Class j:^&s:g>£ 
 
 Book E^sJl 
 GoRyri^htN»_i_lOa_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
DREAMS, 
 RHYMES and FANCIES 
 
 Victor Reese 
 
 CLEVELAND, OHIO 
 
 CALVERT & HATCH 
 
 PRINTERS 
 
 1907 
 
[uBRmoTcONGRESS 
 Two Coofes Received 
 MAY 28 I90r 
 (\ Copynffht Er»try 
 
 ■■■ """""" '■ " J 
 
 T5 3-r3 
 • E3S-J/ 
 
 7 
 
 Copyrighted 1907 
 Victor Reese 
 
DREAMS, RHYMES and FANCIES 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Belated South Wind . 
 
 A Lover's Plea 
 
 A Song of Sighs 
 
 A Woman's Heart . 
 
 A Wraith 
 
 Among The Graves 
 
 An Experiment . 
 
 An You Had Sent Me 
 
 At Sunrise 
 
 At The Death of The Old Year 
 
 Autumn ... 
 
 Baby Laughter 
 
 Credo . . . . 
 
 Departed Yesterday 
 
 Despondency 
 
 Drifting 
 
 For Your Sweet Sake 
 
 In Banishment 
 
 21 
 56 
 13 
 
 58 
 
 S3 
 93 
 80 
 
 49 
 23 
 96 
 
 15 
 
 82 
 40 
 59 
 54 
 9 
 65 
 72 
 
In Gloomy Hours 
 
 In Your Dear Eyes 
 
 Lines On A Sleeping Child . 
 
 Love's Ideal 
 
 Lullaby 
 
 Man's Independence Day 
 
 My Shrine 
 
 On Receipt of A Picture 
 
 Rondel 
 
 Rue . . . 
 
 Sestina 
 
 Some Day 
 
 Song 
 
 Sonnets — 
 
 I . . . . 
 
 II . . . 
 
 III ... 
 
 IV . . . 
 Stolen 
 
 Supplication 
 
 The Chimes . 
 
 The Cynosure of Loving Eyes 
 
 The Death of Poverty 
 
35 
 52 
 37 
 14 
 
 29 
 
 The Garden of Death 
 
 The Gleam In Her Dear Eyes . 
 
 The Haunted House of Crime 
 
 The Origin of Music . • • • 
 
 The River of Hope . • • • 
 
 The Song That Sings of Now . • • 44 
 
 The Soul of Love . • • • ' ^ 
 
 The Storm Without . - • • 42 
 
 The Vanishing Land of Dream . • .66 
 
 The Violet . . • • • ^" 
 
 The Wise Old Owl . • • • ' ^o 
 
 Thinking, Just Thinking 
 
 Through Faeryland 
 
 Two Flowers . • • ■ ' 
 
 Underneath • • • • 
 
 Villanelle • • • • • ^ 
 
 86 
 
 When Big Eyes Found a Nest 
 
 When Love Caressed Me . • • 74 
 
 Where I Would Rest . • • -46 
 
DRIFTING. 
 
 When the silvery twilight 
 
 Steals over the day, 
 Oh! then let sweet Fancy 
 
 Waft us away 
 To the mystical regions 
 
 Of shadows and dreams, 
 Where over us kindly 
 
 A silver moon beams. 
 
 On a river that twinkles 
 
 With Heaven's bright eyes, 
 On a river that mirrors 
 
 The luminous skies, 
 May our little boat bear us 
 
 To regions of bliss 
 In the sheltering shadows 
 
 Where fond lovers kiss. 
 
O beloved ! what rapture 
 
 To drift through the night 
 On waters that glisten 
 
 With silvery light, 
 As they waft us so gently, — 
 
 Along with their stream, — 
 To the moon-litten haven 
 
 That shelters our dream. 
 
 10 
 
THE CHIMES. 
 
 When Twilight stills the noises of the day 
 And sends the weary toiler home to rest — 
 While loved ones rush to meet him on the way — 
 Ah! then it is the sweetest strains and best, 
 The evening chimes, breathe sweetest melody. 
 
 The toiler listens: from his chastened mind 
 All thoughts of weariness and pain have fled ; 
 Those sweet, melodious bells — enchanters kind — 
 Have borne them far away, and left instead 
 The soothing bliss of their sweet monody. 
 
 The older folk, whose faith grew with the years, 
 With quickening ears await the evening bells — 
 The while their eyes grow dim with happy tears — 
 A*nd offer prayer to that great God who dwells 
 On high, and hears the Heaven's threnody. 
 
Like balsam are your soothing notes to me, 
 Oh Evening Bells! when heartsick I return 
 From scenes of strife and bitter rivalry, 
 And eagerly my fainting spirits yearn 
 To hear your soul burst forth in rhapsody. 
 
 Ah Bells! sweet ministers to weary minds, 
 When twilight sends the toiler home to rest. 
 Then breathe, O breathe your rapture on the winds 
 And soothe the surging troubles of his brea?t 
 With Music's altruistic harmony! 
 
A SONG OF SIGHS. 
 
 Summer Is old and is dying: 
 Lonely the meadows are sighing — 
 
 Plaintively sighing: 
 Harvest bow down to the reaper — 
 
 Lo! they are garnered away: 
 See how the shadows grow deeper 
 
 There on the borders of day. 
 Lonely the meadows are sighing — 
 
 Plaintively sighing: 
 Summer is old and is dying. 
 
 Love is inconstant and fleeting: 
 Vain is the hearts fond entreating — 
 
 Vain its entreating: 
 Love is the daughter of Pleasure; 
 
 Love only seeks to be gay : 
 Sorrow may take its own measure; 
 
 Love will not linger a day. 
 Vain is the hearts fond entreating — 
 
 Vain its entreating: 
 Love is inconstant and fleeting. 
 
 >3 
 
THE ORIGIN OF MUSIC. 
 
 When words were given unto men 
 That they might tell their thoughts again, 
 There still was left a world of thought 
 Beyond the scope that words had wrought ; 
 And so God gave them Music too — 
 A sweeter process and more true — 
 That they might sense the soul of Love 
 And thus interpret Heaven above. 
 
 14 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 The leaves are red, 
 
 The fields are sere. 
 The daisies dead, 
 The summer sped, 
 The autumn here. 
 
 With mournful eyes 
 My sad soul sees 
 
 The prophecies 
 
 Of dreary skies 
 Upon the trees. 
 
 Long cob-webs lie 
 Along the ground. 
 
 And, floating by. 
 
 The thistles fly 
 In endless round. 
 
