BS 
 
 2 
 
 M^utl^mooh iap 
 
/. 
 
 l^arIjwon& lags 
 
 The Flag That JVas Raised 
 at Beachwood 
 Long, Max It Wave 
 
 V 
 
 Poem by 
 
 WM. MILL BUTLER 
 
 Compiled by 
 CHAS. H. HARING 
 
 THE BLANCH ARD PRESS 
 
 New York, N. Y. 
 
 1918 
 
'CI.A50S912 ^ 
 
 Copyright, 1918 
 William Mill Butler ^ 
 
 JAN -3 1919 
 
 l^ 
 
 «\.-7<T) % 
 
I 
 
 'LL sing you no ambitious lays 
 
 Of war and war's alarms ; 
 My song shall be of Beachwood days 
 And Beachwood's many charms. 
 
 Thrice now has the diurnal orb 
 
 Described the rounded year, 
 Since first fair Beachwood did absorb 
 
 The flying seasons here. 
 
 It seems but yesterday, indeed. 
 
 Like twinkling eyes a few; 
 Since here our pioneers decreed 
 
 A budding life-place new. 
 
 All hail to him who broke the ground 
 
 And with a wizard's touch 
 Made inn and lodge and club abound — 
 
 The shelters needed much. 
 
 Who decked the beach with comforts rare, 
 With seats and hammocks, too; 
 
 Who built the little bowers where 
 Romance could bill and coo? 
 
 Whose rustic fences spanned the height 
 
 By silver-powdered walks. 
 Where, in the sunshine, pure and bright, 
 
 Resound our laughs and talks? 
 
 The pine-wood's dormant days were o'er 
 
 When Mayo came to plan; 
 He placed a crown upon this shore. 
 
 This new Aladdin man. 
 

 
 THE BEACH AT BEACHWOOD 
 
 Looking Toward Toms River — Westward 
 Looking Toward Pine Beach — Eastzvard 
 
But come, let us salute him now, 
 
 In all his modest worth, 
 Then on the yellow hilltop's brow 
 
 Revert to mother earth. 
 
 Come tread th' awak'ning turf with me, 
 Where high banks kiss the bay; 
 
 The sweet arbutus trailing see — 
 The laurel's blossomed spray. 
 
 Springtime in Eden never gave 
 
 A rarer fair delight; 
 The gladsome pine and dancing wave 
 
 Acclaim the winsome sight. 
 
 The mosses from their winter nap, 
 The scrub-oak and the vine ; 
 
 The cedar with its nodding cap, 
 All lovingly entwine. 
 
 The balmy breezes from the blue, 
 
 Where roll and swash the waves, 
 
 Invigorate our lungs anew — 
 Oh, happy city slaves! 
 
 And some there are who love the sands 
 
 Upon thy shores so fair, 
 Who stoop with eager, busy hands 
 
 To pick thy pebbles rare; 
 
 While 'mid the reeds of Barnegat 
 The wild-fowl sport and play — 
 
 Ye cawing crows, ye fish-hawks, scat ! 
 And do not spoil our day! 
 
The Yacht Club 
 The Bathing Pier 
 
Dear to our hearts the blue-jay shrill, 
 The Bob White's spoken song; 
 
 The brown thrush, and the whippoorwill 
 When twilight creeps along. 
 
 But, hark ! yon strangely vibrant pool 
 With clarion notes is filled; 
 
 Our frogs at evening singing-school 
 Hold ev'ry hearer thrilled. 
 
 Pan's pipe itself could not surprise 
 Us more in marsh or bogs 
 
 Than the odd ah-ha's which arise 
 From the assembled frogs. 
 
 Aye, let them sing, till soon adrowse, 
 Our sleeping-porch within, 
 
 We dream of softly moohing cows 
 With faces all agrin; 
 
 We dream of coming masquerades. 
 Of cavemen and of clowns; 
 
 Of mandarins, Scheherezades, 
 
 And red-faced imps with frowns — 
 
 Till, lo! 'Tis morn and o'er the lawn 
 
 The cottontails now hop, 
 And nibbling deer and gentle fawn, 
 
 To taste our garden crop. 
 
 But what of that? To see them skip 
 
 Makes joyous living here; 
 We prize the boon companionship 
 
 Of rabbit, squirrel and deer. 
 

 The Club— Watching the Races 
 The Bathing Beach— Water Sports 
 
How like a photo-drama race 
 
 The scenes before our eyes ; 
 Now Spring in Summer's sweet embrace, 
 
 'Mid hngering perfume, dies. 
 
 And Summer reigns in sweltering mood ; 
 
 July and August bring 
 The regulation Jersey brood, 
 
 With here and there a sting. 
 
 But what of that ! When, with a cheer. 
 
 We splash in cooling swirls, 
 And lead a life ac|uatic here. 
 
 With lovely summer girls. 
 
 Meantime the earth, well tilled, brings forth, 
 And gardens bloom and glow; 
 
 Each tiller finds new pleasure, worth 
 His perspiration's flow. 
 
 And thus the hours of summer dance 
 
 Their merry lives away. 
 While grasshoppers and beetles chance 
 
 Upon their food each day. 
 
 Each tiny, thoughtless prodigal, 
 Feasting from morn till night. 
 
