Glass 
 Book. 
 
 hnPQ 
 
 Gpigiiti^? i q i Z 
 
 CDEXRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
J^oems of gjentiment 
 
 By 
 ELLA MAXWELL HADDOX 
 
 Printed for the Author by 
 31enntng0 antj ^ratiam, Cincinnati, o^lftio 
 

 
 w 
 
 
 sV 
 
 C«FnaeHT, 1912, BY 
 £bL,A Maxwell Hassox. 
 
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 ^C1.A319957 
 
2E>ei3icateD — 
 
 To one whose life a poem is : 
 A poem rare, in which I read 
 
 The precepts of true worth, and trace 
 High thought to noble deed. 
 
Contents 
 
 A Summer Evening Rain, - - - - 25 
 
 A Protest, 29 
 
 Discontent, 20 
 
 Dreams, 18 
 
 If We But Knew, - - - - - - 15 
 
 Just Love and I Together, . - - 8 
 
 Life Phases, 19 
 
 Lines On Death of An Infant, - - 24 
 
 My Choice, 31 
 
 Questionings, 22 
 
 Rain Fancies, 23 
 
 Signs of Spring, 13 
 
 Slumber Song, 21 
 
 The Road, - 10 
 
 To A Friend, - - 11 
 
 The Snow-Storm, 28 
 
 The Acorn and the Oak, - - - - 30 
 
 To A Rose Upon My Desk, - - - 12 
 
 To Music, 27 
 
 Two Lives, - 26 
 
 To Fortune, 14 
 
 To Cupid, - - 17 
 
 The Victim, 9 
 
 The Leader, ------ 7 
 
 When Fierce Winds Blow, - - - - 16 
 
 5 
 
tKfje ILmhtv 
 
 He leads, who reads the law aright, 
 
 And thereby shapes his course; 
 His purpose makes of circumstance 
 
 An unavailing force. 
 Intrenched in strength, unknown the fears 
 
 Which lesser souls affright. 
 He can not fail, who walks with Truth, 
 
 And reads the law aright. 
 
 He leads, who will not turn aside. 
 
 But keeps his onward way. 
 Unmindful, though about his feet 
 
 His hopes in ruin lay; 
 Who will not swerve though Patience faints, 
 
 Though foe and friend deride. 
 But keeps the path with steps serene — 
 
 And will not turn aside. 
 
 He leads, who works while others play; 
 
 In whose skilled hands is wrought 
 Some useful service to his race. 
 
 With implements of Thought. 
 Success is his; to him a debt 
 
 All Nature seeks to pay. 
 The great are they who greatly serve — 
 
 Who work while others play. 
 7 
 
fust Hotjc anb 3 tfCosetiier 
 
 I have been journeying with Love, 
 Through days of sunny weather, 
 
 With none to stay our wayward steps — 
 Just Love and I together. 
 
 We left the world of toil and care 
 To plod along the highways; 
 
 And light of heart, and fleet of foot, 
 We took the dewy by-ways. 
 
 From tangled bowers of sun and shade 
 The birds came forth to view us. 
 
 Forsooth, we were no strangers there: 
 All forms of Nature knew us. 
 
 In gusts of perfume rich, the flowers 
 
 A welcome stood repeating; 
 And e'en the busy bee took time 
 
 To mumble forth a greeting. 
 
 When dusk had sunk to deeper gloom, 
 And gleamed the starlight only. 
 
 We made a fire of fragrant wood 
 To cheer the silence lonely. 
 
And as before our hearth we sat, 
 
 In Nature's peaceful dwelling, 
 To please right well my heart's caprice 
 
 Strange tales Love would be telling. 
 
 Yes, many were the tales he told 
 Of conquest, real and seeming, 
 
 Till burned our fire to ashes gray — 
 And darkness found us dreaming. 
 
 /^ ^ ^ 
 
 ^te Victim 
 
 The sport of Fortune, and the slave of those 
 Who rule his life by right of sharper wits; 
 
 The stern companionship of Toil is his, 
 And Penury beside his doorway sits. 
 