 15 
 
From clump to tod 
 The autumn spreads 
 
 The golden rod; 
 
 And asters nod 
 
 Their purple heads. 
 
 Where'er I gaze 
 Vague vapors swim, 
 
 And weave a maze 
 
 That casts a haze 
 Of shadows dim. 
 
 In sober wise 
 
 The creeks now flow; 
 Their laughing cries 
 Are now faint sighs 
 
 And murm' rings low. 
 
 Singing amid 
 
 The fields embossed 
 With silver thrld 
 The katy-did 
 
 Foretells the frost. 
 
Now sadness floats 
 
 Across the day, 
 For tuneful throats 
 Have hushed their notes 
 
 And flown away. 
 
 But undismayed 
 
 By wind or cold 
 When forests fade, 
 All unafraid, 
 
 Come hearts more bold. 
 
 Come with the breeze 
 That autumn sweeps, 
 
 Head first down trees 
 
 With reckless ease 
 The nuthatch creeps. 
 
 And though 'tis drear, 
 
 The chickadee — 
 Brimful of cheer — 
 Comes frisking near 
 
 While faint hearts flee. 
 
In knavish glee 
 That little thief, 
 
 The chickaree, 
 
 Delights to see 
 His victims grief; 
 
 And evermore 
 
 Intent to steal 
 Ke watches o'er 
 His w^inters store , 
 With roguish zeal. 
 
 And novv^ at morn 
 The farmer goes 
 To husk his corn, 
 While winds forlorn 
 Sigh out their woes. 
 
 For autumn holds 
 All nature fast 
 Within its folds, 
 And there rem.oulds 
 The season past. 
 
 18 
 
The wood now gleams 
 With red and gray; 
 
 In sombre dreams 
 
 The landscape seems 
 To fade away. 
 
 With mournful stress 
 The bob-whites call 
 
 Their loneliness ; 
 
 And respiteless 
 
 The sad leaves fall. 
 
 In gloom enskyM 
 
 The sun goes down — 
 At eventide — 
 Where shadows hide 
 
 And cold winds frown. 
 
 A veil of white 
 
 Drops from a cloud ; 
 And frosty night 
 With subtle sleight 
 
 Spreads Summer's shroud. 
 
 19 
 
The leaves are red, 
 The fields are drear, 
 
 The Summer dead, 
 
 And in its stead 
 The Autumn here. 
 
A BELATED SOUTH WIND. 
 
 The South wind sighs as he goes by us— 
 
 You, Oh my love! and I; 
 Tis envy he bears in his mournful breast- 
 
 "Envy"? you ask, "Pray why"? 
 
 He sees us here and he knows our love— 
 Yours, Oh my love! and mine; 
 
 "Ah me"! sighs he "even thus did I 
 The flowers of Spring entwine." 
 
 He thinks of the days when he too loved- 
 
 Loved with a love like this; 
 He weeps at the sight of loves' embrace — 
 
 Weeps when he sees us kiss. 
 
For he once loved the flowers of spring 
 
 E'en as we love to-day; 
 Alas, for the wind! the flowerets bright 
 
 Withered and faded away. 
 
 So he sobs and sighs where'er he goes, 
 
 And moans as he sees us here, 
 And wanders about in a vain, vain search 
 
 For the flowers he held so dear. 
 
 And this is the reason the wind sighs, love- 
 Sighs through the autumn leaves; 
 
 Yes, this is the reason the wind weeps, love- 
 This is the reason he grieves. 
 
AT SUNRISE. 
 
 In contemplation of the stars 
 The night has passed away; 
 
 The pine trees long projecting spars 
 
 Rise rigidly like prison bars 
 Against the coming day. 
 
 They seek to hold the waking sun 
 
 Confined within the East, 
 Yet slowly, surely, one by one, 
 The sun climbs o'er their barriers dun 
 
 And joins the birds at feast. 
 
 The fate of love is not to be 
 
 A captive unto hate; 
 Its goings ever must be free — 
 Through any land, o'er any sea — 
 
 And e'er inviolate. 
 
 23 
 
MAN'S INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 I celebrate the future day when men 
 Will recognize the trueness of their hearts 
 And yield a generous love to brother men ; 
 When nations glorious victories will be 
 The hideous nightmares of a bloody past; 
 When mankind's love, unbounded by the seas, 
 Will reach o'er all the earth and back again, 
 And into darkest Chaos' furthest depths — 
 Yes, further than the spheres. Ah! such a day 
 And such a love, I celebrate today. 
 
 24 
 
MY SHRINE. 
 
 What is more sacred than the home 
 
 Where free from art 
 
 Grow soul and heart. 
 And where no shades of church or dome 
 
 Mock sanctities impart? 
 
 The home is Love's most sacred shrine — 
 
 A shrine, in sooth, 
 
 Where all is truth — 
 Where Love points out the path divine 
 
 Unto the years of youth. 
 
 If holiness e'er dwells on earth, 
 
 Or anywhere, 
 
 I know 'tis there 
 Where joys and sorrows both have birth, 
 
 And pleasure vies with care. 
 
 *5 
 
Read every last religious tome — 
 
 You cannot find 
 
 Where Heaven designed 
 A holier temple than the home 
 
 By loving hearts enshrined. 
 
 Let others chase the furtive gleam 
 That priests call fair: 
 I'll wander where 
 The home heart weaves its sacred dream 
 And find my heaven theie. 
 
 26 
 
THE DEATH OF POVERTY. 
 
 The flickering fire that wavers on the hearth — 
 In pitiful attempts to render cheer — 
 
 Is all too feeble, in this home of dearth, 
 To fright the myrmidons of Want and Fear. 
 
 The toothless crone who huddles on the floor, 
 Her rags wrapped round her cold-benumbed 
 frame, 
 
 Is brooding o'er the memories of yore 
 
 E'er Plenty diced with Want and lost the game. 
 
 Yes, she hau watched her friends go one by one 
 Till none were left to give her need relief; 
 
 And then, clad in the rags of clothes she spun 
 In brighter years, her life ebbed out in grief. 
 
 ay 
 
And thus the end is seeking her at last 
 
 In awful guise, and, robed in horrid things, 
 
 Sits with her at her savorless repast 
 As if well pleased at all sufferings. 
 
 Her lifeless form the sun will find at mom 
 And man may deign to pity — but too late! 
 
 The pity that but yesterday was scorn 
 Is what has made her life so desolate. 
 
 And what is pity but a wanton word 
 
 To that poor woman at the doors of doom 
 
 To mock her when her frame is sepulchered 
 Amid the shadows of the dreary tomb. 
 
