IPS 3531 .R24 H5 11919 Copy 1 .: ' ' ' ' ■ ■ »• PRESS OF THE HANSEN COMPANY SAN FRANCISCO [f f ji Hfli»»»""'f»"ii | |IiH III I IIII*. HILL TRAILS & OPEN SKY A BOOK OF CALIFORNIA VERSE By HARRY NOYES PRATT AUTHOR OF "MOTHER OF MINE" 1919 HARR WAGNER PUBLISHING CO. SAN FRANCISCO CALIFORNIA ? ai i iirmmiimiiiTunniin i »min i i i ni»Hiimiinm i f k* ■ m ■ i 1 1 ■ ■ 1JJ i JJJL i " " ■ »■« ' J^LlJJJLiJJlIJJULJJJLiJj yyy Copyright 1919 by Harry Noyes Pratt ©CI.A561093 m > a • « « millll Jl AAX? Index Page Adventure 47 Arden 89 Artist, The 59 Awake 42 Back Again 67 Bells, Three 84 Between the Lines 81 Broken Seal, The 34 California 2 Christ Walks with Me 97 Coolbrith, Ina Donna 30 Dawn 94 Derelict 64 Des' a-Waitin' 38 Dressed Up 95 End and the Goal, The 20 Fleet, The QS Flowers 21 Forgotten 82 Glade Where Violets Grow, A 55 God's Harvest 32 God's Way 25 Golden Quest, The 65 Good Night 27 Gypsying 5 Hill Trails 3 Home! Come Home! 85 How Queer 46 Hushabve Sea 74 •jAAJMiiiaifciiaaiMtajiaMMjjjLXjji.' Page Into the West 98 Isle of Dreams 44 It Is Not True 58 Joaquin Miller 28 Kiss, The 61 Lafayette Square 33 Life in Death 25 Low Tide 31 Lullaby-o, By-o Babe 90 Measure, The 75 Mighels, Ella Sterling 17 Miller, Joaquin 28 Miser, The 83 Mother 43 Mother of Mine 76 My Creed 79 My Mother's Chair 6Q My Mother's Garden 40 My Roseleaf Wish 8 My Very Dear 10 Nita 19 November Streets 23 Old Man Wintah 54 Open Road, The 52 Overseas 96 Pals of the Road 48 Parker, Warren D 88 Patchwork Square, The 56 Popple Fairy, The 62 Portsmouth Square 92 r »»T» i * r rn Page Presence 63 Purple Meadows of Delight 50 Rainy Day, A 60 Roosevelt, Theodore 14 Sabbath Morn 22 Seagulls' Parade, The 91 Ship o' Dreams 16 Sin, the Beggar 77 Six Seagulls Fly 71 Sleeping 86 Solano's Hills 6 Spring Incense 93 Street Walker, The 57 Stuart, J. E 24 Telegraph Hill 78 Theodore Roosevelt 14 They Shall Say 80 Trail Into the Berkeley Hills, The 72 Treasure 4 Unforgotten, The 29 Weary Quest, The 26 When the Hills Are Showing Brown 12 White, Josephine Swan 35 Wild Sea Calls, The 15 Wild Way Camp, A 18 Woo-oo-oo 9 Worms 36 ■■■■■■ zmmms&^&sz Foreword To the little mother whose stead- fast love and unflinching courage en- abled me to bring forth my first vol- ume of verse, "Mother of Mine," I owe more than I can ever repay. And to that other mother whose high hills and broad valleys have given me shel- ter and inspiration, I owe much. May "Hill Trails," with its unpre- tentious verse, convey some little of the affection and loyalty I hold for my foster-mother, California. HARRY NOYES PRATT. September 18, 1919. \V!LtJLf~£ * * ^ * ** a ' M-jJ 1 ii i ** ** * a * j To California nuniii i i i inmiim i iiii « iiiiiii. HILL TRAILS & OPEN SKY The Hill Trails Hill trails, dim trails, Grown with brush and fern — Wild trails, rough trails; Round each twist and turn Sound of falling waters, Wind among the pines — Clouds a-drifting over In fleecy, laughing lines. Wonder who has passed here In the long ago, Laughing, weeping, sighing — I shall never know ; Only know the hill trails As they are today — The makers of the hill trails Have long since passed away. Hill trails, long trails Leading from the past, Out of years of silence Into the silence vast. Who has travelled on these trails I shall never know — Only know I follow them Because I love them so. .niniiniiniminininiminniniiininii t*M^M HILL TRAILS Treasure Along the hills of Berkeley town Where thick the golden poppies grow, I watch the tiny ships go down And vanish through the distant Gate. Swift past the headlands blue they go To w T here the swinging seas await. Into the mists of open sea, Where keen the trade-winds salty blow— Unto the Orient mystery Of southern isles and softer days; Those lands which only languor know, Whose peoples follow easier ways. Out to the lands of spice and gems, Of flashing eyes from latticed walls Whose lofty bar fair treasure hems — Out to the sea. The vessels sail Into the fog whose curtain falls Upon the blue, a pallid veil. Out to the sea — and I remain, Romance and treasure at my hand: For strewn and massed on hill and plain Lies wealth in measure all untold — What need to seek the Orient land When here lies heaped our poppied gold. g ■ 1 1 9 i n f t w in t n gitrtf i r i m ifig mim Page 4 AND OPEN SKY Gypsying Light as a fleck of foam upon a wind-sped sea The winds of mirth and joy are blowing me: I dance! I dance! Upon the surface of the deep and steady tide Of life I drift, and free and careless ride. I leave to chance The morrow's morning. What the morning brings Shall then be mine; today I heedless sing. Nor shall I grieve For grief to come, if grief indeed there be. Delight and song are mine, and liberty. I careless leave To those who wish, the care and toil of life, The dull routine, the ceaseless, selfless strife. To him who dares Is joy. And if I miss the best there be — If glitter, not the gold, be given me — Who cares ! Who cares ! *TT¥ imitmiHiHiiiiiminfUHHtinmim r Page 5 LJUU . - ; - :':--.;■■■':''■'■•■■' ■.■'.. HILL TRAILS Solano's Hills Beneath Solano's hills I stride, The tattered eucalypts beside — Along the moss-grown, battered walls Where chipmunks scamper to and fro From emerald shade to sunlight's glow As golden through the leaves it falls. The winding road invites my feet ; Through many a grassy byway sweet I follow as the moments call, By weathered fence and wall of stone. The country here seems mine alone ; A fairyland and mystical. Solano's hills of rounded green, The blossoming orchard vales between; The vernal slopes which graceful rise Through rags of fog; through rags that cling To wind-blown trees, and ragged fling Their tattered banners to the skies. The buckeye's silvered branches bare Are budding on the hillsides there Among the nuances of green. And where the trickling waters seep The first wee blossoms yellow peep Beneath the alder's tasseled screen. Page 6 AND OPEN SKY Below, the marshes deep and wide Are quivering to the rising tide Where herons stand like sentinels. Midst winding waterways serene The placid mallards float and preen About their island citadels. Bold Nature's hand, with careless brush, Has flung a broad and crimson flush Across the wet and gleaming fen; A crimson stain which shades to gold In combinations manifold And then to verdant green again. And there, beyond, Diablo's sides Loom soft and blue above the tides Where flows the Sacramento's stream ; A heavenly blue, pellucid, true As colors which run rippling through A rapturous, half-forgotten dream. The moments call; I drift along. Each moment seems another song Sung sweeter still than was the last. The peach-bloom's odor spicier is Than fantasy of ecstasies Within the day-dreams of the past. And every footfall on the sod Brings closer that sweet sense of God Which is not found within the town. Solano's hills! You bring to me Sweet consciousness of ecstasy. Within your arms I find my own. Trtv Page 7 HILL TRAILS My Roseleaf Wish I took the petal of a rose — A crimson rose, A fragrant rose, — I wished a wish and laid it there Within the curving petals rare, And kissed it, Caressed it, Then dropped it gently on the sea; It floated swift away from me. But where it floated no one knows : The tiny boat, My fairy boat — It bore my heart's wish far away, And what it was I'll never say ! My heart's wish, My fond wish — Afloat upon the ebbing tide, Lightly, lightly, doth it ride! But some day when the full tide flows^ A strong tide, A flood tide ! My wish will come again to me, Full-laden roseleaf argosy: Heart's treasure, Full measure. And gliding down the moonlit main My own shall come to me again. Page 8 JUUU AND OPEN SKY "Woo-oo-oo!" Wind a-goin\ "Woo-oo-oo!" Seems des' lak it comin' thoo; Keep de fiah buhnin' bright — Suah am bittah col' tonight ! Seems lak kindah lonesome, too — Des* don't lafy to heah dat "Woo-oo-oo! 1 Heah it goin' "Woo-oo-oo !" Blowin' down de oP bayou. Dogs come crouchin' by de fiah, Hunchin' up a little niah Des de way dey lak to do When de win it goin, "Woo-oo-oo!" Lonesome soundin', "Woo-oo-oo !" Comin' down de chimbley flue, Puffin' ashes on de floah — Nevah act lak dis bef oah ! Wondah what it tryin' to do ? Ghos'es, maybe, talfyin, "Woo-oo-oo!" Dah ! Yo' heah it ?— "Woo-oo-oo !" Golly! Don't lak dis nohow! Big dog shiv'rin' ; peahs he's skeert ; Ain't a-noways seemin' peert. I ain't skeert — but wisht I knew What dat blowin, "Woo-oo-oo!" Page 9 »i mm im" » ■■ '"Ml f ?