Class _ 
 
 ( W ■«3 ^ ^^ 
 
 C.03?XRIGET BEPOSm 
 
at tbe 
 Sign of tbe Ifbmc 
 
 BY 
 PEARL L. NORTON 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1917 
 

 SEP 24 1917 
 
 Copyright, 1917 
 Sherman, French &= Company 
 
 ©G!.A473644 
 
/ID^ /n>otber 
 anb ffatber 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I Know a Place 1 
 
 A Fragment 2 
 
 Lines on Keats 3 
 
 Melancholy Answered 4 
 
 Music and Poetry 5 
 
 Jerusalem 6 
 
 Summer Afternoon 7 
 
 The Poet 8 
 
 The Weaving of the Rainbow .... 9 
 
 Autumn 12 
 
 Echoes 13 
 
 Chanson be la Lune 14 
 
 Semper Fidelis 15 
 
 Al Fresco 16 
 
 Summer 17 
 
 On a Japanese Fan . 18 
 
 Regret — ? 19 
 
 To THE Muse 20 
 
 Evening Star 21 
 
 A Lullaby 22 
 
 Summer Twilight 23 
 
 Drifting 24 
 
 Night 25 
 
 A Love Lyric 26 
 
 God's Masterpiece 29 
 
 My Rosary 30 
 
 Spring ^1 
 
 The Ghost of La Belle Dame Sans Merci 32 
 
 Ambition ^5 
 
PAGE 
 
 The Immigrant 36 
 
 A Mansion of Old 37 
 
 Sunrise on the Prairie 39 
 
 Sunset on the Prairie 40 
 
 Omar 41 
 
 Fame 42 
 
 Spring Song 43 
 
 Afterwards 44 
 
 Rondeau 45 
 
 Miracles 46 
 
 November Day 47 
 
 Counsel Rejected 48 
 
 Dream Philosophy 49 
 
 Rose de Provjns 51 
 
 Renaissance 52 
 
 Love's Hour 54 
 
 Hope 55 
 
 Spring Speaking to Earth . . . . ,56 
 
 Dream Life . . , 57 
 
 My Day 58 
 
 Rossetti's Sonnets . 59 
 
 The Land of Lost Desires 60 
 
 Two Mothers 65 
 
 Someday 66 
 
AT THE SIGN OF THE MUSE 
 
I KNOW A PLACE 
 
 I KNOW a place where the ferns are like lace, 
 And the columbine winks its blue eye; 
 Where the rocks on each side are so high that 
 
 they hide 
 The turquoise blue of the sky. 
 
 And through this place where the ferns are like 
 
 lace, 
 And the columbine winks its blue eye, 
 There tumbles a stream, foam-flecked and 
 
 agleam, 
 That laughs as it hurries by. 
 
 The rocks are all gray, shot with silver, and lay 
 
 Piled up by a Master Hand, 
 
 While the breath of the pine, like an incense 
 
 divine. 
 Perfumes the silence grand. 
 
 [1] 
 
A FRAGMENT 
 
 The rocks and the sky, 
 
 And the wind passing by, 
 
 With the song of a bird on the wing. 
 
 A rainbow-hued stream. 
 
 In the sunlight agleam. 
 
 As reckless its wavelets fling. 
 
 That is all, — yet the fame 
 
 Of no Florentine frame 
 
 Could enfold such a picture of June. 
 
 I can see the white rocks. 
 
 And the sky's cloud-flocks. 
 
 And the smile of Nature in tune. 
 
 [2] 
 
LINES ON KEATS 
 
 Singer of lucent songs, dreamer of dreams, 
 How short thy life ! Thongs of visions it seems 
 Bound thee 'twixt heav'n and earth. 
 Racked to thy soul's core, lover in vain, — 
 Did'st welcome the door that released thee from 
 
 pain, 
 That tortured body and mind? 
 And in fair Italy, chilling with death. 
 Knowing its presence near, feeling its breath, 
 Did'st thou regret? 
 
 Let the world silent spin through asons of time, 
 Thy name is written in letters of rhyme, 
 Fair on the page of Fame. 
 
 [3] 
 
MELANCHOLY ANSWERED 
 
 Sad-colored sky, gray earth, and grayer day, 
 Ushered at dawn by moaning of the sea. 
 What is there else beyond this sullen sky? 
 Another world, gray-curtained now from me? 
 
 What is the use of day succeeding day? 
 To what an end will all these aeons come? 
 Only a little time for each of us, — 
 Who knows the answer? Dead lips remain 
 dumb. 
 
 And yet, methinks, across this crawling sea, 
 That fawns upon the gray earth's granite 
 
 lands, 
 A tiny spark of light, perchance, appears. 
 To raise the prostrate weeper on the sands. 
 
 My neighbor's beck'ning spark may not be 
 
 mine. 
 Nor come to me from out the same gray skies. 
 And yet, 'tis there, and through the shrouding 
 
 gloom, 
 'Twill pierce the clouds before the watcher's 
 
 eyes. 
 
 [4] 
 
MUSIC AND POETRY 
 
 These are twin muses, bound by chains 
 Of endless tone and thought, 
 Chains of sweet melody and word, 
 By minstreled-rhyming wrought. 
 
 Magic the one, — the other steeped 
 In lore of fairyland, — 
 Always these sisters, when invoked. 
 Come to us hand-in-hand. 
 
 The poet sees a wordless song 
 
 In a star beside the moon ; 
 
 The weaver of sweet songs can hear 
 
 A verse to fit each tune. 
 
 Always together, single-voiced. 
 Speaking a language one; 
 Found by their seekers, dual-lived. 
 In the realm of moon and sun. 
 
 [5] 
 
JERUSALEM 
 
 How many crimes done in thy name ! 
 
 How many deaths of storied fame 
 
 Has history laid to theel 
 
 How many bright-speared armies, plumed, 
 
 And sparkling in the sun, have loomed 
 
 A menace against thee ! 
 
 How many sieges 'gainst thy walls ! 
 How many battle cries and calls 
 Have oft thy night-air filled! 
 Ah, countless ruins blankly stare, 
 And stand as witnesses. The blare 
 Of brazen trumpets stilled. 
 
 Now, held in hostile Moslem hands. 
 Thy minareted ruin stands 
 Submissive to the rod. 
 Now, the wrapped muezzin, high in air, 
 Calleth Mohammed's sons to prayer, 
 In the Holy City of God. 
 
