPEAR- 
 ANCE 
 
 What makes you come here fer, Mister, 
 
 So much to our house ? — Say? 
 Come to see our big sister! — 
 An' Charley he says 'at you kissed her 
 
 An* he ketched you, th'uther day! — 
 Didn' you, Charley? — But we p'omised Belle 
 
 An' crossed our heart to never tell — 
 'Cause she gived us some o' them-er 
 Chawk'lut-drops 'at you bringed to her! 
 
 Charley he's my little b'uther — 
 
 An' we has a-mostest fun, 
 Don't we, Charley? — Our Muther, 
 Whenever we whips one-anuther, 
 
 Tries to whip us — an' we run — 
 Don't we, Charley? — An' nen, bime-by, 
 Nen she gives us cake — an' pie — 
 Don't she, Charley? — when we come in 
 An' p'omise never to do it ag'in 1 
 
 13 193 
 
PRIOR TO MISS BELLE S APPEARANCE 
 
 He's named Charley. — I'm Willie — 
 
 An' I'm got the purtiest name! 
 But Uncle Bob he calls me "Billy"— 
 Don't he, Charley?— 'N' our filly 
 
 We named "Billy," the same 
 1st like me ! An' our Ma said 
 'At "Bob puts foolishnuss into our head!" — 
 Didn' she, Charley? — An' she don't know 
 Much about hoys I 'Cause Bob said so! 
 
 Baby's a funniest feller! 
 
 Nain't no hair on his head— 
 Is they, Charley? — It's meller 
 Wite up there ! An' ef Belle er 
 
 Us ask wus ive that way. Ma said, — 
 "Yes ; an' yer Pa's head wuz soft as that. 
 An' it's that way yet!" — An' Pa grabs his hat 
 An' says, "Yes, childern, she's right about Pa- 
 'Cause that's the reason he married yer Mal*^ 
 
 An' our Ma says 'at "Belle couldn' 
 
 Ketch nothin' at all but ist '<5^w5'/"— 
 An' Pa says 'at "you're soft as puddun!" — 
 An' Uncle Boh says "you're a good-un — 
 'Cause he can tell by yer nose!"— 
 194 
 
PRIOR TO MISS BELLE S APPEARANCE 
 
 Didn' he, Charley? — An' when Belle'll play 
 In the poller en th' planer, some day, 
 Bob makes up funny songs about you, 
 Till she gits mad — like he wants her to ! 
 
 Our sister Fanny she's Heven 
 
 Years old! 'At's mucher 'an I- — 
 Ain't it, Charley? . . . I'm seven! — 
 But our sister Fanny's in heavenl 
 
 Nere's where you go ef you die! — 
 Don't you, Charley? — Nen you has wings — 
 1st like Fanny I — an' purtiest things! — 
 Don't you, Charley? — An' nen you csLnJly — 
 X.*t fly — ?Ln* ever' thing \ . . . Wisht/'^die! 
 
 195 
 
SONG— FOR NOVEMBER 
 
 While skies glint bright with bluest light 
 
 Through clouds that race o'er field and town, 
 And leaves go dancing left and right, 
 
 And orchard apples tumble down ; 
 While school-girls sweet, in lane or street, 
 
 Lean 'gainst the wind and feel and hear 
 Its glad heart like a lover's beat, — 
 
 So reigns the rapture of the year. 
 
 Then hot and hey! and whoop-hooray t 
 Though winter clouds be looming, 
 
 Remember a November day 
 
 Is merrier than mildest May 
 With all her blossoms blooming. 
 
 While birds in scattered flight are blown 
 
 Aloft and lost in bosky mist, 
 And truant boys scud home alone 
 
 'Neath skies of gold and amethyst ; 
 196 
 
SONG FOR NOVEMBER 
 
 \ 
 
 While twilight falls, and echo calls 
 Across the haunted atmosphere, 
 
 With low, sweet laughs at intervals, — 
 So reigns the rapture of the year. 
 
 Then hoi and hey! and whoop-hooray I 
 Though winter clouds be looming^ 
 
 Remember a JVov ember day 
 
 Is merrier than mildest May 
 With all her blossoms blooming. 
 