■** ■ ■■» IIHim i lM 1*A ■■■ ■ ■■«»*! * ■■■*JH HILL TRAILS My Very Dear I whisper to you sometimes when the purple twilight falls ; I know that through the empty miles your heart to mine still calls. When the ancient stars are shining as they shone on us before, And the waves are sweeping, sullen, along the lonely shore, Then my heart goes searching for you in a longing all sincere, And I whisper in the twilight, "Oh, my dear! My very dear!" Just the words I used to whisper in those nights so long ago ; Just the few brief love words to you, but they speak it all, I know : Tell you of the bitter longing, of the empty, useless days, And my vain and idle wandering in a thou- sand endless ways, And I wonder what the end will be, yet — wondering — persevere In the hope that journey's ending may be you, my very dear. mum Page 10 iifiniini, AND OPEN SKY Just the love name I had for you in the per- fumed nights agone When the wearied stars had twinkled out and rose-light came with dawn. When sparkling waves along the shore shone radiant through the mist, And the crimson rose's petals gleamed with dew your lips had kissed. Just the love name I had for you — close, that you alone might hear ! — In the gold-light of the dawning of the morn- ing, dear, my dear! Now the crimson rose's petals, faded, lie along the strands Where the careless waves have swept them, and our footprints on the sands Have been pressed by other footprints, left by many passing feet, And the mists of many mornings have been lit by dawns as sweet. Still the love name I had for you seems to bring you very near — Will the journey's ending bring you — back to me, my very dear? *.^»ijL«.i*.stJk i 4JlU HILL TRAILS When the Hills Are Showin' Brown Get a sort o' restless feelin' When the snow begins to go An* the grass shows on the hillsides. When the ice-bound brooklets flow Get a sort o' thinkm', somehow, 0' the alder-bordered streams 'Long in Junetime, an' their ripples. See the thousand yellow gleams Where the sunlight trickles, broken, Through the wavin' alder leaves, Makin' patterns on the grasses ; An' the grapevine twines an' weaves In an' out among the tree tops. Cottonwood an' willow, too, With their leaves a-dancin', wavin' — Seems a welcome, like, to you. Get a funny sort of itchin' To my hand — it's kind of odd — Like to hear the reel a-spinnin', Feel the bendin' of the rod; See the line go zippin' crossways Of some golden, placid pool An' to feel my heart go thumpin', Though I'm tryin' to keep cool — See the trout break water, gleamin', As he shows his speckled sides, Then with shake of line an' savage Through the startled water glides. Page 12 __- AND OPEN SKY Whine of reel and splash of water As I reel the fighter in, Feelin' sort o' half -regretful That the old chap didn't win. Smell the thousand things a-growin' In the warm an' tender sod ; Know that here you're gettin' closer To the lovin', tender God Who has made the trees and flowers An' the birds, an' fishes, too. An' you feel yourself a-wingin' Far up there amongst the blue, Leavin' off, like outworn clothin', All the troubles of the day; An' the weary years are slippin' From your shoulders fast away. Feel as happy an' regardless As the locusts or the bees That are dronin', hummin', busy In the asters by your knees. Got a sort o' restless feelin' ; Think I'll get the old rod down Now the soft March breeze is blowin' An' the hills are showin' brown. Page 13 K HILL TRAILS Theodore Roosevelt The greatest mortal of his time has passed. Beneath the snows upon the quiet knoll His weary body finds its peaceful goal. His valiant spirit lives, and in that vast Concord of mighty dead he finds at last His own. No greater name stands on the scroll Of Time than his. Beside that kindred soul He stands, great Lincoln, nor by him o'ercast. We knew his faults, yet wrote them on the sands, Remembering these, which were the man, alone : His love of country ; strength ; his vision wide And will to do. Fame ! With cunning hands Grave deep and sure in everlasting stone These words, "My country! There was naught beside !" i firariiir- Page 14 The Wild Sea Calls When I see the great ships passing Down the bay to the Gate — When the screw-torn foam is swirling Where the flocking sea-gulls wait — When the keen, swift prow is cutting Clean through the heaving swell, And I hear the sonorous sounding Of the clamoring engine-bell — I've the call to go a-roving Out to the wild, wide sea; The sea and its mad adventure Is calling, calling me. The wild, gay sea is calling: Borne on the freshening wind Come the voices of wild sea-rovers ; Their urging fingers, twined About the heart of me, eager, Urge, though I say them nay. I long to sail by the headlands, Out through the Gate and away To the seas where romance is waiting,- Waiting, gay, wild and free ! — The sea and the wild sea-rovers Are calling, calling me. HILL TRAILS Ship O'Dreams When my Ship O'Dreams comes sailing Home o'er a sunlit sea, Will she be laden, I wonder, With treasure-trove for me? Will she be heavy with spices And bales of silken fold, Or caskets of flashing rubies And sea-pearls, white and cold? Will she proudly sail to the harbor With pennons flying gay Above the snow of her swelling sails, On the lift of the foaming bay? Will she meet the surge with disdainful prow, Haughtily cleaving the wave As she comes again, with brimming hold, Once more to the port which gave? Last night she crept to the harbor, Back from a pitiless sea Whose grasping waves and hungry crests She had fought so valiantly. Tattered of sail and broken of spar, Empty of hold she be, Yet my Ship O'Dreams is welcome home Since she brings you back t° me! Page 16 AND OPEN SKY Ella Sterling Mighels Between the present and the past there stands A wall of bronze, and swung therein a door. Nor none may pass save those who hold afore A mystic key to break the brazen bands, And with the key a password which demands Entrance therein. But few shall hold the key And pass from now to that which used to be; And none shall hold save one who under- stands. But hers the key; ajar she holds the gate That we may briefly see the blossoming ways And those who walk therein who once were here. These are the makers of our golden state, And as Romance the vivid tale conveys, We hold her dearer that she holds them dear. Page 17 . HILL TRAILS A Wild- Way Camp I lay last night beside the stream: The while the darkness grew, I heard the panther's eerie scream The startled forest through. The sun's last yellow finger clung Upon the mountain's crest, While lower crags their shadows flung Across the canyon's depth. Against a golden sunset sky The great pines stood, and black, A ragged army, filing by Along their hilltop track. The glowing clouds turned slow to gray, And diamond stars shone bright; The roaring river flung away Into mysterious night. The great white moon came swinging up To hang above the pines, And spill within the canyon's cup Its flooding, silver wines. The overhanging rocks, aglow, Reflected flickering flame From dying embers there below As eddying night winds came. Page 18 AND OPEN SKY And close the hillsides crept, and close The peace which comes of God To him who near to Nature goes, And wild-way trails has trod. Nita Darkness has passed : Now comes the dawn, Rose-tinged, at last. The night has gone — Has sped away into the west, And tender day has come, so — rest! if iiinimi iiii iiimiif ii H i fi i ni ii Page 19 «■ HILL TRAILS The End and the Goal Where is the end ? And what is the goal ? The reckless years have taken their toll. The loose, lax days when a day was a day — When a careless youth cleft his own free way, When the cleft wood lay where it heedless fell And we heedless knew nor heaven nor hell — Have taken their toll and the bloom has sped. The gold is dross, the silver is lead. The flower has faded. Sped are the dreams Of the days of delight, with their roseate gleams, And vanished the dew that lay on the rose In rose-morninged youth. The wild tide flows Now a somber course, unrippled, unswept, Where the dust of leaves lies heavy, unkept. Placid the river and heavy the tide; Never a gleam where the dead leaves ride. Where is the end ? And what is the goal ? Where is the end ? And what is the goal ? Not the dull, dead fen where the waters roll In their silent calm by the moss-grown trees ; Page 20 AND OPEN SKY Not the sluggish swamp or the stagnant lees, Nor the standing still while the dead leaves fall And the harking back to our dead youth's call, But the sweeping out to the open sky Where the sunshine falls and the winds sweep by. Where the fruit of the flower has ripened and grown; Where fruitage is ready from seeds that were sown, And dew of the rose-leaf has fallen in rain — Where sunlight glints golden on ripening grain. Where years are at full, with no discord or strife — Where time is at full in the harvest of life — Here is the end. And this is the goal. Flowers I think each flower must be a thought Which God has given, then has brought And dropped upon the hills for me. For in each faultless bloom I see The colors of Heaven, and His grace Within each radiant, glowing face. How wonderful His mind must be To hold such lovely thoughts for me! Page 21 At*.* |UJ • ■> UUUUULftJi ■.-,.