 [6] 
 
SUMMER AFTERNOON 
 
 Bees humming drowsily, drunken with sweet ; 
 Little flowers drooping in the fierce heat ; 
 Trees quiet, breezes still, 
 Nature anapping till 
 King Sun shall sleep. 
 
 Sunflowers, adoring, turned up to the sun, 
 Eager for kisses burned on every one. 
 Birds chirping, lazily, 
 Clouds floating, hazily. 
 Low shadows creep. 
 
 Warm scent of heliotrope, mingled with rose. 
 And where the grass in lush fragrance grows. 
 Tiny-voiced insects sing. 
 Fluttering wing on wing, 
 Nimbly aleap. 
 
 [7] 
 
THE POET 
 
 One who hears in the sea's low moan 
 
 A voice of mystery ; 
 
 Who sees a bee to a lily cling, 
 
 And weaves a fantasy. 
 
 Who watches with a keen delight 
 
 The changing lights of sky, 
 
 And like a miser of fair things. 
 
 Gloats with gleaming eye. 
 
 One who loves in the deep'ning dusk 
 
 To tell a rosary of stars. 
 
 And hear the night-wind's crooning voice. 
 
 Singing from Venus to Mars. 
 
 Who feels the kissing lips of spring 
 
 In fragrance on him pressed. 
 
 And in an ecstasy knows well 
 
 To live is to be blessed. 
 
 [8] 
 
THE WEAVING OF THE RAINBOW 
 
 When black-eyed Cleopatra's barge, 
 
 With scented, silken sail, 
 
 Went drifting down the mirrored Nile 
 
 Before a summer gale, — 
 
 The arrant wind, with fingers bold. 
 
 Snatched up a flower rare 
 
 That twined its scarlet petals in 
 
 The slumb'ring queen's long hair. 
 
 A gondolier, his olive face 
 Turned westward, plied his oar, 
 And straight into the sunset slipped. 
 And then was seen no more. 
 He went to find the yellow gold 
 That in the sunset lay, — 
 A wondrous, glittering treasure pile. 
 Heaped up at close of day. 
 
 There grew a tree on Java^s isle, 
 
 With globules, orange-hued. 
 
 So-colored by the kissing lips 
 
 Of Phoebus, in a mood 
 
 Of wilful tenderness. And one 
 
 Of those fair fruits was plucked 
 
 By wand' ring wood-folk whom, they say. 
 
 The satyrs do instruct. 
 
 A sparkling emerald once was filched 
 From Persia's peacock throne, 
 
 [9] 
 
And shahs for decades have searched far 
 
 To find the wondrous stone. 
 
 Its light was as the light that shines 
 
 In cool sea caverns green. 
 
 But never more was found the gem 
 
 That cast such glamorous sheen. 
 
 A sea nymph twined a deep blue string 
 
 Of lapis lazuli 
 
 Among her shimmering tresses, wet 
 
 With salt spray of the sea. 
 
 And one blue stone slipped from her hand 
 
 Into the waters bright ; 
 
 That stone was never seen again, 
 
 By man nor water sprite. 
 
 When blue-eyed Paris lay in death, 
 Upon his rich-hung bier, 
 His curves of icy beauty veiled 
 By clinging gauzes sheer, — 
 One scarf of violet tinted silk 
 Was taken by that Queen 
 Of Love, fair Aphrodite, who 
 Then crept away, unseen. 
 
 The red from Cleopatra's flower; 
 The yellow of the gold 
 Which that young gondolier had brought 
 From sunset wealth untold; 
 The orange from exotic fruit 
 That grew in tropic lands ; 
 
 [10] 
 
The green from that bright pilfered gem, 
 
 Stolen by unknown hands ; 
 
 The blue from lapis lazuli, — 
 
 Mother of ultramarine ; 
 
 The violet of silken scarf ; — 
 
 All are woven in a sheen. 
 
 And all these colors, blended, make 
 
 The arch of beauty thrown 
 
 Upon the curtain of the sky. 
 
 It is a promise shown 
 
 To us, who, watching, see it blend 
 
 Into a perfect whole, — 
 
 A promise of a time to come 
 
 When man has reached his goal. 
 
 For that will be a perfect time. 
 When no man, race, nor creed, 
 Will set itself apart as if 
 It only were to lead. 
 But every man and every race. 
 And all religious strife. 
 Shall be together melted, all 
 Into one faultless life. 
 
 [11] 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 Soft haze and scented wind, 
 And banks of goldenrod; 
 And purple thistles, nodding high, 
 Above the lush green sod. 
 
 Half -clothed in colors gay, 
 The trees like shrinking maids. 
 Turn slim arms out against the wind's 
 Caress a-down the glades. 
 
 A hint of sadness, too. 
 
 Is borne upon the air. 
 
 The crooning wind is like a dirge, — 
 
 A requiem for the fair. 
 
 [12] 
 
ECHOES 
 
 That poppy that grew in your garden, 
 That poppy, silk-petaled and fair. 
 Lived only a day, — then it faded. 
 But, ah, it was lovely while there. 
 
 That friend whom you loved in the years past 
 Is gone now perhaps for aye, 
 But the mem'ry of that lost friendship 
 Is with you sweet today. 
 
 That smile that you gave was fleeting, 
 'Twas gone in a moment, and yet. 
 To the one who saw it, it lingers. 
 As bright as the moment you met. 
 
 [13] 
 
CHANSON DE LA LUNE 
 
 She hung full-orbed and golden o'er the night, 
 Like some quaint lamp of heavenly workman- 
 ship. 
 A little cloud of fleecy, floating white 
 Was creeping, like a timid swain to slip 
 His arms about his love. 
 
 And all below was bathed in mystic light, 
 A silver rain down-falling on the green ; 
 The cups of nodding lilies show the sheen 
 Of moonlight brushed o'er satin petals white, 
 As snowy as a dove. 
 
 The myriad grass-folk tune their violins. 
 The humming-bird darts crooning o'er the rose. 
 The dreamer sings a song of love. Soft blows 
 The amorous southern wind. And so begins 
 The song to Dian above. 
 
 [14] 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS 
 
 We climbed a mountain path together 'neath a 
 
 sky 
 Of softest azure, with the scent of pines 
 Around us like sweet Nature's incense flung 
 From that calm altar high. 
 
 We stood and listened, and together heard the 
 
 fall 
 Of purling, hidden waters, hastening fast 
 A-down some mossy crevice, and a peace 
 Descended over all. 
 
