Class AS\3£d^ Book ' ^ ^//V Gopyrightl^^ llAf^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. There are verses 'neath this cover Good and bad ; If you think you may discover Something sad, Or glad, Some new fad To your liking, Gentle Reader, Buy this little pad. POEMS BY DAVID M. CORY Ube ftnicberbocfier |)ress ■new ]!2ock Two Copies lieceivea DEC 27 1904 ^ Copyrieiu tiiiry CLASS (^ .Uc Noi COPY B. ' 9 0^ Copyright, 1904 BY DAVID M. CORY DEDICATION To thee, O rapacious Scrap-Basket ! To thee, who oft holdest in scorn The hopes, aspirations, and longings Of many a poet that is born "Non-fit" To woo and to win the coy Muse, I dedicate all this refuse ! CONTENTS PAGE In War Time 3 A-Comin' Hum 4 Our Toast 5 Vox POPULI 6 Here 's to You, Mr. Hobson ! 7 When the Chores is Done 8 Jenny 9 The World Asleep 13 To My Mother 14 Good-Byes 16 The Old-Fashioned Way ... ... 17 Dreamland 18 Apple blossoms 19 Mediocrity 21 Transformation 22 The Miser 23 Two Roses 24 The Dream Kiss 25 Marjorie 26 The Legend of Castine 27 The Mermaid 28 Nocturne 30 Spring 31 Summer 32 Autumn 33 Winter 34 Vacation 36 To the Misses Fickle 37 To M. M. L 38 To W. W 39 At Flanders 40 IV CONTENTS PAGE To E. W 41 End of Vacation 42 To E. W 43 There Are Others . 44 Winter Roses 45 Where There's A Will 46 To My Sweetheart 47 Autumn Roses 48 An X-cellent Way 49 A Wish 50 Has It Come to This? 51 To Mademoiselle 52 Smoky Fancies 53 One on Me 54 One on Him 55 Susan 56 The Night before Xmas 57 A Dear Little Thing 58 Modesty 59 Love at College 60 Alas ! 61 My Little Fashion Saint 62 Sing a Song of Noakes' 63 To Fedora . . .64 Phylis 65 The Flirt 66 Reminiscences 67 Love's Bargain 69 A Modern Rapunsel 70 The Rivals 71 My Heir 72 Cupid's Miss 73 The Modern Girl 74 Why? 75 An Unconscious Proposal 76 Rockaway 77 To Lita 78 February 14 79 The First Valentine 80 CONTENTS V PAGB Hearts 8i An Experimknt 83 To Beatrice 84 Mirage 85 Transplanted 86 George du Maurier 88 First Love 89 Like as the Troubled Waves go Oliver Wendell Holmes gi And Yet 92 What 's the Use 93 A Memory 95 Despair 96 The Master Artist 97 At the Confessional g8 Recognition gg Ad Finem 100 Maud loi Desolation 102 Love's Season 103 Allurement 104 Afterwards 105 Wooing-Time 107 All the Year Round 108 Falling Heavenward 109 Night , .110 The Rainbow in Worldlings 112 To A Flirt 113 An Autumn Day 114 Thoughts 115 Inspiration 116 Sonnet 117 Redeemed iiS Dreamers 119 POEMS IN WAR TIME O SUMMER Wind with soft, warm sighs, My heart is sighing, too. O pale wan Moon, in dim, gray skies, See you my Lad in Blue ? Last night I heard the whippo'will, But who has changed his tune ? No longer now a silvery thrill Beneath a silvery moon. His shrill notes echoed in the glade, And ever in my dream It sounded like the fife that played Amidst the steel's cold gleam. The breeze-blown boughs beat strange tattoos Upon the answering wall; Try as I might I could not choose But hear the wild drum's call. O Lady Moon, watch o'er my love! O Winds, blow soft and true! And safe upon the battlefield God keep my Lad in Blue. A-COMIN' HUM MY boy 's a-comin' hum at last! I hardly can keep still. To think that Tom is almost here Clean takes away my will. The farm is runnin' by itself, The chores is left undone, The weeds hev almost choked the corn A-reachin' for the sun. It seems like years since last I heard Him whistlin* down the lane. I want to hear him holler " Dad! " An' see his smile again. I can't do nuthin' now but sit An' listen for his drum. The war is over, thank the Lord ! An' Tom 's a-comin' hum. OUR TOAST FILL the bumper up, my boys, Dewey and his men! Make a patriotic noise, Cheer and cheer again! Down with Spain! Her yellow rag Trample in the dust! Hoist the Stars and Stripes — our flag Leads a cause that 's just. Cuba now will soon be free, Tyranny shall cease. O'er the flag of Liberty Shine the star of peace ! Fill the bumper up again — Dewey is our toast! Throw away the craven pen, Make the sword our boast! Hoist Old Glory o'er our head! Here 's to every star! Cheer the blue, the white, the red. And every gallant tar! vox POPULI THE stars and stripes a canopy o'erhead, Beneath, throughout the land, the tramp of feet; In one grand mighty throng our brothers meet To right the wrong. One purpose can be read: Avenge our country and our martyred dead! Down! down, with him who 'd have us now retreat To safe diplomacy and bring defeat Upon our undimmed valor! Better dead Were we and rotting on a well-fought field Than like a coward sit while murderous Spain The blood of Cuba spills. Are we to yield For fear of selfish loss? We shall not gain By deeds like this; our flag we only stain And dim the stars upon its azure shield. HERE 'S TO YOU, MR. HOBSON! MR. HOBSON, Mr. Hobson, When you sunk the Merrimac In Santiago Harbor, Held the Spaniards in a trap, We thought it just the bravest thing That any man could do. And we cheered you, Mr. Hobson, And the world cheered with us, too. But, Hobson, Mr. Hobson, When a line of blushing misses Stands ready to salute you With their patriotic kisses. We think it just the bravest thing To stand there as you do — And we 'd like to help you, Hobson, If we had the courage to. So here 's to hero Hobson, Who sunk the Merrimac ! And, again, to hero Hobson, Who gets the merrie smack ! WHEN THE CHORES IS DONE THE road is a windin' dusty one, An' marked by a rickerty line Of fence-rails hid by goldenrod An' clamberin' ros'berry vine. The chaise is a derned old creakin' thing, But the gal inside is fair, An' the lips are red that chirrup "git-ap " To Betsey, the old gray mare. An' life at the farm would be twicet as hard, From risin' to settin' sun, Ef 't warn't that those lips were pursed for a kiss When the evenin' chores is done. JENNY JENNY churns the cream to butter In the dairy by the spring. Of'n I creep up to listen, Jes' to hear her sing, Wile she keeps the dasher goin' Clunsch-clunsch in the yeller cream; Thrush ain't in it fer a minit — It 's sweeter 'n a dream. Both her sleeves are tucked up high, An' her arms are w'iter Than the skimmed milk settin' by. Cream 's a-gittin' tighter; Jenny keeps the dasher, though, Goin' jes' ez reg'lar, Clunsch-clunsch in the cream below. Gee ! her arms are awful strong, She don't seem to mind it, Fer she 's singin' all along. " Can't I help you some? " sez I, Makin' b'lieve I 'm passin' by, Wen the holl time I have ben Thru a knot-hole peekin' in. Jenny looks up from her work ; Gins her head a sarsy jerk. 9 lO JENNY My! pooty 's a picter, she, Standin' there 'longside the churn, With thet yeller hair o' hern Shinin' in the mornin' sun, An' her bare arms rizzed in fun, Holdin' the dasher like a gun, An' a-sayin', with sparklin' eye, " Halt! I 'm goin' to shoot a spy ! " Jenny drives the cows home nights Wen the swamp-frog 's trummin'. Jenny's laugh and tinklin' bells, Ringin' 'cross the medder, tells Me she 's a-comin'. Restin' here I stan' an' wait, Leanin' 'gin the creakin' gate. On the rail a-drummin'. An' w'ile a-waitin', all along, Jenny's laugh, jes' like a song, In my heart 's a-hummin'. Jenny 's oilers laughin' An' pokin' fun at me; Callin' me a "silly feller " Wen I sez "Your ha'r 's ez yeller Ez the cowslips in the medder; An' your lips, I swan, are redder 'N the leetle wil' strawberry In the fiel's." " Go 'long! " sez she, "You!" But her eyes (Bluer 'n buzzin' bottle-flies) Turn away. Then I git bold, Roun' her waist I ketch a hold, JENNY II Snetch a kiss, then off I run. Jenny only laughs, and sez. As she shuts the kitchen door, " You 're easy scairt — might hed more Ef you 'd on'y waited! " So I hang upon the gate. 