-^^'t^ K'^^ Copyright, 1921 By Thomas F. McCarthy 3/0LA627758 flUGi6'2l CONTENTS MISSING LINKS ___.--- 1 OTHER THINGS— THE DANGER MARK .-...- 25 IT DOESN'T PAY TO BEi TOO PARTICULAR .-.._. 26 LET S GIVE IT TO THEM . - . - 27 AUTUMN DAYS -.>..- 27 SOMETHING'S ALWAYS MISSING - 28 THE TEST OP CULTURE _ _ _ 29 THE FIRST ROBIN ....-- 29 THAT BREATH OF SPRING _ - . 29 SPRINGING A SPRING SOMETHING - 30 OH, SHAH _._.-.-- 31 FRIENDS ____--.- 32 ON ADOPTING A HOBBY _ _ . - 33 TO MY VALENTINE _ . _ . _ 34 IT ALL DEPENDS UPON THE WEATHER 36 THOSE PASSING GLANCES ... 37 THE SNOWSTORM . > > - . 38 V/HEN THE LEAVES BEGIN TO FALL _ 39 BACK TO NATURE _ _ - . - 39 LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION _ 40 LINES ON A DARK KNIGHT > . . 41 A. B.-ING IN THE KITCHEN _ _ - 42 WILL SOMEBODY KINDLY REMOVE THE SUNRISE __._-- 43 WHY MEN HAVE LEFT HOME > > 43 THE DREAMER WAKES . > . - 44 ODE (H.C.L.) ._._--- 46 OUR ALIBI _ - 47 SHIVERY .--.--- 47 FALSE COLORS .--..-- 48 TO— TWO GUESSES . _ _ _ _ 48 HAS IT EVER OCCURED TO YOU - - 49 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE— MY SONG -..,._-- 55 THANKSGIVING _._.-. 55 OCTOBER'S LOVER . . _ . . 56 APPRAISAL _ - . - _ - _ 56 A SIMPLE -FLOWER . _ . . . 57 NOCTURNE ....>_- 57 TRUE POETRY ------ 58 NEW YEARS, 1917-18 - . - - . 59 SONNET ----._.. 61 ASHES OP LOVE 62 HOPE -_--.__--. 62 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD . _ _ 63 CONTENTMENT __.._. 63 THE HUNTER'S MOON . _ _ _ 64 CARGOES _-.-.___ 65 ODE TO THE BIRD'S RETURN _ _ _ 65 EYES THAT ARE MISSING . . - 66 LOVE AND MUSIC ...___ 67 THE SOUL OP LOVE . . . ^ _ 67 EVERYTHING GOES UP IN SMOKE - 68 THE SOUL'S LAST LOVE . . _ . 69 THE LAST LOVE .--... 70 HOPELESS __._-.. 72 OLD PUZZLE BOOK _ .... 73 A WINTRY PRAYER . _ _ > . 75 THE LEAVEN OP TEARS . . _ . 76 WERE I THE KING OP PAIRYLAND > 76 IT GOES BACK TO ITS OWN _ _ - 77 HER SPIRIT --_.--_ 77 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS— A GYPSY'S LONGING _ . . . . 83 PREEDOM -_.-_- ^ 84 THE BALM OP TEARS _ . _ - 84 WAITING ... - - - - _ 85 BUTTERFLIES .___-- 86 SUNSETS >___._- 86 AUGUST ___--._. 87 MY DREAMS AND I _ . . . . 87 THE REAL ARISTOCRAT . . . . 88 TRAGEDY _.__.__.- 89 TO A NORTH DAKOTA NIGHT . _ _ 89 WHEN GYPSIES GO HOME _ . . 90 THE CYNIC _-._.__ 91 TO A CALIPORNIA POPPY _ _ . . 92 MOODS (LISTENING TO THE ORCHESTRA PLAY "HOME, SWEET HOME") _ . 94 AT THE PEET OP KINGS - _ _ 97 A PRO-BRITISH KITTEN _ . . . 98 OLD CLOTHES ...-_. 99 THE AWAKENING HOUR _ _ _. 100 MY COMPANIONS OP THE NIGHT . 101 MAN AND HIS FUTURE - . _ , 101 TRANSCIENT MOODS . _ . . 102 Go, take this message to her, Little Book, Asking her charity the while Her gay eyes in thy simple pages look. Mayhap in vain, to find a smile; Let these rhymes trifles caustic critics brave. Expecting therefrom only scorn as toll; But just for you, alone, Old Pal, I'll save The great unwritten poems of my soul. BY WAY OF APOLOGY Inasmuch as the author prides himself with sumcient power of discrimination to judge poetry from mere verse, he feels that, despite all his poetical faults that critics may find in this collection, he did not try to exalt his work by dignifying it with the name "poetry." It is merely that kind of composition commonly known as "newspaper verse," most of it having been ground out on a typewriter in an editorial room to top off a daily "colyum," personally conducted by him. Most of the verses here- in appeared in the New Paltz (N. Y.) Times, of which he was at one time editor, and in the Devils Lake Daily Journal, on which pa- per he is now earning the price of the doughnuts which he eats. He feels that if his sensitive critics wil,l look upon the work in its true light, they will accept it for what it is, and not for what they want it to be. The author regrets that, due to hasty proof-reading, several typographical errors have crept into the verses, which have a nasty habit of staring at hikn as the eyes of dead man do at the man's murderer. But the author consoles himself with the thought that such things creep into the best regulated publications. — T. F. McC. Devils Lake, N. D., June 1, 1921. MISSING LINKS J. It puzzles me at times Which came first, The tail or The monkey. 11. I wonder, Watching people come and go, If the Missing Link Did leave only his Tail to propogate the species; So many people are like tails: Useful only for wagging And hanging 'round. III. If only the fittest survive, What excuse for existeitce, Frinstance, Have landlords And critics? IV. The Old Stone Age Is a long ways off: My fame as a poet Likewise. MISSING LINKS I would dedicate a ballad To Pithycanthropus Erectus And praise him because He left something Whereby we could remember him- He never tried to write poetry. vi. Ballads written To la woman's eyes Turn tragedies The while she winks At the other fellow. VII. A good monkey is, I think, More useful Than a bad singer: The monkey knows his place And stays up there. VIII. Evolution is A wonderful thing: It took the Lord A million years To produce the plumber. MISSING LINKS IX. It is a long step From monkey to man; It is a short step From man to monkey. X. Does the bee sting The flower It kisses the while It sips the honey? I have known of Other kisses That carry their stings- XI. When men have nothing To fight for There will be no more wars. But woman We have with us always. XII. There are three periods In the life of a day When I muse over Life and its mysteries — Frinstance, Lying in bed in the morning, Sitting in the barber's chair, And getting my shoes shined. MISSING LINKS XIII. To be broken-hearted, Yet hide your tears; To be afraid of death, Yet flaunt your fears ; To be penniless Yet sing a song; To be with crooks. Yet do no wrong; To love a woman, Yet knov/ she hates; Smile at one grief While another waits — To be all of this Is part of the plan God had in mind When He visioned a man. XIV. Love is so strange a thing To some men. That they mistake it For poison ivy And run away. XV. To be a reader Of the world's best books Is to be in partnership With God. MISSING LINKS XVL I could be a traitor To many things. Frinstance — To a bottle of Scotch, To a loveless kiss, To a purse of gold — These bring tears. But my country Makes me gay With patriotism, And the joy Of duty. No mian can be a traitor To such happiness. xvn. I often wonder. While she plays dreams On the piano, If her soul sails With the songs The music sings Into the mysterious. Invisible realms Of the unseen world — Or does she merely Strike a chord, And let it go its Unseen way Alone, dying, forgotten? MISSING LINKS ill XVIII. When you feel The world has turned Against you — Turn around And watch the sunrise. XIX. My town has many things Of which I am proud; Frinstance, The sunrise, Moonlight nights, Lavender sunsets. And some people Who love life so much That they smile When one greets them. XX. Loving a woman Merely because her eyes