 Up to the high and rocky ledge we climbed, to 
 
 gaze 
 Upon a dozen peaks with snowy heads. 
 And far below, the lake's bright blue was spread 
 Beneath the sun's gilt rays. 
 
 In that cold clime, the icy hand of winter blast, 
 Nor yet the melting kisses of the sun. 
 Ere change the awesome faces of these guards, 
 All faithful to the last. 
 
 [15] 
 
AL FRESCO 
 
 To brush across my lips a satin spray 
 Of perfumed roses with the dew 
 Of summer rain upon them,^ — 'tis one way 
 To get a httle nearer to 
 The best of life. 
 
 To be alone upon a mountain side, 
 And hear no sounds by mortal made ; 
 But tinkling hidden waters as they glide 
 O'er smooth white stones. I'll be repaid 
 For aught of strife. 
 
 To be beside the rippled sea at eve, 
 And watch the full-orbed moon arise, 
 A silver globe of light, — ah, I believe 
 All beauty seen through Nature's eyes 
 Enobles life. 
 
 [16] 
 
SUMMER 
 
 Summer is not a timid maid, 
 
 To blush before our eyes, 
 
 But a woman mature, with the power to lure 
 
 In the season of sunny skies. 
 
 Voice of a siren, honey-sweet, 
 
 That sings upon a breeze. 
 
 That is heavily hung with the songs that are 
 
 sung 
 By the nymphs of the southern seas. 
 Lips like a red, red rose, and they 
 Are clinging close to earth. 
 And the beautiful eyes of summer are wise. 
 Though they seem but to mirror mirth. 
 For ne'er will she stay till her lovers grow 
 
 weary. 
 And seek a fair mistress anew ; 
 But with song on her lips, and her arms full of 
 
 flowers, 
 She wafts us a kiss, and, — " Adieu.'* 
 
 [17] 
 
ON A JAPANESE FAN 
 
 Little Princeling, slant-eyed, bowing, 
 Satined body bent, kowtowing. 
 Evermore thy folded hands. 
 On thy 'broidered breast's gay bands, 
 Will rest supine. 
 
 Little Princess, red-lipped, smiling. 
 Oh, the years you spend in whiling 
 Time away with bows to him, 
 (Sleek head bent, demure and prim). 
 In costume fine! 
 
 Ne'er, O Princeling, thou'st embraced, 
 Even once, thy lady's waist. 
 Always, till this satin thing 
 Shall rot with age, O Cho-Cho-Ting, 
 Thou'lt toe that line. 
 
 It will ever be thy fate to 
 Waste thy years and vainly woo 
 Little Princess Chio-San, 
 Little Lady of the Fan, 
 But never thine. 
 
 [18] 
 
REGRET—? 
 
 Why must the springtime vanish? 
 Why must the flower fade? 
 The bloom brush from the tinted grape, 
 And the grass sear in the shade? 
 
 Why must the brightest eye turn dull, 
 And the reddest lips grow pale? 
 The sweetest melody be stilled, 
 And the fondest heart-hopes fail? 
 
 Still, — the summer in gorgeous beauty 
 Will follow when spring days wane. 
 The tinted grape gives the perfumed wine, 
 And the grass will be green again. 
 
 The eyes that we love will never dull 
 For us, nor dear lips pale. 
 All melody has echoes sweet. 
 And hopes not always fail. 
 
 [19] 
 
TO THE MUSE 
 
 Come, gentle maiden, Muse divine. 
 
 Thou with the mystic smile and eyes ashine; 
 
 And lay thy finger-tips 
 
 On my dumb lips. 
 
 Kiss thou my eyes that I may see 
 
 The dawning beauties of sweet fantasy. 
 
 Give me that inner sight 
 
 That reaches light. 
 
 Ope thou my ears to Nature's tunes. 
 
 And in the dusky eves or sultry noons 
 
 Let me interpret all 
 
 The melodies that fall. 
 
 Ah, let me write but one fair line 
 
 That after I am gone will calmly shine 
 
 Beside my name. Ah, Muse, 
 
 Canst thou refuse .^^ 
 
 [20] 
 
EVENING STAR 
 
 Every eve I greet with homage 
 That far star's tranquil light ; 
 Like a pendant drop of water, 
 Trembling, crystal-like, and white. 
 
 Mayhap 'tis the resting place of 
 Little souls in winged flight 
 To the Paradise of Children, 
 Land unknown, but no less bright. 
 
 Or, perhaps, those thoughts of poets, 
 Thoughts ne'er written, save in heart, 
 Heav'nward fly and hang in cluster, 
 Radiant far than Dian's dart. 
 
 [21] 
 
 V 
 
A LULLABY 
 
 Soft sighs the night-wind, 
 Crooning a song; 
 Angels watch o'er thee, 
 And a mother's love strong. 
 High in the heavens 
 Night's lanterns gleam. 
 Slumber, my darling. 
 And sweet be thy dream. 
 
 [22] 
 
SUMMER TWILIGHT 
 
 The golden time, the dearest hour 
 
 Of all the day is here. 
 
 The vague, sweet scents of grass and flower 
 
 Come in my window near. 
 
 The sun in gorgeous beauty slept 
 An hour ago, and now 
 Fair Venus, shining-eyed, has crept 
 To her high throne, aglow. 
 
 The beauty of the hour brings thought 
 
 That's close akin to pain. 
 
 A melody within me wrought 
 
 Cries to be heard again. 
 
 I touch the keys, and as I play 
 That sweet, sweet melody 
 Comes blending softly with the day 
 That's going, and to me, — 
 
 A peaceful thought, almost a prayer, 
 A wonder at the ways 
 Of Mother Nature, just as fair 
 In nighttimes as in days. 
 
 [23] 
 
DRIFTING 
 
 Oh, let the oars be still, dear. 
 And let us drift atune. 
 Over the silvered, shimmering lake, 
 That quivers 'neath the moon. 
 
 And let our hearts be one, dear. 
 As faint the melody 
 Of distant singers, floating comes 
 Wafted to you and me. 
 
 For, ah, the summer night, dear. 
 Is witchery, and strong 
 The scented night-wind's now on us. 
 With youth, and sings youth's song. 
 
 [24] 
 
NIGHT 
 
 Soft falls the veil of night 
 O'er the varied scenes of earth ; 
 Over the souls that are grieving, 
 Over the children of mirth. 
 