'N then I hear her wheel a whirrin', Wile I Stan' outside an' wait, Wishin' thet I hed hed more; An' at last I push the door. "Jenny," I sez, hesitatin', Arter lookin' quite a spell, " Would you be willin' to — wal — Spin fny yarn fer me ? " Jenny makes the wheel hum louder Than a bumbly-bee; An* her cheeks they git ez red Ez pineys in the flower-bed. " Won't you ? " sez I, closer comin', " Oilers spin my yarn fer me ? " An' tho' that derned old pesky Wheel is makin' sech a hummin', I think I hear her say "Mebbe .'" Me an' Jenny hev ben married Nigh outer a year. Of'n I look back an' wonder How we steered so clear; 'Pears ez tho' we oilers hed ben, Jenny 's sech a dear. 12 JENNY An' the baby, mos' ez fair Ez its mother, I declare: Jenny's eyes an' yeller hair, Cunnin' laugh, an' silky cheeks Red ez beeches 'long the creeks. I 'd rother set an' watch 'em Nights a-rockin' in the cheer Than git the fust prize fer the Cattle at the County Fair. " Jem," sez Jenny, " ain't he cunnin ' ? Watch him kick his feet an' crow." " Come to dad," sez I to baby. " Hoi' him right! " sez she, " jes' so! " Baby he don't care a nickle How you hoi' him, though. " Keep him keerful now," sez she, "Wile I git the cradle fixt. Watch him close, he 's up to tricks." " Hoopsy-daisy, dad's own baby! " Baby laughs an' crows an' kicks. " Put him in reel tender, Jem," An' then she tucks him in. " Good-night, my baby! " soft sez she, A-lookin' up so sarsily — " Wal, baby 's yourn, " sez I, " So long ez Jenny b'longs to me! " THE WORLD ASLEEP LIKE sentinels the watchful elms In sturdy grandeur stand. In armor green they move between The sky and sleeping land. The quiet stars their vigils keep; And o'er the silvery moon Their laces trace in flimsy grace The mists from swamp and dune. Beneath her drowsy, brooding wing Calm Night has silenced all The clamors rude; 't is solitude Save for the gray bat's call. The world 's asleep, the sun away, Till Time brings forth another day. 13 TO MY MOTHER I CANNOT feel that I 've outgrown A loving mother's care — A tender guiding hand to know, Unselfish love to share. Tho' wasted moments I have let Unthinking glide away, Fruitless of little acts of love A thoughtful son should pay. Such happy memories are mine That backward take their flight — I feel you leaning over me To kiss me sweet good-night. Sweet warm rose cheeks, and heaven's eyes A wreath of silver hair — My boyhood's days know but one face Crowned with love's flowers fair. From honor's code and love of God You never let me part. Thro' trials met on life's hard road You cheered my troubled heart. 14 TO MY MOTHER 15 Your face to-day has all the bloom It had when I was young — Your voice, the same sweet melody When lullabies were sung. And while I hold your hand in mine, Tho' father now I be, I love to think I 'm still the boy Who prayed upon your knee. GOOD-BYES THE sky is like the soft gray veil That hides my Lady's face; The glories of the summer Have left a lingering grace. A lazy, mazy atmosphere Hangs 'twixt the earth and sky, And all is silence, save at times The wild crow's distant cry; A murmur from the woodland, A dreamy, drowsy breeze; The swan-song of the summer Thro' the red and yellow leaves. A few late roses deck the fence That straggles by the road ; They seem like spirits now returned To haunt their June abode. The time is fraught with parting — The parting of the ways — Good-bye, sweet-scented summer, Farewell, dear dreamy days. i6 THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY AN old-fashioned garden, An old-fashioned girl, An old-fashioned bonnet, An old-fashioned curl — Just peeping beneath — Of old-fashioned brown; An old-fashioned kerchief, An old-fashioned gown. An old-fashioned walk To an old-fashioned gate; An old-fashioned whisper, "Why, darling, you 're late." An old-fashioned pressure Of slim finger tips; Old-fashioned kisses On sweet trembling lips. An old-fashioned question, An old-fashioned doubt. An old-fashioned answer, A blush and a pout. An old-fashioned wedding, An old-fashioned bride, Old-fashioned sorrows And joys to divide. l'envoi And it 's not out of fashion — Not even to-day — To love and be loved In this old-fashioned way. 17 DREAMLAND THRO' Slumber Valley in Dreamland, Where the roses blush and sigh, Wanders a maiden called Sweet Dreams, A-singing a lullaby. Above, on a dreary mountain. In a dark and dismal cave, Lies the Ogre, Bad Dreams, snoring Like a roaring ocean wave. Would you rather wander, my darling. When you 've closed your eyes in sleep. Among the roses with Sweet Dreams, Or climb up the mountain steep To the gloomy cave where Bad Dreams Snores with a terrible sound, Till the mountain shakes and trembles And the bats whirr round and round ? You would rather wander with Sweet Dreams ? I thought, little one, you would; And,to-night you shall pluck the roses If all day long you are good. i8 APPLE BLOSSOMS UNDER the apple-tree we swung; Above the fragrant blossoms hung, White and pink, pink and white. She seemed a blossom, too, I thought, As she swung by my side as light As rosy petal in leafy bed, With her cheeks of pink and fair white throat. Her pretty head Nodded and swayed as we swung and swung. Lazily up and lazily down; Back and forth in the scented air Under the trembling blossoms fair. Swing low, my love. My blossom sweet. At the end of each swing Our lips shall meet. Swing high, my love. Swing low, my love; I '11 cradle your head Like a dreamy dove, While we touch the blossoms Pink and white, And fall again to earth In our flight; 19 20 APPLE BLOSSOMS When we press once more the Blossoms pink, And back again to the Earth we sink. Swing low, my love. My blossom sweet. At the end of each swing Our lips shall meet. MEDIOCRITY THE song that sweet from his fancies sprung Oft rose to his lips, but ne'er was sung; The music that throbbed in his anxious brain Charmed never an ear with its sad refrain; The love in his heart that budded and bloomed Was unrequited, then silently tombed; And the prize he sought he never won, Tho' hard he strove till his work was done; No epitaph stands for the world to scan, — He was only an ordinary man. TRANSFORMATION. IN the church on Easter Esther sat demure, Like a calla lily, Graceful and as pure. Little gilt-edged prayer-book- Far too small for use — Read she most intently — Was it just a ruse ? Looking up in prayer- time O'er the oaken pew, Found myself encountering Esther's eyes of blue. Then a transformation, White was changed to red, And my Easter lily Was a rose instead. THE MISER GATHER ye roses while ye may — I gathered my roses yesterday; But now they are faded and soon will die. Some should have been left on the stem ; but I Was too eager to save them all from decay. 23 TWO ROSES I STAND in her garden, Her garden of flowers, And pluck a white rose. Brush a thorn from the stem. And I think of our meetings, The swift, happy hours — I think of them Over and over again. I stand in the churchyard, The garden of death, And I kneel by her grave Where the tall grasses part; And I lay a white rose With its pure fragrant breath Just over her heart. Where the first rose had lain. 24 THE DREAM KISS I LOVE her since I kissed her in my dream. I knew not what love was till in the deep And silent darkness of the night I felt The tremor of her lips like winds that sweep Across rose leaves with cadence soft and sweet. 