-... * «« t VMUll » HILL TRAILS Sabbath Morn Soft shines the summer sun today, And soft the nesting bluebirds sing. The gentle breezes softer play Where honeysuckle blossoms swing And yield their perfume as they sway. A butterfly on lazy wing Floats gleaming in the golden air, Or, listless, honeyed nectar drains From throated blooms dependent there. The grass is dewy from the rains ; A rapturous robin flutters where He laves his wings, and scarcely deigns To move for early passerby. And down the quiet village street Into the blue of gleaming sky White plumes of smoke arise and meet To form a silvern canopy Above this pastoral retreat. While over all there broods the peace Of God's own day, His day of rest, When from our weary toil we cease — When from the troubles that molest We have this one day's sure release In all His beauty manifest. f iiiinMit i iniHiiiii i i i i t uiiiHi iii mt ■"?* '* rrnr i r f Page 22 f ^|IIHIIHIII M""» AND OPEN SKY November Streets From out the south, warm, soft, but strong, There swept a wind, and all the day I watched the elm-tree branches sway And strew their leaves the walks along. All gold and green they danced and leaped, Until the wind, coquettish, bold, Had won their fancy, from their hold Had coaxed them, 'neath the trees had heaped Huge windrows deep where children played; Where shouting children laughed and ran, A roistering, boisterous caravan, In rustling gold to knee-deep wade. And where the trees before had stood Full-garbed in gold of autumn's dress, The wanton wind with soft caress Had robbed them of their lustihood ; Had stripped the slender branches bare, Had left them naked 'gainst the sky, Their stark, bare branches lifting high Above the dazzling thoroughfare, Where underfoot the glistening leaves A soft and gorgeous carpet made, All lavish to the tread was laid, Alone the kind that Nature weaves. ^ i' li t »i H ! in i iii"mmi i inHi »i i»»rrn T Page 23 'j *±*& «j» ■ i ■ » a .MAM* ■ ■ ■ ■_ ■ iii miim n ni i n ijiii M H" y ■■■■■ ■» -immmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm HILL TRAILS J. E. Stuart What a wonderful dreamer the artist is With his dreams of the surge and the open sea; Of the rounded hills where the far mist is, And the flower-grown slopes with their harmony. What a wonderful thing to dream these dreams, These dreams of dawn and the dawn-lit sky; Of the mountain mists and the foaming streams ; Of the granite cliffs where the eagles fly. What a wonderful thing it is to bring These dreams into being for all to see, Rubbing the mystical, magical ring Of brush and paint and imagery, And bringing to being a wondrous gem Of the color and life of a dream dreamed true. Oh, to dream these dreams and to capture them! What a wonderful thing to dream like you ! .■ iinilliRltilVll'li" Page 24 AND OPEN SKY ■ Life in Death Beneath the shattered trees, and gray A bit of war's debris it lay, Half-hidden by the verdant green Where tender grasses grew between — Weathered, with eyeless sockets wide. But, swaying, threading slender through, A clump of crimson poppies grew Within, and — smiling — seemed to be Fit symbol of eternity; New-springing life of him who died. God's Way "Thy will be done!" How oft we say These words with mien resigned and sad, As feeling that in God's set way We forfeit something that we had. But now I know that where He leads Is Happiness and Peace, secure; He gives to each of all he needs From out His all-sufficient store. And so I say with smiling face And happy heart, "Thy will be done!" In God's own way is Happiness ; God leads — we find the conflict won. rrrrmnnrr Page 25 L i* » I »** » » J.!f ." MAMM »» **-*■* * * * » "J "* » » M M -H^M*-* «"*""iiiiii ■Hi HILL TRAILS The Weary Quest From dismal swamp and sluggish stream The white mist wreathes, And in the red moon's eerie gleam A Something breathes. I see weird shapes by stream and wood, And where the little village stood I see strange forms which dance and swirl, Which float and hover, sway and whirl, And never rest. O'er all of devastated France I've seen these shapes uncanny dance — On Flemish swamp and Belgian plain, In winter's snow and summer's rain — In weary quest. They are the spirits of the dead, By men-beasts slain; They are the spirits myriad On hill and plain Of those who've passed before their time, By bestial hands besmeared with slime, Who find no rest in heaven or hell, Who linger here 'neath bond and spell, And tortured wait. ■rif t »itimn ni ittH '* » t i rcy» » Page 26 ■ «nnmtin»n« ii mi« - AND OPEN SKY Dishonored maid and outraged wife And babe impaled on sanguine knife, No peace shall know, or ease, or rest Until these hordes of Huns invest Hell's open gate. From dismal swamp and sluggish stream The white mist "wreathes. And in the red moons eerie gleam A Something breathes. Good Night Soft twilight falls; the day is done. The white sheep gather at the bar And down the hill the cattle come. The church-bells faintly ring afar ; The day is done. The crimson west Turns fast to gray — so rest, dear: Rest! The night wind blows. Upon your bed The silver moonlight gently falls. Through trellised branches closely spread A drowsy pigeon plaintive calls. The day is done — and this is best — Good night, my Mary. Rest, dear — Rest ! nrr» r»n » ■ « vr «e» m i ■ * imnimn * nmn » ■ »■" ■ t ■ a ■ io * » w«w tT Page 27 - - Joaquin Miller THE HEIGHTS JUNE 15, 1919 He lingers here his well-loved trees among, Where mellow sunlight falls, and fragrant shade Of slender eucalypts, whose leaves are laid Like scimitars across the trails. Here rung The bells of poesy, and — ringing — flung The magic of his love on hill and glade. And of his love-enchanted land he made New songs, to keep this love-land ever young. And where he sang I hear him still: the breeze Which sways the incensed cedar brings to me His loved voice. Here on the rocky, wind- ing way, By mossy wall, among the columned trees, In every nook where once he loved to be, I find him still — and here he lives for aye. Page 28 HlllllllilllllHiimilHIIiimUMiiiinmimiiniiimmy £ AND OPEN SKY The Unforgotten The soft wind blows o'er poppied field. There where embattled nations fought Deft hands of time the scars have healed Which torch and shell in terror wrought. And where despoiling armies trod The azure flax is waving tall. There plowmen turn the peaceful sod, A placid picture pastoral. And on the hill, in ordered rows, Lie low the sacred dead of France Who fell before ensanguined foes. They won as their inheritance Undying glory, and a grave Which yields them peace, eternal rest Within that soil for which they gave Their lives, their all, and — giving — blessed. Yes, here is rest, but here alone, For in the hearts of France, bereft, There lies the coldness of the tomb; What else, indeed, for France is left ? Yet in the years when memory By years is softened, and the old Have passed beyond, then youth shall see Their story marvelous unfold. By song and legend, down through time Shall ring the names of those who gave Of all they had, in strife sublime, And passed, ungrieving, to the grave. Page 29 ••• - ' •a AJu.iiiiiiiiiH iimuu Ina Donna Coolbrith Sweet songstress of this fair demesne, Whose lyric lines to flower and bird and field Eternal life have given, to you we yield The scepter and the crown. We hail you queen Of those illustrious singers who have been The glory of our golden state. You wield, By virtue of a compact long since sealed, Your power divine, with sweet and gracious mien. Enthroned amidst the memories of the years A-down whose lengthened way clear voices ring With tales now grave, now gay; now sad, now sweet — To you whose power commands our smiles and tears, Let us, and humbly, loyal tribute bring; We lay unfading laurels at your feet. -yrrrrryf rt tr n r» t ¥ wy »» f Tii %■ * ^ Page 30 AND OPEN SKY HniiiiHitiiiiiiniiiiHiiHn, Low Tide The long, smooth fingers of the tide Reach gropingly across the beach: The silent ripples gleam and glide Upon the shore they scarce can reach. And on the shining, dimpled sands, Like jewels on a royal gown, Leave gleaming pools and silvern bands Of little rivers running down. While through the mists which thinly cling A veil of blue on bay and shore, Bewildered sea-gulls shrilly fling Weird calls their searching flight before. The crimson glow which held the west Above the purple and the gold Has sped, and now is manifest The silver of the moon grown old. HILL TEA ILS God's Harvest To me is given ; mine shall be, Nor mortal hand shall take from me What God has given. All serene I wait on Time's unfolding hand Above the running of the sand, Nor fear what Time shall thus decree. For Time nor sands nor anything That in the years they seem to bring Are real or true, nor can they glean From Life's real harvest. They have sown Not anything. And thus has grown No seed or fruit for garnering. But God has sowed. With loving hand He strewed the seed for my demand When fruitage comes above the green. God's is the harvest; He alone Shall give to me what is my own. 