 Not life, but years, the measure of his time, 
 For life is more than days by care pursued; 
 
 And poor, indeed, existence, where for aye 
 The soul must starve to give the body food. 
 
 For him the crust of bread, the fireless hearth, 
 The weary day that runs through joyless hours. 
 
 For him the dregs of life, because the gods 
 Saw fit to give him poorly-fashioned powers. 
 9 
 
i;i)e Eoab 
 
 Adown the long road of the past 
 
 The moonlight stretches, wan and white; 
 
 And mists of night lie chill upon 
 This barren highway, coldly bright. 
 
 The mournful Winds, with rustling tread, 
 Sweep over it the dying leaves; 
 
 And where the grass once fringed the dust 
 The lonely cricket softly grieves. 
 
 And as I scan the road, which now 
 Through wastes of desolation lay, 
 
 A longing fills my lonely heart 
 
 For those who walked with me the way. 
 
 10 
 
Co a Jfrtenb 
 
 Dear friend of mine, when courage faints 
 
 Thy faith inspires anew; 
 And what, though other friends prove false, 
 
 So I but find thee true. 
 
 In thee I find a prophecy 
 
 Of what I fain would be; 
 And life is filled with hope, since I 
 
 Have found a friend in thee. 
 
 The highest attributes of life 
 
 By friendship are employed; 
 The highest form of friendship is 
 
 By evil unalloyed. 
 
 So thus, in naming thee my friend, 
 
 I seek to voice thy praise. 
 Oh, may the chain of friendship bind 
 
 My heart to thine always ! 
 
 11 
 
Co a i^ose Wipon Mv ©esife 
 
 With lifted face, in sweet disdain 
 Of weak complaint, or useless sigh 
 
 For thy abode in summer bowers. 
 
 Thou art, sweet rose, more brave than I. 
 
 Dost thou not miss the fervent kiss 
 With which the Sun was wont to woo 
 
 Thy beauty to a deeper tint 
 
 Than glows at morn on heaven's blue? 
 
 Dost thou not miss the gentle rain. 
 
 Which Night did weave with artless grace 
 
 Into a veil of silver mist 
 
 To softly drape thy blushing face? 
 
 Ah, would that you and I could fly 
 This fretted air of ceaseless toil ! 
 
 In some cloud-shadowed, drowsy glen 
 The busy Day's intent we'd foil. 
 
 Where Summer breathes a sweet content, 
 And all the air, with languor hung, 
 
 Gives back the droning of the bee 
 And song by idle waters sung — 
 12 
 
There, thou, upon thy parent-stem, 
 
 Might spend thy fragrant breath in tale 
 
 More pleasing to my wilHng ear 
 Than those crude sounds which now assail. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 ^iQti^ of Spring 
 
 A thrill of life awakes the listless earth, 
 
 Whose valleys cradle still the winter's chill; 
 
 From bending skies the flitting cloudlets cast 
 Their shadowed forms athwart the quiet hills. 
 
 On sunny slope, where Morn first sips the dew, 
 And where the first wild flowers their buds un- 
 fold, 
 
 The warmth of noon-day woos the waiting spring, 
 And bids the verdure pierce the lifeless mold. 
 
 Where evening mists hang low o'er marsh and 
 stream. 
 
 The dismal frog sends forth a haunting call; 
 The daylight lingers, and the hour grows late 
 
 Ere shades of night descend to cover all. 
 
 13 
 
®o Jf ortune 
 
 Since I must walk the humbler paths of life, 
 And count as naught the labors of my day; 
 Since thou hast played the niggard's part with 
 me — 
 
 Take pride, also, I pray! 
 
 Let not mine eyes behold reluctantly 
 
 Fair work by others wrought, while these poor 
 
 hands 
 Are powerless to perform the valiant deeds 
 My burning heart commands. 
 
 Thy smile has ever coldly shone on me ; 
 And vexed ofttimes my feet to find the way 
 O'er which, for others, thy illumining torch 
 Hath shed a guiding ray. 
 
 But if, perchance, through numberless defeats, 
 I strong should grow with power to conquer thee — 
 Ah, well I know, if that day e'er should come, 
 A reckoning there '11 be! 
 