 Alas, poor victim of our good Success ! 
 
 Mankind withheld your universal rights 
 Forgetful that the same dire wretchedness 
 
 May cap its happy days with loathsome nights. 
 
 28 
 
THE RIVER OF HOPE. 
 
 The river of Hope is as wide as the measureless sea, 
 And its course is the future eternal, the realm of 
 
 To Be. 
 The shoals of Despair for a moment may hinder 
 
 its way, 
 But in vain are their efforts — the river won't stay! 
 
 Ah! it flows o'er the shoals to the tranquil valleys 
 
 below, 
 And past the fair banks where the waterlillies grow, 
 And on, ever on, to the sweet fruition of hope, — 
 The goal of all good and its measureless, limitless 
 
 scope. 
 
 At last the river runs wide and smoothly and free 
 As it buries its soul in the heart of the mystical sea : 
 Yet does it run free, or is't but a wish of our 
 
 dreams? 
 Is the realized hope the beautiful thing that it 
 
 seems ? 
 
 a9 
 
Ah no, no, no! the river must ever run on, 
 The realized hope but stays to allure and is gone ; 
 For Lo ! at the end of the vista of beautiful thought 
 The shallows of fulness appear, and the dream is 
 
 but naught, — 
 For that we call fullness is but a vague launch into 
 
 space 
 And fails of attaining, though nearing the goal of 
 
 the race. 
 
 There's always a sweeter and better life to be won — 
 The more that we do to attain it, the more to be 
 
 done: 
 And well that its so, for hope and attainment are 
 
 one — 
 The sweetest, the truest, the noblest joy under the 
 
 sun. 
 
 Dear Hope, unrealized Hope, ever true, ever strong! 
 Ever guide me and gently, persistently bear me 
 
 along 
 To your kindlier realms — the unrealized realms of 
 
 my song! 
 
 30 
 
RONDEL. 
 
 O where are the hopes of former years, 
 
 Where are the dreams of yesterday? 
 Where are the school-boys lusty cheers, 
 
 And where is the little maid's mother-play? 
 O what has become of the faith and fears 
 
 Of the days e'er golden locks turned gray? 
 O where are the hopes of former years, 
 
 Where are the dreams of yesterday? 
 
 Where are the songs that greeted our ears 
 In that merry, blithsome, kindly way? 
 
 Have they all vanished away in tears — 
 A finali of sobs for Love's roundelay? 
 
 O where are the hopes of former years, 
 Where are the dreams of yesterday? 
 
 31 
 
SESTINA. 
 
 I rested in the shadow of a dream 
 
 And idly watched the ebb and flow of thought; 
 
 I sat in some half-conscious shadow land 
 
 Where gleams of hidden things flit through the 
 
 mind; 
 I saw the dawn of Mirth, the end of Woe, 
 And revelled in the fond delights of Love. 
 
 And there amid the ecstasy of love 
 
 I wandered slowly down the banks of dream — 
 
 Those banks that shadows never shade with woe, 
 
 And o'er whose paths no mean or selfish thought 
 
 E'er goes on servile errands to the mind ; 
 
 For Love endures no baseness in that land. 
 
 3a 
 
And then I journeyed over sea and land, 
 
 But never saw I aught so sweet as Love: 
 Philosophies, the children of the mind, 
 Seemed but the idle nothings of a dream — 
 Vain spectres of some dark malignant thought! 
 Fit messengers for misery and woe! 
 
 Wherever Love was not, there saw I woe, 
 And fled in fear as from a hostile land ; 
 For well I knew that some malicious thought 
 Would strive to lead me from the ways of Love, 
 And try to cast me in some dungeoned dream 
 Where madness wreaks its tortures on the mind. 
 
 But Love I knew ne'er wrought upon the mind 
 Save to dispel the wretched thoughts of woe; 
 Or else, to weave life's path-way like a dream 
 That winds its way to some sweet fairy land 
 Where every heart proclaim.s the rule of Love, 
 And there forgets the vagaries of thought. 
 
 33 
 
Yes, I now knew that what man termed as thought 
 
 Was heresy, born of unloving mind ; 
 
 For I had sensed the unseen soul of Love 
 
 And seen its grand triumphal over woe : 
 
 I knew that Love was lord of every land — 
 
 The wizard weaver of each noble dream. 
 
 O Love defend my waking hours from woe, 
 And lead my stumbling feet unto that land 
 Where your sweet labors realize my dream. 
 
 34 
 
THE GARDEN OF DEATH. 
 
 They're strewn o'er the acres of Time 
 
 Like chaff, by the blast of Death; 
 In many an alien clime 
 
 Death blighted them with a breath. 
 Many were nothing but buds 
 
 When the dark one cut their stems 
 And bore them over the floods, 
 
 And mocked at Love's requiems; 
 And some were blossoming fair 
 
 In the fullness of Love and Youth — 
 
 35 
 
But beauty though glowing and yare 
 
 Moves not the Dark Angel to ruth; 
 And some In seed-time were culled. 
 
 And others withered away; 
 While the winds they loved have been lulled 
 
 By the winds of another day. 
 They're strewn o'er the acres of Time 
 
 And bloom in the garden of Death, 
 They bloom in our dreams — the clime 
 
 To which they were borne by a breath. 
 
 36 
 
THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF CRIME. 
 
 On the desolate shore of a land forlorn, 
 Where a comfortless sea sings wild. 
 
 Where clouds sear the roseate dawn of morn 
 Like Paradise sin defiled, 
 A cabin wierd, — so the story goes, — 
 Its m.elancholy walls uprose. 
 And thence like a sorcerer of old 
 That mournful region seemed to hold 
 In its benumbing fold. 
 
 If man ever dwelt 'neath its mouldering roof, 
 
 It surely was long, long ago; 
 For ages it stood withdraw^n and aloof 
 
 Like the Past's immemorial woe, 
 
 Till its somberness at length had laid 
 
 The region in its morbid shade, 
 
 And the memory of m.an had passed av/ay 
 
 Obliterated in the gray 
 
 Dull mist of yesterday. 
 
 37 
 
That cabin stood on the portals of Eld 
 Like a link of the terrible past, 
 
 And the man whose eyes its walls beheld 
 With horror and awe stood aghast; 
 And visions drear of the pallid tomb 
 Endongeoned his mind in Fears' dread gloom, 
 And rent his horrified soul with fear 
 Of gruesome sounds he seemed to hear, 
 Or dream ghouls hovering near. 
 