are blue, Is like drinking home brew Merely because it has been colored. XXI. Some people have Combination locks on their hearts; Then, Lose the combinations. MISSING LINKS XXII. She said she would Like to sail the Nile — I heiard of a woman once Who sailed the Nile, Broke a Roman's heart And lost an empire — The Nile puts Bad notions into Folks' heads. XXIII. Dreams, dreams, dreams: Fairy tales re-lived; Sheheresade re-telling Her king an endless story; Knights riding out to combat ; Romeo re-loving Juliet; Antony re-vamped by Cleopatra; Rome rising and falling; Pirate gold again dug up, And men dying To make a woman smile — That is how I felt, These things filled my soul ; Yet I was sober. The orchestra was playing The Barcarole From the Tales of Hoffman. MISSING LINKS XXIV. A little, green, clay Buddha Upon the table stood; Breathing burning incense, As little Buddhas should. I gazed land sort of wondered, How like that thing is man : Clay statue, soul but incense. Burning for a span. Clay statue, yet a gypsy, Almost a living thing; He tries to dance, to love, to kiss, And even tries to sing. And when the burning incense Dies and fades laway. The statue falls to pieces — > Like that little god of clay. XXV. He fought his country's battles. He was tall, gawky, lean. His uniform too large, His manner rough, His voice gruff. His stride ungainly, Yet— His death was graceful. Harmoniously musical ; His shroud was woven On the loom of Duty, And was a perfect fit. MISSING LINKS XXVI. Some men drink to be merry, Others to forget their troubles, While still others Merely to get drunk. XXVII. Moths fly about The electric lights, But never get shocked. Men fly about the light That lies in woman's eyes, And become electrocuted. Or something. XXVIII. When a man falls in love He never knows whether He's bound heavenward Or hellward. He soon gets married And learns the truth. XXIX. It is mighty hard to Know one's place In the eternal scheme Of things When the other fellow always Marries the girl. 10 MISSING LINKS XXX. An old auto passed by door, 'Twas not a pretty one, Its paint was off in spots, And its old motor Made a noisy sound, Yet— It v/as moved by the same Invisible power that moves God's most beautiful orbs. XXXI. Music is often intoxicating. Which is one thing The prohibitionists Overlooked. For all small favors Let us be thankful. XXXII. The Land of Alibi Is inhabited by Lazy men, Whose only laws Are excuses, And who never get Anywhere. It's a helluva country To be president of. MISSING LINKS 11 XXXIII. A man does three Desperate things In a lifetime, Frinstance : Gets born, Palls in love. And drinks home brew. XXXIV. It has long been A mooted question, Which eyes are the More beautiful. Brown or blue. However, it is merely A matter of circumstance. XXXV. Treasure Island Is a fairyland. Completely surrounded By dreams. The only people who Find it are those who Try to make Their dreams come true. 12 MISSING LINKS XXXVI. Her smile was so warm Tliat it would melt The coldest heart- Eiit it was an Absolute failure Trying to thaw the Ice in the mJlk bottle. XXXVII. When I would humble myself, I go out into the night And look up at the stars, And revel in their infinite Distance and glorious Lustre. Then I go to sleep, Thinking how small An atom is man, How weak the light of fame, And how soon Is he forgotten. The stars are laughing At our sense of Self-importance. MISSING LINKS 13 XXXVIII. Marriage does one Of two things for a man: It makes a better man of him, Or drives him to drink- But the driving is not As good as it used to be. XXXIX. I like to think of my past As a book that has b§en Read and placed back On the shelf. I take it down occasionally To have it rebound; But the binder cannot Erase the tear stains On some of the pages, Nor replace the pages Of lost opportunities Which have been torn out. He merely makes the book Look respectable alongside Those of today and the Hopes of tomorrow. 14 MISSING LINKS XL. Some men fall in love Because they can't help it, And others because They want someone to Darn their socks. But all roads lead To matrimony. XLI. There are two occasions When a man will make A fool of himself, Frinstance, When a woman is laughing At his antics, And when he is Drinking Home Brew. XLII. Making the whole world Dry might have Serious consequences. Consider the predicament Of the moon — Nobody will live on it. MISSING LINKS 15 THERE IS NO CHOICE. She asked us which we preferred, A bottle of wine Or a woman's love. We answered That when one Must decide . 'Twixt love and duty His duty comes first. Strange to say, She hasn't Spoken to us since. HOPE AND OTHER THINGS. We told her we Wrote poetry to the moon. ''When the moon is Not shining, What do you do?" She asked demurely. ''Well/' We told her, "We write it anyway, Hoping the moon Will shine again- "There ^.ilways Has beein an Excuse for poetry." 16 MISSING LINKS NOW WHAT WOULD YOU DO IN A CASE LIKE THAT? We were discussing Circuses and theatres. We told her We should like to Travel with a circus. Oh, yes, She said demurely, I always liked The clowns. WOMAN'S WILES. There was laughter in her eyes, And a smile upon her lips; She was very jolly About something She was reiading in a letter. I made bold to Ask her why so merry? She turned her eyes On me and smiled: ''This boob says In his letter That I am the only Girl in the world.'' Whereat I Smiled with her. MISSING LINKS 17 RESEMBLANCES. The wind has a wierd Tale- Sounds, so to speak, Like a political Campaign — > It blows. And blows, And blows, Yet— It says nothing. HOW TO BE CLEVER THOUGH OTHERWISE. Various people Have various talents: Some dance well, Others are apt at bridge ; Still others Are good conversationalists, And a few are Really entertaining. We are content To watch the Others show off TTieir talents. That's the best thing We do. 18 MISSING LINKS BEING SOULFUL IS HARD ON THE SOLES. I think I could Look into her eyes And find something Soulful there; Something deep and Thrilling — If— She didn't insist Upon looking into mine And saying "Let's shimmy." CARPENTIER. He is the hero of the hour; Fought the Huns, And his France Decorated him. He has a swing that Has lulled many a would-be champ To sleep for the count; He is a king of pugilists, A pug of pugs — But— . He's French, And he likes violets. MISSING LINKS 19 THERE ARE SEVERAL HEREAFTERS. We were talking About spiritism, And the astral plane And the cosmos, And all that sort of thistg. '*Can you converse With some of my dead Ancestors?" She asked us. We told her we could If we were properly Introduced to them. "That's for You to arrange," She said- She didn't tell Us where they are. And lest we Perchance name The wrong place, We thought We had pursued The subject Sufficiently. 