 Think not that thou couldst then withhold from 
 
 me 
 The treasures which I long have sought in need; 
 I 'd wrest each gift from out thy grasping hand. 
 And leave thee poor, indeed. 
 14 
 
m We S5ut ^netaj 
 
 If we but knew, when haste we to reprove, 
 Where frailties cloak a right intent from view. 
 We would forbear to chide where Nature fails — 
 
 If we but knew! 
 The strength at all times to withstand the wrongs 
 Which vex our souls is given to but few. 
 We would not add unto another's woe — 
 
 If we but knew! 
 
 If we but knew where weary hearts abide 
 In loneliness to tell the long hours through, 
 Would we withhold from them the cheering hour — 
 
 If we but knew? 
 Would friendship droop in coldness or neglect 
 While we — alas! — in thoughtlessness pursue 
 Some later joy of unfamiliar mien — 
 
 If we but knew? 
 
 If we but knew where fainting toilers rest 
 Beside unfinished tasks, when doubts undo 
 What faith had wrought in willingness and might ; 
 
 If we but knew 
 The power of worthy praise^to move again 
 The nerveless hands to efforts fair and true — 
 Our Strength would run to seek a brother's need — 
 
 If we but knew! 
 
 15 
 
WUn jFierce Winhi ploto 
 
 When fierce winds charge in madcap mood 
 The shadows on their Westward way; 
 
 When, through the dusk, like twinkling stars, 
 The springing lights begin to play; 
 
 When Twilight drops from winter skies 
 A purple gleam upon the snow — 
 
 How sweet the sheltered warmth of home 
 When fierce winds blow! 
 
 Though wealth environ not with ease, 
 And Hardship walk in all his ways; 
 
 Though only simple pleasures deign 
 To grace his uneventful days; 
 
 He still is blest who finds the love 
 Of wife and babes within the glow 
 
 That plays upon his humble hearth 
 When fierce winds blow. 
 
 O woman! thine it is to make 
 
 The home a glad, a safe retreat; 
 Toward which, when bleak the storms of life, 
 
 The World may turn with weary feet. 
 Oh, may thy loved ones faring home 
 
 Those sweet anticipations know 
 Which move the steps to joyous pace. 
 Though fierce winds blow. 
 16 
 
Light thou thy hearth, and let it be 
 A rival to the warmth which lies 
 
 Upon thy tender, smiling lips 
 
 And glows within thy brooding eyes. 
 
 Let strength unveil in acts of love; 
 Let beauty from thy presence grow; 
 
 And thus make home a paradise 
 When fierce winds blow. 
 
 tKo €m\s 
 
 Thou wilful sprite, whose honeyed mandates are 
 A sweet compulsion none may deign to scorn. 
 
 Thy dimpled hand doth hold relentlessly 
 The destinies of nations yet unborn. 
 
 Ah, I could dare the heights which lead to fame; 
 
 Could dare contest the claim of kings that be; 
 Could hurl defiance to the imps below, 
 
 Or measure strength with other gods than thee. 
 
 But stern Resolve, which often doth befriend, 
 A traitor is, when thou thy bow hath bent. 
 
 As Winter yields to Springtime's warm embrace. 
 So yields my heart to thy sweet blandishment. 
 
 17 
 
©reams; 
 
 They come from regions of the past, 
 
 Whence Fancy calls its own, 
 When shadows sweep the sunlight from 
 
 The earth, and day is done. 
 
 Grim ghosts of what were living hopes, 
 
 They come, a phantom train, 
 To steal the gladness from the heart 
 
 And blanch the lips with pain. 
 
 Or, like a breath of melody. 
 
 As sweet as buried joy. 
 Illusions, which the passing years 
 
 Are powerless to destroy. 
 
 The vagrant breezes waft them through 
 
 The purple-falling light, 
 Whose gleams illume a pathway for 
 
 The coming of the Night. — 
 
 Sweet dreams! sad dreams! dear dreams, 
 withal ! — 
 
 Possessions of the soul — 
 Live on till heart shall cease to beat. 
 