'Tis but for me to understand. S Page 32 li iamimn AND OPEN SKY Lafayette Square High on a hilltop green I stand, The busy streets on every hand. The grime, the strife, so far below ; Here quietude and peace I know. The smooth, soft sward beneath my feet ; The odor of the jasmine sweet; The song of bird or laugh of child In happiness all undefiled; The freshness of the new-mown sod — A breathing spot, a place of God. And far across the sparkling bay Proud Tamalpais guards the way. The circling sea-gulls shrilly cry About the steamers passing by. Pursuing waves spin white with foam As shoreward they come rushing home. Across the hill come wreaths of mist As salty as the sea they've kissed — I leave the hill ; I take with me Full measure of its harmony. tl l HUII II I I I Il Page 83 Ma* »»**»*» «***»»** »»**»»»**»**'» **»»*» - - ^^axjH 1 HILL TRAILS The Broken Seal Upon the closed door we placed a seal And turned away. Romance, we said, was done. Fate turned the busy wheel whereon is spun Her mystic thread, and with the whirling wheel Fate laughed. The shuttered door could not conceal From her the fragrant dreams that one by one We'd laid away; the idyl scarce begun Which nevermore, we said, should light reveal. Fate laughed, for wise she is and wisely knew That dreams like these are never put away, Are never done, but only live the more Denying them ; and these alone are true. And so we two came hand in hand today ; We broke the seal and opened wide the door. ■> ■■•' !* ie ■ M,M*M**M»M* AND OPEN SKY Josephine Swan White As snow, too early fallen, heaps upon the rose, Her white hair gleams above the spring- time of her smile, And as the roses shed upon each breeze that blows Their sweet perfume, she gives to all her friends the while S m Of joy. That gift divine, whereby through fingered keys She speaks the soul within her, gives to lifeless strings A throbbing life which sings harmonious melodies, And peace and warmth and new hope to each mortal brings. miiii iii niiiUH Hiiiii' Page 35 HILL TRAILS Worms It's funny, sort of, but I find that wimmin' Kaint find no poetry in swimmin' Es boys do, er in fishin', speshly worms ; All they think of is the slime an' squirms. See no joy in jes' the diggin' bait Early evenin' like, an' seem to hate Th' very thought o' worms an' such. An' when it comes to baitin' hooks — not much ! But take a boy of nine er ten, er so, An' he likes worms, a-huntin' high an' low To find 'em. Likes 'em fat an' long — Seems like, kind of, that they jes' belong To boys. It somehow brings a sort of pain To jes' a-see 'em diggin' bait again, An' makes me wish that I was diggin' there, With touseled head, an' dirty feet, an' bare. It makes me think of evenin' long ago, With dusk a-comin' on, so soft an' slow ; A sort o' fragrance in the dim spring air Of leaves a-burnin'; dad a-rakin' there An' me a-spadin' in the garden plot — A-workin', this time, jes' as soon as not — An' sweatin', mebbe, like a harvest han' A-gettin' worms f er my ol' can. I llllllli rHIII HIIIIIIlHiiiiiii ll l llHiii ■ i ■ ■ i ■ rrr Page 36 AND OPEN SKY To hear the twitterin' call of sleepy birds — To hear along the street the friendly words Of neighbors passin'. See the glowin' fire Die down to gray. An' see the moon rise higher An' red as Jones's barn, then turn to gold An' fade to silver ; see the stars unfold An' twinkle greetin' in the soft spring sky : A friendly greetin' as the clouds passed by. To smell the honeysuckle bloomin' there — Why — boy-like — seemed as though no care Er trouble was, er could be, nigh to me ; The winds that blew were all my own, an' free. An' when the shadows fell an' lights burned dim, While melted moonlight spilled across the brim, I crept into my bed an' said, "good night," An' to the land of boy-dreams took my flight. It may be true that worms ain't fit f er verse, But I contend as how you might do worse. The charm that poetry has f er me, er art, Is mostly what it calls up in my heart, Ner ain't the color, er the smooth-strung word, Er rhymin' lines by poet's art conferred. An' if a worm will bring that boy to me, Why, then, I say a worm is poetry ! ■ i* i ■ i n m inir ri m iiiii i i i ini ■ i i m» ii mm inniii»imr»w yia Page 37 HILL TRAILS Des' A-waitin' When the tiahed sun am droppin' Down behind the puhple hill, While the whole world seems a-restin', It's so quiet-lak an' still ; When the length'nin' shadows reachin' To'a'd the open cabin doah, Seems to me I miss yo', honey, Mo'n I evah did befoah. Miss yo' pickin' on the banjo — Miss yo' talkin' an* yo' smile — I'se a-honin' fo' yo', honey; Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. Things don't seem des lak dey useter; Moon don't seem to shine so bright When I wake up, cryin' fo' yo', In the da'k houahs of the night, An' the thousan' stahs a-twinklin' — Each one des' lak two appeahs As I see dem tremblin', blinkin', Through the fallin' of mah teahs — Des' a-wonderin' what yoh doin' — Ev'y footfall seems a mile Till yo' comin' to me, honey ; Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. n u i simmmti i lffiw twi Page 38 if^E j « ■ ■ ■ * ■ ■ g ««jJLaJLfcA«JL^UUL*A%JU^ AND OPEN SKY Somehow, birds dey ain't a-singin' Same sweet note dey used to sing ; Birds don't seem des lak dey happy — Kind o' lazy on the wing. An' the win' it soun' so mou'nf ul Dat I somehow kaint enduah Des' to heah it. Reckon maybe I'd feel bettah if I'se suah Sometime heah yo' in the evenin' Whistle happy at the stile Comin' home, des lak yo' useter — Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. Des' a-waitin', honey, patient; Know yo' comin' back to me. Know yo' thinkin' 'bout yo' mammy, An' no mattah whah yo' be Know the good Gawd watchin' foh you; Ain't a-worryin' no moah, Kase I know some day I'll see yo' Comin' thro the cabin doah Des' a-smilin' lak yo' useter — I'se a-waitin' fo' that smile — Hope yo' comin' mighty soon, boy ! Kind o' lonesome-lak the while. HiHiinmur : - - - s i 5 1 e 1 1 s 1 1 s 1 8 1 1 1 s? Page 39 My Mother's Garden In a quaint, old-fashioned garden In a dear, old-fashioned town, Bloomed the sweet, old-fashioned flowers All the garden walks around. Marigolds in yellow splendor, Crimson peonies a-glow; On their stems, so tall and slender, Hollyhocks their blossoms show. And the Johnny- jump-up's faces Peering slyly through the grass; Love-in-mist with dainty laces, And the bluebell's azure mass. Bridal wreath, festooned and flowing, Near the sweet crab-apple tree Where the petals, pink and glowing, Set their perfumed odors free. But of all the fragrant flowers Blooming in this garden old, Dewy with the summer showers, There was one of charms untold. Bumblebees went droning, humming, Tumbling round to steal its sweet ; In the dusk the great moths coming, Flying, fluttering to the treat, i MIHIIH»iHIIII I IHHHIHIHlHIHUim i HHIIHTHT l Page 40 iMH'^ M""""'"'"""'"""""'""""""""'"""'' AND OPEN SKY Laved their long tongues in its treasure, Hovered heedless close above, Seemed half drunken there with pleasure In this treasury of love. Twas the quaint, old-fashioned moss rose Which my mother planted there ; 'Twas the sweet and fragrant moss rose On her breast she used to wear. In the dusk when stars are showing, And a fragrance comes to me On the summer breezes blowing, Then again I seem to see Sweet old flowers that were swaying In that garden years ago, And again a boy I'm straying Where the sweet moss roses grow. nmr Page 41 ^MMkUAM^MAMMMMM ■.<»«■■ fcl^aiAllllllll llllftllia 1 1,1 1 1111111111.1 11JJLI HILL TRAILS Awake! Brown locusts, come from overseas To breed and spread. We heedless yield Fruitage of valley and fair field. Forever hungry, still they seize New ground, new space, new breeding place. No room they leave for us, of old The tillers of this fertile mould, These locusts brown of alien race. Brown locusts, nibbling evermore At that which we have toiling grown ; Harvest they reap they have not sown. They spread as spreads an open sore. Valley and field and town they take ; Theirs are the markets. When shall we Arise in outraged majesty And this their dangerous thralldom break! Ours is the land by right of race. What heritage shall we bequeath When all our soil shall lie beneath Their alien tread. How shall we face Our children when they claim of us The lands which still are theirs by right ? What shall we say ? This Orient blight Lies over all, and poisonous. l|I MHII| l llf Page 42 »M,*aaiiiJ*iiaiiiiiJiai*i,«ii*a*aaiiii*ii>iiia>ttj^jiM'#4''**#.AjLi Awake ! Oh, California's men ! Nor yield for ease and yellow gold The lands which you should priceless hold. Awake! And take your own again! Shall sun-graced banner fly above Our flag of stars, and men of brown Rule us, subjected, bowing down? Awake! And guard the land you love! -BB- Mother Heart of me, part of me, Mother of mine; Holding me, folding me, Love all divine. Seeing me, knowing me — What though the wind Like a leaf blowing me, Leaves you behind — Still your heart clings to me, Steadfast and fine; New courage brings to me — Mother of mine! Page 43 Illllllltl t llilllltimii tl t* JtJJJL fc liUlllitli>lll>lHII»|Hgiil ' ■ HILL TRAILS 1 Isle of Dreams If all the twinkling, gleaming stars, that in the sky