 197 
 
HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB 
 
 How slight a thing may set one's fancy drifting 
 
 Upon the dead sea of the Past! — A view — 
 Sometimes an odor — or a rooster lifting 
 A far-off ''Oohl ooJi-oohr' 
 
 And suddenly we find ourselves astray 
 
 In some wood's-pasture of the Long Ago — 
 Or idly dream again upon a day 
 
 Of rest we used to know. 
 
 I bit an apple but a moment since — 
 
 A wilted apple that the worm had spumed, — 
 Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints 
 Of good old days returned. — 
 
 And so my heart, like some enraptured lute, 
 
 Tinkles a tune so tender and complete, 
 God's blessing must be resting on the fruit — 
 So bitter, yet so sweet ! 
 
 198 
 
BILLY COULD RIDE 
 
 Billy was born for a horse's back! — 
 That's what Grandfather used to say: — 
 He'd seen him in dresses, a-many a day, 
 On a two-year-old, in the old barn-lot, 
 Prancing around, with the bridle slack, 
 And his two little sunburnt legs outshot 
 So straight from the saddle-seat you'd swear 
 A spirit-level had plumbed him there ! 
 And all the neighbors that passed the place 
 Would just haul up in the road and stare 
 To see the little chap's father boost 
 The boy up there on his favorite roost, 
 To canter off, with a laughing face. — 
 Put him up there, he was satisfied — 
 And O the way that Billy could ride ! 
 
 199 
 
BILLY COULD RIDE 
 
 II 
 
 At celebration or barbecue — 
 
 And Billy, a boy of fifteen years — 
 
 Couldn't he cut his didoes there ? — 
 
 What else would you expect him to, 
 
 On his little mettlesome chestnut mare, 
 
 With her slender neck, and her pointed ears, 
 
 And the four little devilish hooves of hers ? 
 
 The "delegation" moved too slow 
 
 For the time that Billy wanted to go ! 
 
 And to see him dashing out of the line 
 
 At the edge of the road and down the side 
 
 Of the long procession, all laws defied, 
 
 And the fife and drums, was a sight divine 
 
 To the girls, in their white-and-spangled pride, 
 
 Wearily waving their scarfs about 
 
 In the great "Big Wagon," all gilt without 
 
 And jolt within, as they lumbered on 
 
 Into the town where Billy had gone 
 
 An hour ahead, like a knightly guide — 
 
 O but the way that Billy could ride ! 
 
 200 
 
E2LLY COULD RIDE 
 
 III 
 
 *'Billy can ridel Oh, Billy can ride! 
 
 But what on earth can he do beside?" 
 
 That's what the farmers used to say, 
 
 As time went by a year at a stride, 
 
 And Billy was twenty If he was a day ! 
 
 And many a wise old father's foot 
 
 Was put right down where it should be put, 
 
 While many a dutiful daughter sighed 
 
 <[n vain for one more glorious ride 
 
 With the gallant Billy, who none the less 
 
 Smiled at the old man's selfishness 
 
 And kissed his daughter, and rode away, — 
 
 Touched his horse In the flank — and zipp I — 
 
 Talk about horses and horsemanship ! — 
 
 Folks stared after him just wild-eyed. . . . 
 
 Oomh I the way that Billy could ride ! 
 
 20I 
 
SHE "DISPLAINS'' IT 
 
 ''Had, too!" 
 
 '-'- Hadn't^ neither T* 
 So contended Bess and May — ■ 
 
 Neighbor children, who were boasting 
 Of their grandmammas, one day. 
 
 "Had, too!" 
 
 "Hadn't, neither!" 
 All the difference begun 
 
 By May's saying she'd two grandmas — 
 While poor Bess had only one. 
 
 "Had, too!" 
 
 "Hadn't, neither!" 
 Tossing curls, and kinks of friz! — 
 
 "How could you have two gran'muvvers 
 When ist one is all they is?" 
 
 "Had, too!" 
 
 "Hadn't, neither!— 
 'Cause ef you had two^^^ said Bess, 
 
 "You'd displain it ! " Then May answered, 
 ^^My gran'mas wuz twins^ I guess!" 
 
 202 
 
THE WAY THE BABY SLEPT 
 
 This is the way the baby slept: 
 A mist of tresses backward thrown 
 
 By quavering sighs where kisses crept 
 With yearnings she had never known : 
 
 The little hands were closely kept 
 About a lily newly blown — 
 
 And God was with her. And we wept. 
 