25 MARJORIE LITTLE maid of winsome three, As you sit upon my knee Looking, oh, so wistfully, Up at me; What do those dark eyes of thine, Full of innocence divine. See in this old face of mine, Marjorie ? Father Time with daily care Has been ever busy there. Marring youth that once was fair, Marjorie. Tell me what you see, my dear. As I hold you fast and near, Lots of wrinkles, odd and queer — Marjorie ? Little hands with soft caress Gently cheeks of grandpa press; With sweet childhood's grace they bless Eighty-three. Dear, ruthless Time can ne'er efface Nor take from love its tender grace; So love you see in grandpa's face, Marjorie ? 26 THE LEGEND OF CASTINE HAVE you heard the legend of old Castine, A town that was finished long ago ; The home of the ancient Tarrantine, Seat of their chief, Modockawando ? A sleepy old town that once was rife With the sound of cannon and musket-ball, Where Yankee and Briton met in strife 'Round old Fort George, now a crumbling wall. The story goes that the British, hard pressed, Surrendered the fort and set sail from the bay; And, in their hurry, forgot they had left A drummer-boy locked in the dungeon gray. In the budding spring, in after-years, 'Mid the crumbling walls where nest-birds come. And the wild rose smiles thro' her April tears, They found his skeleton bent o'er his drum. And the people of Castine, every year, On April fifteenth, from the dungeon wall. Hear ghostly drum-beats; and, half in fear, Hark to the roll of his phantom drum-call. 27 THE MERMAID I SAW in the waves a pair of eyes, A pair of mermaid's eyes. They gazed at me with sweet surprise, With sweet surprise they gazed. And a soft voice came from the laughing wave, " Come to my arms, be not afraid, be brave, O timid mortal! Plunge into the sea, Confide all to me, And I will make thee The King of the Sea!" Her voice like a bell, A singing sea-shell, Drew me close to the wave; And her eyes held mine In a spell divine; My heart grew hot and brave. Her white arms she spread On the foamy bed Of the rocking blue. She called me once more, " Come, love, and adore Me as I do you! " 28 THE MERMAID 29 Into the laughing waves I leaped. Close and fast her fair arms bound me To her bosom warm and white. Her kisses fell on my gasping lips, And her tresses wound around me. She held me close Till my struggling breath She kissed away With her lips of death. My senses wandered away, far away. Was it her kisses, or was it the spray ? Her clinging arms that held me tight Were cold as the wings of the waves at night. Her voice that wooed like the coo of a shell Now rung in my heart like a funeral knell. " Maiden!" I gasped, ** Death lurks in the wave! " But the voice of the mermaid rang softly, " Be brave; Confide all to me, And I will make thee The King of the Sea! " NOCTURNE THE moon rose o'er the mountain, And shed its silvery beams Upon the sombre forest And the meadow's dimpled streams; While the stars of heaven unfolded, Like an infant's sleepy eyes, From out the clouds that curtained Round the cradle of the skies — And silence reigned. Then Aurora from the eastward Climbed up the mountains steep. And folded up in rosy clouds The little stars to sleep — And morning broke. 30 SPRING THE South Wind 's a-kissing the buds on the trees, The crocus is lifting its head thro' the ground, The smell of the marshes blows freshened and sweet. The robins are singing the orchard around ; For springtime is here and summer '11 soon come. The ploughed fields and hillsides lie warm 'neath the sun, The cattle are cropping the wild growing grasses, The brorok thro' the meadow is laughing in fun As the ferns nod their heads to its tune as it passes, While the bullfrog keeps trumming away on his drum. The woods are beginning to dress up in green. The maple with red buds is blossoming gay. And love in the spring, when it is sixteen, Is blossoming, too, in its own sweet way! 31 SUMMER OTHE days of June, With their hazy tune Of bees 'mid clover roving; And the scent of flowers Thro' the sun-kissed hours Keeps all the world a-loving. 32 AUTUMN THRO' the trees the wind is sighing, Strewn around the leaves are lying, Summer-time is dying, dying; Autumn 's here. Maples shiver in the blast, Shedding rainbow colors fast, Autumn 's here and summer 's past; All is sere. Southward now the swallows flying. Hark, we hear the wild crow crying, " Summer-time is dying, dying." Soon the snow Will hush the woods that once were ringing With the minstrel breezes singing; With the golden sunbeams clinging, All aglow. Soon, like leaves, we '11 drift away, When has passed our summer day; When in autumn, old and gray, We bind our sheaves. Ah, too soon Speeds away our summer-time. Vanishes our golden prime. To the mournful autumn rhyme Of falling leaves Out of tune. 33 WINTER HOARY winter stands outside a-knocking at the door. Draw your chair up closer, lad, and stir the logs once more. Listen to the woodland songs the burning logs will sing; Robin-redbreast nests again amid the budding spring; Maples decked in peeping red buds, and the travailing Earth, A flower at her bosom, smiles o'er the springtime birth. Listen to the wintry blast o'er heath and moorland roar. Draw your chair up closer, lad, and stir the logs once more. The once-glad Earth is sleeping, and all the streams are dead; The flowers and the grasses with drifted snow o'erhead. With naked arms uplifted, the trees like beggars cry For warm bud-bringing south wind and sun-kissed sum- mer sky. Hark, how the north wind and the sleet beat against the pane Draw your chair up closer, lad, the embers stir again. Are you picturing castles gay ere the bright sparks die? Dream your happiest day-dreams, lad, — long ago did I. Youth sees radiant life and love in the flames of gold ; Age sees hope and boyish longings in the ashes cold. 34 WINTER 35 The thoughtful, the mournful time of all the year, my lad; Winter, to an old man, oft is full of meaning sad. Who is that a-knocking impatient at the door ? Draw my chair up closer, lad, I feel the cold the more. VACATION HURRAH for vacation, The mountains, the sea! A dog-cart or catboat My plaything will be. Like a babe with his rattle I 'm laughing in glee; There 's nothing on earth Like vacation to me. I 'm a kid with a go-cart — Toy boat on the lake. I 'm living for nothing But pleasure's sweet sake. And how madly I '11 follow Frivolity's wake! Summer-girl, are you ready My patched heart to break ? Then, hurrah! for vacation, The mountains, the sea! A dog-cart or catboat My plaything will be! 36 TO THE MISSES FICKLE « A LONELY crew of two are we, Our girls remain behind. Our hearts so sad shall yet be glad Tho' love be still unkind. 'T was not our wish to leave the maids, But others set the pace; A Yale man gay, a pumpkin jay Soon forced us out of place. And now we wander on alone 'Neath silver moon and star; And whether we shall ever see Love's beacon from afar Remains with those we 've left behind. But if some gloomy night Love's flame should beckon from the shore To guide our wandering sight, Then hard-a-lee and homeward bound; The wind is whispering love. We have been true to none but you. We swear by stars above! By the sad sea waves," Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 37 TO M. M. L. LITTLE Fraulein, My peerless queen, Light of my eyes, Fairest yet seen. Down here at Flanders You flirt with the men, And easily snare them Again and again. For bait you 're still using The glance of your eye; The red of your lips, Or a passionate sigh. Your form it is supple, With curves like a wave. You *re a peach when in bathing; About you they rave. They say there are others; For me there is none; You take the whole bakery, Including the bun! Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 38 TO W. W. DEAR Little Brother: Take off those overalls, Bill dear, They make you look a trifle queer. Each leg is far too short — 't ain't neat; There 's too much bagging at the seat. Their color was a healthy tan, But now it 's on the bum, old man. The crease is out, a button gone. The starboard pocket 's badly torn. One shoulder-strap is almost frayed; You '11 have to have another made Or else you '11 find them dropping off. (I hear your best girl's modest cough.) So, brother, get another pair; If you 're hard-up, I '11 take a share; One leg for you, for me the other; So long, dear Bill. Your elder Brother. Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 39 AT FLANDERS WE are the crew of the Uno. We are the jolly tars, We are the boys that can spend the dough, And steer by the twinkling stars. The moon is our love by night, heave-ho! And tho' we 're a bachelor crew, We can't get a single girl in tow, For Rob is a Bum and Dave a Jew! O what is the use of love, anyway ? A man is never too old. Love is not true — straight tip for you, Any girl can be bought for gold. All girls are fickle, all girls are false. And they never marry for love; You can choose any one if you 've plenty of " mun,' And she '11 call you her " hubby " and " dove " ! 40 TO E. W. ELSIE looks out of her window, And behind the glistening pane Her eyes are full of questioning: Is it always going to rain ? The sun will shine out, dearest one, When summer comes again. Then I look up to her window. And she sees thro' the moistened pane The old, old question in my eyes: Is it always going to rain ? Will love shine out and be my sun When summer comes again ? Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 41 END OF VACATION THE train is travelling on apace, And I, like all the rest, Lean back upon the seat and dream ; For dreaming now is best. And with the aid of Memory dear Peconic Bay I trace; The meadows green, the bam and house, Then each familiar face. And I am with you once again; How natural all things seem — When suddenly I wake to find The summer now is but a dream. The summer now is but a dream; How fast the moments sped! And Memory plants forget-me-nots Above fond pleasures dead, O Time, stay but a moment more, For these are happy days ; Health lingers on the laughing bay. And love hath winsome ways. 42 TO E. W. WHEN in the summer, dear, gone by At Flanders, on the sands, The ocean trembling with our love. We stood with clasping hands; For me no " other pebbles " were; I called you " peach " and " pearl " ; And vowed I loved none else but you — You were my Summer Girl! And now that you 've returned to town And all the social whirl, I often wonder, dear, if you AVould be my Winter Girl ! 43 THERE ARE OTHERS AND so she has refused you, Ned, And you have wooed in vain ? Cheer up, old fellow, you '11 forget When summer comes again. Leave her to her coquetries, Tho' she be a peach ; There are other pebbles, man. All along the beach! 44 WINTER ROSES "/^^OOD-NIGHT, dear girl," and Dollie stands \_J. Within the door and poses. Before I go, I seize her hands And kiss her winter roses. Then to the florist next I go To buy for her some posies. One point I fear Is but too clear — There 's nothing really half so dear As Dollie's winter roses! 45 WHERE THERE 'S A WILL MARY had a little calf (So I have been told!); A modest girl was Mary, Not the least bit bold. So when the cycling fad came out She sighed, then quickly said, " As bloomers don't become my style, I '11 wear long pants instead! " 46 TO MY SWEETHEART HER smile is like the breaking dawn; Her eyes, the sun that opes the morn ; Her teeth, like sparkling drops of dew That glitter 'gainst the roses' hue; Her mouth, the rose that holds the dew; Her skin, a lily's purest white; Her hair binds wayward sunbeams bright; Her cheeks, kissed crimson by Old Sol. Who is she ? Why, my old rag-doll ! 47 AUTUMN ROSES ROSES kissed by summer winds Have faded quite away. But roses kissed by autumn winds Are blooming fair to-day; Are blooming fair in Mabel's cheeks As tho' the month were May. 48 AN X-CELLENT WAY SHE would not say she loved me, Tho' I begged her oft to tell; Tho' oft her scarlet lips I prest 'Neath love's ecstatic spell. She would not say she loved me ; I began to pine and fret. No wonder that I thought my Maud was playing the coquette. My heart with love was burning And my brain was in a whirl; When would I get an answer From my love, the self-willed girl ? I pondered o'er the matter Till at last one happy day A brilliant idea struck me — I '11 employ the new X-ray! That night I photographed her heart And found she loved me true; But when I told her of it She laughed, and said she knew That any one could guess it — ' ' Why, any fool but you ! ' ' 49 A WISH ROSES come, and roses go, But I know Where twin roses always blow : In Carrie's cheeks. Summer comes, and summer dies, But summer skies Always smile in Carrie's eyes. Would those roses bloomed for me, And my skies above might be Carrie's eyes. 50 HAS IT COME TO THIS ? SHE has taken all my collars; My neckties, too, have flown. She 's hardly left a thing, by gad, That I can call my own. My shirt-studs on the bureau were, But now, O where are they ? My link-studs and my scarf-pins, too, She swiped the other day. Last week she took a dress-shirt. She says her collarettes don't fit. And now I 'm wearing soiled ones — Oh, I 'm a happy husband — nit! But worst of all has come at last; I saw it at a glance. D the New Woman, anyhow. When she wears your Sunday pants! 51 TO MADEMOISELLE LAST night I had a leetle dream, I dreamt, ma chere, of you. Ze leetle dream, ma foi, how sweet — But not so sweet que vous. I thought I was a golden bee Wizin a garden plein de fleurs; Je flew bien vite to kiss a rose, But kissed instead your lips, mon dieu! Adieu, adieu, mon leetle dream! Nous verrons — we shall see. Some day, perhaps, je serai brave — Allons! I play ze bee! 52 SMOKY FANCIES WHAT do I see in my cigarette smoke As it floats from my lips in the air ? A wind-drifted cloud in a summer sky, Or the foam of the waves in the mer ? What do I see in the vapory cloud That circles around my head ? A hangman's noose, or a kingly crown, or A winding shroud for the dead ? You ask what I see in my cigarette smoke That waves into clouds from my lips ? The hand of the ' ^ Poker Fiend ' ' opposite me That rakes in the last of my chips ! 53 ONE ON ME "TTERE 'S the latest book of poems, just out. 1 1 Won't you take a look at it, sir ? " she said. I glared from my desk that was strewn about And piled with papers as high as my head. I confess, I felt cross; was much put out At being disturbed, and my mail not read. " Confound all poetry! " I yelled. " I doubt If you know," said she, and her cheeks grew red, " They are the poems of David Cory! " I clung to the desk, I swayed in my chair; At last my poems were gaining glory! " Put me down for ten," I said right away. Then a glad smile rippled up to her hair, "Thanks," she said, '' first ever I sold. Good-day! 54 ONE ON HIM CONFOUND this turkey! " Mr. Newly wed cries, As vainly to carve a drumstick he tries. " The meat is so tough, 1 don't think it 's done. I wish you 'd discharge the cook with a gun! " " The turkey 's all right," replies his fond wife, *' But, dear, you 're using the back of the knife! " 55 SUSAN SUSAN was an awful swell And thought of naught but clothes. She was the best-dressed girl in town, And had a string of beaux. Of apples dried she was so fond That once she ate a pound, And then she was the swellest girl For many miles around ! 56 THE NIGHT BEFORE XMAS O ,H, REALLY, it is shocking, When you 're an old-maid's stocking, To find yourself a-hanging on the wall; And to know you 're all alone Without a chaperone, When the clock is striking midnight in the hall. O dear, I feel so thin When a leg is not within And no garter binds me tight above the knee! O my heart, I hear a noise! How I tremble as I poise, For I am but a stocking, as you see. heavens! where 's my fan! 1 'm blushing all I can; Though 't is only Santa Claus, He 's a man ! 