 Stops only now and then to call 
 And chirp his keen delight. 
 
 Happy each bungalow peeps out 
 From shaggy clumps of pines; 
 
 Neater than wax, within, without. 
 Till all of Beachwood shines. 
 
"Each Bungalow Peeps Out 
 Frotn Shaggy Clumps of Pines' 
 
Her sand-waves in the wooded green 
 
 Glisten as pure as snow, 
 The rival of a winter scene 
 
 In summer's genial glow. 
 
 See how the welcome showers gush 
 And leap, 'mid lightnings mild ; 
 
 The thunder soon comes to a hush 
 Before it scares a child. 
 
 And on the bay a hundred sail 
 
 And motorcraft flit by ; 
 The Commodore leans o'er the rail 
 
 To cast a tempting fly. 
 
 And fish and crab and clams galore 
 
 The fishermen lure out; 
 The lazy loungers on the shore 
 
 Put many more to rout. 
 
 And summer comes and summer goes, 
 With Palm-Beach suit and hat; 
 
 Lawn tennis claims the maids and beaux; 
 They play and court and chat — 
 
 Until the moon in silver writes 
 
 Love poems o'er hills and dales; 
 
 There's dancing at the club these nights. 
 And merriment prevails. 
 
 Nor is due reverence denied 
 
 To sentiment profound; 
 The meeting doors are open wide 
 
 When Sabbath rolls around. 
 
"Her Sand Jl'avcs in the U'ooded Green 
 Glisten as Pure as Snow" 
 
And here, 'mid songs and music good, 
 Forgot are creeds outworn; 
 
 We only know that Brotherhood 
 Should thus be newly born. 
 
 But time rolls by on speeding wings — 
 Soon summer's heyday wanes, 
 
 Until the breath of autumn brings 
 The pumpkins, corn and grains. 
 
 The meek red-berried wintergreen 
 All through the woods is sown; 
 
 The huckleberry pie is seen 
 
 Right here in Beachwood grown. 
 
 The blue-jay's bell-tone deeper grows, 
 Up in the fragrant pines ; 
 
 The curling smoke from chimney blows- 
 Each day makes short declines. 
 
 Fall-time is creeping on the scene. 
 
 With changes manifold; 
 The shrubs assume a crimson sheen. 
 
 And some a cloth of sfold. 
 
 t5 
 
 For sly Jack Frost hides in the woods. 
 To paint the hectic glow 
 
 Of Autumn's many dying moods. 
 Before he brinsrs the snow. 
 
 'te' 
 
 The little pearls on cedar boughs 
 Burst into jewelled view; 
 
 All other evergreens arouse 
 
 Themselves to splendors new. 
 
The Children's Fete Days 
 Paper Dress Dance 
 A Patriotic Event 
 
The beach-plum now is gathered in, 
 
 With other products wild; 
 The bay berry on branches thin, 
 
 In Quaker garb so mild. 
 
 And cranberries and holly here 
 Camp on their native heaths; 
 
 They bring us thoughts of Christmas cheer 
 And pretty Christmas wreaths. 
 
 Dear Beachwood, must we close the book 
 
 Until another spring? 
 Then on thy waving flag we'll look 
 
 And hail it as we sing. 
 
 For lo, the annual exodus 
 
 Begins on Labor Day; 
 The youngsters strive for prizes, thus 
 
 To crown the finished stay. 
 
 Like mummers at the masquerade 
 
 We humans now must go; 
 Like birds of passage, overstayed, 
 
 While urging breezes blow. 
 
 Hushed are the waters by the sea, 
 
 And in the marshy bog; 
 We'll turn the lock and leave the key 
 
 To the watchman and his dog. 
 
 Then come the legions musical 
 To close old Autumn's sway, 
 
 A swan-song in each little shell 
 Devoted to decay. 
 
."k.. 
 
 Flag-raising — August. 1917 
 Lakeivood Home Guard 
 BeacJnvood Red Crass 
 
Infinitesimal madrigals, 
 
 Dirges in miniature; 
 What tender odes and parting calls! 
 
 What elegies demure! 
 
 The cricket and his merry wife, 
 In sobered chirps, declare 
 
 The vanity of insect life 
 
 When all the fields are bare. 
 
 The katydid staccatos, too, 
 
 Her fears from bursting heart. 
 
 That wintry days may soon be due; 
 That summer friends must part. 
 
 And so it is with larger folks. 
 
 Even with you and me, 
 Whose voice with melancholy chokes 
 
 At nature's stern decree. 
 
 Upon the ground brown matted hair, 
 With green boughs overhead; 
 
 Oh, curled-up oak leaves, grasses Dare, 
 Why is the earth so dead? 
 
 I never knew that anything 
 
 Could be as chill as this. 
 When wintry winds with dirges bring 
 
 The Frost-King's pallid kiss. 
 
 But what of that ! Our hopes remain 
 Our faith and love thrice blest; 
 
 For sweetest flowers bloom again 
 At nature's fair behest. 
 
Beachwood, farewell! a parting sigh 
 Re-echoes through the haze; 
 
 Till gentle Spring again draws nigh, 
 Farewell, dear Beachwood days! 
 
 William Mill Butler 
 
 s^.T '• 
 
 4^^%m^. I