 Casting its shadows o'er sages, 
 
 And those who have life's path to tread ; 
 
 Glancing at poverty's victims, 
 
 And those on whom riches are shed. 
 
 Deeper and darker the shadows, 
 Stiller the evening breeze. 
 Gently the tree-tops are swaying, 
 All is wrapt in night's diocese. 
 
 [25] 
 
A LOVE LYRIC 
 
 A POET fell adreaming once in June, 
 
 And dreamed he was in quest of Cupid's home. 
 
 His thoughts went hand in hand with Fancy 
 
 gay, 
 Who guided him lest he should roam 
 From out the love-wrought way. 
 His footsteps fell all noiseless on a path 
 Flanked close on one side by a land 
 Of velvet greenness, daisy flecked, and on 
 The other ran a stream by white rocks spanned. 
 These limpid, languid waters in their lace-fern 
 
 bed. 
 Showed the dimpled blue of heaven 
 As they smiled ; and overhead 
 The blue sky smiled in turn. 
 Sometimes a tiny, tinkling sound he heard, 
 As the dripping rocks were splashed. 
 And once, an infant rainbow poised, 
 And iridescent flashed. 
 
 He passed through fairy woodlands, rich in all 
 The youthful loveliness of spring. 
 As fair as the Elysian Fields of old, 
 And fragrant with the honeyed sweets that fling 
 Themselves upon the soft winds, roaming 
 
 dreamily. 
 And so he passed, the poet, wondering. 
 And drowsy-eyed, till gradually, 
 A soft, sweet languor came. 
 
 [36] 
 
He dropped upon a mossy mound and soon 
 Was slumb'ring there, 'midst leaf and bloom 
 Of that fair woodland, and a hush swift flew 
 Upon the place, and like a tomb 
 Its silent beauty grew. 
 
 And soon sweet sounds of lyre-lipped melody 
 Awoke the poet from his sleep. 
 And so he lay and listened to such strains 
 Of music that set all his pulse aleap. 
 And then he rose and listening stood, and drip- 
 ping pure. 
 Like unto drops of smoothly molten pearl, 
 Softly the music sobbed, and then the lure 
 Of melody grew still. 
 
 A mist of silver meshes then arose. 
 And the sunlight gleamed and glanced. 
 The poet turned his eyes upon a knoll 
 Where the dew on the greensward danced 
 Like gems on an emerald bowl. 
 And there a silver-latticed arbor stood. 
 And half embraced by blushing roses gleamed 
 A fragrant, dainty blend of silv'ry pink. 
 He nearer drew and stood, it seemed. 
 Before the door of Beauty's own domain. 
 For there, within, upon a bed 
 Of flushed rose petals, lay the god 
 Of Love and Lovers, fast asleep. And shed 
 By passing sunbeams, yellow glints of light 
 Were in scintillating glances 
 
 [27] 
 
Making all the arbor bright. 
 
 A cherub nestled close beside the couch, 
 
 And now and then he touched his lyre sweet ; 
 
 While snowy doves flew in and out and dropped 
 
 Fair offerings of flowers at Cupid's feet. 
 
 The while the poet lay entranced, he saw 
 
 The sleeper's eyelids ope, and square 
 
 He looked into Love's eyes, and saw 
 
 An answering smile of gladness. 
 
 Well up in their clear depths fair. 
 
 So the poet found his Cupid, 
 
 And sweet liis dream to him. 
 
 For he found there an inspiration, 
 
 Not new, but never dim. 
 
 And this it is, — that always. 
 
 For every soul there dreams 
 
 A Cupid in a rosy bower. 
 
 To be wakened when the gleams 
 
 Of answering love are roused. 
 
 And if no love comes surging 
 
 From that other heart to yours. 
 
 Then the Cupid still is sleeping 
 
 On that other heart's calm shores. 
 
 [28] 
 
GOD'S MASTERPIECE 
 
 God holds us in the hollow of His hand. 
 Beside His works, men as dwarfed pygmies 
 
 stand ; 
 The tiniest insect of the grass is shaped 
 With all the care that made the wooded land. 
 
 And yet, when He made man He placed the 
 
 spark 
 Of His own fire divine, that through the dark 
 An urging something would make man to rise, 
 And to the voice of high endeavor hark. 
 
 [29] 
 
MY ROSARY 
 
 A NUN in a cloistered convent 
 Knelt with her rosary, 
 And prayed the dear God that her soul 
 Might daily purer be. 
 
 And so through the years her fingers 
 The shining beads caressed, 
 Till one little bead grew brighter, 
 From much handling, than the rest. 
 
 And as through my fingers is slipping 
 My rosary of life. 
 Each day is a bead of mem'ry 
 That stands for joy or strife. 
 
 And when at the end of all this. 
 When the years have all been told. 
 The ones that will shine the brightest 
 Will be those that youth doth enfold. 
 
 [30] 
 
SPRING 
 
 A SOFTER note of crooning 
 
 In the wafted scent-hung breeze, 
 
 As if translating lyrics 
 
 Sung on languorous southern seas. 
 
 Above, the azure sky, white-flecked; 
 Below, the dainty flush 
 Of fragrant-petaled orchards, 
 'Neath the sun's warm kiss ablush. 
 
 The Pipes o' Pan resounding sweet, 
 The song of a bird on the wing ; 
 God's breath of peace descending. 
 And saying, " This is spring." 
 
 [31] 
 
THE GHOST OF LA BELLE DAME 
 SANS MERCI 
 
 Young Adrien La Garraye was born 
 In the south of sunny France, 
 Where the purpling vineyards ripen fast 
 Beneath the sun's hot glance. 
 
 But La Garraye a dreamer was, 
 And one who loved to be 
 Adrift upon the waters of 
 His wand'ring fancy's sea. 
 
 He entered a cavern at sunset once, 
 
 On the borderland of sleep ; 
 
 With thoughts all clothed in whimsical garb, 
 
 And pulses all aleap. 
 
 He pushed a fringed curtain back, 
 And gazed at a magic room. 
 All silent save for tinkling sounds 
 Of hidden fountains' tune. 
 
 The walls were hung with tapestries 
 Of rare and lustrous sheen, 
 The marble floor was laid with rugs, — 
 'Twas the throne room for a queen. 
 
 In one far end a window set 
 With jewels, flashing bright, 
 
 [32] 
 
Cast o'er the lovely room below 
 A strange and weird light. 
 