57 A DEAR LITTLE THING! THE dearest thing! So quaint and rare; With what a jaunty grace It perches on my golden hair; It does become my face. (What my wife said to me.) The dearest thing to me this spring, Tho' there 's almost nothing on it. What shall I do when the bill comes In for that new Easter bonnet! (What I said to myself.) Haste little Love away to play, Nurse Time will want thee soon. 58 MODESTY SWEETHEART dear, what shall I name thee In this lover's lay of mine ? Fearful lest thy lips might blame me, Choose a name to fill the line. Bashfully she bent her head, Cheeks with blushes rife. List to what the maiden said — " Call me — call me wife ! " 59 LOVE AT COLLEGE HE is a '97 man; A handsome lad and free. A bit too fond of poker and " Your health! " in eau de vie. His cuts are on the debit side; A billet doux a bill; Conditions stare him in the face, And yet he *11 laugh, and fill His nicotine-hued meerschaum, And swear he won't be bored; Then sit and puff, and dream Of girls whom he has once adored. And he always ends by saying He thinks, more than the rest. That the little College Widow He really loves the best. " She was a trump to pay that bill! " He mutters to himself. "No other girl would do it — But, then, she 's on the shelf! " 60 ALAS! THIS morning thro' the window I dreamt you floated in, An airy, dreamy, misty little spright, And straightway to my bedside You came with laughing face, And sitting up I caught you and held you warm and tight. Then I drew you swiftly closer And from your saucy mouth I thought to steal your kisses by the score, When, alas, my dream was broken By my chubby nephew calling, " Merrie Xmas, Uncle! " outside my chamber door. 6i MY LITTLE FASHION SAINT IT doth become thee well, my dear, Thy Easter bonnet quaint, A dainty bit of halo for My little Fashion Saint. Tho' but a je ne sais quoi wreath That decks thy pretty head, With golden hair a-peeping thro* Like radiant sunbeams shed; Tho' but a little simple thing, I know it cost a pile; And till I get a raise, my dear, Tho' Easter comes but once a year, I won't propose a while! 62 SING A SONG OF NOAKES' SING a song of Noakes' And a pretty girl, With a smile that coaxes, Showing every pearl. Sing of cheeks — pink posies ; Wayward jet-black tress; Sing of lips, red roses, Ripe for love's caress. Sing you of your " Baby," Your " Peach," your " Bud," your " Pearl," Sing I of Fedora, Who sets my heart awhirl. 63 TO FEDORA YOU wear a new hat now, my dear, But where 's the one of gray — That gray fedora one you wore A week ago to-day ? The one you 're wearing now is chic; But, oh, that tint of gray Became your dimpled rosy cheeks In such a charming way. Whene'er I saw a gray chapeau, A maiden, neat and trim, I looked to find the sunshine of Your face beneath the brim. 64 PHYLIS FAIR Phylis made a bet that she — The saucy flirt — would conquer me, Would make me fall on bended knee Before her in a week. I took the bet, and bravely strove To utter naught of words of love, Tho' oft my strength she 'd laughing prove With rosy lip and cheek. The week was almost past when I Suggested that the ice we try — Should with the fleeting moments vie Upon the frozen places. We glided up and down the pond. Deep in the shadows, then beyond To where the moon with golden wand Made bright the frosty laces. Alas, that I so boastfully Had heralded my mastery! I slipped upon the icy sea — Ye gods and little fishes! Her victory indeed complete! Such luck did ever mortal meet To find himself thrown at her feet Against his very wishes ? 65 H THE FLIRT E takes her hand — she takes his heart — for keeps; Another wins her heart, but keeps his own; alas, she weeps To think she could not get The other heart within her net. 66 REMINISCENCES MY dearest Maud: " (At sight of her dear precious name Such visions fill the room, I only sit and reminisce, Until the deep'ning gloom Awakes me from my reveries To don again the plume.) " My dearest Maud, I love . . ." (Again I pause. That little word My lonely heart has deeply stirred, As on that day When at her feet I said my prayer Of love, and found my answer there In eyes of gray. (Dear one, why did we ever part ? Why did you send me back my heart ? You never really did; You have it yet, my sweet, I trow, For no one else has it, I know. So very safely hid.) 67 68 REMINISCENCES (There goes the clock — 'T is striking one! And here 's my letter Not half done.) " My dearest Maud: I love you yet. Say, let 's forgive, And let 's forget. O keep my heart — Don't send it back, Because it comes From Your true Jack." LOVE'S BARGAIN A KISS! a kiss! My kingdom for a kiss! " he cried. " Where is it, may I ask ? ** she sighed. " Across in sunny Spain." " So very far away ? " said she, " I fear you ask in vain; I will not barter kisses, Sir, For such uncertain gain! " " My love a kingdom is! " cried he. " Ah, that is worth far more," said she. The kiss is his; Love's kingdom hers to reign. 69 A MODERN RAPUNSEL " T ET down thy tresses. Love," I sang I ^ Beneath her latticed casement, "And I will woo thee, gentle dove, With kisses soft and words of love. Let down thy strands of golden hair And I will climb to thee, my fair, My starry-eyed Rapunsel! " She heard my love-impassioned cry, And leaning from her window high, Said, while the silvery moonbeams kissed her, " Great Scott! I 'm not a Sutherland Sister! " 70 THE RIVALS MR. HOBSON, Mr. Hobson, You 've a rival in the field, The kissing-bug is on the wing, To him you now must yield. Tho' no Santiago hero And a protege of Fame — Tho' he never killed a Spaniard — He gets there just the same. He does n't wait for kisses — Like a statue stand and wait — He gets a great big hustle on From early until late. He busses every girl he sees. And wonderful to tell, Each merry maiden he has kissed Becomes an awful swell ! Look to your laurels, Hobson, And if you find this bug Can beat your game of kissing. Why — invent a Hobson Hug! 71 MY HEIR WHERE did you get those eyes of blue, baby, I wonder ? Not from your mother — hers are brown — mine, black as thunder. But that little red mouth of yours saying " goo-goo," And those tiny tight yellow curls. Mother gave you ; Also that nose of yours. Now, what did I Give to you baby ? There, there now, don't cry! Come, come, you " little pink bundle of yell," Keep quiet, confound it — you quiet him, Nell! Thank Heaven, this rascal got nothing from me! ** Except your sweet temper, Ned," smiling, said she! /2 CUPID'S MISS DAN CUPID took his wheel one day To catch a cycle maiden, He loitered on the boulevard For one with beauty laden. At last he spied a lovely bud, Who set his heart on fire, He raised his bow, the maiden missed, But punctured deep her tire. " That horrid tack! " My Lady cried, While Cupid ran away. " The cycle girl is arrow-proof! " I heard the youngster say. 73 THE MODERN GIRL ONCE I really thought I had her securely on the string — This little unsophisticated peach. But, alas, she 's coyly clinging to her leafy bough, and swinging Above my rattled noddle, out of reach ! As I wandered thro' the orchard I spied the lovely thing, With rounded, ruddy, rosy, ruby cheek. And I said, "I '11 have that beauty; yes, it shall be Cupid's duty To help me get that peachlet in a week." So, armed with bow and arrow, Dan Cupid hand in hand With me went to the orchard for our prey. We shot off every arrow, but we never harmed a sparrow. While the peachlet danced with laughter at our play. " You 're a hoodoo, Mr. Cupid — can't shoot a little bit! " And I pushed away this amorous little dandy. " The only way to reach that saucy little peach Is to sling a box of Huyler's chocolate candy! " 74 WHY? I WISH they would invent a tie — The kind of tie I mean That would not twist her collar round And 'neath her ear be seen. I wish a shirt-waist could be found — The kind of waist I mean That would not bunch up from the skirt And leave a space between. And then I wish they 'd make a skirt For " bikers " fat and lean, That would not like a curtain rise And show a ballet queen. I wish — but never mind the wish; — If all these shocks we needs must feel, Why does it never happen that You see ^.pretty girl awheel ? 