20 MISSING LINKS WHY MEN DO THIS OR THAT. Some men sing because They feel that way, Others because they Can't help it, And still others Because they Don't know any better- THINGS THAT CRAWL. She is a very sensible Young woman; She told me there Are only two things Of which she is afraid : Men and Rattlesnakes. POOR RICH MEN. She said she wants To marry a millionaire ; That he must be Very, very old, With one foot in the grave. But she is Very pretty, and Men like that Have weak eyesight Which makes them Poor indeed. OTHER THINGS THE DANGER MARK. She asked him why, with cold disdain, He flew from her embrace. And why he sang no sweet refrain Unto her lovely face. She asked him why he would evade The smiles her eyes impart. (She feared he was a bit afraid That love would break his heart-) *'It is not all of love to kiss," He answered patiently, **Nor all of love to feel a bliss In amorous melody. "Some love thee for thine azure eyes, And some thy lips would sing: And to thy hair some breatheth sighs, Some love thy laughter's ring- ''Whenas on thee mine eyes doth gaze, How far the distance be. My soul with love is all ablaze — And this sufRceth me. "And thus safe distance I shall seek. Nor care if thou dost scoff — ril kiss thee not on lips nor cheek, Lest all thy paint come off." OTHER THINGS IT DOESN'T PAY TO BE TOO PARTICULAR. Bespeak me, old Bacchus, whom we have" offended By making thy virtues all Eighteenth amended, A glass of some, rare, mellowed biting nepenthe. Something that Jupiter's wine makers sent thee To cheer up old Jove when wild Mars or Minerver Jazzed on Olympus with overmuch ferver. Bespeak me, I ask thee with voice some- what teary A f^lass of some old stuff; Fm getting quite weary Of drov/ning my gloom in this doubtful Home Brew, Which isn't a bit like the good old stuff you Used to hand 'cross the bar ere the world went insane For the want of a drought which I fear will remain. Or, Bacchus, if thou knowest not where they hid The wine that we drank ere they clamped down the lid OTHER THINGS I prithee that thou, in pure symp'athy bring Some Mule, or Home Brew — or any old thing- LET'S GIVE IT TO THEM. Such a slender type of maiden, Hair as black as any night; And her slender form arrayed in Flimsy dreams of purest white ; Her eyes are big, bright blueish things. Her mouth's a cupid's bow; , Her voice is music when she sings; Her cheeks with tint aglow: A tiny part of God's big plan, A blushing rose among the weeds, And yet she drives the biggest man Afield to do great deeds. To think that such a little thing Should cause so much unrest Among us men, from slave to king — 'Tis a woman's world at best. AUTUMN DAYS. Gold across the sunset sky, Cool blows the breath of morn. Summer birds now southward fly — And thus is Autumn born. Forgotten summer with its heat, And stilled is Pluvius' thunder; 28 OTHER THINGS Refilled with life are folks we meet And old ills torn asunder. A little spell of days like these — Of sunsets draped in gold, Of zephyrs dancing through the trees, Of joys unsung, untold. They're but a little interlude, A respite filled with thrills. Between hot Summer's desuetude And Winter's winds and chills. SOMETHING'S ALWAYS MISSING. He loves her face, angelic, Loves the dreamy look that lies Deep down within those jewels God had given her for eyes. He loves her sylph-like figure. And the silkness of her hair; He tells us there's no woman That with her can quite compare. She's beautiful and brilliant, Yet simple are her frocks; And he loves her, aye, adores her — But she wouldn't darn his socks OTHER THINGS 29 THE TEST OF CULTURE. She may have eyes that sparkle Like Aldebaran at night; Her lips may be inviting-, And her hair a gorgeous sight. She may be versed in fiction, Or adept at weaving rhyme ; She may be quite romantic, And her thoughts may be sublime. She may be wondrous, queenly, A blushing rose, perchance — "But listen, kid, now tell me. Can the Jane you speak of dance?" THE FIRST ROBIN. How lonesome must the robin be Who pipes his song of spring. In North Dakota's wintry March — No worms nor anything. I think he shows poor judgment In his wild desire to fly; He ought to wait 'til spring is here, Say, some time in July- THAT BREATH OF SPRING. There is a breath of springtime In the circumambient air; 30 OTHER THINGS But Spring is such a blusterer — He blows things ev'ry where. He blows my lid 'way down the street; My lady's equipoise Is much disturbed by Spring's strong breath — (Her hosiery makes much noise.) Old Spring is ^uch a blusterer — I fear he'll be my death; He blows and blows and blows and blows — I wish he'd hold his breath. SPRINGING A SPRING SOMETHING ABOUT CLEAN-UP WEEK. His name was Galileo And he dreamed some funny dreams, About the stars and planets And the sun's unending beams. But since he was a dreamer, Of the visionary kind, Others ridiculed him — They were ignorant and blind. With vision telescopic Galileo swept the skies, OTHER THINGS 31 And thereby cleaned the cobwebs from Men's superstitious eyes. And thus the dirt of ages, And the ignorance, it seems, . Were swept away forever by Old Galileo's dreams. And here in this old town, of course, We need not svv^eep the skies To find a world of beauty, for 'Before our doors it lies. And yet we may not see it, Nor be sure that it is here, If it is hidden underneath The rubbish of a year. So while we're dreaming April dreams. And while the birdies sing — Let's Galileonize the town. And sweep the dear old thing. OH, SHAH! There's an Oriental something Hov'ring 'round my realm of dreams; A something sort o' mystical So strange * * * ^^^^ y^-j. j-j- seems To bring back thoughts that sometime In the distant long ago I was a Persian something And I sang a ballado 32 OTHER THINGS Unto a liquid something With a taste that seemed to last * * * I drank it all (the liquid) In that bygone day that's past- I wonder what returns such thoughts Unto my realm of dreams; They do not seem to fit at all In prohibition schemes * * * There's an Oriental something * * * Now, there it comes again — I wonder if I was a Shah And wined with Musselmen * * * There's an Oriental something * * * Oh, doggone it, what a fool Am I to let it get my goat * * * Say, boy, unhitch that mule!* (*A North Dakota drink noted for its kick.) FRIENDS. Her eyes were haunted with a smile. And round her little lips A teasing something did beguile, As wine your senses grips. Her hair had all the softness of The locks of Priam's maid ; OTHER THINGS 33 It seemed quite natural to love A lady thus arrayed. And I did love her — verily — I almost told her so — (Ye Gods, to think that men like me Such silliness should show.) For she was such a little thing; Quite young — yet, wise, at that; I held her close, to hear her sing — This little pussy-cat. ON ADOPTING A HOBBY. Lord Byron swam the Hellespont To prove Leander could, For Byron had to' pull the stunt To make his verses good; Bill Shakespeare had a penchant, So his biographers say. Of poaching on his neighbors In a reckless sort o' way; Tom Moore, who used to tilt the glass TTie while he'd poetize, Had something of a weakness for The light in woman's eyes; They tell us Keats, when Fate had clipped His wings before she oughter Desired the future to recall 34 OTHER THINGS His name was writ on water; 01 Goldsmith had a garret Where he starved and cursed the times; Chris Marlowe on the bean was biffed While full of booze and rhymes. And thus it does appear to all That poets of the past, Had funny little hobbies That have made their mem'ries last. And it is not unnatural, Knowing how these guys got by, That I should hunt a hobby, So these Links and things won't die. And thus I think I'll cultivate — In re aforesaid rule — A friendship with the fellow who's Yclept the Animule.