 And there, between two mirrors pale, 
 Shadowed by palm leaves green, 
 Hung the portrait of a woman. 
 All alone amidst that scene. 
 
 He drew with soft steps the portrait near. 
 And gazed on the beautiful face. 
 And a ray from the window, flitting by, 
 Lit up each smiling grace. 
 
 He turned from his thoughts to the doorway, 
 And a woman, wondrous fair. 
 The image of the portrait. 
 Smiling, serene, stood there. 
 
 She beckoned ; he heard sweetest music. 
 And maidens beginning to sing; 
 He found himself on an ivory throne, 
 And he wore the crown of a king. 
 
 The room was golden with shining lights, 
 A banquet was spread to him there; 
 Soft gleaming mirrors reflected 
 Silver and flowers rare. 
 
 He leaned from his throne to the woman, 
 As she half reclined by him there; 
 
 [33] 
 
He fastened a rose in her bodice, 
 And one in her shining hair. 
 
 Her red lips were heavy with kisses, 
 Her cheek was near to his breast, 
 And then, Mon Dieu, on her forehead. 
 In letters of fire was pressed, — 
 
 " I am La Belle Dame Sans Merci,'* — 
 Young Adrien blindly fled, 
 Fled from the cavern that held the ghost 
 Of that traitress, ages dead. 
 
 [34] 
 
AMBITION 
 
 It is not given to all to do 
 
 A deed of deathless fame. 
 
 But naught can stay the least of us 
 
 From pure and lofty aim. 
 
 The man who lets a day go by 
 Without a vision seen 
 Of something nobler. Lo, — that man 
 Has soiled that day's page clean. 
 
 If every goal, high placed, could lure 
 But one step up each day. 
 How short would seem the journey's length, 
 Although a lifelong way ! 
 
 [35] 
 
THE IMMIGRANT 
 
 He comes with his heart aleap, 
 
 With a fire in the blood of his veins. 
 
 Though an unknown language fetters his 
 
 tongue, 
 His heart knows the patriot's pains. 
 
 But life full of plenty and ease 
 Is not his in the Land of the Free. 
 It is battle for life and meagre bread, 
 In the new home 'cross the sea. 
 
 Oft the toil, the curse, and the strife. 
 And the sweat of a laborer's day ; 
 The heat and the stench of summer nights, 
 And the winters that pinch him gray. 
 
 And out of it all he strides. 
 With the look of a man fresh-purged 
 By the white-hot fires of seething life 
 That over him have surged. 
 
 And, — he stays, and yearningly loves 
 
 The land he espoused years agone ; 
 
 " O God, in Thy mercy," he prays, 
 
 " Keep this land where I'm free to fight on." 
 
 [36] 
 
A MANSION OF OLD 
 
 It stands upon a wind-swept hill, 
 With an avenue of pines 
 Leading up to the balconied porch, 
 Shadowed by moulding vines. 
 Its roof is frail and blown with age, 
 And its staring windows seem 
 Peepholes into a darkened past, 
 Fit for a bogie's dream. 
 
 But once these rooms, reechoed now 
 
 By the breezes' plaintive sigh. 
 
 Rang with the laughter and voices of youth, 
 
 Silent now for years gone by. 
 
 The maidens of a hundred years, 
 
 With faces bright with youth. 
 
 Tripped merrily down to the wide old hall. 
 
 Quaint as an old-time booth. 
 
 Around the red-bricked fireplace wide, 
 When the night was dark and cold. 
 Stories of love and stories of war. 
 Each with their charm, were told. 
 The hound, a favored inmate there. 
 On the hearthrug stretched and dreamed ; 
 Too, there were baskets of woodland nuts, 
 Nearby the cognac steamed. 
 
 [37] 
 
And then, perchance, the squire took down, 
 From its resting place nearby. 
 His worn old fiddle that could give 
 Sweet strains that the night-winds sigh. 
 Each merry maiden tripped the dance, 
 And each laughing glance was held 
 Fast in the mirror of Time's clutching hand,- 
 And louder the music swelled. 
 
 And then, when darkness folded all. 
 
 And the lights no longer shone. 
 
 Dancing figures of nimble shade 
 
 Fell on the lone hearthstone. 
 
 I think, sometimes, the Fates will keep 
 
 Watch o'er this trophy of Time, 
 
 And each bygone thought and act will swathe 
 
 From the hurrying age's grime. 
 
 [38] 
 
SUNRISE ON THE PRAIRIE 
 
 The rosy morn comes dancing o'er the waste 
 
 Of tangled grasses tall ; 
 
 Her gilded shafts of sunlight flash, 
 
 As on the dew they fall. 
 
 The sk}^ is like a sea shell, 
 All pearly-tinted fair; 
 And an infant breeze awakened, 
 Murmurs plaintive on the air. 
 
 The regal disc that rises 
 Above the faint sky line, 
 Looks down on this fair dominion. 
 As if to say, " 'Tis mine ! " 
 
 And this is the prairie sunrise, 
 When the day awakes from sleep; 
 When the sun grows bright, then brighter, 
 And the gray mists skyward creep. 
 
 [89] 
 
SUNSET ON THE PRAIRIE 
 
 Amber and crimson and blue, 
 With violet lights between; 
 And a hint of the coming nightfall. 
 Softly dimming the sunset sheen. 
 
 Above, the orient splendor. 
 Below, the western plain, 
 Stretching away to the sky line. 
 As over a boundless main. 
 
 The faint herb-scented breezes 
 Pass lightly o'er the ground, 
 And kiss the heads of the grasses, 
 That in tangled heaps abound. 
 
 And this is the western prairie. 
 When the day is tired unto death. 
 And pillowing her head in the sunset, 
 Slumbers with quiet breath. 
 
 [40] 
 
OMAR 
 
 Within the wondrous portals of thy word 
 Is stored the poesy of all the earth, 
 I've opened wide the gate, and oft have heard 
 The pulsing music that thy rhythm stirred. 
 
 Sweet, subtile words that paint in imagery 
 Still sweeter scenes born in thy poet's mind ; 
 Words of soft, languorous syllables, and free. 
 Unguarded words of wild abandon. — See 1 
 
 This page with hyacinths is scented sweet, 
 Another is bright-burnished by the moon ; 
 The nightingale, athrill, his wings doth beat 
 On this fair page ; and here two lovers meet. 
 