75 AN UNCONCIOUS PROPOSAL OVER the keys her fingers whirred Like fluttering wings of a snow-white bird, As he stood by her side and watched her there, With her fair young face and her hazel hair. And he lost himself as with quickening breath He ended the note: " Yours, Mamie, till death!" With a startled look she gazed in his face — And — well, there 's a typewriter in her place! 76 ROCKAWAY AT Rockaway the tide comes in With breezes from the ocean, And like a lover woos the strand A-tremble with emotion. The shadows creep along the beach, And over land and sea A pale pink mist — a sea-shell's glow — Comes ever silently. At Rockaway the night comes down And folds the silent land. The madcap waves, now lonely grown. Are nestling to the sand. The silver moon a silvery path Throws o'er the sleeping bay — The ocean rocks the world to sleep At Rockaway. 77 TO LITA TO kiss a Primrose! — Ah, alas! The summer wind grows chill! A primrose nodded 'neath the grass And smiled at me — until . I stooped to pluck the pretty thing — Yes, love indeed is blind — No more a warm red flower there — A frozen bud I find. 78 FEBRUARY XIV WHEN Cupid was a simple youth, Unused to wealth's inventions, He thought a paper valentine Quite up to his pretensions. But now, forsooth, the naughty boy Assumes a blase tone. The dear old-fashioned valentine He thinks he has outgrown. Hence Cupe must oft to Thorley go To buy expensive roses; For at the old-time tinsel heart The maids turn up their noses. But for my part give me the girl Who loves the dear old line, " The rose is red, the violet blue," Upon her valentine. 79 THE FIRST VALENTINE " nPHE rose is red, the violet blue "- 1 How well do I recall Those words that first I sent to you When both of us were small. When both of us were young, my dear, And love was just in bloom, And Cupid on that valentine Was armed with bow and plume. In memory still that paper lace Is blooming gay with flowers; It seems to me but yesterday We passed those happy hours. The rose is red, the violet blue. Dear tender first love's line! To me you are the sweetest words On any valentine. 80 HEARTS " T TEARTS! hearts for sale! " cried Cupid, 1 1 " Who '11 buy a heart of me ? I 've little hearts and big hearts In great variety. And some are mild and some intense — Who '11 buy a heart at small expense ? " " Give me that great big red one," Quoth a little maiden fair, " I 'm sure the man who owns that heart Is bold to do and dare. His hand I know is large and broad — Soft at caresses, quick at the sword." " What! that one here ? " cried Cupid, " A blunder on my part. 'T is not for sale, a year ago A woman stole that heart. And yesterday among some things I found this heart with broken strings." " I 'm so sorry, Mr. Cupid, I — I stole that very heart, And afterwards I lost it — 'T was careless on my part. I want it back so much," she sighed — And here the little maiden cried. 6 8i 82 HEARTS " There, there, don't weep," said Cupid, "You may have it once again — But see you keep it carefully, For hearts are hearts, and men Have only one, so learn your part — To hold a man you must keep his heart." AN EXPERIMENT 1SENT my love a valentine To test her heart's devotion. I was a wild conceited poet — Plague take the foolish notion. Why did I not as former years Send her the usual flowers ? I sent instead a rhyme of love On which I wasted hours. I thought that she was different from The other girls I knew, But found, alas! to my chagrin, She knew a thing or two. Next day I met her on the street, I got a freezing glance. She sallied by upon the arm Of something dressed in pants. That simpering dude had wiser been And sent a box of posies. Alas ! that I had thought my poem Could equal Thorley's roses. 83 TO BEATRICE THOUGHTFUL eyes of dusky shade Make me for my soul afraid. Bosom with celestial snow Chance of Paradise forego. Passion lips whose crimson charm Thro' my blood sends wild alarm. Wondrous hair, whose raven wing Fragrant whispers harboring. Sweet completeness, wherein lies Undreamed, unsung Paradise. Sweetheart, dear heart, tenderest Woman in this world's unrest, Let these simple lines of mine Be a poor poet's valentine. 84 MIRAGE HOPE is a fleeting will-o'-the-wisp, Trust her not at all; Remember that she only leads Where the shadows fall. 85 TRANSPLANTED ALONG a winding country road I found a wild-rose growing. So fair and sweet it seemed to me 'mid Nature's rustic posies, I stooped me down beside it, while the clover's breath was blowing — I will take it home and plant it in my garden of red roses. Then farther down the road I saw A sun-kissed daughter of the farm Come running out from porch-crowned door, With water-pail upon each arm. Near the well I paused and watched her; O 'er the fast decaying place, Youthful beauty leaning, laughing At the fair reflected face Smiling to her from the mirror In the bucket's close embrace. I will woo and take her homeward ; This no spot for budding grace. Soon the fragrance of the rose-bed in my garden kept with care 86 TRANSPLANTED 87 *Gan to stifle and to smother my wild-rose that was so fair. And the wildness of her beauty lost its charm 'mid flowers rare. She was dying for the sighing of the grasses by the road, And the murmur of the wild-bee with his honey-scented load. And the maid whose rustic beauty charmed my eye when at the well, Drest in velvets, silks, and laces, lost her own peculiar spell, And her beauty faded, faded, like the tune of some sweet bell. GEORGE DU MAURIER OF the artist-poet the world is bereft. And yet not dead, when to us he has left A shining light in the dim halls of Time; The work of a hand and a soul sublime. No, never dead, when the soul of the man Shines from the pages our eager eyes scan! No, never dead, when the throb of his heart Of the words he has writ is parcel and part! And, as we pass thro' these corridors gray And wist not if life hath another day, Shall we be content, when decreed is our fate. To leave naught behind but a name and a date ? FIRST LOVE I'VE hung me a picture upon the wall; A portrait I 've painted of my first love. No one may enter the room where the smile Of her face beams down from the dark above, For closed are the windows and barred the door. But when all is quiet I take the key And turn me the lock of that sacred room — The shrine of the love that came first to me — And before her portrait I stand and gaze; The time comes back that has winged away and I walk by her side in the autumn haze, Yes, I hear her voice and I feel her breath Upon my cheek like the wind in the fall. Ah, first love is best, is truest — sweetest! I have hung me a picture upon the wall Of the little room in my heart. 