I see, Were laughing, gleeful fairies a-coming down for me With golden, glowing lanterns, to take me out to ride Upon the slender, crescent moon which floats upon the tide Of silvered clouds, so silently, how happy I would be. We'd sail across the Sea of Sleep and reach the Isle of Dreams ; Our only light upon the sea would be the golden gleams Of tiny, twinkling lanterns, but I would not greatly care, For that would be quite light enough to see to get us there, Those golden, glowing lanterns, with their flick'ring yellow beams. We'd sail into the harbor 'neath the Moun- tains of the Night That loom so dark and gloomy that I'd almost take affright If it were not for the fairies. Then we'd land upon the shore With cloudy, frothy billows bursting there in foam before, Along the silver, glistening sands that stretch so smooth and white. i rrarYrrrrirry r»»M ' w y t T»riiiii»rri ■ p ■ Page 44 mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm AND OPEN SKY And this is where the Sandman comes to fill his Bag of Sand That he sprinkles in the evening with his tiny, funny hand, Till your eyes go blinking, winking, and you blink and wink and nod — But I've never seen the Sandman, and I think that's rather odd That he should come and not be seen — I can- not understand. Then all the happy hours through, with fairies I would play ; We'd dance upon the Silver Sands until the Light of Day Came softly shining in upon the somber Sea of Sleep, And then into the crescent moon all si- lently we'd creep To smoothly sail o'er swelling clouds so swiftly far away. But in my hands I'd bring to you a gift from that far isle : A Happy Dream I'd bring to you, and give it with a smile. And maybe, some night, on the moon you'll sail away with me And pluck a dream all by yourself from off the Slumber Tree That grows above the silver strand where fairies dance the while. l a lift! 11*1111 Hill I miUiiiH ii iiUU UiJiJM HILL TRAILS The Slumber Tree is broad and low, with blossoms on each bough, And in between the blossoms sweet the dreams are hanging low. The Baby Dreams are down beneath, where little hands can reach, And dreams for me are higher hung above the gleaming beach, While dreams for Dad and Mother Dear are higher still, I know. So when the stars come peeping out I'll sail the sea anew, Some evening soon when floats the moon, a bark so staunch and true, Where fairy lamps shall light our way across the Drowsy Deep, And hand in hand upon the strand we'll watch the billows leap, And then beneath the Slumber Tree shall find a dream for you. How Queer The rain is swiftly falling down, Which is not half so queer As should it rise from off the ground And quickly disappear. rnrnrmm Page 46 ■.■iiilJilliiiiiiii*iiiiiaiimiliimaiHiliiHE"*"»»iIiigifilA ■III AND OPEN SKY Adventure I am beating across the white-capped bay Before the southern wind, While the mad sea-gulls, The scolding trulls, Wing away — wide away ! And I seek what I shall find. Oh, the flying foam from the breaking crest Is salt and wet on my cheek, And the keen wind sings Where the taut sail clings — Speed away on the quest! And who shall say what I seek ! The blue of the hills is behind me, far, And the sands of the long, low shore ; With a foaming rail And a swelling sail, Across the angry bar To the sea that lies before. And never again shall I see the bay, Nor ever again the sands ; For the clean wind blows And the swift tide flows — I'm away ! Sail away ! Dare away to old-new lands ! o ll il ii i JLAf -linin iiiiiii HILL TRAILS Pals of the Road Walkin' down the fragrant lanes, Through the world with you, Underneath the drenchin' clouds, Or the skies of blue ; Ankle-deep in clover bloom, Where the bumblebees Tumble round like fuzzy clowns, An' the perfumed breeze Bends the slender goldenrod, While the timothy, Tall beside the old rail fence, Nods in sympathy. Maybe find a little mud; Maybe find it rough; Maybe find a rut or two, But it's just enough, Makes us love the goin' more When again we find Smoother roads an' smilin' skies Than we left behind. Over hill and over stream, Through the world with you; Ev'ry smilin' countryside Seems a fairer view. Ev'ry birdnote by the way Seems a sweeter song Than they sung to us before. As we tramp along, Hungry sometimes, tired too, Ploddin' o'er the miles, Page 48 Mii'iUiiJiUillHlimiHHiiliilHUililliliiiliiiiHiim i-M« AND OPEN SKY Mebbe think that frowns might come 'Stead of happy smiles. Frowns an' you don't hitch, somehow ; Smilin' skies or rain, Dust or dew or weariness, Always just the same. Happy with the open road ; Findin' something new 'Round each bend within the road, Through the world with you. Seen a lot of ups an' downs, Just us two together, Trampin' down the country roads, Sun an' stormy weather. Sleepin' where the twinklin' stars Winked through lacin' trees, An' the tumblin' river's song Sang us melodies — Seemed-like, dreamin', songs of home, Home I never knew ; Wake up, sobbin', an' be glad, Reachin' out for you. Just a dog you are, I know; Just a tramp like me, Happy when the summer's come An' the roads are free. Never ask a better pal, Or a truer friend — Through the world with you, old pal, 'Til we reach the end! j 4J.iilJLl» i »l iiiit l i»»i * i*».iii i i i liii i » lJ*jUUU^ HILL TRAILS Purple Meadows of Delight I leave behind that empty shell of mine And through the splendid silence of the night, Along the mystic star-trails, gleaming white, With eagerness I pass among the stars Into that purple meadow of delight Which is our trysting place, our age-old shrine. In flesh you have been mine but once in twice A thousand years : Tho that were paradise More perfect this, when in the star-strewn mead Your very soul is one with mine indeed. And though a thousand years may pass, and more, E'er I shall hold you as I did before, Within this purple meadow you are mine Until the pale stars, dying, cease to shine. 'Ifllfl! t ww m vwm itfm i' ii mi Page 50 Iff! AND OPEN SKY i 1L Beneath the sun I plod the long hours through, Those waking hours of toil and man-made strife Which mortal thought would say makes all of life. But with the darkness opens fair the way — I leave the body ; as a sure-thrown knife Speeds from the hand, I speed through space to you; The purple meadows of delight I find. All thought of flesh and earth is left be- hind; No mortal love was e'er so sweet as this As when among the stars I feel your kiss And wander with you o'er the starry sward Of purple meadows while the moon keeps ward. Oh, love of mine in meadow sweet with dew, Tell me: which life is dream and which is true! Mtiiitinnn»mim MMt l imimi ? *W»M*W Wk^ l l l l ll H ill I II IH I WI i l lll l lllll H ill M llli yil ll U l l l B MMW^MWfrM^M^} HILL TRAILS The Open Road There's a sort o' spring-like softness on the breeze, An' the fields are showin' green above the brown. There's a swellin' of the buds upon th' trees, An' Fd kind o' like to get away from town. Fd like to see the willows turn from gray, The dull old gray they've worn through winter's cold, While the driftin' leaves of summer round them lay — I'd like to see the willows turn to gold. I'd like to feel the road beneath my feet, So diff' rent from the pavements of the town Where y' hear a thousand footfalls on the street Of the busy people goin' up an' down. I want to get the smell of new-turned sod Where the sweatin' horses, tuggin', pull the plow, An' the meadow larks go wingin' up to God With thanks that spring is comin' now. I want to lazy lean upon the rail An' watch the playin' minnows float an' gleam ; An' I'd hear the plaintive love-call of the quail From the alder thickets close beside the stream. iniiiiiiiiMiiiiim t i i imhii i i fWTilTi if i ■ Page 52 AND OPEN SKY Where the smell of green things growin'd come to me, Tosseled alder an' the buddin' catkin bough — Why, it's just a — seems-like — pictured mel- ody, An' I wish that I could see it — hear it — now. Oh, I'm tired of the busy city's roar, An' I'm weary of the dingy city's ways ; I'm a-longin' for the country more an' more, An' I'm thinkin' that it won't be many days Before I hear the blackbird's mating song As he sways upon the rush's slender green ; See him, startled, flashing crimson-winged along To the fastness of the thicket's heavy screen. Oh, I'll feel beneath my feet the open road, Stretching miles away beyond the foothill's haze, With the open countryside for my abode, Lazying slow along the roadside as I please. I've my blanket roll upon my willing arm ; I've no need of town or chatt'ring com- pany — When the pussywillows spread their silver charm It is forth upon the open road for me ! W ii i im i mimii i mtui Page 53 'f* ll M* >> * il>llll * i>ll>lt>1,ltM1>>tt H*» < »ll» > " l>1 » illl l HILL TRAILS Old Man Wintah Damp wind bio win' from the souf , (Heah Bob White a-whistlin on the hill!) Big snowflake come siftin' down Thoo the branches bare an' brown. Oak leaves fallin', driftin' fast; Wintah sure am come at last — (Heah Bob White a-whistlin