* (* Meaning, of course, home brew.) TO MY VALENTINE. I love you — You with eyes that sparkle Like a goblet of wine; Whose silken tresses fall Like Niagara's graceful waves, OTHER THINGS 35 Over the rolling precipice of Your alabaster brow! I love you — You, whose silvery voice Gives warmth to the cool winter air It strikes, and far surpasses The liquid warblings of Summer's sweetest birds! Yea, I love you — Fairest of all the fair, You, whose youthful heart And gay young soul Make light the burdens of the Universe, I love you ! And you are all I say you are; To me the sun rises in the lustrous Brilliance of your wistful eye; The moon has not a greater grace Than that which outlines the Delicate countour of your countenance. You are the most beautiful thing The world has ever seen. With all the little quiverings of My throbbing heart, With all the eloquence at my command, With all the fervor of a loveful soul, And with all the hope of 36 OTHER THINGS One whose love is real, I send you this, my valentine — But, for the love of Mike, What's your name, And where do you live? IT ALL DEPENDS UPON THE WEATHER. Oh, for the life of the gypsy, ,To wander at will o'er the land; With never a sorrow or worry — A gypsy so care-free and tanned. rd sing to the God of Creation- (Were I but a gypsy and free) A song filled with wildest elation (That is, if He'd listen to me.) And being a gypsy and wand'ring At will o'er the fields and the woods, I'd laugh at the high cost of living — For Nature delivers the goods. Yet, ere I began my crusadin', (That is, as a gypsy, you know) I'd corral a wee, winsome maiden. And make her a real gypsy beau. And rhymes I would pluck from the flowers, OTHER THINGS 37 An epic Td slice from the dew ; And these would my love serve at lunch- eon — A veritable gypsical stew- V/e'd sip from the clover its honey (That is, when we've learned how 'tis done) We'd never need hanker for money, And clothes la Poiret we would shun. Oh, for the life of a gypsy, To wander at will o'er the land — Where's the maid who is willing to wander And live the free life I have planned? Yet, girlie, while thinking it over, In thoughts more prosaic and plain, My gypsical wanderings would oft be Postponed on account of the rain- THOSE PASSING GLANCES. I looked into her dreamy eyes, And she returned the glance; And yet, I should not dare surmise (She liked the circumstance. For I have never met the maid By formal etiquette — And yet her eyes seemed unafraid To speak when mine they met. 38 OTHER THINGS And now the thing I'd like to know Is what she said to me The while her eyes looked at me so — Was it disdain or glee? Yet, fearing lest the truth might hurt I'll take not any chance To quizz her, but will keep alert For just a passing glance. And while her voice to friends will speak Of men and things and books, Her dreamy eyes I e'er shall seek And talk to her in looks. THE SNOWSTORM. If I were a little bird, I'd find a winged mate, And then we two (upon my word) Would 'migitely migrate. Or, if I were a fuzzy bear. When winter 'round doth roll, I should worry, I should care — I'd crawl into my hole. But since I'm not a fuzzy bear. Nor any winged thing ; I'll shiver in the wintry air. And whistle for the Spring. OTHER THINGS 39 BACK TO NATURE. Whenas in furs my lady goes, Betogged therewith from head to toes, Meseems she looks a wee bit wild, (Albeit she is very mild) ^ And makes me think how Darwin once Was hight a fool and eke a dunce For telling us we all once wore A suit of furs — and nothing more. WHEN THE LEAVES BEGIN TO FALL. Nature has painted the beautiful leaves A beautiful color of brown; Yet, Oh, how my sensitive soul sadly grieves To see all those leaves falling down. The tree looks so sad when he's stripped of his coat. That gold colored coat wrapped around ; Naked he stands, while o'er the lawn floats His leaves with their rustling sound. I love the brown leaves, and their shades make me glad; I write of their beauty with ease ; But raking them up on the lawn makes me mad — I wish they would stay on the trees- 40 OTHER THINGS LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. Her eyes were beautiful blue things That looked into mine and smiled; I saw a strange story in them, And as I peered deeply into her soul My eyes suddenly dropped, And I saw her lips * * * Ah, my Soul, such lips; They were like a bottle of rare old wine, Unopened, yet inviting * * * Ah, forgive me, I was speaking Of her blue eyes — I looked again into them to find The love story of the ages- It was there; Long I looked and read the tale : Again I saw Cleopatra lost In the arms of Antony; Dante wooed his heavenly Beatrice; Eloise her Abelared kissed The while I looked, And Romeo smiled in Juliet's eyes — vSuch scenes saw I within Her beautiful blue eyes * * * But again my gaze dropped. It met her red lips — I forgot for the moment the blue In her eyes, the ancient tales of love That hid beneath their depths, OTHER THINGS 41 Gone were Antony and his Nilish 'Vamp," Forgotten Abelard and Romeo — All I saw was lips, lips * * * Well, I just kissed them, That's all. LINES ON A DARK KNIGHT. Oh, would I were a knight and bold, Accoutred for the fray. And things were as they were of old When knights at arms did play. rd search me out a winsome dame, .And pledge her to my heart; Then off I'd speed with eyes aflame, And prove my knightly art. And when I've slain a million knights And spoiled their knightly ire, rd speed me back to Love's delights, 'And claim my heart's desire. And if the damsel failed, forsooth. To love me as she ought, I'd eat her where she stood, in truth, To sooth my knightly wroth. So, love, I hope you'll cease to try To live as folks of old, And thank your lucky stars that I Am not a knight so bold. 42 OTHER THINGS A. B.