89 LIKE AS THE TROUBLED WAVES LIKE as the troubled waves make for the restful land, Or weary breezes for the quiet glades, My spirit reaches out for thee. I stand Uncertain of myself; the twilight fades And thro' the scented silence of Night's shades A bird is calling softly for her mate. Dear one, stretch forth thy hand And lead me thro' the gate, And let thy garden be our world. Love me much, if but a day. 90 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES is dead; is dead! No more in our ranks will his manly tread Keep our lagging steps to the time ; Set the pace for our wavering feet. No more will his lips mid the daily strife Arouse our souls to a better life, Urge us a higher plane to climb Where more glorious visions meet Our earth-accustomed eye. No more — no more; and yet the memory Of the man shall reign supreme Within each heart. Awake! awake! from idle dream Of life. Awake, each one to do his part As he, who toils no more! 91 AND YET THE time I 've spent in drinking Has often set me thinking That I 'm an ass to sip the glass Till eyes of mine are blinking. And so, O hopeful heart of mine, I swear I '11 never touch the wine; Good-bye regret — and yet — and yet- The jag I now have is divine. 92 WHAT 'S THE USE? WHAT 'S the use- Half the world has played its part- Other half will soon depart, To play the same old thing again Seems so stale — and then What 's the use ? What 's the use Of woman's love — love 's the deuce Before it 's over — the excuse That you thought you loved is lame, So you wearily exclaim What 's the use ? What 's the use Of new sensations, when you cry This is love, then wonder why Love should hurt — when the pain Swallows all the seeming gain What 's the use ? What 's the use ? He who drinks must pay the fine. While the sparkle 's on the wine Toss up which — a smile or scowl — Swear you 're happy — soon you '11 growl What 's the use ? 93 94 WHAT'S THE USE? What 's the use If last night you were a king, Owned this footstool — anything When you wake you '11 gladly steal Just yourself again to feel — So — what 's the use ? What 's the use Always saying, " What 's the use " ? Press the grape and drink the juice Till you drown this old excuse, What 's the use ? A MEMORY UNDER my study window A hand-organ old is at play, Grinding an old-fashioned tune In an old-fashioned way. Well I remember that song — Was it but yesterday ? I am a boy once again, Careless and gay. Into my window the wind Blows with the salt from the spray ; Into my heart creeps the song Like the tide in the bay. Ah, little laughing soubrette, Time hastens, too brief is youth's day. Only my heart and the organ Cherish your lay. 95 DESPAIR 1 STAND upon the sheltered rock, The spot we used to know — And watch the tide coming rushing in Upon the sand below. How boastfully it clasps the shore, This wild tempestuous sea! Its only care to waste itself In foaming ecstasy. I sit and muse, nor heed the day Clings to the dying sun — I only see the hopeless waves Retreating one by one. 96 THE MASTER ARTIST " "n\EAR rose," to the flower I whispered, I J "The pink of your petals I seek; I 'm painting a picture of Nora, With girlhood's first blush on her cheek. " And, violet sweet, have you heeded Her eyes ? They 're so tender and blue I can find no color to match them, Unless I may borrow of you. " For her forehead and throat so fair I have come, O white lily, to you ; For there is no tint to compare With the beauty of purity's hue." And the buttercup gave, for the asking, All her gold, far more precious than pearls. To make perfect my portrait of Nora's " Little head sunning over with curls." But, ere the portrait was finished, One greater than I in the art, Love, Master Artist, had pictured Her face in the shrine of my heart. 97 AT THE CONFESSIONAL A TALL slim slip of a girl is she; And yet she hath the air ('T is strange in one so young) To do or dare A dangerous thing if needs must be- But there, Such idle thoughts are not for me — A priest with vows of ministry. RECOGNITION BENEATH, the dead in earthen bed Lie sleeping, while the stars o'erhead Look down upon the pulseless throng, — Amen to fight twixt right and wrong. Some day to lie there with that band, A part and parcel of the land Whose fruitful womb may rear the seed I 've sown with hopes beyond a weed. Ah me, 't is hope that lights the stars To smile on us behind the bars; And if past death my flower bloom, O kindly lay it on my tomb. 99 LofC. AD FINEM WHEN joyous Death runs to me and with magic hand Severs the thong that binds my soul to earth, Let there be music — not the notes of mirth, But rather some long-treasured air Of youth — the song my fair Sweet mother used to sing. And while She woke the blending chords, she 'd smile And o'er her shoulder throw a loving nod — Let this song usher me to God. MAUD AUD is at the garden gate, A red rose in her hair; She will not have long to wait Ere he will meet her there. M Ah, she never thinks of late — Neither does she care — It was I who o'er the gate Once would kiss her there. Maud is at the garden gate, A fresh rose in her hair; Will he have as long to wait Ere to kiss he dare ? Often laugh I at my fate, Swear I do not care : There are others I can mate; Others just as fair. But the subtle, dying fragrance Of that first rose in her hair Flaunts me, taunts me, ever haunts me Since I placed it there. DESOLATION I WANT to see her face again, I want to see her smile; To hold her dear true hand in mine, To sit and dream awhile. To sit and dream awhile with her — Just know that she is there; To feel the silence throbbing with Our first-love's perfect prayer. To look in eyes that answer mine With Heaven's honest blue; To feel again my boyhood's faith — To know one woman true. I want her smile, her lips — herself, Else all the world I lack, I want to breathe her breath — I want- I want God's Woman back. LOVE'S SEASONS Y golden one, my summer sun, My apricot of sweetness, With thee, my dove, my first-born love Shall blossom to completeness. M' Tho' summer die and violet sky 'Mid misty shrouds of autumn, Thine eyes, dear one, will need no sun To tell the violet sought them. Let autumn ways of tinted haze The hilly snow-drift cover, Thy hills of snow my lips shall know, And rose-buds there discover. The Winter Wind may shake the blind And whistle 'round the corner, Within thy arms thy magic charms Shall make my blood run warmer. And when the spring on swallow's wing Awakes the bud that lingers, Upon thy breast our first-love's guest Shall press his baby fingers. 103 ALLUREMENT ACROSS the damp, dank meadow grass, Beyond the swamp-land glades, A star from heaven is stooping down To light the sombre shades. At times so near, and then, alas! Across the mirrored streams It trembles, like the ecstasy Of unawakened dreams. Alluring, restless star lead on, Nor heed the night wind sighs. Will-o'-the-wisp, to where thou wilt. Thou light of her dear eyes. 104 AFTERWARDS COME, artist, paint me a portrait — (Dream pictures pale with time) For love will lose the music That lends the lilting rhyme. Paint, like a crimson poppy, Upon each cheek a blush ; The rest of the face cold white, Like snow in the midnight hush. Her eyes, a brown, and wide apart. With the depth of quiet grief; And give the brows a downward slant Till they meet the poppy leaf. Her mouth — wait, let me linger here. For it used to change so oft, I would have the mould I loved the best When she kissed me long and soft. At times her lips would tremble, And a jealous love conceal — Ah, make it a rose that 's cleft In twain by anger's ruthless steel. 