 And this is the way the baby slept. 
 
 203 
 
THE JOLLY MILLER 
 
 [^Restored Ro7naunf\ 
 
 It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee ; 
 He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea ; 
 "O Mr. Flea! you have bit me, 
 
 And you shall shorely die!" 
 So he scrunched his bones ag'inst the stones — 
 
 And there he let him lie ! 
 
 'Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told 
 
 his w^ife, 
 And she laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her 
 
 carving-knife ! — 
 "O Mr. Flea!" "Ho-ho!" '^Tee-hee!'' 
 
 They both laughed fit to kill, 
 Until the sound did almost drownd 
 The rumble of the mill I 
 
 204 
 
THE JOLLY MILLER 
 
 ''''Laugh on^ my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller^ 
 
 tool-— 
 But there's a iveeping-willer will soon wave over 
 
 your' 
 The voice was all so awful small — 
 
 So very small and slim ! — 
 He durst' infer that it was her, 
 Ner her infer 'twas him ! 
 
 That night the Jolly Miller, says he, *'It's, Wifey 
 
 dear, 
 That cat o' youm, I'd kill her! — her actions is so 
 
 queer, — 
 She's rubbin' 'g'inst the grindstone-legs, 
 
 And yowlin' at the sky — 
 And I 'low the moon hain't greener 
 Than the yaller of her eye!" 
 
 And as the Jolly Miller went chuckle-un to bed, 
 Was Somepin' jerked his piller from underneath 
 
 his head! 
 " O Wife," says he, on-easi-lee, 
 
 " Fetch here that lantern there!" 
 But Somepin' moans in thunder-tones, 
 *' Tou tetch it efyou dareV* 
 205 
 
THE JOLLY MILLER 
 
 'Twas then the Jolly Miller he trimbled and he 
 
 quailed — 
 And his wife choked until her breath come back, 
 
 'n' she wailed I 
 And " O! " cried she, "it is the Flea, 
 
 All white and pale and wann — 
 He's got you in his clutches, and 
 He's bigger than a man/'^ 
 
 '-''Hoi hoi my Jolly Miller'^ {fo^ Hwas the Flea^ 
 
 fer shore/) ^ 
 '■'• I reckon you'll not rack my bones ner scrunch 
 
 ^em, any more/'* 
 Then the Flea-Ghost he grabbed him clos't, 
 
 With many a ghastly smile. 
 And from the door-step stooped and hopped 
 About four hundred mile ! 
 
 206 
 
WITH THE CURRENT 
 
 Rarest mood of all the year! 
 Aimless, idle, and content — 
 Sky and wave and atmosphere 
 Wholly indolent. 
 
 Little daughter, loose the band 
 
 From your tresses — let them pour 
 Shadow-like o'er arm and hand 
 Idling at the oar. 
 
 Low and clear, and pure and deep, 
 
 Ripples of the river sing — 
 Water-lilies, half asleep. 
 
 Drowsed with listening: 
 
 Tremulous reflex of skies — 
 
 Skies above and skies below, — 
 Paradise and Paradise 
 
 Blending even so ! 
 207 
 
WITH THE CURRENT 
 
 Blossoms with their leaves unrolled 
 
 Laughingly, as they were lips 
 Cleft with ruddy beaten gold 
 Tongues of pollen-tips. 
 
 Rush and reed, and thorn and vine, 
 
 Clumped with grasses lithe and tall- 
 With a web of summer-shine 
 Woven round it all. 
 
 Back and forth, and to and fro — 
 
 Flashing scale and wing as one, — 
 Dragon-flies that come and go, 
 Shuttled by the sun. 
 
 Fairy lilts and lullabies, 
 
 Fine as fantasy conceives, — 
 Echoes wrought of cricket-cries 
 Sifted through the leaves. 
 
 O'er the rose, with drowsy buzz. 
 
 Hangs the bee, and stays his kiss, 
 Even as my fancy does, 
 Gypsy, over this. 
 
 208 
 
WITH THE CURRENT 
 
 Let us both be children — share 
 
 Youth's glad voyage night and day, 
 Drift adown it, half aware. 
 Anywhere we may. — 
 
 Drift and curve and deviate, 
 
 Veer and eddy, float and flow, 
 Waver, swerve and undulate, 
 As the bubbles go. 
 