 Yes, there in the past where dread shapes lie, 
 Like monsters intent on their prey, — 
 
 Where haunting memories of sin deny 
 The soul of the peace of today, — 
 Yes, there in the verge of the penitent lands 
 This melancholy cabin stands. 
 And there in despite the lapse of time 
 Man sees the ghastly pantomime 
 Of memories of crime. 
 
 38 
 
THINKING, JUST THINKING. 
 
 At the night tide oft I sit 
 
 Thinking, just thinking — 
 Dreaming of the Infinite! 
 Out into the distance peering 
 As if listening, feeling, hearing — 
 Thinking, just thinking. 
 
 In these musings. Oh ! I feel — 
 Thinking, just thinking — 
 Such a faith that Hope is real 
 That I realize the gleam of 
 That true brotherhood I dream of- 
 Thinkiiig, just thinking. 
 
 Noble lives around m.e rise — 
 
 Thinking, just thinking — 
 Striving toward the goal that lies 
 (Just beyond their overtaking) 
 In the struggles they are making- 
 Thinking, just thinking. 
 
 39 
 
CREDO. 
 
 Oh! like a ship that darkness renders blind, 
 Whose only guides are ghosts of fears 
 And luring calls to spirit ears, 
 
 Is that poor dreaming soul which hopes to find 
 The meaning of its unborn years. 
 
 All our forebodings on a future life 
 
 Give birth to dark and gloomy things, 
 And, sapping Hope's refreshing springs, 
 Drive sweet Repose into the realms of Strife 
 And drown the songs the true heart sings. 
 
 Where zealots rear their wild abortive dreams, 
 
 And superstitions sear the sight, 
 
 Let me not shudder with affright! 
 Fate, save me when the moon's unhallowed beams 
 
 Spread their contagion through the night! 
 
 40 
 
Where unassuming virtues toy with Time 
 Unheedful of the good they do — 
 There let me wander, there imbue 
 
 My soul with aspirations fit for rhyme! 
 There let me find Truth's rendezvous! 
 
 Where honest folk sing simple roundelays 
 There let me^ flower-like, bloom and fade 
 
 In fear of no dark ambuscade 
 
 By priestcraft laid — those awful judgment days 
 After the game of life is played. 
 
 Till Time has claimed my life-long pilgrimage 
 May such sweet hopes my heart defend 
 From all the evils that impend ; 
 And when the Past commands me from the stage 
 May I in gladness greet the End. 
 
THE STORM WITHOUT. 
 
 A vague unrest disturbs my breast, 
 
 My very blood runs cold ; 
 In wierd^ wild tones the wild wind moans 
 
 Through the pine trees gaunt and old, 
 While a hideous rout of fiends without 
 
 Like furies shriek and scold. 
 
 The whole house shakes, and rocks and quakes, 
 And the timbers seem to groan, 
 
 While fiercer still with right ill will, — 
 Like fiends frotn the dark unknovv-n,^ — 
 
 The tempests roar against the door 
 In a frenzied monotone. 
 
My fire burns low; the shadows grow 
 
 Indeterminate and dim, 
 And the fiendish swarms of dem.on forms 
 
 Surge on the firelight's rim, 
 While Atrophy descends on me 
 
 And spreads from limb to limb. 
 
 But Cherubim and Seraphim 
 
 Now wait on weary me, 
 And interpose me from my foes — 
 
 The pirates of Thought' sea; 
 So let me sleep for Angels keep 
 
 A vigil safe and free. 
 
 43 
 
THE SONG THAT SINGS OF NOW. 
 
 The Present Is present — away with the Past 
 
 For the Past Is a thing of the past; 
 And the Future's a dream, a phantom, a lure 
 That will wreck the fond soul at the last. 
 Away with these dreams 
 Of visions and gleams, 
 And weave through the Present your hopes of the 
 past^ 
 For the Present Is true and Is real; 
 And the Future — Ah ! let the Future alone 
 To build up this present ideal. 
 
Our life's in the Present — we live it but once, 
 
 And then 'tis a thing of the past; 
 But a present ill lived is a phantom to haunt 
 
 The unwary soul to the last. 
 So up and away, 
 Lets garner the day 
 And count it among the best days of the past — 
 
 The days when all was ideal ; 
 And the Future! Ah! friend, the Future is now- 
 
 A Future sweet and real. 
 
 45 
 
WHERE I WOULD REST. 
 
 Oh let me rest, Oh restless sea ! 
 Upon thy restless breast, 
 
 Where all thy moods though harsh they be 
 Would even seem like rest, 
 To me would seem like rest. 
 
 Thy most discordant note is sweet 
 
 As music to my ear, 
 And angry waves that loudly beat 
 
 Are sounds I love to hear, 
 
 Is music I would hear. 
 
 And if I sleep, Oh! let me sleep 
 
 In endless slumber there — 
 Oh ! keep me in thy kindly deep 
 
 Where mortals cannot fare, 
 
 Where sorrow cannot fare. 
 
TWO FLOWERS. 
 
 The garden offered me the rose 
 In which its fairest hopes had met: 
 The sweetness of the morning dew 
 
 Still lingered in its heart, 
 The fragrance of the land of dreams 
 
 Was in its breath — 
 But Oh ! that rose was far too fair 
 To wither in such hands as mine. 
 
 One day the Soul of Innocence 
 Showed me the flower of maidenhood 
 Her presence breathed the ecstasy 
 
 Of what the Soul might be, 
 And woke me from the lethargy 
 
 That nunibed my heart — 
 But Oh ! she was too fair a flower 
 To wanton in such hands as mine. 
 
 47 
 
RUE. 
 
 Oftimes at night I sit alone 
 
 And dream sad dreams of you, 
 While Nature sighs in gentle moan 
 
 And sheds sweet tears of dew; 
 The stars look down upon my woes 
 
 With pity in their eyes — 
 The silence of the darkness shows 
 
 The heavens sympathize. 
 
 My day of gayety is done, 
 
 My joys are far away; 
 In vain I seek the golden sun — 
 
 The skies are leaden-gray. 
 Alone I sit in dreariness 
 
 Upon the beds of rue 
 And seek to soothe my heart's distress 
 
 With memories ^of you. 
 
 48 
 
AN YOU HAD SENT ME. 
 
 An you had sent me, I had gone 
 
 Though sorrow rent my soul the while- 
 No, not for me the morrow's dawn 
 Would waft your magic smile. 
 
 No pleasure that I e'er may know 
 Could sorrow from my heart beguile, 
 
 If I were banished from your sight 
 And could not claim your smile. 
 
 49 
 
VILLANELLE. 
 
 My every thought Is a dream of you 
 
 Wherein I see your radiant eyes 
 Luring me on to all things true. 
 