shrill!) Soft wind blowin' gainst mah face — (Hey ah, Cottontail! Whah po' gwine?) Gray clouds driftin', wet an' low, Oak trees tossin' just below; Sure am settled in mah mind Dat Old Man Wintah's just behind — (Dah po' go, Cottontail, roun dat fellah pine!) White birch shinin' thoo th' gloom, (OV black crow go cawin past) Crick a-flowin,' smooth an' brown, Golden birch leaves floatin' down ; Mus'rat swimmin' up th' stream — Golly! Dis no time to dream! (Crow say wintah come at last.) Down th' hill or Hetty waitin', (Chimbly smo^in, smell dat coo^in!) Dogs go barkin' roun' de door — Ain't nevah seen me, cohse, bef oah ! — Ground am gettin' wet an' white; 01' Man Wintah come tonight. (Cabin sure am welcome loo^in!) IE 2 : 9 AND OPEN SKY A Glade Where Violets Grow Deep down within a fragrant woodland brown I know a tiny glade where violets grow, Where all along the hillside, stars of light, The trilliums lift their lovely blooms of snow, Three-petalled on the broad, green leaves below. And here spring beauties shake their charm- ing bells Above the mould wherein the bloodroot dwells. The wild plum sheds its spicy fragrance there Sweet on the rain-drenched, ling'ring spring-time air. While silv'ry sweet from out a basswood tree A nesting robin plaintive sings to me Its lullaby of swiftly falling night. Upon the tiny glade where violets grow The soft light of the moon sifts gently down. f lUIIIIIIIHI I HTIIlllllllfiniHUllHlJ Page 55 j*-* l 3 - * - * ■* " * * ' M * * K * * * * * *-»***-*' a.AX|k HILL TRAILS The Patchwork Square Crimson and yellow, green and blue, Silks and velvets of every hue; Purple satin and royal gold, Varied colors in wealth untold. Scraps of the gowns of other days, Telling their tales of other ways, Of other times than those we live — This rainbowed, patchwork narrative. Here is a bit of the emerald gown That mother wore when she came to town In those far-off days before the war, Those days when dad was a bachelor. This is a bit of the flowered vest They say dad wore when the loveliest And sweetest girl in the countryside Promised that she would be his bride. And this wee scrap of yellowed white, Toned by the years in their constant flight, A treasured bit of her wedding dress And full of her years of happiness. Here is a royal blue brocade Worn as a bride, and I'm sure she made A picture sweet for dad to see As she walked by his side so lovingly. >im il l l limHI I IMMHIllHIIHHl> Page 56 HUHIIIIIIIIIIHH? I MMM MMI AND OPEN SKY And this — well, this bit of faded pink Holds many a soft-shed tear, and I think Of the days when tender hands caressed The wee silk gown which was never blessed With a baby's warmth, but with a spray Of lavender was laid away. Faded and stained, it is precious yet To the mother heart that does not forget. Crimson and yellow, green and brown; Criss-crossed with stitches up and down. Lovingly sewed and cleverly pieced They take their place, and even the least Can add its bit to the story told Of those long-ago, far-away, days of old When dad was young and mother was fair — This dear, old, bright-hued patchwork square. -H- The Street Walker With painted face and bold, yet furtive, eye She walks the streets and scans the passers- by. Her flashy garb, all cheaply fine, yet worn And poor; her draggled skirts, unhung and torn, Proclaim aloud her shamed profession old Wherein, for barren life, herself is sold. Page 57 HILL TRAILS It Is Not True They tell me that in Flanders you lie dead While o'er you ruddy poppies blow and bloom ; That broken is your thread upon the loom, The thread within the fabric just begun; A golden thread within the fabric spun. They tell me that on Flanders field of brown You laid your glorious weapons gently down And fell asleep, your arms beneath your head. But down the slopes I see you come to me As in the days of old, all eagerly, The tender grasses bending at your tread ; The fragrant apple blossoms o'er you spread. Your smile is tender as it used to be — And yet they say in Flanders you lie dead ! They wonder why I do not mourn for you Who there in Flanders field are lying dead While battling armies pass above your head. They see me in my old, accustomed way About the village streets from day to day. They see my undimmed eye and quiet face ; They see of grief for you no tear or trace ; For in the garden where the larkspurs grew Page 58 i < a i a a a a a a a a i a a a a a a a a a a a a a i LM.AJL&. t • AND OPEN SKY When you were with me in those dewy hours Of love among the fragrant, blossoming bowers, The larkspur blooms again, all slender blue. And there in dusk of eve I come to you And meet you, hold you, midst my garden's flowers — That you are dead in Flanders is not true ! The Artist 31 When God had brushed the sky with blue, Had painted all the forest green, And swept the west with sunset hue Above the ocean emeraldine, He dropped his laden palette down Upon a California field, And flowed upon the blossomed ground The radiant colors there revealed. Page 59 5 M.J.1 IA**JL # jJJ- * *JJA§JJJI * JLM "Ai.'L'LJL 1 ? * " " * *3 ' HILL TRAILS A Rainy Day I like to see the raindrops splash Upon our window here, And run in little rivers down; And on the schoolhouse near To watch the feathered weathervane Go whirling with the breeze ; It seems to change direction With the very greatest ease. I wish I was a weathervane, So I could make it blow — The wind, I mean — in any way I'd like to have it go. I'd like to be a raindrop And go sailing on a cloud High up above the housetops there — My, wouldn't I be proud ! Or maybe as a yellow leaf Go whirling from the trees And down the flooded gutters float In golden argosies. I'd like to be a dewy drop A-hanging on a twig And growing and a-growing Until I grew so big iiini» ii i i»nm rii m i nu i nim » ni Page 60 21 m AND OPEN SKY 31 I'd lose my hold upon the branch And like a flash I'd fall, A glistening, glittering raindrop Just like a crystal ball. But if 'twas me I'm sure that I Would find a softer place To fall upon, 'cause otherwise I fear I'd scratch my face. I'm very glad I'm not a bird, All rumpled up and cold ; I'm glad I'm not a-sweeping streets So ragged, bent and old. And take it altogether, Of all the things to be, I'm glad, I guess, to find I can Be no one else but me. The Kiss As lightly as a golden birch-leaf falls When evening calls across the river s tranquil As sweet and fragrant as the dew-brushed morn . But newly born, when opening blossoms ra- diant blow — Pure, sweet, like breath of rosemary There came the baby's kiss to me. imii i iiimmnnyTUT Pag© 61 3ILL TRAILS The Popple Fairy We all was out in the woods one day, Jus' Allie an' Jay an' me, an' say ! The sky was blue an' the air was still, Was scarce a breeze come over the hill. An' the big, old sun was shinin' hot Till Jay says he'd jus' as soon as not Lie still in the shade of the popple tree. An' when Jay says that, why, Allie an' me Jus' flopped on our backs. High in the sky A cloud, scarce movin', was floatin' by. Through the popple leaves the sun poured down An' a dronin' bee was the only sound, Or, high overhead, a flyin' crow Cawed once er twice to his friends below. But the popple leaves in the quiet air Shivered an' quivered an' swung up there; An' I laughed an' says to Allie, "Say, Look at them leaves ! 'At's a funny way Fer leaves to do." An' he says to me, His ma she says it's a fairy tree — The popple fairies, little an' fat, An' you can't see where they're hangin' at, Ner no one else, but they turn an' swing On the popple leaves, an' laugh an' sing. An' she says if he'll just keep still — But goodness knows if he ever will! — An' listen sharp, why then some day 'At maybe he'll hear jus' what they say. Page 62 nr* i iiimi nii niiiimiiiiiiitiiit' AND OPEN SKY So Allie an' Jay an' me, all three, We watched the leaves on the popple tree Swaying an' swinging high up there, Cool an' green in the silent air. The bees droned on — a locust whirred — An' that was the only sound we heard, Save a crow cawed twice, an' then was still, An' the low-toned hum of the old grist mill. I looked at Jay an' laughed, an' he Laughed back, an' rolled on the grass, an' we All three laughed, an' we didn't know why But we just did, an' I says I Bet a fairy dropped down from the tree An' made us laugh, Jay an' Allie an' me. Presence When, in the darkness, I cannot see the moon or any star; When the loneliness, and the bitterness, Press on me, and you seem so very far Away from me, I call: Then, throbbing, musical, Down through deep space where heavenly beings are I hear your loved voice fall; I am not lonely then at all. * » mi liiiiii»iiimii«ii»inii«tnii M'M'J <» HILL TRAILS 1 Derelict No more I make my restless round Or answer, quivering, to the sound Of signal bell. The busy feet Upon my decks no more shall beat Of those I ferried from the shore. I cross the heaving bay no more. Where, wrecked and battered, weary, worn, The tender tide my hull has borne, I lie at rest. The