 14 209 
 
A SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 
 An alien wind that blew and blew 
 
 Over the fields where the ripe grain grew, 
 
 Sending ripples of shine and shade 
 
 That crept and crouched at her feet and played. 
 
 The sea-like summer washed the moss 
 Till the sun-drenched lilies hung like floss, 
 
 Draping the throne of green and gold 
 That lulled her there like a queen of old. 
 
 II 
 
 Was it the hum of a bumblebee, 
 Or the long-hushed bugle eerily- 
 Winding a call to the daring Prince 
 Lost in the wood long ages since ? — 
 
 2IO 
 
A SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 
 A dim old wood, with a palace rare 
 Hidden away in its depths somewhere ! 
 
 Was it the Princess, tranced in sleep, 
 Awaiting her lover's touch to leap 
 
 Into the arms that bent above ? — 
 
 To thaw his heart with the breath of love — 
 
 And cloy his lips, through her waking tears, 
 With the dead-ripe kiss of a hundred years ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 An alien wind that blew and blew. — 
 I had blurred my eyes as the artists do, 
 
 Coaxing life to a half-sketched face, 
 Or dreaming bloom for a grassy place. 
 
 The bee droned on in an undertone ; 
 And a shadow-bird trailed all alone 
 
 Across the wheat, while a liquid cry 
 Dripped from above, as it went by. 
 
 211 
 
A SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 
 What to her was the far-off whir 
 
 Of the quail's quick wing or the chipmunk's chirr ?- 
 
 What to her was the shade that slid 
 Over the hill where the reapers hid? — 
 
 Or what the hunter, with one foot raised, 
 As he turned to go — ^yet, pausing, gazed? 
 
 212 
 
AT AUNTY'S HOUSE 
 
 One time, when we'z at Aunty's house — 
 
 'Way in the country ! — where 
 They's ist but woods — an' pigs, an' cows — 
 
 An' all's outdoors an' air! — 
 An' orchurd-swing; an' churry-trees— 
 An' churries in 'em! — Yes, an' these- 
 Here redhead birds steals all they please, 
 
 An' tetch 'em ef you dare! — 
 W'y, wunst, one time, when we wuz there, 
 We et out on the porch ! 
 
 Wite where the cellar door wuz shut 
 
 The table wuz ; an' I 
 Let Aunty set by me an' cut 
 
 My vittuls up — an' pie. 
 'Tuz awful funny! — I could see 
 The redheads in the churry-tree ; 
 An' beehives, where you got to be 
 
 So keerful, goin' by; — 
 An' " Comp'ny" there an' all! — an' we — 
 We et out on the porch I 
 213 
 
AT aunty's house 
 
 An' I ist et i)'surves an' things 
 
 'At Ma don't 'low me to — 
 An' chickun-gizzztrds — (don't like wings 
 
 Like Paj'unts does! do you?') 
 An' all the time the wind bio wed there, 
 An' I could feel it in my hair, 
 An' ist smell clover ^z'^r'where! — 
 
 An' a' old redhead flew 
 Purt' nigh wite over my high-chair, 
 When we et 07z the porch ! 
 
 214 
 
THE WHITHERAWAYS 
 
 ISet Sail, October 15, 1890] 
 
 The Whitheraways ! — That's what I'll have to call 
 You — sailing off, with never a word at all 
 Of parting! — sailing 'way across the sea, 
 With never one good-bye to 7ne — to me ! 
 
 Sailing away from me, with no farewell! — 
 Ah, Parker Hitt and sister Muriel — 
 And Rodney, too, and little Laurance — all 
 Sailing away — just as the leaves, this Fall ! 
 
 Well, then, /too shall sail on cheerily 
 As now you all go sailing o'er the sea: 
 I've other little friends with me on shore — 
 Though they but make me yearn iox you the more ! 
 
 And so, sometime, dear little friends afar, 
 When this faint voice shall reach you, and you are 
 All just a little homesick, you must be 
 As brave as I am now, and think of me! 
 215 
 
THE WHITHERAWAYS 
 
 Or, haply, if your eyes, as mine, droop low, 
 And would be humored with a tear or so, — 
 Go to your Parents^ Children! — let them do 
 The crying — 'twill be easier for them to! 
 