 'TIs an idle fiction to say Adieu 
 
 For Love weaves your image in hopes and sighs 
 My every thought is a dream of you. 
 
 Wherever I go, w^hatever I do, 
 
 Love shapes a vision that wears your guise 
 Luring me on to all things true. 
 
 O light of my dreams ! if you but knew 
 What utter surrender love implies — 
 My every thought is a dream of you. 
 
 so 
 
Shining refulgent in Love's fond view 
 
 Your eyes gleam like stars in my slumber skies 
 Luring me on to all things true. 
 
 My miind is ever a rendezvous 
 
 Of thoughts that bring me your wishes wise 
 Luring me on to all things true — 
 
 My every thought is a dream of you. 
 
 SI 
 
THE GLEAM IN HER DEAR EYES. 
 
 The stars of night are true and bright 
 And shine from kindly skies; 
 
 But they don't shed so pure a light 
 As gleams in her dear eyes. 
 
 Their limpid stare, though fond and fair, 
 
 Is but a fleeting guise — 
 A soul-less light to show how rare 
 
 Love gleams in her dear eyes. 
 
 The stars are cold, and wan and old, 
 
 And shine in solemn wise. 
 But Oh, how truer aureoled 
 
 The gleam in her dear eyes! 
 
 Sa 
 
A WRAITH. 
 
 There was a time when you dispelled 
 
 My sadness w^ith a smile, 
 When sunshine came if I beheld 
 
 Your eyes the while. 
 
 But hollow wraiths of wasted things 
 
 (For you have fallen low) 
 Have borne you on their loathsome wings 
 
 To shame and woe. 
 
 Your eyes have lost their pristine power 
 And grown to something vile — 
 
 Alas! to think that one short hour 
 Could change your smile. 
 
 53 
 
DESPONDENCY. 
 
 The skies are cold and dreary, 
 The morning brings no dawn, 
 
 My heart is sad and weary — 
 For every hope is gone. 
 
 I sigh for no to-morrow 
 To bring a brighter day: 
 
 There is no balm for sorrow 
 When Hope has flown away. 
 
 54 
 
SOME DAY. 
 
 Love will reign again some day, 
 
 Somewhere, somehow — 
 All this selfish, soul-less striving, 
 This continual conniving, 
 All this ceaseless, senseless sweating 
 
 For the sake of getting, getting — 
 All will be forgot somedaj^ — 
 
 Somewhere — somehow. 
 
 Love will reign again som.e day 
 
 O'er every heart; 
 Every\vhere true hearts upwelling 
 Will acclaim the Love compelling 
 And, forgetting self for others, 
 
 Make the world a world of brothers — 
 Swiftly come that happy day 
 
 To every heart! 
 
 55 
 
A LOVER'S PLEA. 
 
 Love, you are as distant as the stars 
 And I would fain be near, 
 
 1 fain would feel there were no bounding bars 
 To keep me prisoned here. 
 
 O Love, your foot-steps tread the paths of Day, 
 
 You bask within the light — 
 While I with gloom encircled am the prey 
 
 Of tortures dark as night. 
 
 O Love, though I may wander out 
 
 Upon the restless tide, 
 Defend me from the woes of Doubt — 
 
 Be my sweet constant guide! 
 
 56 
 
IN YOUR DEAR EYES. 
 
 In your dear eyes, Love's coverture, 
 I read the answer I conjure; 
 I know your lips — your eyes say so — 
 
 Could never frame that cold word No — 
 Despite your manner so demure. 
 
 Asking for Love's investiture 
 
 I come before you humble, poor — 
 Though I was answered long ago 
 In your dear eyes! 
 
 Those dear fond eyes, both guide and lure, 
 Of all I wish have made me sure ; 
 For all I wish or care to know 
 Your eyes alone have power to show — 
 O let the Love-light e'er endure 
 In your dear eyes ! 
 
 57 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART. 
 
 A woman's heart is Love's abiding place, 
 A woman's arms were meant for Love's embrace, 
 A woman's soul is God's sweet messenger 
 Of comfort to Mankind — a gentle spur 
 And sweet incentive for life's weary race. 
 
 Oh! where more oft than on a woman's face 
 Do gentle thoughts with Heaven interlace? 
 And why, as judge, do erring men prefer 
 A woman's heart? 
 
 Yv'^hen men at last their wilding steps retrace, 
 When form.er joys are shunned as foul and base, 
 'Tis Woman who is Love's interpreter, 
 Whose trueness makes men feel wherein they err. 
 And who forgives, and gives with winning grace — 
 A woman's heart ! 
 
 58 
 
DEPARTED YESTERDAY. 
 
 My friends have left me; I'm alone 
 With tender memories of the gone — 
 They've journeyed now a long, long way 
 Under the depths of yesterday. 
 
 Yes, all the hopes that did entwine 
 These happy phamtom joys of mine 
 Have gone the same pathetic way 
 And buried lie 'neath yesterday. 
 
LOVE'S IDEAL. 
 
 Attuned to all that's good and true 
 Perfection shapes her every view, 
 And garbs her ever sweet and new 
 With sweet excess. 
 
 The foster child of every grace 
 She moves about from place to place 
 With winsome smiles upon her face, 
 And Love's caress. 
 
 Her smiles confess her soul to be 
 The dear abode of Purity, 
 And spell sweet thoughts that all may see 
 Are blemlshless. 
 
 She is an idyl young Love wove 
 While roaming through the mystic grove 
 Where Fancy keeps its treasure-trove 
 In blissfulness. 
 
 60 
 
SONG. 
 
 When my heart no hope espies, 
 When your soul is in disguise — 
 Let me see your eyes. 
 
 Though your h'ps may then rebel 
 
 I shall know that all is well — 
 
 For your eyes will tell. 
 
 Tease me all you care to do 
 If I hold that certain clue — 
 For your eyes are true. 
 
 6i 
 
THE VIOLET. 
 
 The violet blue, 
 
 Sweet child of the dew. 
 And of all that is tender and true, 
 
 Wears Purity's truth 
 
 So sweetly, forsooth, 
 That age is charmed into youth. 
 
 The aged heart glows 
 With a passion that flows 
 
 From fountains deep under the snows 
 While Memory weaves 
 The love that it grieves 
 
 In characters wrought of the leaves. 
 
 62 
 
And in its dear eyes, 
 
 Young Love, as his prize, 
 Finds the joy and the meaning of sighs; 
 
 And lingers and reads 
 
 The answer he pleads, 
 And the violet sweetly concedes. 
 