wavelets run In sparkling glee beneath the sun. The clamorous sea-gulls, curious, cry In shrill contempt — and pass me by. And through the heavy veil of night I see at times the searching light — I hear sometimes the sobbing notes Of sister ships, whose brazen throats Send wondering search through fog and wind, Yet nevermore their lost shall find. Here let me rest. The pitying sand Shall hold me close. The tender hand Of passing time shall bury deep My shattered bones, and you shall keep Me pictured as I used to be, Still unafraid of tide or sea. *ISI«ffllIfB**l*l«IVIfl**fK*RIIfR|IIIR«r Page 64 w AND OPEN SKY The Golden Quest When the great, red moon is hanging Low in the starless sky; When the tall, dark pines are silent, I hear them passing by — I hear the shuffle of rough-clad feet A-tramp on the dim old trail, And I know they are off on their restless search, Who seek for a golden grail. I hear the click of the rocks as they pass, The clatter of pack and pan. I see dim shapes on the brush-grown trail Of burro and horse and man. You think they are sleeping in valley and hill, At rest in their grass-grown plot ; I know they're a-search for the golden dust Though their headstones crumble and rot. For I hear them on bar, on ravine and flat, A-stir in their quest for gold ; And I see their weird forms in the river mist, Bent and weary and old. I hear the shuffle and tramp of feet As they pass by my camping place — Yet on the trail in the silver dawn I find no print or trace. ■nHBMMMMMHHHHHMHfltttMiniltMillit HILL TRAILS My Mother's Chair There's a low little chair by the window wide, An old little, worn little chair; Its rockers are battered by years defied, And its arms are of paint worn bare. The cushions are threadbare and faded and old, Of this old little, low little chair, But soft are the cushions and warmly they hold A wee lady with snow-white hair. Gently she rocks in the low little chair Alone in the sky's golden tide ; Alone and serene she is rocking there, And softly the gray shadows glide. Folded her hands on a gray-clad knee — Dear hands, toil-wrinkled and worn And gnurled with the labor she's done for me, The strife and the burden she's borne. Now slowly the gold of the sunset fades, Lingering last on her haloed hair, And night gently draws close her purple shades Round my mother still sitting there. The click of the chair on the worn old floor Runs slower and slower still. And the shadows fall, and the day is o'er, And night comes down from the hill. Page 66 AND OPEN SKY Gently she rocks in the little old chair, But I'm back again on her knee, Tired with the play of the spent years afar, The years which have battered me. In the worn old chair, when the day is done, She holds me close to her breast Till the sands of the glass to the last grain run : And this, of life's gifts, is the best. Back Again The sea-gulls have come back again And all along the beach Are flying, strutting, wading Where the little rivers reach. They've come back from the islands where The winds are never still, Where the waves are beating madly And the foaming breakers spill. And now along the placid shore Where wet the tides have lain I see them wade and fly and prance; The gulls are back again. • Page 67 HILL TRAILS The Fleet CHANT ROYAL Weary of war, of battling northern waves, Of foaming seas which bore upon their crests Both fire and ice ; of serving as the slaves Of Mars, and adding to the vast unrest Which made of this fair world a seething hell; Weary of spouting fires and volleyed shell And wreathing gun-smoke, sulphurous, float- ing by; Worn by the icy waves which scarify As wild before the frozen winds they leap, We rest at last beneath a summer sky In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. Not ours the will, the fiery heart which craves The conflict fierce, the grim, unceasing quest Of war. Nor ours the spirit wild which raves At bonds and bars ; which says of peace, "A jest!" And which by might of men would men com- pel, And force to live as serfs where freemen dwell. Not ours the heart untamed which would defy God's law, and equal rights to equal men deny. That spirit which would, slyly, loathsome, creep From out its fen, and hold its tyranny In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. muiiiM iuHin iiiiiiiiiMii urn i ■ ■ « n i Ti f i i » » i § ■ § i I F fiTR 1 Page 68 'f« '«tn mjiji i ■ tr« m mm 11 m ■ iiiiii nniiiiiiiiiiiiniiuitiiti m _*■■_■ ft AND OPEN SKY - O'er bitter seas which wash the drifted graves Where bones of babes and murdered women rest, Whence we, avenging, drove the bestial knaves From sea and shore they shall not more molest — O'er gloomy seas, where suns of hope dispel The leaden fogs, and happier days foretell, We drove, and watched the spindrift gleam- ing fly From cleaving prow. The spun foam seemed to vie With high clouds drifting, white as scattered sheep, Or as the following gulls which piercing cry In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. Past islands where a tropic ocean laves A tropic shore ; past crags whereon there nest The sea-mew and the tern, whose gray egg paves The shore and cliff, and whose wild cries attest The vigilance of wakeful sentinel Perched high upon this island citadel ; Past mainland shores whose stern cliffs for- tify A land so grim, unwatered, drear and dry No man may live thereon, no harvest reap Of grain or fruit, we gladly homeward ply In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. nimirnniiT i H i nmiini ii ir i i i mii i nimit i T a Page 69 HILL TRAILS Swift past the cliffs whereon bold Time en- graves His mark with sweeping seas from out the west Which foaming leap toward sculptured archi- traves ; Swift cleaving on across the ocean's breast, We hear at last the welcome engine bell And glide to anchorage upon the swell. Our guns to loudly welcoming guns reply And streaming flags our welcome glorify. 'Neath thronging streets which to the broad bay sweep, The grappling anchors, plunging, gladly tie In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. So home at last we proud ships resting lie While echoing thunders on the brown hills die. At home we are, and ye may safely sleep While we your welcoming tributes justify In this fair sea where we shall vigil keep. ■ itjR ■ « y«n w ■ ■ ■ ■ f J^^V^f ^^ujA ^IJULl^A * JJJJLI JJ A 4JJU M "Minn- .cYr;->«~dfifififififi^fifiH AND OPEN SKY Six Sea-Gulls Fly Over the sparkling, dawn-lit sea My lover's song comes joyously, As his white-sailed boat cleaves the run- ning tide And leans to the wind with a haughty pride. He waves his hand — and I stand alone On the shining beach whence his boat has flown. Six sea-gulls flying down the bay — Away! Away! Six sea-gulls fly and weirdly cry To the white-capped billows flashing by In the rose light of the dawning day — Away! Away! The wind has blown with a rising gale And the mad waves toss to its moaning wail. The seething foam runs about my feet As I pace the sands to their angry beat ; I search the sea — but I search in vain, For my lover comes nor ever again. Six sea-gulls low by the wreckage spread — The sky gleams red! Six sea-gulls fly, now low, now high Where the dank sea-weeds in tangles lie In a woven shroud for my lover, dead — The sky gleams red! :• ■srit .... Page 71 "• JUbi-B* ' »*#•* *J^M. JJt M *■**■ m m **JL!L* mim»m«mM' The Trail Into the Berkeley Hills The trail into the Berkeley hills Lies soft beneath my feet, And vagrant breezes flowing down Stir roadside blossoms sweet ; Stir roadside blossoms nodding there To greet the rose-dawn day. The Berkeley hills smile greeting down Upon the smiling bay. The trail into the Berkeley hills, The fair, blue hills, the Berkeley hills : I follow winding trails therein And wander far away. Beside the trail in Berkeley hills The bay trees slender stand Like ranks of soldiers, khaki-clad, A-marching at command. And heavy lies the fragrance there, Distilled from sun and dew, A balm as rare as any scent The Orient ever knew. The trail into the Berkeley hills, The fragrant hills, the Berkeley hills : The trail which winds in Berkeley hills Above the waters blue. The trail leads past brown, shimmering pools Where fern leaves dip and sway; Where tiny, crystal waters run, And cool, sweet zephyrs play. It leads past open, rounded breasts Page 72 U HJUUU UU AND OPEN SKY ■ Where golden grasses glow — Oh, billowing waves run gleaming there When winds of summer blow ! The trail into the Berkeley hills, The mystic hills, the Berkeley hills : The trail into the Berkeley hills Where wild, sweet grasses grow. The laughing trail into the hills, Beneath the branching oaks, Where shadow hides and sunlight seeks ; Where golden sunlight soaks The golden earth through languid hours. The lazy, laughing trail Which winds away into the hills Past cliff and grassy swale — The trail into the Berkeley hills, The smiling hills, the Berkeley hills: The rounding hills of silvery blue Beneath the white cloud-sails. The day has flown and twilight