 And Time my knell shall toll. 
 
 18 
 
mtt ^Ijases 
 
 The day is filled with clamorings; 
 
 Unholy schemes 
 Incite to turmoil and to strife — 
 
 But night brings dreams. 
 
 Ambition may a mighty claim 
 
 By sunlight prove; 
 But when the twilight shadows fall, 
 
 We want but love. 
 
 The beauteous spirit of the Night, 
 
 From shadowy dell. 
 From drifting mists, and murmurous 
 streams, 
 
 Comes forth to tell 
 
 Of things eternal; and the soul. 
 
 Transcending, too, 
 Its cruder form of Nature's mold 
 
 Delights to view 
 
 The mysteries divine, which are 
 
 Its own for aye; 
 Leaving the lure of gold to claim 
 
 The garish day. 
 
 19 
 
discontent 
 
 Wherefore thy song, O Poet impotent? 
 
 Thy jugglery of words but serves to dress 
 Old forms in fashions new. We want new 
 thoughts — 
 
 And of thy platitudes — oh, give us less! 
 
 Go spread upon thy stupid page some truth — 
 One little truth by none perceived before — 
 
 For we are weary of the things we know, 
 
 And fain would other realms of Truth explore. 
 
 And thou, O Statesman of the insect-mind! 
 
 Canst fit thine honors to no greater deeds? 
 Of what avail thy boasted power since it 
 
 May grant no ministry to human needs? 
 
 From out the lore at thy command evolve 
 And leave one good to thy posterity — 
 
 One lasting benefit — and thou shall want 
 No sculptured guardian of thy memory. 
 
 Ye ministers, who walk, with pompous tread. 
 With pious look, and heavenward-turning eye. 
 
 The winding way, tell us of that fair land 
 One simple fact which no man can deny. 
 20 
 
We know not whence we came, nor whither we, 
 With faltering, uncertain steps, are bound. 
 
 With shackled feet, in pace by Custom set, 
 We run Life's little, uneventful round. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep, for the twilight is falling; 
 
 Darkness is dimming the glow in the West. 
 Hear from the woodland the whip-poor-will 
 calling! 
 Sweet may thy dreams be, and peaceful thy 
 rest. 
 Fairies are dancing where shadows lie deep; 
 Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye! Sleep, baby — sleep! 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep, for the Night Winds are sing- 
 ing 
 
 Over thy cradle a murmurous strain. 
 List how the Leaves in a chorus are bringing 
 
 Back through the darkness a whispered refrain. 
 Happy dreams over thy weary lids creep! 
 Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye! Sleep, baby — sleep! 
 
 21 
 
(©ueStioninssJ 
 
 Thou marble brow, and pallid lips, whereon 
 A smile once crept to answer Love's sweet call, 
 
 Thou tired eyes, now veiled in Death's long sleep — 
 Ah, tell me not, I pray, that this ends all! 
 
 A few brief hours ago and Life did clothe 
 This silent clay in garments of a god; 
 
 And now we lay it where but late the feet. 
 
 With strides of courage, spurned the lowly sod. 
 
 But where is now the spirit, with its song 
 Of joyousness, its cry of grief or care? 
 
 We know it was, and fain we would believe 
 That still it doth exist — somewhere, somewhere. 
 
 But not within the icy clasp of Death, 
 
 For did it there repose its warmth would move 
 
 The pulseless heart again to vibrant life. 
 Alas! this frozen form its absence proves. 
 
 And so we choose to think unfinished Life 
 Will read its purpose in some future state: 
 
 Where we shall gather up the threads of Time 
 And weave the fabric of eternal fate. 
 
 22 
 
i^ain Jf ancies 
 
 The wet Night breathes a lullaby 
 
 As softly sweet 
 As ever mother sang, to soothe 
 
 Her babe to sleep. 
 
 Around the open doorway, where 
 
 The shadows loom, 
 A sodden vine its perfume wafts 
 
 Into the gloom. 
 
 Where tangled grasses weave a web 
 
 Of meshes light, 
 A chant of insect-voices climbs 
 
 The silent night. 
 