 And thus, everywhere, 
 
 All worship the fair 
 In the eyes of the dear, debonair 
 
 Sv/eet violet blue — 
 
 The child of the dew 
 And of all that is tender and true. 
 
 63 
 
SUPPLICATION. 
 
 O Love, I would not have thee bold, 
 But, O dear heart! be not so cold. 
 Be only shy with others nigh, 
 But when with me put shyness by 
 And show me by some artless sign 
 That you are mine! 
 
 O love, I would not have thee sad. 
 But when I go do not be glad. 
 Oh! let me feel that you were fain 
 To have me linger and remain — 
 O give me some sweet hopeful sign 
 That you are mine! 
 
 O love, I would not have thee do 
 One single thing that is not true, 
 But still, I pray, make me believe — 
 Though when you do it you deceive- 
 That you confess by some sweet sign 
 That you are mine ! 
 
 64 
 
FOR YOUR SWEET SAKE. 
 
 For your sweet sake, dear Love, I dare 
 The danger I would else beware; 
 I rush to danger blithe and gay 
 Nor doubt the outcome of the fray 
 If you, dear Love, do wish me there. 
 
 No friend am I of beldance Care 
 But e'en her grumblings would I bear, 
 Nor any petulance display, 
 For your dear sake. 
 
 When days are glad and bright and fair, 
 Or when forbidding frowns they wear 
 I cannot know or feel dismay 
 If you but move across the day; 
 For Love has driven out Despair 
 For your dear sake. 
 
 65 
 
THE VANISHING LAND OF DREAM. 
 
 Over the waters 
 
 And far away, 
 Granada's daughters 
 
 Laughter and play, 
 Rings through my ears 
 
 And delights my eyes, 
 And more endears 
 
 With each surprise. 
 What a sweet, sweet gleam 
 These fancies seem 
 Of the vanishing land of dream. . 
 
 66 
 
Over the waters, 
 
 Shattered, forlorn, 
 My Psychic daughters 
 
 With garments torn 
 Now one by one. 
 
 Sobbing, return 
 Undone — undone ! 
 
 And writhe and turn 
 In the dark, dank stream 
 That sears the gleam 
 Of the vanishing land of dream. 
 
 67 
 
THE SOUL OF LOVE. 
 
 Through all the gloomy works of Time, 
 Despite the bounds of Space, 
 
 Amid the Past's dim spectrum I 
 Behold her face. 
 
 I see her now as once she stood 
 In Love's accustomed place, 
 
 While smiling virtues play about 
 Her gentle face. 
 
 Her spirit seems to point the path 
 For my faint steps to trace, 
 
 Yes, at its perfect end I see 
 Her angel face. 
 
 Dear inspiration ever let 
 Me feel your call to grace : 
 
 When all seems dark — O may I then 
 Behold your face! 
 
 68 
 
ON RECEIPT OF A PICTURE. 
 
 My little room that once I thought 
 Could hardly be more fair, 
 
 Is now so bright it dims my eyes — 
 For IVe your picture there. 
 
 69 
 
THE CYNOSURE OF LOVING EYES. 
 
 Sweet, serious, womanly, 
 
 Innocent, wise — 
 A spirit who humanly 
 
 Captures our eyes. 
 
 Gleaming refulgently 
 
 Sunbeams and smiles 
 Linger, indulgently 
 
 Aiding her wiles. 
 
 Angel hopes airily 
 
 Lingering nigh, 
 Joyfully, merrily 
 
 Serve her and die. 
 
 70 
 
Maidenly, dutiful, 
 Loving, and true — - 
 
 All that is beautiful 
 Rests in her view. 
 
 Spirit — yet humanly 
 Garbed to our eyes, 
 
 Teaching us womanly 
 Trueness to prize. 
 
 71 
 
IN BANISHMENT. 
 
 I have no castles in Dreamland, — 
 My dreams have passed in decay; 
 
 I rule no kingdom in Dreamland, 
 For I am banished away. 
 
 The kingdom I ruled was the land 
 Where the beautiful Fancies reign; 
 
 Twas a beautiful, dreamsome land 
 In the fanciful Spanish Main, 
 
 And I was King of this Faeryland — 
 King of the fanciful main. 
 
 Ah yes, these kingdoms were mine, 
 And I dreamed they were mine for aye, 
 
 That these fanciful subjects of mine 
 Forever my thoughts would obey — 
 
 Oh fanciful dreams of mine, 
 I dreamt you were mine for aye! 
 
Now to think that ft all was a dream, 
 That nothing I dreamt then was true, 
 
 That the "Love" that I loved is a dream, 
 That the "You" of my dreams is not "You/ 
 
 That my love is a fanciful dream, 
 
 That there ne'er was a being like "You." 
 
 I have no castles in Love's land — 
 My old ones have passed in decay; 
 
 I rule no kingdom in Love's land. 
 For I am banished away. 
 
 73 
 
WHEN LOVE CARESSED ME. 
 
 Once Love caressed me, and I felt 
 
 Such ecstasy as those great poets feel 
 
 When from their pens enraptured fancies reel, 
 
 And love, and story, and the clash of steel, 
 
 Vie with each other for supremacy. 
 
 Ah ! then I knew^ the depths of poesy, 
 
 For I too was a poet, and I dwelt 
 
 On high Olympus where the Muses reign — 
 
 Where Memory dear the halting soul inspires, 
 
 While sweetest Music whispers the refrain 
 
 And soothes the heart that fiery passion fires. 
 
 74 
 
But that was yesterday, and 'twas a dream ; 
 But, Oh, so sweet! that I did wish 'twas true, 
 Or else that, time turned backward, I anew 
 Might dream such dreams again, — ^Ah! life would 
 
 seem 
 More like the life my youthful fancy knew. 
 
 But dreams are dreams, and some time we must 
 
 wake, 
 And waking feel that bitterness again — 
 Then why of dreams another Eden make — 
 Another dream — a plaything made to break. 
 
 75 
 
SONNETS. 
 I 
 
 Love lives for love, and lives for love alone, 
 
 And it exacts a love so manifest, 
 
 So eager to accede to its request, 
 That doleful doubt is made a thing unknown ; 
 And yet, undoubting, does it doubt and groan 
 
 In all the wretchedness of anguish lest 
 
 It lose the heart where it has found its rest ; 
 For even happy love must sigh and moan. 
 Love lives for love in sadness or in smiles 
 
 And reads the universe in Love's dear eyes; 
 It lives for love though all the world beguiles 
 
 With fawning leers that seek to mock love's guise ; 
 It knows no other joy save love's dear wiles 
 
 And save Love's wisdom calls no wisdom wise. 
 