-ING IN THE KITCHEN. She cavorted through a college Sponging up a lot of knowledge Doled up philosophic guys In glasses rimmed with gaudy tortoise shells; She learned to think with Plato. Learned the why of the potato, Read the method of Descartes And other philosophic swells. She won, by her endeavor To Columbus Truth wherever / TTiat elusive thing should wander In its temperamental sprees, A scholastic reputation; And upon her graduation She was decorated with a lot Of Latinized degrees. Her knowledge is profound and She's a joy to have around and She often makes us *'Knowitalls" Feel like a lot of fishes; "Now, how do you apply,'' I asked, As in her beaming smile I basked, 'This knowledge?'' And she said: '*I'm helping mother wash the dishes." OTHER THINGS 43 WILL SOMEBODY KINDLY REMOVE THE SUNRISE. I love to watch the big red sun Sink down beyond the west, Awakening within my soul Its sweetest dreams and best. But when the same sun in the morn Arises in the east, Awakening my sleepy soul, I hate the big red beast. WHY MEN HAVE LEFT HOME. The Olympic charms of Venus (Shot an arrow through our heart Whenas that classic beauty Starting vamping as an art; And then the Trojan Helen Bumped us with her winning smile, And Cleopatra vamped us As we sailed the ancient Nile. And to our call Monastic Elois her love would write. And on the streets of Florence We were vamped by B'trice right; The lady known as Juliet Was a wonder as a vamp. And with the wild DuBarry The Parisian streets we'd tramp; 44 OTHER THINGS We never can forget the way Priscilla carried on The time she pulled that vamping stuff On Miles and poor old John. And yet, we have survived the jolts 'These dames our hearts have vext; And when the last has vamped us clean — We're ready for the next- THE DREAMER WAKES. My soul in dreamy moods is oftimes lost, And those are times when I could crave to be Remote from worldly things — just to be tossed Upon the billows of my memory's mystic sea, Where sail serenely tales of ages past: Of knights who died to make a woman smile. Of conquering kings who peaceful lands harrasst, How Egypt's queen a Roman did beguile, How Ceaser headlong plunged thru bar'bric land And died a martyr to ambition's lust; How Roland fell, to keep his chief's com- mands. And how Ganelon broke his sacred trust; In sooth, my soul, when in these dreamy a winged thing That holds, us for a while, as in a spell, When all is good, nor anything is wrong; And sad are they who let the Scarab's sting Sink deep into their hearts; for heed ye well. Love's born of music ; dies when ends the song. THE SOUL OF LOVE. He fell in love with a fairy queen Who reigned in realms above the clouds; Whose vesture was a shimmering sheen, And his, rough raiment like grim shrouds. Her castle was a place of dreams, Where nothing crude could enter in ; His home a hut with rough hewn beams, No hope had he a queen to win. 6S ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE Aiid year by year, the while she ruled In queenly grace her dreams' domain, The fire within his heart was cooled — But he was ne'er himself again. That part of him which was his soul, The thing unseen by worldly men. He sent to her; she kept the whole. And never sent it back again. And now he's waiting for that time. When as the rest of him has flown Tlie upward path to her to climb, Claiming what was once his own. EVERYTPIING GOES UP IN SMOKE, He lit a cigarette then, musing, spoke: '*How much is love like this thing which we smoke : Each lives a burning moment, each brings dreams, A momentary thrill — and then it seems That when the fire dies, the spell is lost, And coldness chills both like a winter's frost." I looked upon him in a puzzled way. And wondered o'er the things he had to say; *'What happens then," I asked in nonchal- ance — ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 69 He gave me something of a merry glance — '*0h, well/' he said, **I seldom sigh or fret, But merely smile — and light another cig- arette." THE SOUL'S LAST LOVE. Out of the ashes of empires Greater dominions did rise; Out of its wrecks the Soul aspires New birth, new love, new ties. And the songs that it sings, reliving. Ring truer than those of old; 'Tis a Soul that is only giving A love that never grows cold. Yet, as in the ages of history Great nations in triumph have died; Eternity's same great Mystery Claims the Soul as her fun'ral bride. So the Soul, in its greatest glory, Lists to its own death knell; And its last great, chanted story Is the song of its last farewell. 70 ADVENTURES V/ITH APHRODITE THE LAST LOVE. There's a useless sort o' beggar Livin' on the mountain side; His clothes are torn and ragged And he seems to have no pride. His house is but a shaky hut, That trembles with the wind; His furniture a chair and stool, Of hand made, rough hewn kind. His hair is long and curly And his face, which none have seen Is covered with a shaggy beard — A sorrow wight, I ween I happened up that way one day, When June smiled in the skies. To quiz this lonesome beggar All about his family ties. I asked him why he lived alone. Why dressed he so uncouth, < Why ne'er a razor touched his face, Had e'er he been a youth? I told him of the great big world, With all its joys of livin'; Of brotherhood of man and love, And some of Christian givin'. ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 71 The old man laughed a joyous laugh, (I knew not he could smile) ''Your world's an empty hole," he said, *'Whiie mine's a beauteous pile." '*What cares my God how ragged, torn, The raiment that I wear; What cares He if I ne'er have shorn My head or face of hair?" ''He chides me not whenas my home Doth dance with every breeze; Nor cares He not if I must eat Beneath His tow'ring trees. "He only asks that I be kind To birds and bees and, flowers; That, though I mingle not with men, J love them all the hours." "And so, my friend, the God I love Sees not the things that fade ; He cares not how my body's dressed But how my soul's arrayed-" I like that ragged beggar and When other friends have fled, I'll build myself a mountain hut And love his God instead. mm liif 72 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE HOPELESS. TTie flower smiles a moment, And then it dies; The star may lose its lustre — .But not your eyes. The bird may in his singing Cease to rejoice; The harp may lose its music — But not your voice. Fades the rose's petals The wild bee sips; The sunset's red turns pallid — But not your lips. Men have ceased their praying To Him above; Faith has died, discouraged — But not my love. Your lipS; your eyes, your singing- A trinity God made to prove His wonder — But not for me. ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 73 OLD PUZZLE BOOK. L He was a queer old fellow; Never had a lot to say J The nights he passed in mooning, And dreamed away the day. Something sad seemed hidden In his meloncholy look; And people only knew him by The name, "Old Puzzle Book." He never seemed to be in love, Nor even seemed to hate ; Always reading verse and things Which others would berate. He had no close companion, Nor ever seemed to play; Yet always seemed contented As he went his lonely way. n. One dreary day we missed him jAnd his meloncholy look; And most of us forgot the face Of queer old Puzzle Book. But searching in his empty house We found a crumpled note, Written by the queer old man — These are the things he wrote: 74 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE *'Ah, you were fair as roses Swaying in the summer wind ; And I was but a dusty weed, Beiow your gentle kind. ''And yet as even dusty weeds Will love the light of day, I loved you, fairest flower. And will love you thus alway. ''I never could deserve you — Should dusty roadside weed Expect to win a garden rose? Not for mine such meed. ''So you have gone your happy way; Mine paved with silent tears; Your heart has found its own sweet kind, Mine lost in useless years." Then we knew who found this verse. Why queer Old Puzzle Book Mooned all night and dreamed all day With melancholy look. m. One day when Spring spread forth her arms Embracing all her own We found beside a wild rose bush A form whence life had flown. ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE And it was queer Old Puzzle Book — His soul had left this noisy whirl ; Clasped to his heart, in fond embrace, We found a picture of a girl. And so, beneath the April green Where dust nor weeds can blow. We buried them, full sure that soon Another rose will grow. A WINTRY PRAYER. Speed up, Oh Time, thy lazy flights To April days and summer nights. When budding tree and blushing rose Across the prairie fragrance blows. Return the gypsy wanderer. Without the need of wintry fur ; Bring back the songs of meadow larks, Put summer joys in woods and parks. Return the mystic Milky Way, Whereunder youthful lovers play; Put warmth into the sunset sky, As some wild summer day doth die. Oh Time, I prithee speed a bit. The winter's cruel ^ I'm tired of it; Pray speed that happy moment v/hen The gypsy bird flies North again. 76 ADVENTURES Vv^ITH APHRODITE THE LEAVEN OF TEARS Into memory's fragrant realm, That grows with each tomorrow, Flit today's sweet, transcient joys, And every tearful sorrow. And as I turn the pages of The Book of Days and Years, I find the smiles oft crowded out By too excess of tears. For all the joys we would prolong Come to an early death; As singers cease their music when They lose their mellowed breath. And yet I know the Master Hand TTiat binds the fated Book Wills we learn Life's purposes In every backward look. And joy must be a short-lived thing To gain its own hereafter; Better a Memory bathed in tears Than one dead drunk with laughter. WERE I THE KING OF FAIRYLAND. Were I the King of Fairyland, .And you the Queen thereof, I'd have the Fairy choruses Pipe nothing but of love. ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 77 TTie birds would be your subjects, Singing homage to your eyes; The big red sun would set for you, And just for you he'd rise. rd have the wildwood flowers breathe Sweet fragrance when you're near; And let no things unsightly spoil Your happiness, my dear. And, better than these joyous things, Fd fill your realm with love — Were I the King of Fairyland, ^nd you the Queen thereof. IT GOES BACK TO ITS OWN. The frost ne'er kills the rose, she said; Such beauty never dies; God merely covers up its head From Man's cold, vulgar eyes. HER SPIRIT. TTie red rose fills with perfume xThe garden's freshened air; It asks no compensation For what it gives men there. And he who loves thee, sweet one, Would give his life for thee. And >asks that thou return him Not any royalty. 1 78 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE Fpr, loving thee is perfume That fills his soul with cheer; And happy is he, hoping That thou art somewhere near. i w MISCELLANEOUS MOODS A GYPSY'S LONGING. We've followed the gypsy trail where it leads To the edge of the rainbow's rim; We've lost ourselves in the woods' high weeds,^ Or cities, when lights grow dim; We've breathed the beauties of ancient Rome, And stood 'neath Chephram's Sphinx; We've found romance on the ocean's foam, And seen the sun as it drinks Its night cap 'neath the 'rizon's edge, And the stars peep out on high; We've dreamed our dreams, on a stony ledge Where the Rockies kiss the sky; tVe've seen ev'ry marvel the world can show. And dined with its varied crowds; There isn't a joy that we do not know, Nor silver nor dark lined clouds; And yet, as we follow the gypsy trail, And smile, when we'd rather frown. We'd leave it all if we could but hail A friend from our old home town. 84 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS FREEDOM. Along a country roadside I saw a violet smile; And I would fain to pluck it And wear it for awhile. And yet the God that brought it Safe through the winter's strife Is He who placed me also Along the road of life. And so I left the flower To live its fated span; It hath a right to blossom Untouched by selfish man. And like unto the flower That smiles upon the sod, I fain would grow unhampered, Until Fm plucked by God. THE BALM OF TEARS. The Lord God, in Hi* wisdom, In the distant Long Ago, Sent us woman, gave her beauty. And a soul with love aglow. And men have thought her mortal ; Watched her beauty fade and die Like a flower in the Autumn, And they gave a passing sigh. MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 85 But the Lord God stood beside her In the vale of sorrowed years ; And he gave her Life Eternal 'As she bathed her soul in tears. WAITING. A white petaled daisy Once swayed with the wind In 'a big field of clover, Remote from its kind. And I thought me how lonely That daisy must be To live amongst strangers, Companionlessly. Yet, oft like the daisy, Have I felt alone; Though smiling with strangers, I sigh for my own. And as in the autumn When winds from the west Take the soul of the daisy To those it loves best, So my soul lawaiteth Some sweet passing wind To waft it back homeward. Where dwelleth its kind. 86 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS ^ BUTTERFLIES. The butterfly, bursting her chrysalis, Unfolds her wings to the skies; She fascinates men for a moment, And then like a dream she dies. And life is a butterfly garden; Each flutters a day or two; We chase first one, then another, And they die in the morning dew. And one we have named a woman, And we've chased her coiaxing smile ; And others are fame and fortune, But each is a nightmare of guile. For into the garden's recess Satiety steals unaware. And gold in the wings of the butterflies Fades in the droughty air. SUNSETS. Across the wide horizon dips The sun in dreams of gold; The day thus dies, and dark Night trips Into his sleepy fold. I would my Soul will take its flight Beyond th' eternal West, Sinking into its endless night With golden dreams addrest. MISCELLANEOUS MOODS AUGUST. There's a smile in every zephyr That dances through the trees; There's a laugh in every sunbeam, There's a thrill in every breeze — There's a sigh in every leaflet, There's a tear in every