 216 
 
THE RAGGEDY MAN 
 
 O The Raggedy Man • He works fer Pa ; 
 An' he's the goodest man ever you saw! 
 He comes to our house every day, 
 An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay; 
 An' he opens the shed — an' we all 1st laugh 
 When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf ; 
 An' nen — ef our hired girl says he can — 
 He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. — 
 Aint he a' awful good Raggedy Man? 
 Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 
 
 W'y, The Raggedy Man — he's ist so good 
 He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood; 
 An' nen he spades in our garden, too, 
 An' does most things 'at boys can't do. — 
 He clumbed clean up in our big tree 
 An' shooked a' apple dovi^n fer me — 
 An' nother'n, too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann — 
 An' nother'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man. — 
 Aint he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? 
 Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 
 217 
 
THE RAGGEDY MAN 
 
 An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes 
 An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes: 
 Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, 
 An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swaliers ther- 
 
 selves! ' 
 
 An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot, 
 He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 
 'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can 
 Turn into me, er' Lizabuth Ann! 
 Aint he a funny old Raggedy Man ? 
 
 Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 
 
 The Raggedy Man — one time when he 
 Was makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me. 
 Says '*Whenjj/c2/'r^ big like your Pa is. 
 Air you go' to keep a fine store like his — 
 An' be a rich merchunt — an' wear fine clothes ? — 
 Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows!" 
 An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, 
 An' I says " 'M go' to be a Raggedy Man! — 
 I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!" 
 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 
 
 218 
 
A BOY'S MOTHER 
 
 My Mother she's so good to me, 
 Ef I was good as I could be, 
 I couldn't be as good — no, sir! — 
 Can't any boy be good as her! 
 
 She loves me when I'm glad er sad ; 
 She loves me when I'm good er bad; 
 An', what's a funniest thing, she says 
 She loves me when she punishes. 
 
 I don't like her to punish me. — 
 That don't hurt, — but it hurts to see 
 Her cryin'. — Nen /cry; an' nen 
 We both cry an' be good again. 
 
 She loves me when she cuts an' sews 
 My little cloak an' Sund'y clothes ; 
 An' when my Pa comes home to tea, 
 She loves him most as much as me. 
 
 She laughs an' tells him all I said, 
 An' grabs me up an' pats my head ; 
 An' I hug her^ an' hug my Pa 
 An' love him purt' nigh as much as Ma. 
 2.19 
 
IN SWIMMING-TIME 
 
 Clouds above, as white as wool, 
 
 Drifting over skies as blue 
 As the eyes of beautiful 
 
 Children when they smile at you : 
 Groves of maple, elm, and beech, 
 
 With the sunshine sifted through 
 Branches, mingling each with each. 
 
 Dim with shade and bright with dew. 
 
 Stripling trees, and poplars hoar, 
 Hickory and sycamore. 
 And the drowsy dogwood, bowed 
 Where the ripples laugh aloud, 
 And the crooning creek is stirred 
 
 To a gaiety that now 
 Mates the warble of the bird. 
 
 Teetering on the hazel-bough. 
 
 220 
 
IN SWIMMING-TIME 
 
 Grasses long and fine and fair 
 
 As your schoolboy-sweetheart's hair 
 
 Backward stroked and twirled and twined 
 
 By the fingers of the wind : 
 
 Vines and mosses interlinked 
 
 Down dark aisles and deep ravines, 
 Where the stream runs, willow-brinked. 
 
 Round a bend where some one leans, 
 Faint, and vague, and indistinct 
 
 As the like-reflected thing 
 
 In the current shimmering. 
 
 Childish voices, further on. 
 Where the truant stream has gone, 
 Vex the echoes of the wood 
 Till no word is understood — 
 Save that we are well aware 
 Happiness is hiding there: — 
 There, in leafy coverts, nude 
 
 Little bodies poise and leap, 
 Spattering the solitude 
 And the silence, everywhere — 
 
 Mimic monsters of the deep ! — 
 
 231 
 
IN SWIMMING-TIME 
 
 Wallowing in sandy shoals — 
 
 Plunging headlong out of sight, 
 And, with spurtings of delight, 
 
 Clutching hands, and slippery soles, 
 Climbing up the treacherous steep, 
 
 Over which the spring-board spurns 
 
 Each again as he returns ! 
 