comes A-down the Berkeley hills ; The lavender and purple now Each narrow canyon fills. From chaparral comes call of quail, Where safe the brood is hiding, And down the trail from Berkeley hills Reluctant I am striding. The trail from out the Berkeley hills, The dusk-dim hills, the Berkeley hills And o'er the swelling tops of them The thin new moon is riding. ^! U1 1 1I ! I1III» 1 Page 73 HILL TRAILS Hushabye Sea Soft breezes blowing, and low in the west The red glow is fading — my little one, rest ! Rest while the stars twinkle soft in the sky And the great golden moon slips so silently by. Wee little feet are so weary with play — Rest in my arms, dear, and we'll sail away : Lullaby Boat on the Hushabye Sea, A white-petaled rose, dear, our swift sail shall be; A moonbeam of gold, dear, we'll use for a mast, And then, dear, to Dreamland we'll sail on so fast — In our island of Dreamland we'll rest, dear, at last. Pink are the clouds that float high in the east. The murmur of waves on the shore, dear, has ceased. Back to the Dayland, the playland, we'll go ; The bright sun will greet us so gladly, I know. Wee little lady, all rested from sleep! Close in my arms, dear, my treasure I'll keep. — — Page 74 Rockabye waves swing us swiftly along; Sweet winds of morning shall blow clean and strong. White-breasted sea-gulls our sailors shall be— In our Lullabye Boat, dear, on Hushabye Sea, Come sail back to daddy, in Dayland, with me. The Measure Wherewith shall life's success be gauged ? By wealth of golden garnering, Or honors, heaped, that years may bring? Or by the struggle, bravely waged, Against besetting foe's demand? Or shall our measure of life's good Be factories or spreading land Where men shall toil at our command To earn their modest livelihood? Not so. God measures life's success By what we give of happiness. wniiinii ii i i i i mniM - . «mrt Page 75 HILL TRAILS Mother of Mine At quiet eve with all the day's work done I sit within my casement wide And watch the glory of the setting sun. Then mem'ry hearkens through the years, I'm carried back again to boyhood's days ; My mother greets me at the door, Upon my head again her hand she lays ; Above me bends her dear, sweet face. I tell again the day's adventures o'er, Recount to her the paths I've trod, The hills I've climbed, the tales of woodland lore, Of bird and flower and new-made friends: The shimmering trout within the stream — The robin's nest, its dainty eggs — The old sawmill with sunken roof and beam — I tell the day's adventures o'er. Within her heart I never shall grow old ; The boy I was I'll always be. And to my mother tales I'll still unfold Of day's adventures, problems met. Within her heart I'll solace find ; Her loving smile and tenderness of hand Will soothe the wearied breast and mind. Within her heart I'm still her boy. Page 76 AND OPEN SKY * Mother of mine, dear Mother of Mine, Your hair is as white as the wind-driven snow, But the smile on your face is as sweet as the rose: You are young in my heart, and — Ah, Mother — / know That your love will be mine 'til the last long repose — Dear Mother of Mine! Dear Mother of Mine! Sin the Beggar Sin is a beggar old, and whining; Living on what we give, reclining On couches that we careless yield To his own measure. And he gives No place or thing. And yet Sin lives. Page 11 Telegraph Hill Up-thrust above the busy tide Of teeming bay and echoing street, Whose waves against her rough cliffs beat — Neglected, thrust contemned aside She stands. Beneath the trees which guard her crest The ragged streets, wind-swept and steep Where crowding children laugh and leap, Hold many a strange, unbidden guest From other lands. Dingy the streets and drab the walls, But gay the sparkling, green-blue sea, And sweet the winds which blow to me Beneath the trees whose shadow falls A-thwart the sod. My thoughts sail out as passing ships And seek strange shores beyond the gates Where romance calls and treasure waits Of languorous hours, whose honey drips In fragrant flood. Below, the crowded streets, the din Where clattering carts make clamorous sound Upon their same, unvaried round: But here, harmonic, flooding in, The peace of God. Page 78 My Creed And this my creed: To live this day Today alone. To live each golden hour through, To hold each precious moment true And all my own — To do with each the best I may. To keep no record of the past ; To hold no grief Or sorrow that the past has brought, Or evil thing that has been wrought In my belief ; For things of evil cannot last. To fear tomorrow not at all, With what it bring. Each morrow, coming, is today ; Each morrow brings its own supply alway. No sorrows cling Or evil happen-stance befall. Then this my creed : This day alone, And now, I live. Of love and friends and joy to me Are given for mine this day, these three ; And these I give : Joy, friendship, love — I give and own. iiiiini i i i iiHiHmnm Page 79 n-fcXA H i iinmni ii i iii ii They Shall Say When they shall say of me, "He lies beneath the trees, There where the golden, wind-blown daisies grieving nod." Or they shall say of me, "The passing April breeze, The flowers, must miss him silent there be- neath the sod." "And birds, and all the shy and wilder things of earth Must grieve for him who loved them so. He rests so deep Nor heeds the waking of the world to spring- time birth. He lies alone beneath the blossoming sod, asleep." Then I shall laugh, and they shall hear it as a song From throbbing bird-throat high among the tree-tops tall, Or as the joyous breezes blowing free along — Then I shall laugh — for lo ! I'll not be there at all! ^tiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiliaiiiiiiaiiiiiiiiiiiliiiJLiijiiJijLiAtiilJJii* AND OPEN SKY But in the fields where bees shall seek the blooming clover, And in the meadows fair where gentle cat- tle graze — Among the tree-tops where the birds are fly- ing over And spilling song, half -heard, from out the azure haze, Or on the singing shore where flecks of foam are flying I'll joyous dance, and joyous to the wild wind call: Tis odd to hear these folk speak so of dying — Why, I still shall live! I'll not sleep there at all! Between the Lines Many a bit of verse I write, and fair They be or not — I little care, For written 'twixt the lines she finds A fairer bit of verse than mine; Those words which speak the heart of me, Writ there for her alone to see. iiimi mninu iu Htw « » i » C T r Page 81 « * * * » &*. munitj r HILL TRAILS Forgotten The dead remember — Those living whom we call the dead — Remember, and forget. Remember all the love we gave; The little things we did For love of them; The smiles; The loving words. Remember all the good of us, The rest forget. Forgotten now the words we gave Which hurt. The selfish things We did for love of self. The kindly things we might have done But failed to do. And now they know The love we gave, And give. They do not know, Nor care to know, The bitter grief we feel, The fierce and vain regret. The dead remember — Those living whom we call the dead — Remember, and forget. But we remember, Nor can we, remembering, Forget. Mr miiinTi 1 ! Page 82 mumm^mmmutnMM»*JJULMJLMJLMJUUUUi*MB*MMt AND OPEN SKY The Miser I have a secret place wherein I store My treasures all. A miser, I, who keeps Each precious gem, who counts them o'er and o'er And fondles them. I guard the shining heaps As ne'er a miser yet has guarded dear His jewels and his yellow gold. These are my jewels: Each kind word and thought, Each loving smile which through the years to me The years have given. The loving friends they've brought From God's own heaven that here my heaven might be. I guard them well. It seems as though I fear That Time may steal, for Time is bold. Yet friends whom God has given, each word and smile, No thief may steal — if I but watch the while ! nhnrtf tiiii tf 'i Page 83 » » »*> » »«»»» ■> ■■« > » »■ ■. » »«»»> >>■■ >■ # ■aa«a»a» f «« m i i | HILL TRAILS Bells Three I builded a castle in the air — I builded a castle wondrous fair, With turret and tower and gate and wall And jeweled windows in palace hall. And swung in the tower that lifted high, High up on the crags where eagles fly, I hung brave bells, and these bells were three ; Three chiming bells marked the hours for me. One bell was of silver; sweet was its chime As it rang through the dusk of the eventime. "Hope" was its message, and "Hope" was its name, And this was the cherished thought which came. And one was of brass with a brazen note Clanging steadfast from its brazen throat, Bringing its message of Faith to me — And Faith and Hope rang in harmony! The third was of gold, and pure and deep Was the echoed gold from the high cliffs steep. "Love" was the song of my golden bell As its liquid music rose and fell. Ruined the castle, and broken the wall; Shattered the glass of the palace hall — But my bells still ring their song divine; Hope, Faith and Love at their best are mine. rrrrmrtT" . t i imt Page 84