 76 
 
II 
 
 Though Love be faith yet can it not defy 
 The poisoned fangs of subtle jealousy : 
 Yes, even love's most trusting devotee 
 
 Is ever watchful lest some passer-by 
 
 Should view the fair with too admiring eye; 
 The while his heart stands still to watch lest she 
 Should answer with her eyes diablerie ; 
 
 And if she does — how gloomiy grows the sky. 
 
 The heart of true love feels a world's unease 
 If but one smile, one treasure, go astraj^ — 
 
 What though it knows it was but meant to tease, 
 Love sighs the more for that one castaway. 
 
 And, drinking sorrow, drains it to the lees 
 Doubting the joy of each dead trysting day. 
 
 77 
 
Ill 
 
 The course of Love is like a noble stream 
 That winds by fertile meadows to the se% 
 Blessing the banks with its wild ecstasy, 
 
 And smiling most when harvests reign supreme; 
 
 The course of Love is like the water gleam 
 Where light and crystal hold their jubilee 
 And spell the poet's "Open Sesame" 
 
 Unto the sweet surprises of a dream. 
 
 Love flows along the shores of Sentiment 
 
 Where fainting hearts find former hopes renewed, 
 Where falsehood yields and every thought is true ; 
 
 And there it finds the lands of sweet Content 
 Where Love and Truth are in similitude 
 Each to the other, and, dear love, to you. 
 
IV 
 
 Your image, love, is ever in my eyes, 
 
 My every thought is intertwined with you; 
 
 If I lie down in roses or in rue, 
 The votary or rapture or of sighs, 
 Where'er it be, O Love, life's sweetest prize, 
 
 I feel your presence and your eyes so true 
 
 Waiting and watching over all I do, 
 Calling me on to noble enterprise. 
 Whate'er your thought may be 'tis mine as well, 
 
 Your mirth is mine, and eke your suffering: 
 Whate'er you feel, though how I cannot tell, 
 
 To me some spirit power gives it wing — 
 Ah yes! 'tis Love that casts this wondrous spell 
 
 And tells my heart of you in everything. 
 
 79 
 
AN EXPERIMENT. 
 
 A Sonnet In Trochaic Measure. 
 
 Tell nie, Muses, may trochaic measures e'er 
 
 With the stately sonnets dance among our rhymes ? 
 
 Will the Sonnet yield to Trochee's fainting 
 chimes ? 
 
 Will it sigh trochaic numbers on the air ? 
 
 Sonnet writing rhymers all alike forswear 
 
 Aught but old Iambus — Ah the graceless mimes! 
 
 Imitators of the old decadent times ! 
 Wearers they of clothes that only beggars wear! 
 
 O ye Muses! hearken to this vow I make — 
 To compose trochaic sonnets by the ton ! 
 
 Why rU w^rite one now and lay the doubters 
 low. 
 See, I've done it. Trochee trippings, no mistake — 
 Let me read it just to see what I have done: 
 'Tis trochaic meter — but a sonnet? No! 
 
 80 
 
STOLEN. 
 
 It surely was stolen, — I'm certain, I'm sure — 
 For I know that I never could lose it; 
 
 And give it I would not, though a maid might 
 allure, 
 For she most like would abuse it. 
 
 Yet it's gone, and I don't know what to do, 
 
 Or how in the world to regain it: 
 The thief was a maiden — with eyes, Oh, so blue! 
 
 Oh, how in the world to explain it! 
 
 I know that she has it — something tells me so — 
 
 But what can I do about it? 
 I can't accuse her, and yet I know, — 
 
 For there isn't a chance to doubt it. 
 
 That it's lost is true, yet why should I 
 
 Forever bewail and beweep it? 
 She took it, I know it, and that is why — 
 
 I'm going to let her keep it. 
 
 8i 
 
BABY LAUGHTER. 
 
 When Baby's laughter, peal on peal, 
 Awakes the mirth that we conceal 
 Beneath a visage dark and stern, 
 Ah! then indeed we mirthless learn 
 That there are sweeter nymphs to chase 
 Than riches, power, fame, or place — 
 The fair faced fiends of base desire 
 To win whom we must through the mire 
 Which e'en the demon spirits shun: 
 Yes, only when their smiles are won, 
 We find they're hollow — but too late 
 To save us from the bidden fate. 
 But laughing Baby, she whose smiles 
 The joyless mien of man beguiles 
 To shed its busy careworn frown, — 
 Ah! she's a spirit just come down 
 From fair Aurora's rosy skies 
 To waft us into Paradise. 
 
 82 
 
LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD. 
 
 Oh! what is as sweet as a little child's dream 
 As it drifts down the river of sleep; 
 
 Row sweetly it glides down the silvery stream 
 To the drowsy mystical deep. 
 
 What sweet faith plays on the little wee face 
 
 As it sails past the beautiful lands, 
 Dreamily drifting from place to place 
 
 On the dream river's shifting sands. 
 
 All rolling in dimples the dear little child 
 
 Floats on to the Castle of Truth — 
 Ah, yes ! even thus we too once smiled 
 
 At the innocent dawn of our youth. 
 
 O little one rest on the bosom of dreams, 
 
 Cling fast to your innocent years; 
 For Heaven is naught but the rapture of Seems, 
 
 And Knowledge — the Fountain of Tears. 
 
 83 
 
LULLABY. 
 
 Poor, wee, little darling 
 
 Cuddled in a heap, 
 Little eyes are heavy — 
 
 Want to go to sleep : 
 There my little wee one, 
 
 Rest your little head — 
 Angels are a-watching 
 
 Round your little bed. 
 
 Poor, wee, little darling. 
 
 Be your slumber sweet — 
 May sweet dreams of playtime 
 
 In your slumber meet. 
 Sleep, Oh sleep! my dearie, 
 
 Slumber sweet and deep — 
 Mama is a-watching 
 
 O'er you as you sleep. 
 
 84 
 
THROUGH FAERYLAND. 
 
 Through Faeryland I, dreaming, 
 Have wandered far and wide, 
 Your eyes upon me beaming, 
 For you were at my side. 
 
 Oh sweet, what bliss in dreaming 
 That you were at my side! 
 
 Oh ! would my dream were true, love — 
 
 My dream of Faeryland ; 
 Oh ! make it true, please do, love — 
 
 I think you understand ; 
 For if you'll be my true love 
 
 I'll be in Faeryland. 
 
 85 
 
WHEN BIG EYES FOUND A NEST. 
 