 Ah! the glorious carnival! 
 
 Purple lips — and chattering teeth — 
 Eyes that burn — But, in beneath, 
 
 Every care beyond recall— 
 
 Every task forgotten quite — 
 And again in dreams at night, 
 
 Dropping, drifting through it all ! 
 
 222 
 
THE FISHING PARTY 
 
 WuNST we went a-fishin' — Me 
 An' my Pa an' Ma all three, 
 When they was a pic-nic, 'way 
 Out to Hanch's Woods, one day. 
 
 An' they was a crick out there, 
 Where the fishes is, an' where 
 Little boys 'taint big an' strong, 
 Better have their folks along ! 
 
 My Pa he ist fished an' fished ! 
 An' my Ma she said she wished 
 Me an' her was home ; an' Pa 
 Said he wished so worse' n Ma. 
 
 Pa said ef you talk, er say 
 Anything, er sneeze, er play, 
 Hain't no fish, alive er dead, 
 Ever go' to bite ! he said. 
 
 223 
 
THE FISHING PARTY 
 
 Purt' nigh dark in town when we 
 Got back home ; an' Ma says she, 
 Now she'll have a fish fer shore! 
 An' she buyed one at the store. 
 
 Nen at supper, Pa he won't 
 Eat no fish, an' says he don't 
 Like 'em. — An' he pounded me 
 When I choked! . . . Ma, didn't he? 
 
 224 
 
THE BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM 
 
 The Boy lives on our Farm, he's not 
 
 Afeard o' horses none! 
 An' he can make 'em lope, er trot, 
 
 Er rack, er pace, er nan. 
 Sometimes he drives two horses, when 
 
 He comes to town an' brings 
 A wagon-full o' 'taters nen. 
 
 An' roastin'-ears an' things. 
 
 Two horses is "a team," he says, — 
 
 An' when you drive er hitch, 
 The right-un's a "near-horse," I guess, 
 
 Er "off" — I don't know which. — 
 The Boy lives on our Farm, he told 
 
 Me, too, 'at he can see. 
 By lookin' at their teeth, how old 
 
 A horse is, to a T 1 
 
 15 235 
 
THE BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM 
 
 I'd be the gladdest boy alive 
 
 Ef I knowed much as that, 
 An' could stand up like him an' drive, 
 
 An' ist push back my hat, 
 Like he comes skallyhootin' through 
 
 Our alley, with one arm 
 A-wavin' Fare-ye-well ! to you — 
 
 The Boy lives on our Farm ! 
 
 226 
 
THE. RUNAWAY BOY 
 
 WuNST I sassed my Pa, an' he 
 Won't stand that, an' punished me, — 
 Nen when he was gone that day, 
 I slipped out an' runned away. 
 
 I tooked all my copper-cents, 
 An' clumbed over our back fence 
 In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed 
 Ever' where all down the road. 
 
 Nen I got out there, an' nen 
 
 I runned some — an' runned again 
 
 When I met a man 'at led 
 
 A big cow 'at shooked her head. 
 
 I went down a long, long lane 
 Where was little pigs a-play'n' ; 
 An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!" 
 An' jumped up, an' skeered me too. 
 
 ' Nen I scampered past, an' they 
 Was somebody hollered " Hey!" 
 An' I ist looked ever' where, 
 An' they was nobody there. 
 
 327 
 
THE RUNAWAY BOY 
 
 I want to, but I'm 'fraid to try- 
 To go back. . . .An' by-an'-by, 
 Somepin' hurts my throat inside — 
 An' I want my Ma — an* cried. 
 
 Nen' a grea'-big girl come through 
 Where's a gate, an' tailed me who 
 Am I } an' ef I tell where 
 My home's at she'll show me there. 
 
 But I couldn't ist but tell 
 What's my name; an' she says well, 
 An' she tooked me up an' says 
 She know where I live, she guess. 
 
 Nen she telled me hug wite close 
 Round her neck ! — an' off she goes 
 Skippin' up the street! An' nen 
 Purty soon I'm home again. 
 