 The senses swoon with languor, half 
 
 Of joy, half pain, 
 As o'er them steals the magic of 
 
 The fragrant rain; 
 
 And o'er the restless spirit falls, 
 
 Like cooling balm. 
 The great and changeless majesty 
 
 Of Nature's calm. 
 
 23 
 
%intsi on ©eatf) of an Snfant 
 
 No pomp of custom need itself engage 
 
 To sing thy praise, or fancied worth extol; 
 
 Earth held no bonds to fix thy grasp on life, 
 And leaves no trace of time upon thy soul. 
 
 The miracle of love will ne'er awake 
 
 Within thy heart the deadly pulse of fear; 
 
 Nor will its sweet illusions bring thee joy 
 Where Sorrow bids thee drop a ready tear. 
 
 Why should we wish to call thy spirit back? 
 
 Life is, at best, a gift of doubtful worth; 
 Its good or ill not always ours to choose. 
 
 But ours more oft by accident of birth. 
 
 Who sees man's possibilities and powers 
 His limitations also must perceive; 
 
 The heart that thrills to greatest ecstasy 
 Will in adversity most deeply grieve. 
 
 To place distinction's badge upon our breast 
 We sell the trust that binds us to our kind. 
 
 We seek for fame, yet in its honeyed voice 
 
 The flattery of coward hearts we find. 
 
 24 
 
Then sleep, sweet babe — Love's promise unful- 
 filled- 
 Eternity a recompense may give 
 For those fleet joys which light with passing 
 gleam 
 The years of those who Time's allotment live, 
 
 ^ /^ ^ 
 
 ^ Summer Cfaening J^ain 
 
 The rain, before a lazy wind, 
 Crept o'er the mountain's rim, 
 
 And threw a cloud of silver spray 
 Into the valleys dim. 
 
 It moved through forest, field, and glade 
 
 On wings of listlessness; 
 It touched the shadow-freighted trees 
 
 With lingering caress. 
 
 And where the waters of the brook 
 'Twixt fragrant meadow play, 
 
 A host of merry raindrops danced 
 The evening hours away. 
 
 The green Earth wrapped itself in mist, 
 
 As waned the fading light, 
 And sank to dreamy slumber in 
 
 The restful arms of Night. 
 25 
 
^too Hibes 
 
 Where simple living made no claim 
 
 To chronicle of knightly deed; 
 Where little hopes and little aims 
 
 Conformed themselves to little creeds; 
 Unblessed by aught which promise gave 
 
 Of wealth, or fame, or kingly sway; 
 Of peasant stock, unlearned and poor, 
 
 Two baby boys were born one day. 
 
 To one the passing of the years 
 
 Contentment brought — and little more. 
 Few were his wants, and few the gifts 
 
 He took from Life's unbounded store. 
 No aspirations of his soul 
 
 Dared cleave the sky on soaring wings; 
 His quiet and unthinking mind 
 
 Attuned itself to little things. 
 
 The other dared to question Life, 
 
 To cast aside established creeds; 
 To be, to do, to have, to hold, 
 
 To set his mind to mighty deeds. 
 Mankind may catch from history 
 
 The dreams which burned within his soul- 
 Leading him up the steep ascent 
 
 To reach, at last, the victor's goal. 
 
 26 
 
Zo JWugic 
 
 Thou greatest of all sweet mysteries save Love, 
 Through thee the soul beholds its dream ful- 
 filled. 
 
 Thy melody in sweetness is attuned 
 
 To whatsoe'er intent the heart is willed. 
 
 With thy triumphant tones' tumultuous blast 
 I feel the rush of Life's stupendous power; 
 
 And high resolve flames forth from smouldering 
 hope, 
 While mighty conquest crowns the passing hour. 
 
 Or if, perchance, in softer moods, I stray 
 
 Through fancied realms of thy sweet harmony, 
 
 Where twilight shades steal out to dim the glow 
 Of sunset lights upon thy golden sea — 
 
 A sadness, born of hallowed memories, 
 
 Comes through the gloom, and all my being fills; 
 
 And loneliness enfolds me as the mists 
 Which lie at eve upon the silent hills. 
 