flower, For the smiles of August tell them That death is soon their dower. .Yet all the flow'rs and leaflets That droop their heads in tears Know life anew awaits them Whenas the Spring appears. And thus when Love has perished. And Life is chilled by Hate, There comes a Spring that brings us New love, new life, new fate. MY DREAMS AND I. Dreamy days and dreamy nights, And you, my Soul, a dreamy maize; A dreamy heaven with diamond lights, A dreamy sun to light our days- MISCELLANEOUS MOODS Dreams when sunrise sends its kiss To placid fields of summer sea; Dreams when sunset's golden bliss Brings the heavens to you and me. Lazily lying upon the grass, Aware of my kinship to the sod, I watch the constellations pass, And feel the eternal breath of God. Men may have their yellow gold. Wear their cloaks with silken seams ; For these they lose. I would grow old Arm in arm with you — my Dreams. THE REAL ARISTOCRAT. He was a wandering gypsy. Rather ragged in his dress; He had no home or loved ones, Lived a life of lonesomeness. But everywhere you'd meet him. He'd sing a little song; His soul was gay with dreaming, Nor wept he much nor long. And that is why they liked him, His all to them he'd give; The rich and would-be rich looked to him — He taught them how to live. MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 89 TRAGEDY Her eyes were little heavens, So blue, and full of light; And 'neath her mouth there lingered Smiles that kisses would invite. She was gay when others grumbled, She would sing while others wept, And at night she dreamed of fairies, While the others only slept. But someone stole her happiness, And brushed her smiles away; And now her soul is like the world Upon a cloudy day. She could forego the smiles she's lost. The kisses too, it seems — Her life became a tragedy Whenas she lost her dreams. TO A NORTH DAKOTA NIGHT In the blue of the skies There is something that thrills, And makes me forget All the world and itsi cares. I guess it's the thought that The infinite lies Beyond the far stars and the idea fills My soul with a longing. And, quite unawares, Makes it a part of that 90 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS Endless domain Where beauty is love, And love's ne'er in vain. And oft do I wonder while Glimpsing the stars, Under the heaven's broad ceiling of blue, Why men seldom gaze towiards the Wonders that beam In the blue skies above them And choose not to dream, When dreams are the things that make jiving ring true. And let them pursue. Be they many or few. The phantoms that drown them in lethargic (Streams — I'll send my soul On the wings of a song, And find in the stars a bright haven of dreams. WHEN GYPSIES GO HOME Have you been miles and miles away From those you hold most dear; And when you hear the music play You'd stifle back a tear. For deep, down in your heart's recess You felt that awful pain Of everlasting lonesomeness That drives you 'most insane? MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 91 And have you breakfasted and dined With strangers constantly, Yet tried to lact as if you're blind To all their gayety, Because you know 'tis not polite To push your presence in Their merry company — nor right To sacrifice a grin? And have you tramped the city street With no one at your side, Though meeting many, none you'd greet. And felt you'd like to hide Yourself behind some far-off star Or trapse the Milky Way, Full sure the Heav'ns more friendly are Than Earth's strange folks at play? A gypsy's life is not all song — For love dwells near the hearth; TTiere comes a time when he will long To house his heart in mirth. And then no more its deep recess Will feel the bitter pain Of everlasting lonesomeness That drives you 'most insane. THE CYNIC Whenas in accents fine I hear him rave About the color of her eyes, her mouth, her hair, How simple are the clothes he sees her wear, 92 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS How for her smallest wish he'd even brave The terrors of the wood, the wild sea's wave, And e'en temptations 'neath the city's glare — I lift my voice and say, **My friend, be- ware. For she has chained thee like a galley slave ; Her smile is like an angel's from above, And yet she twists thee 'round her little hand Then turns her back and laughs at thee and jeers; You soon forget that mystic thing called love. Forget the heaven, you for her had plan- »ned — And drown your disappointment in your tears.'' TO A CALIFORNIA POPPY THAT SMILES ON OUR DESK Ah, frail silken flower, My homage is due To the orange-tinted dreams I might fathom in you. You open your soul In the morn, as a child Opens its eyes when The sunbeams run wild. I MISCB1LLANE0US MOODS 93 And you smile all the day While the sunshine is bright, Then close your silk portals Against the dark night. And that soul, Which those portals of silken thus hide, It is afraid Of the goblins that ride On the wings of the night When the day goes to sleep, And the terrors of darkness Around them might creep? God walks abroad In the light of the day, Breathing love to his flowers And children at play. The night brings us Darkness, Whose dampened, chill breath Engenders wierd dreams. Sad doubts, fear of death. And He Who breathed in you Life's sweetened perfume Is the God Who would save you From the darkness and doom. I would that my soul. When Life's long day is done And away to the west Fades the light of the sun. 94 MISCEIX.ANEOUS MOODS Could close its frail portals And dream of a light That illumines the path In Eternity's night. MOODS. (Listening to the orchestra play '*Home Sweet Home.'') I. A phantom rises on The midnight air, And haunts me as a Ghost of other days; And Mem'ry stands the while As if to stare Beyond the veil The music seems to raise. I knew a harbor once That I called home, Ere gypsy wand'rings Led my soul astray — But now, while o'er Tlie darkened paths I roam, No restful harbor Ends my tired day. MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 95 II. The dancing ends, the music dies, 1 he gypsy hits the trail ; The lonely wanderer lifts his scornful eye« Unto the skies like women when they wail. A mockery is that melody to him, He stifles in his heart a hopeless sigh; And ''Home," says he — lost in a tragic .whim — '*Ah, that's the place where men return to die." III. I hear, I think, an old familiar strain — A strange, elusive, haunting melody — I stand awhile and wonder; and again My mother sings her good-night songs to me. IV. I walk into the vastness of the night — A gypsy lost upon a restless sea Of never ending lonesomeness; no light In homes along the way are lit for me. And yet around me stand the giant trees, A roof of star-flecked blue hangs o'er above ; And then I tell myself : **I have all these — The world's my home, my dreams, my hopes, my love." 96 MISCEIJL.ANEOUS MOODS V. To some a home is but a place to sleep, A shelter from the piercing eyes of night ; And others find therein a place to weep — To some it is a heaven of delight. And which of these shall miss that mystic place When wind or storm or Time shall wreck its walls? Methinks the one who sat with tear-drench- ed face Will suffer most when such a thing befalls. The silent sorrows which the world ne'er knows, And those deep sighs the passerby ne'er hears, Have made the home a place where real love glows — 'Tis christened with a mother's pearly tears VI. And those who wialtz the while the music plays That love song of the home, are they aware How seldom in their hearts do they ap- praise The meaning of the song, now dying on the air? I MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 97 VII. 