 An' my Ma, when she kissed me, 
 Kissed the big girl too, an' she 
 Kissed me — ef I p'omise shore 
 I won't run away no morel 
 
 238 
 
OUR HIRED GIRL 
 
 Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann; 
 
 An' she can cook best things to eat! 
 She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, 
 
 An' pours in somepin' 'at's good and sweet, 
 An' nen she salts it all on top 
 With cinnamon; an'. nen she'll stop 
 
 An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow, 
 In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twont slop 
 
 An' git all spilled ; nen bakes it, so 
 
 It's custard pie, first thing you know! 
 An' nen she'll say: 
 
 * 'Clear out o' my way! 
 
 They's time fer work, an' time fer play! — 
 Take yer dough, an' run, Child ; run! 
 Er I cain't git no cookin' done!" 
 
 When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad, 
 An' says folks got to walk the chalk 
 
 When she's around, er wisht they had, 
 I play out on our porch an' talk 
 229 
 
OUR HIRED GIRL 
 
 To th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn; 
 An' he says " Wheiv !^^ an' nen leans on 
 
 His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes 
 An' sniffs all round an' says, — "I swawn! 
 Ef my old nose don't tell me lies, 
 It 'pears like I smell custard-pies!" 
 An' nen he'll say, — 
 " 'Clear out o' my way! 
 They's time fer work an' time fer play! 
 
 Take yer dough, an' run. Child; run! 
 Er she cain't git no cookin' done!' " 
 
 Wunst our hired girl, when she 
 Got the supper, an' we all et, 
 An' it was night, an' Ma an' me 
 
 An' Pa went wher' the "Social" met, — 
 An' nen wdien we come home, an' see 
 A light in the kitchen-door, an' we 
 
 Heerd a maccordeun, Pa says "Lan'- 
 O'-Gracious! who can her beau be?" 
 An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann 
 Wuz parchin' corn fer the Raggedy Man! 
 
 Better say 
 "Clear out o' the way! 
 230 
 
OUR HIRED GIRL 
 
 They's time fer work, an' time fer play! 
 
 Take the hint, an' run, Child ; run ! 
 Er we cain't git no courtin' done!" 
 
 231 
 
ENVOY 
 
 Many pleasures of Youth have been buoyantly 
 sung — 
 And, borne on the winds of delight, may they 
 beat 
 With their palpitant wings at the hearts of the 
 Young, 
 And in bosoms of Age find as warm a retreat! — 
 Yet sweetest of all of the musical throng, 
 
 Though least of the numbers that upward aspire. 
 Is the one rising now into wavering song. 
 As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire. 
 
 'Tis a Winter long dead that beleaguers my door 
 
 And muffles his steps in the snows of the past: 
 And I see, in the embers I'm dreaming before, 
 
 Lost faces of love as they looked on me last: — 
 The round, laughing eyes of the desk-mate of old 
 
 Gleam out for a moment with truant desire — 
 Then fade and are lost in a City of Gold, 
 
 As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire. 
 
ENVOY 
 
 And then comes the face, peering back in my own, 
 
 Of a shy little girl, with her lids drooping low, 
 As she faltering tells, in a far-away tone. 
 
 The ghost of a story of long, long ago. — 
 Then her dewy blue eyes they are lifted again; 
 
 But I see their glad light slowly fail and expire, 
 As I reach and cry to her in vain, all in vain! — 
 
 As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire. 
 
 Then the face of a Mother looks back, through the 
 mist 
 Of the tears that are welling ; and, lucent with 
 
 light, 
 
 I see the dear smile of the lips I have kissed 
 As she knelt by my cradle at morning and night ; 
 
 And my arms are outheld, with a yearning too wild 
 For any but God in His love to inspire, 
 
 As she pleads at the foot of His throne for her 
 child, — 
 As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire. 
 
 O pathos of rapture ! O glorious pain ! 
 My heai't is a blossom of joy overrun 
 
 ^33 
 
ENVOY 
 
 With a shower of tears, as a lily with rain 
 
 That weeps in the shadow and laughs in the 
 sun. 
 
 The blight of the frost may descend on the tree, 
 And the leaf and the flower may fall and expire, 
 
 But ever and ever love blossoms for me, 
 As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire. 
 
 «34 
 
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