 Little Big Eyes found a nest 
 
 In a bush one day; 
 Mother birdie sore distressed 
 
 Frightened flew away. 
 Eager little Big Eyes then 
 
 Counted birdie's eggs, 
 Then he quickly home again 
 
 Plied his little legs. 
 
 86 
 
Into mamma's patient ear 
 
 Lisped his little tale: 
 Mother tried to look severe, — 
 
 Though she knew she'd fail, — 
 Said that Big Eyes musn't go 
 
 Peeking any more, 
 'Cause it frightened birdie so 
 
 For her eggs "three-four." 
 
 Little Big Eyes kept away 
 
 For two weary days. 
 Then forgetful did he stray 
 
 Into curious ways: 
 Standing on his little toes 
 
 Big Eyes took a peep — 
 Oh! how many little Ohs, 
 
 Woke the birds from sleep. 
 
 87 
 
Four wee little birds were there, 
 
 Four mouths open wide, 
 Each a calling for its share — 
 
 Never satisfied. 
 Big Eyes saw them with surprise,- 
 
 Those "four fuzzy things", — 
 Wondered why they had no eyes. 
 
 Why such stubby wings. 
 
 Wonder bulging on his face 
 
 Big Eyes hom.eward flew, 
 Wondering how it all took place 
 
 And if mamma knew. 
 Big Eyes said he "just forgot" 
 
 "'Bout what mamma said;" 
 Then he told her, naughty tot, 
 
 "'Bout the birds," instead. 
 
 Sg 
 
Mamma rocked her darling boy 
 When his tale was done, 
 
 Hugged him just as if for joy — 
 Big Eyes knew 'twas fun : 
 
 Mamma never would get mad 
 
 Though she said she would; 
 
 Big Eyes knew she loved him "bad" 
 Just as well as "good." 
 
 89 
 
THE WISE OLD OWL. 
 
 When the little folks go on the journey of dream, 
 As the good little folks all do- — 
 To who, to who! 
 Then the old barred owl with his eyes agleam, 
 
 And wickedly gleaming too, 
 Comes out of the hole where all day long 
 He hides from the children's view 
 To who, to who! 
 If any little boy did anything wrong 
 That wise old owl knows who — 
 
 Who, who! 
 That little boys sleep 
 Will not be deep 
 For the wise old owl knows who — 
 Who, who! 
 
 90 
 
Now good little girls and good little boys 
 As good little folks all do — 
 To who, to who! — 
 Sleep on and dream of the wonderful toys 
 
 And the wonders strange and new, 
 And all the marvellous pleasures and joys 
 That slumberland weaves true. 
 To who, to who? 
 To the good little folks who sleep right on 
 Till the wise old owl is gone. 
 
 Who, who? 
 The child whose sleep 
 Is sweet and deep ; 
 And the wise old owl knows who, — 
 Who, who. 
 
 91 
 
UNDERNEATH. 
 
 Under the white, cold mantle of snow- 
 Deep, deep below — 
 The potential green lies 
 Though hid from our eyes 
 By the white, hoar mantle of snow — 
 And deep, deep below. 
 
 Under the dark, stained mantle of sin — 
 Deep, deep within — 
 The potential life lies 
 Undisclosed to our eyes — 
 Under the dark, drear mantle of sin 
 And deep, deep within. 
 
 9z 
 
AMONG THE GRAVES. 
 
 The sombre mother of the race of man 
 
 Here holds reunion with the wanderer. 
 
 For some few years her child has roamed afar 
 
 And, child-like, quite ignored her fond caress ; 
 
 But she, the prototype of motherhood, 
 
 At last regained and claimed the wayward life, 
 
 And from his dying fellows who yet live 
 
 Received it to her all enfolding arms. 
 
 A little stone, by dying hands set up, 
 
 In mute, dumb language tells its listless tale 
 
 Unto the dying hosts that hasten by: 
 
 A little while of pleasure and of pain, 
 
 A little while of seeming to be free, 
 
 And then must pain and pleasure, freedom, — all 
 
 Surrender to the laws that never change 
 
 And hold reunion with the never dying Past. 
 
 93 
 
IN GLOOMY HOURS. 
 
 All around us fades away; 
 All days sink in yesterday; 
 Laughter ebbs away in sobs — ■ 
 
 In an aftermath of tears; 
 Warmest pulses cease their throbs; 
 
 Courage's self succumbs to fears; 
 All we cherish sinks at last 
 To oblivion in the past. 
 
 That we set our hearts upon 
 Gleams but once and then is gone; 
 Riches vanish in a night, 
 
 Honors likewise follow them; 
 Blindness steals away the sight; 
 
 Canker rots the hollow stem; 
 Shadows come and shadows go 
 That is all — yes, all we know. 
 
 94 
 
Life is naught but cark and care; 
 All around us broods despair. 
 Life — 'tis but an empty word 
 
 Fallen out of hollow space — 
 'Tis a hope foraye deferred — 
 
 'Tis a weary endless race — 
 'Tis a dread disease that knows 
 Nothing other than its woes. 
 
 Every wind that fans the air 
 
 Is a messenger of care: 
 
 All unwished for evils come — 
 
 Though unwelcomed linger still, 
 Linger till the heart is numb 
 
 With the palsy of its will. — 
 Why, Oh! why must these things be, 
 Why these clouds of m.isery? 
 
 95 
 
AT THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 The year is growing old. 
 
 Unreconciled 
 
 And uncontrolled 
 The winter blast blows cold, 
 
 The winter wind blows wild. 
 
 In sobs of agony 
 
 The weeping wind 
 
 Blows o'er the lea — 
 It knows that it must be, 
 
 It knows the Master mind. 
 
 A gloomy shroud of snow 
 
 Drapes all around 
 
 In weeds of woe — 
 It is the year's death blow, 
 
 It is the fatal wound. 
 
 96 
 
The year-long race is run, 
 
 The dream is o^er : 
 
 To-morrow's sun 
 Will find it closed and done, 
 
 Will know it nevermore. 
 
 The night is fraught with gloom, 
 
 The dying year 
 
 Goes to its doom — 
 It sees the waiting tomb, 
 
 It sees the snow-draped bier. 
 
 The wind's lament is loud 
 
 As for a friend, 
 
 And every cloud 
 Is dark and sorrow-bowed, 
 
 Is waiting for the end. 
 
 The sound of revelry 
 
 May rise again, 
 
 But future glee 
 Must sound another key — 
 
 Must come from other men. 
 
 97 
 
Farewell, poor dying dream- 
 Go with the Past! 
 A new regime 
 
 Has proved itself supreme, 
 Has conquered you at last. 
 
 98 
 
Uf^i^^ 190? 
 
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