 When they who bar the cup of rosy wine 
 Do frown upon thy song of revels gay, 
 Let them but pause a moment at some line 
 That will fore'er outlive their thoughts, — or 
 mine. 
 
 O heathen bard! Thy ancient dust returned 
 Unto the dust from which it first had come; 
 Thou lived and loved and with thy passions 
 
 burned. 
 And now what tardy homage thou hast earned ! 
 
 [«] 
 
FAME 
 
 Mistress of thousands, held in thrall 
 
 By the magic of her face, 
 
 She sounds her call, while around her fall 
 
 The weaklings of the race. 
 
 Deigning to smile on a lover strong, 
 
 To the bold she gives her lips ; 
 
 Yet e'en his song's not remembered long,- 
 
 New singers him eclipse. 
 
 Faint comes the muffled tread of feet 
 
 That are marching to her shrine ; 
 
 Mayhap, defeat will be their mete, 
 
 Still they heed the call divine. 
 
 Yet, ah, those few who conquering stand, 
 
 In the sunshine of her smile, — 
 
 They know the brand of her golden hand 
 
 Was worth it all the while. 
 
 [42] 
 
SPRING SONG 
 
 The spring's a lovesome thing, I hold. 
 Mating birds apiping bold 
 In green-frilled yew. 
 Wooing winds aslipping by, 
 Swaying tulips 'neath a sky 
 Of azure hue. 
 
 Yet there fools be, — blind men, they,- 
 Who in ignorance will say, 
 " There is no God." 
 
 I smile to hear such words, for I 
 Plainly have a sign close by, 
 
 — Sign magical. 
 
 It is but a bursting bud, 
 Springing radiant from black mud, 
 
 — A miracle ! 
 
 [43] 
 
AFTERWARDS 
 
 When all is done and The Book is shut, 
 
 The last breath drawn and the last thong cut 
 
 That binds us to the earth, 
 
 The happiest souls will be they who learned 
 
 To bow to Duty though yearnings burned 
 
 For things outside the Law. 
 
 When night is come and forever more 
 
 The world will whirl in void, the door 
 
 Of Paradise will swing, 
 
 Ah, — wide for those who in darkness sat, 
 
 Who turned from Happiness to that 
 
 Which was the Right. 
 
 [44] 
 
RONDEAU 
 
 We may ne'er meet the hero strong 
 We celebrate in tuneful song, 
 
 But we can sing. 
 Our eyes may ne'er those beauties greet 
 Of which the poet tells us sweet, 
 
 But we can dream. 
 Our Ship of Dreams may ne'er be beached. 
 Our goal may never be quite reached, 
 
 But we can strive. 
 We may not see the love that's near. 
 Nor recognize its value dear, 
 
 But it is there, 
 
 A treasure rare. 
 
 [45] 
 
MIRACLES 
 
 Three miracles I know we'll never understand, 
 The magic spring, a white rosebud, and a 
 
 baby's little hand. 
 The first comes with a kiss of fragrant dewy 
 
 lips. 
 And even as we wonder, lo ! into the summer 
 
 slips. 
 
 The second when unfurled, no mortal hand can 
 
 close, 
 For what did God so subtly plan as the heart 
 
 of a budding rose? 
 The third is dearest of all, like a little leaf, 
 
 tight-curled. 
 Its tiny touch is powerful, because it rules the 
 
 world. 
 
 [46] 
 
NOVEMBER DAY 
 
 A BLOOD-RED suii, like the eye of Fate, 
 Gleams o'er a world that dies. 
 Stark, spectre-trees raise piteous arms 
 In suppliance to the skies. 
 
 A stricken flower on a broken stalk 
 Droops its petaled face. The path 
 Is strewn with dead and dying leaves. 
 Flung there by the wind's fierce wrath, 
 
 A leaden sky framed 'round the sun ; 
 A world in a mourner's shroud ; 
 Faint song of tardy south-bound birds. 
 And the wind bewailing loud. 
 
 [47] 
 
COUNSEL REJECTED 
 
 The bearded Sage, with bent and hoary head, 
 Spoke to fair Youth, and smihng gravely, said : 
 
 " Look not, O Youth, for Love in some rare 
 
 shape. 
 And heralded by loud-resounding fame. 
 Mayhap, within the eyes of a dear friend, 
 Thou'lt recognize the sweetness of Love's name. 
 Look not across the rolling sea's expanse 
 For Love to bring across the world thy crown, 
 Perhaps Love walks in modest company. 
 Beside thee now, if thou wilt but look down. , 
 And ah, thou rash one, if there be a knock 
 Upon thy heart's door, some eventful day, 
 Do not bar out the wand'ring traveller, — 
 It may be Love itself thou turn'st away." 
 
 And Youth, with starry eyes, heard all, but 
 
 sought 
 The wondrous, ideal Love his fancy wrought. 
 
 [48] 
 
DREAM PHILOSOPHY 
 
 A DREAM came to me through the pall of night, 
 And like the hand of God it boldly writ 
 Itself upon my dreaming senses till 
 Awakening, I felt the spell of it. 
 
 I thought I stood upon a wind-swept hill. 
 While circling all about were mists of gray. 
 And yet, through veiling shadows, I could see 
 Before me, where the whole world plainly lay. 
 
 And then before my wondering eyes there 
 
 passed 
 A motley crowd of dreadful, monstrous freaks. 
 That gibbered, groped and crawled along 
 
 their way 
 With hopeless faces, mouthing groans and 
 
 shrieks. 
 
 My heart grew sick within me, and I turned 
 
 My eyes away in loathing and in fright. 
 
 And then there burst upon my shrinking 
 
 gaze, — 
 Close following on the wretched train, — a 
 
 light. 
 
 A yellow light, as if of countless suns. 
 
 It came, and lit the way for dancing feet. 
 
 [49] 
 
For now there came a second moving band, 
 That lightly stepped to stringed music sweet. 
 
 Sweet-eyed and smiling-lipped the dancers 
 
 came, 
 Their perfumed gauzes floating 'round white 
 
 limbs. 
 With laughter low and whispered words they 
 
 danced 
 Their joyous dance that varied with their 
 
 whims. 
 
 And as the happy band advanced and sang, 
 Those other shapes of darkness shrank away. 
 For lo ! no vestige of their presence drear 
 Could e'er remain where that great radiance 
 lay. 
 
 A voice from out the mists then spoke to me. 
 In measured tones : " The sins of earth and all 
 Its sorrows are as naught beside the great 
 Fair multitude of j oy s close to our call." 
 