'Tis thus the whole world over-' And when the Music's done, This man is e'er a rover, And that a home has won. VIII. Who follows long the gypsy light, From Samarcand to Rome, Is stirred the most when through the night He hears that song of home. IX. Life's dance is done ; the music dies, The dancers all have passt; TTie soul sails out to God's blue skies — Its "Home, Sweet Home" at last. AT THE FEET OF KINGS To strike the classic Lute, in tune With songs the Fairies sing; To lose one's soul beneath the Moon — This is to be a King. But discords from my ill-tuned Lute Doth shame that instrument Whence melody sublime found root ^When Sappho singing went. The Fairies' Kingdom fears my lay, No dreamy tale it tells ; And in their merry court I play The Fool with Cap and Bells. 98 MISCEa:^LANEOUS MOODS A PRO-BRITISH KITTEN We have a little office cat That frisks about quite merrily, Jumping- up at this and that In manner rather airily. Folks like our little kitten, And her antics somewhat fistic ; In fact, they're rather smitten With her outlook optimistic. But the kitten's lost her drag, for She has spoiled our sense of humor; And we feel we'd like to gag her And secure a saner roomer. We had some shamrocks, potted — Which H. Kneeshaw had presented- With green leaves they were dotted, And our Irish was contented. But the pesky, playful kitten. In her manner rather skittish. Ate them all — she must be smitten With a temperament that's British. Which makes us rather wonder If we should forsooth demand a — Nexplanation where in thunder 3he had read wrong propaganda. MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 99 For if cats, which should be Feiners, Have so lost their sense of reason As to fail to be abstainers From our shamrocks when in season, We're as hopeless as the sinner iWho from Hiades cannot flee — And old Ireland ne'er will vdn her Age long fight for liberty. OLD CLOTHES In gaudy gowns of shimmering silk Milady, as becomes her ilk, Along the highway proudly strides, Nor cares she much what Fate betides. With queenly grace she wears her'gowns, Nor cares a whit for others' frowns Who cannot with such gay array Add lustre to the light of day. And yet ere sets the evening sun The shimmering sheen of gowns is done ; And queenly silks resolve to rags, And fill the junkm.an's dirty bags. So eyes that once shown free and gay Along the Eoad of Yesterday, Like sheenless silks soon lose their light, And fade into an .endless night. 100 MISCEHJ^ANEOUS MOODS For Youth is but a silken stole That hides the mortal part of soul ; It fades with wear; is, soon or Late, Bought by the Ragman or our Fate. So let us, as Milady throws Her worn-out silks with cast-off clothes, Sigh, as Youth aside we cast : '*I wore thee well; thy charm is past/' THE AWAKENING HOUR. I built me a gorgeous mansion, Atop of a sun-kissed hill; And I draped its windows with flowers, And joy did its wide halls fill. And I thought me how nice, when I'm /tired Of jostling the mad rush of men, rd rest in my mountain mansion — With naught but my dreams and my pen But once, in a cold, gray morning, When clouds covered up the sky. My mansion crumbled to pieces — And all of its joy seemed to die. But I should have known it would end thus — Life is a nightmare, it seems — And now I am lonesome and homeless — My mansion was built upon dreams. MISCEL.LANEOUS MOODS 101 MY COMPANIONS OF THE NIGHT. Along comes Night, and with him brings That little respite known as sleep; Forgotten are all wordly things, Whereat men curse and women weep. And dreams fantastic enter in. And some are wierd and strange; Some are hellish, some like sin, For wide is dream-life's range. And yet, I love them all; the good, /Indifferent ones or bad ; Because I know they're dreams, nor would I let them make me sad. And when each dream with all its millioQ thrills And things that are not real, but only seem. Is ended, up Night's wild and wondrous hills I climb again — and dream another dream. MAN AND HIS FUTURE. Eons agone when life was new, And men were wild and strange. When loves and dreams and songs were few. Slow moved the chain of change, 102 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS God breathed into a man His soul, 'Round which a hope did cling That as the passing ages roll 'Twould be a noble thing. And in a million tearful years This handiwork of God . Kills and lies and steals and fears, Bends closer to the clod. Which makes us wonder if we'll be, Another million years, More like God, or will we see The same old world of tears. TRANSCIENT MOODS. I. Music has many uses: Gives us dreams. Of loves to be won. Memories of Loves that are dead. Music also Jazzes men to the madhouse. II. Some women wear their hair As a snarled oak its branches. But the oak is not supposed To have any brains. MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 103 III. They call it ^^Modern Fiction," Because it's written Today and dies tomorrow; It has no future. IV. She said she was always Above the clouds; I looked into her eyes And felt she was A star snatched from Heaven. For stars often fall From their orbits And get mixed up With lesser satellites ; That's how I met her. V. The things we crave most Arc always out of our reach ; No astronomer ever corralled a star ; We are all astronomers, Reaching out for the unattainable. The world is wide, And days are long; But time and distance Fade in song. 104 MISCBLI.ANEOUS MOODS And into space, At sunset time. My soul goes forth In song and rhyme. O'er prairies wide. And hills and lakes. The song its fleeting Journey takes. It strikes an answering Melody, And then returns, Resung, to me. For every song That sails the air Finds its mate Sometime, somewhere. VII. People who don't believe in fairies, Are usually the people Whose ships never come in. The golden Ship of Hope Is piloted By a Fairy captain Whose compass points to The Harbor of Dreams Worth While. And we all may Become his passengers. 6? li <> *'7VT* ,6 .• A^^'•V. .■^°^ . ^^^cS' -s-^A" ^oV a^<=^x> V. ^^6^ o-i^x. t°^ -.^^.° ^"•^^.. '.''^^y ,^^°'*' '^0^ .^'% ^/ . -^.^ HECKMAN BINDERY INC. ,#^ DEC 88 N. MANCHESTER, INDIANA 46962 °o