105 I06 AFTERWARDS You may paint her hair a chestnut, Or brown if you wish to — so That the rippling waves of tresses Will hold the red sun's glow. A full-length portrait, all of her Body, white as the throne of God — She whom I 've loved — and hated — and lost Thro' being a doubting clod. WOOING-TIM£ THE wild rose smiled from the fringe all day That skirted the dusty, dry roadway; And the golden-rod with his breath of flame Cried out his passion in love's sweet name. But they waited until the summer sky Had hid 'neath the hill her golden eye. Polly and John in the creaking chaise Are careless of Dobbin's lagging ways. The evening breeze with its perfume sweet Comes murmuring over the ripening wheat. The day is done and the vesper calm Is folding the fields and clustering farm; And beyond the eastern meadow bar The sky is nursing the first-born star. 107 ALL THE YEAR ROUND WHEN South Wind blows soft blooms the rose Within her garden walls, And nods and smiles with crimson wiles When Robin Redbreast calls. The Lily slight in robe of white Bends graceful on her stalk, As Monsieur Breeze with rustling leaves Comes gayly up the walk. Now Xmas here, the garden drear, 'Neath mistletoe beguiling My lily trips, and rose-bud lips At me are coyly smiling. io8 FALLING HEAVENWARD /"^OD created a perfect woman, ^^ But the Devil wooed and won. The eyes of a fallen angel Have a wondrous depth. Sad Nun, Alas! tho' you heard the singing Of the lark at heaven's gate, You fell at the song of your lover, Breast to breast, insatiate! Ah, no, 't is not to the woman Who rests on her heights sublime, And with moral passion bids Us love's starry paths to climb, But to her who drags her heaven Down to earth for love, belongs The soul of our inspirations — The heart of our sweetest songs. 109 NIGHT THE day is done, and Night from cave and nook Steals forth; and with a silent, stealthy tread Thro' streets fast dark'ning bears away the dead Day; lived and loved and done, like tale in book. Like eagle swift with talon and with hook. She clutches fast the sky and drags it down — A sable canopy above the town Whose shadow falls where smiled the glad day's look. Above the ragged line of house-tops rise The tall church spires to the low rimmed skies, Like tent-poles, holding up the dim, dark dome. The belfry chimes; the owl goes forth to roam; And save the sometime bark of dog, no rude Disturbance breaks the dusky solitude. THE RAINBOW IT soon will rain, for like a hunted herd Of dark-hide buffaloes across a plain That sparkled where the daisies now lie slain, A mass of thunder-bellowing clouds are spurred Across the sky. The lightning cuts the rain Like arrow slung from red-man's bow, And finds the oak's stout heart, and lays it low; And crash of oak and thunder sounds. Again The Storm twangs forth his arrow from the cloud That stands a breastwork hard against the grim High frowning mountain-tops and cries aloud Among their crevices and caverns dim. At last, grown sick of war, he hangs his bow On eastern wall to catch the sunset's glow. WORLDLINGS WHEN from my window I look to the street, And see a little world unto himself In ev'ry passer-by; the love of pelf, The love of self, first aim for pleasure sweet, I would I were away in safe retreat Of glade or fairy-land, where some spry elf Would bring me elfin wine to lose myself, And see no more the Bad the Good defeat. The little acts of charity and love In this great teeming city are so rare That I, who freshly start, oft long for air That blows 'tween grass-green sod and blue above. I am half-stifled with the waste of breath For Self — that Self that ends so soon in death. M' TO A FLIRT AID of the downward glance and laughing red, Sweet mouth, how is it thou hast won my heart ? 'T is strange, 't is passing strange I ne'er can part From thought of thee. Thy face beams o'er my bed At night with all its witchery. I 'm led All day to thee in fancy sweet. Depart ! Depart! thou roguish face, for Cupid's dart, Tho* wounding me, hath found her not. I said I ne'er would love fair maid that loved not me; Would be no sad, tear-eyed, love-fevered swain; And true, I am not thus : but O the pain — The sweet-and-bitter pain — to ever see Her face in all things, and, alas! to know Her heart with love for me will never glow ! "3 AN AUTUMN DAY THE autumn air is mild and soft and sweet, The hills are mounted with a purple haze, Against the crimson of the woodland ways The tawny yellow of the fields of wheat. Deserted corn-stalks with their tassels brown Complain with quavering tone the wanton wind. The poppies in their beds awake to find Upon their sleepy heads a frosty crown. Along the dusty road Sir Golden-Rod To Black-Eyed Susan nods and smiles away. The nimble squirrel dances on the rail Half hid by sweet wild rose in pink array. And now the Western Sun, a globe of red. Sinks o'er the mountain's brim and ends the day. 114 THOUGHTS WHAT friends you are to me in idle hours, What coigns of vantage have I gained thro' you, Whence I may take an unobstructed view, And undismayed gaze o'er the world's high towers; Or else I 'm led by you to sylvan bowers Where midst the verdant shade my fancy springs And, unabashed by eye of critic, sings Its simple song of summer skies and flowers. My ever ready friends whose generous hands Stretch out to meet mine own when sorrow comes. To lead me from the world that frets and hums, To mountain heights, where bright-eyed Fortune stands And cries to me to drink of Hope's clear stream — Then earth's defeats seem but a passing dream. "5 INSPIRATION ALINE of sand with jutting rocks rough-strewn, The ceaseless licking of the watery tongue, Now lapping when a soft, mild air is sung. Now frothing when the wind 's a wilder tune. An empty shell the same old song doth croon, The fiddlers creep their sandy cells among; A sea-gull passes, from its wing is flung A feather white upon the sandy dune. I sit and watch the changing aspect, yet The never-changing sea; his steadfast aim That somehow, sometime he shall wind his arms About the long-desired land to hold and claim. Ah, restless sea, teach me thy great unrest. To strive with faith like thine within my breast. ii6 SONNET THE jocund Day with mischief in her eyes Slips thro' the misty curtains of the Night, And throws upon the world her glances bright. She smiles and lighter grow the sombre skies. Before the rosy Maid the mist-cloud flies And leaves the valley bathed in golden light, Then fades in azure on a mountain height; And now the last pale star in silence dies. But amorous Night at length impatient grows And at horizon's gate, their trysting place. Expectant waits to clasp in his embrace The fair young Day. She comes, and now he throws His sable cloak about her, while her face She softly hides and sinks to sweet repose. "7 REDEEMED WITHIN the church the altar there To me seems but a gilded chair. The pomp, the images, the roll Of Latin words touch not my soul. The incense veiling Christ's pale face Seems lacking apostolic grace. A Pariah in the place I stand, Save for the clasp of her dear hand. The altar of my daily prayer Is her pure breast. Her fragrant hair The incense of a prayer divine — Her clinging arms my ivory shrine. Thro' her dear love I deem it much The garment of my Lord to touch. ii8 DREAMERS THE mist from the river creeps into the town And filters thro' crevice and cranny, Dim grows the landscape — the green and the brown Are turned to a gray, and a leaf falling down Looks like a gray feather dropped from the wing Of this Mist Bird from seaward — an uncanny thing. In the silence I dream, while the candles of night Like fire-flies glow thro' the curtains of mist. The day has departed and far out of sight Some other world wakens anew with its light: Some other man wakens — and often it seems Accomplishes all we have dared in our dreams. 119 iQi