 [50] 
 
ROSE DE PROVINS 
 
 Rose de Provins, with your petals soft 
 And red as the blood of love, 
 Ah, where did you get your perfume sweet? 
 Is it heavenly distilled from above? 
 
 Crimson and deep is your heart, O rose, 
 And daintily curled and rare. 
 Ah, who but a God could tint you so? 
 Will you tell me who made you so fair? 
 
 But, Rose, half hid there are terrible thorns. 
 That stab with a cruel pain. 
 And yet, with thy thorns, I'd rather thee 
 Than a hundred pale flowers \ And again, — 
 
 Rose de Promns, with your petals soft, 
 And your red, red heart, I ask. 
 Ah, where do you get your thorns, and why 
 Does your beauty such cruelty mask? 
 
 [51] 
 
RENAISSANCE 
 
 Where are the silver mists all blown 
 
 After the dawn? 
 Into the air a song is flown, 
 
 And whither gone? 
 Wliither the fragrance of the rose 
 
 That dying lies ? 
 To that same place where color goes 
 
 When sunset dies. 
 To that fair haven past the bounds 
 
 Of myth and truth, — 
 Dreamland of muted thoughts and sounds, 
 
 And dreams of youth. 
 Where go the echoes of the strings 
 
 That silent lay? 
 Where all the ghosts of those dear things 
 
 Lovers would say. 
 Yet, bound by yearning shyness, leave 
 
 Unsaid by lips? 
 They're in the elf-land, I believe, 
 
 Where sunset slips 
 Eternally into the dusk. 
 
 The land, I ween. 
 Of vanished Beauty, — scent of musk. 
 
 And eglantine, 
 Rose-petaled sward and lapping lakes. 
 
 And sunny light! 
 From drooping death on earth, swift takes 
 
 Its winged flight 
 [52] 
 
Each fading beauty of this earth, 
 
 To live again, 
 In lovehness, in a new birth. 
 
 Where no years reign. 
 The prostrate heathen worshipping 
 
 The golden sun, — 
 He knew his prayer would ever sing 
 
 When he was done. 
 The dawning beauties of the morn 
 
 Die not at day. 
 In land unseen they live, reborn. 
 
 And held alway. 
 The echoed music sings fore'er. 
 
 In ecstasy. 
 Dear words and sounds, and visions fair! 
 
 Eternity 
 Is yours beyond the reach of man, 
 
 Always. For see ! — 
 The Land of Vanished Beauty can 
 
 Your haven be. 
 
 [53] 
 
LOVE'S HOUR 
 
 Poets may sing, as e'er they will, 
 Of love mutually told and confessed. 
 But there is a time more subtly dear, 
 With which true love is blessed. 
 
 'Tis the hour when love is still untold, 
 The time of trembling hopes, 
 When ev'ry tender message glanced 
 An answering gleam invokes. 
 
 When eye meets eye, and striking fire. 
 Swift veils its sudden light; 
 When touch of hands, the unsaid word, 
 Half reveals love's secret bright. 
 
 For as the soul is dearer, far, 
 
 Because 'tis never caught. 
 
 So are lovers' thoughts more precious when 
 
 With sweet mystery they're fraught. 
 
 The bud a promise lovely keeps 
 Within each scented fold. 
 And subtle, undefined joy 
 Clings close to love untold. 
 
 [5*] 
 
HOPE 
 
 Wand'ring one day o'er the fields of Time, 
 The Fates found a sunbeam fair, 
 Lying alone, 'midst the shattered aims 
 Of ages of human despair. 
 
 The lonely sunbeam cast its light 
 Over the gloomy scene, 
 Striving to brighten the darkened way, 
 And find some good to glean. 
 
 So they lifted it gently and sent it out 
 To the struggling world of care, 
 That its light might shine on a toiler's soil. 
 And help it its trials to bear. 
 
 The little sunbeam was christened " Hope," 
 
 It lives in the world today; 
 
 And 'long the path to Happiness, 
 
 Its clear light shows the way. 
 
 [55] 
 
SPRING SPEAKING TO EARTH 
 
 Banish all fears and away with dull care, 
 Brighten thine eyes with a smile that is fair, 
 Grief — dry thy tears and bind up thy hair, 
 I am here ! 
 
 List to a bird-song with love-notes between, 
 Match a bright face with the sunlight's gilt 
 
 sheen, 
 Off with black garments and on with the green, 
 I am here ! 
 
 Turn not a deaf ear to strange voices that 
 
 plead. 
 Look in my mirrored eyes frankly and read, 
 Does not God give us that which we need? 
 I am here ! 
 
 [56] 
 
DREAM LIFE 
 
 Dream-fraught and dimly fair, 
 There hangs the veil between 
 Our daylight lives of waking hours 
 And those short lives, which seen 
 Through other magic eyes than ours, 
 We view as on a screen. 
 
 We may be prince or queen. 
 Or floating water sprite. 
 The jewels of an empire may 
 Deck us in colors bright 
 We may inhabit isles of rare 
 And million-dreamed delight. 
 
 A little while, and lo! 
 The mystic place is flown. 
 Another life confronts our eyes. 
 Dream bubbles burst and blown. 
 And yet an hour behind the veil 
 May shape a poet's throne. 
 
 [57] 
 
MY DAY 
 
 My day because I love the sun 
 And like a heathen of the olden times, 
 I fain would bow my head and chant 
 In toneless sacramental rhymes. 
 
 My day because my soul expands 
 Till it is great enough to hold the thought 
 That this is God's own precious gift to me, 
 With His love towards me fraught. 
 
 My day, indeed, for I have felt 
 
 Today a new sweet thing. 
 
 This day's an answer to my questioning heart, 
 
 That seeks the slow-stepped spring. 
 
 [58] 
 
ROSSETTI'S SONNETS 
 
 One verse like dawn's expectancy, 
 
 Cool fingertipped and sweet, 
 
 A whispered rhythm soft and low. 
 
 Where murmured tones do meet. 
 
 One verse like summer's hot noontide, 
 
 When sunflowers woo the sun, 
 
 And lifting up their faces give 
 
 Their kisses till he's won. 
 
 And one verse like the shadowed eve. 
 
 With Stardust over it, 
 
 Fair, pensive-worded lines agleam. 
 
 By lady moon soft lit. 
 
 Each separate word a shimmering pearl. 
 