 Thou art to me the best of all I am; 
 
 The greatest of the things I hope to be! 
 Oh, would the Muse inspire to greater worth, 
 
 That I might sing more fittingly of thee ! 
 
 27 
 
The snow began when clouds hung low, 
 And earth was bare and brown; 
 
 When boding shadows filled the air, 
 Through which the flakes came down 
 
 Like Springtime's wind-blown petals fair, 
 Through countryside and town. 
 
 The wind was slow on mountain crest, 
 
 And slept in vales below; 
 It stirred the tops of distant trees, 
 
 But breathed o'er plumes of snow 
 Which formed where earthward-nodding 
 shrubs 
 
 Their branches bended low. 
 
 And all day long, through sullen air, 
 
 The drifting snowflakes fell. 
 Till white knolls looked like wind-blown 
 sails, 
 
 And forest, field, and dell 
 Were turned into a mystic world, 
 
 In which strange forms did dwell. 
 
 Imprisoned in their tiny cells. 
 Within the trackless white, 
 28 
 
And guarded by the shifting clouds, 
 
 A milHon points of light 
 Awaited but the Sun's command 
 
 To burst upon the sight. 
 
 And when the shades of eve had shot 
 The snow with purple gleams, 
 
 Which deepened into violet 
 In pools of woodland streams, 
 
 The Twilight stole into a world 
 Of silence and of dreams. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 ^ protest 
 
 What wouldst thou more, O Tyrant? Have I not 
 
 Upon thine altar laid an offering 
 
 Of sleepless nights, and days of sad unrest? 
 
 Dost feel no trace of pity, when I bring 
 
 Thee true account of hours of tortured thought? 
 
 Of longings which with vain insistence stir 
 
 The heart to fruitless quest of happiness? 
 
 Take from my wrists these chains of gossamer! 
 That I may seek forgetfulness in toil; 
 
 May join the busy days with restful nights. 
 I would forswear allegiance, since thou 
 
 Dost fashion of my woes such strange delights. 
 
 29 
 
tKfte glcorn anb tlje (I^afe 
 
 Within the damp and clinging earth, 
 Where darkness spans a world unseen, 
 
 An acorn dreamed; and, dreaming, saw- 
 Blue skies and forests green. 
 
 It dreamed of light, where all was gloom; 
 
 It dreamed of strength, where none pre- 
 vailed 
 Save that which held the dream, when dark 
 
 And threatening powers assailed. 
 
 It saw itself an oak, whose crest 
 
 From Morn's first blush a halo caught; 
 
 In whose broad boughs the weary birds 
 At eve a shelter sought. 
 
 And as in hopefulness it dreamed. 
 The unbelieving earth made room ; 
 
 And, powerless to repress, did haste 
 To friendliness assume. 
 
 Thou, too, dream on, O Soul! and let 
 Not things Vv^hich seem thy faith undo; 
 
 For All of Life concerns itself 
 To make thy dream come true. 
 
 30 
 
iWp Cfjoicc 
 
 I 'd rather take the trail when Morn 
 O'er my enraptured spirit flings 
 
 Her thousand subtle charms, and gives 
 The touch of life to lifeless things; 
 
 I 'd rather search in dewy glades 
 
 To find where star-faced blossoms lurk; 
 
 Or list the skylark's merry note — 
 Than work. 
 
 I 'd rather have a quiet cot, 
 
 And dwell amid the friendly fields; 
 
 Where Nature's store meets Nature's need. 
 And life a sweet contentment yields; 
 
 Where sunlight floods a world of song; 
 
 Where free winds sweep, and buds unfold — 
 
 I 'd rather have a home like that — 
 Than gold. 
 
 I 'd rather have the love of one 
 
 Whose song of hope along the way 
 Would cheer my weary heart, when dark 
 
 The path through shadowed regions lay; 
 Whose faith and trust would scorn to ask 
 The sanction of a world's acclaim — 
 I 'd rather have a love like that — 
 Than fame. 
 
 31 
 
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