 Strung on a silver string, 
 
 And slipping on to join the next. 
 
 And make a perfect thing. 
 
 [59] 
 
THE LAND OF LOST DESIRES 
 
 There was a Soul in a prison-house, 
 Tortured by Ambition's fires, 
 And there came a day when the Soul escaped 
 To the Land of Lost Desires. 
 In wonder and expectant awe. 
 The Soul passed through the gates 
 Into a garden exquisite, 
 And guarded by three Fates. 
 Afar a palace stood agleam; 
 The Soul caught sounds of lyres. 
 With quick'ning steps it sped towards 
 The Palace of Lost Desires. 
 Into a sunlit open court. 
 The Soul slipped quietly. 
 Six maidens fair to look upon. 
 Reclined in postures free. 
 And 'fore a maiden's silvered couch, 
 A gray smocked slave knelt and 
 With chained hands soft woke the strings 
 To music for the band. 
 The music ceased, a fluttering note 
 Breathed from the quivering lyre. 
 " What do ye here ? " the maidens asked, 
 " In this Palace of Lost Desires ? " 
 " I seek those things for which I yearned 
 And lost long since in mires 
 Of ignorance and prisoned life." 
 " We are those Lost Desires ! " 
 
 [60] 
 
" Your separate names, I pray thee, then, 
 That I may see if true 
 Thou art those Lost Desires of mine, 
 Which I may find anew." 
 
 And SO' a maiden, tall and fair. 
 With eyes like a calm sea. 
 Arose and spoke to the awed Soul. 
 " I, Beauty am," said she. 
 " I am desired by millioned hordes, 
 Still I'm a Lost Desire." 
 " Ah, yes, I know," the Soul replied, 
 " Men say of them you tire." 
 And then arose a maiden sweet, 
 With deep alluring glance. 
 Her eyes one moment were a prayer. 
 The next they seemed to dance. 
 " My name is Fame. Souls follow me. 
 I beckon and they come. 
 Yet while they worship at my shrine. 
 These Souls are stricken dumb." 
 The Soul all humbly bowed him low. 
 " Thy torturing smile I've caught ; 
 But thou, indeed, wert lost to me, — 
 I lost thee while I sought." 
 A regal figure, proud-eyed, dark, 
 Arose and calmly spoke, 
 " Men called me Wealth and died for me 
 E'er since the world awoke. 
 More follow at my call, perhaps, 
 
 [61] 
 
Than at my sisters' call. 
 
 I offer less, though, in the end, 
 
 A Lost Desire, — I pall." 
 
 A maiden with a raven veil 
 
 Of rippling shining hair, 
 
 Said to the Soul, " My name is Power. 
 
 They take me who will dare." 
 
 " And I," a maiden said (her face 
 
 Was glowing like a star), 
 
 " Am Opportunity. To all 
 
 I go, but drift afar." 
 
 And then a last fair maiden rose, 
 
 All sweetly dignified. 
 
 Her eyes were dusky stars ashine. 
 
 Her lips with poppies vied. 
 
 She stretched white arms out to the Soul. 
 
 " And I am Love," she said. 
 
 You find me in this palace lost. 
 
 For some Soul thinks me dead. 
 
 But I am really never lost, 
 
 I'm not a Lost Desire." 
 
 The words trailed off. A flashing light 
 Blinded the Soul with its fire. 
 And then all startlingly its sight 
 Grew clearer than before. 
 A figure gray brushed past. A slave 
 Was hast'ning towards the door. 
 The Soul clutched at the garments gray. 
 " And you ? " he asked in fear. 
 
 [62] 
 
" Oh, / am Man. I am the slave 
 Of all these maidens here. 
 Do not detain me now, O Soul, 
 For I must follow them." 
 His silver chains clanked 'gainst the floor, 
 Beneath his garments' hem. 
 Then saw the Soul that all the maids 
 Had disappeared, — save one. 
 And Love stood still with trembling lips, 
 But radiant as the sun! 
 " Where are the others ? " asked the Soul. 
 Love clasped hands on her breast. 
 " They all are here," she said, " for I 
 Embody all the rest ! " 
 " 'Tis I who give to faces plain 
 A Beauty all their own. 
 And Fame I give to those who, spurred 
 By me, reach for renown. 
 And Love is Wealth, and I will come 
 As Opportunity 
 
 To those who truly love their work, 
 And I am Power, for see ! 
 'Tis I who am all powerful, 
 And Power give to a host, — 
 To mothers, friends, to thrones, withal, 
 To lovers give I most." 
 " And in this Palace of Desires, — 
 All Lost Desires, — you stay?" 
 So asked the Soul, the while Love smiled. 
 " Ah, no, we two away ! 
 
 [63] 
 
I go with you unto the end, 
 
 For you have found me here. 
 
 But first return to your prison-house. 
 
 You lead, I follow, dear." 
 
 All dumbly then her mercy sought 
 
 The suppliant Soul, for Love 
 
 Above all things else in the world. 
 
 The Soul desired. But Love, 
 
 With sweet compelling eyes did speak. 
 
 The Soul then led the way. 
 
 And through the halls and gardens fair, 
 
 Love followed close to stay. 
 
 And lo ! as went the silent twain 
 
 To quaff the prison bowl, — 
 
 It was no longer prison, but 
 
 The mansion of the Soul ! 
 
 [64] 
 
TWO MOTHERS 
 
 Cradled in the arms of the young little moon, 
 
 The little white star lay at rest. 
 
 And it twinkled and smiled, and all too soon, 
 
 Slipt over the rim of the west. 
 
 Close in the arms, at a young mother's breast, 
 
 A baby's dear head lay in sleep. 
 
 And all too soon the world gay-dressed. 
 
 Called him out of her keep. 
 
 [65] 
 
SOMEDAY 
 
 Someday there will be sun 
 Enough to flood the sky ; 
 A smiling sky, with tiny flecks, 
 When little clouds blow by. 
 
 Someday there will be joy 
 Enough to fill the heart; 
 And all the earth will seem to smile, 
 And bid youth ne'er depart. 
 
 Someday there will be love 
 
 Enough for ever and aye ; 
 
 And earth and heav'n will be the same, 
 
 When dawns that sweet Someday. 
 
 And men go on and strain 
 Their eyes 'long life's dim way ; 
 To seek the shining will-o'-the-wisp. 
 The beck'ning sweet Someday. 
 
 [66] 
 
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