PS 3503 
 .13 U5 
 1916 
 Copy 1 
 
 %^^i^ 
 
 
 THE ^ 
 
 MNDIRSTANDING 
 HILLS 
 
 LIVINGSTON L,BIDDLE 
 
Class _ 
 Book_.r__ 
 
 JJ 
 
 CfOPXRiGirr DEPosni 
 
211;^ Hlttb^ratanJutng Sftlla 
 
And Other Poems 
 
 BY 
 LIVINGSTON LUDLOW BIDDLE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 1916 
 

 \ 
 
 \} 
 
 Copyright, 1916 
 By DODD, mead AND COMPANY, INC. 
 
 ocrsi I9IS 
 
 ©a.A445400 
 
Certain poems herein are, with the permis- 
 sion of the editors, reprinted from Ainslee^s, 
 Munsey's Magazine, The Bookman^ Scribner's 
 Magazine and Lippincott^ s Magazine, to whom 
 the author desires to express his acknowledg- 
 ments. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Understanding Hills i 
 
 A Spring Idyll 4 
 
 In a Pine Forest 6 
 
 The Taj Mahal 7 
 
 The Birth of Love 14 
 
 To One Who Sailed Away 16 
 
 The Witches' Revenge 18 
 
 To One Beloved 19 
 
 Lines and What Lies Between .... 20 
 To the North Wind in Winter . . . .21 
 
 To THE South Wind as Winter Ends . . 25 
 
 Because of Thee .... .... 28 
 
 Memories 30 
 
 To A Loved One 31 
 
 Nature's Secret 32 
 
 * Letters and Art 33 
 
 The Difference 41 
 
 Belief 43 
 
 To A Wild Rose 44 
 
 In a Mirror 45 
 
 Three Questions 46 
 
 *This poem was written to be read before the ^ B K 
 society at the annual meeting held in Philadelphia, December, 
 1915. 
 
 [vii] 
 
To Those Who Vigil Keep 48 
 
 In a Garden 49 
 
 Sunset and Thunder Clouds 50 
 
 Beneath a Window 51 
 
 The Scent of Roses 52 
 
 The Island of Forgetfulness 53 
 
 The Sea 56 
 
 As a Mirror — so My Heart 61 
 
 To A Violet 62 
 
 How Different 63 
 
 Autumn (After the First Frost) ... 65 
 
 The Witching Hour 69 
 
 The Sea Wolves 71 
 
 The Tennis Match 74 
 
 At Parting 76 
 
 Dawn in June 78 
 
 When a Loved One Is Near 81 
 
 To A Star 83 
 
 Youth and Old Age 84 
 
 In June 86 
 
 To Mount Ararat 87 
 
 The White Rose's Mission 89 
 
 To THE Four Winds 90 
 
 To One Away 93 
 
 To One Departed 94 
 
 Comparison 97 
 
 The Story of a Rose 98 
 
 To One Absent 100 
 
 How Strange It Seems loi 
 
 The Abandoned Home 102 
 
 Yesterday and To-day no 
 
 [ viii ] 
 
The Mysterious Woman iii 
 
 Then and Now 113 
 
 Why? 115 
 
 Impossibilities 117 
 
 The Submarine 118 
 
 Association 120 
 
 The Wedding March from Lohengrin . .122 
 
 The Greek Islands 124 
 
 Snow-Flakes 127 
 
 The River 128 
 
 Do Dreams Come True ? 132 
 
 At Sunset I33 
 
 At Dusk 134 
 
 Always i37 
 
 Early November 138 
 
 The Valley of Departed Days . . . .140 
 
 [ix] 
 
SIIfF 3lttJi?r0taniiitttg ^xllsi 
 
THE UNDERSTANDING HILLS 
 
 YOU who are torn in spirit and in mind, 
 Whose soul the cup of grief has drained 
 
 To its last, bitter dregs, 
 
 When the first poignant shock has waned 
 
 Leaving you weak yet filled with strange de- 
 spair, 
 
 Weep not since weeping must be vain 
 
 But go you up in the high hills 
 
 Just ere the coming of the rain. 
 
 Watch you the gathering clouds of storm 
 
 Brooding from crest to crest 
 
 And blotting out each towering peak's grim 
 form 
 
 Then suddenly their shifting shapes unite 
 
 And with unbroken front advance 
 
 To pour their sodden might 
 
 Upon the face of Nature. All the world 
 
 Now blighted doth appear and glooms with 
 shades of night. 
 
 [ I ] 
 
Yet, though the world you watch at darkest 
 
 seems, 
 Know that those hills which In the distance lie 
 Already may from tempest's wrath be freed, 
 Already may be basking 'neath a friendly sky. 
 Wait but a little while 
 And where you watch will from its gloom 
 
 emerge — 
 As swiftly widening rifts in western heavens 
 
 smile, 
 As golden waves of sunlight then re-surge 
 Over each stricken thing which soon they purge 
 Of black despair and sullen hopelessness. 
 The world, with joys re-found, is glad once 
 
 more, 
 Forgetting things which grieve through things 
 
 which bless. 
 
 [ 2 ] 
 
You who are torn In spirit and In mind, 
 
 Yes — go you up among the understanding 
 
 hills 
 For oft, when falls all else, those wounds kind 
 
 nature heals. 
 And In each aching heart her peace Instils. 
 
 [ 3 ] 
 
A SPRING IDYLL 
 
 A CLOUDLESS sky o'erhead, a genial 
 sun 
 
 Filtering its gleaming, amber rays 
 
 Through branches and the newly-budding 
 leaves, 
 
 Dappling the forest floor for our enchanted 
 gaze 
 
 With shadows and with patches of bright gold. 
 
 In the mild air the smell of earth and earthy 
 mold 
 
 And scent of tiny blooms awakened by the lays 
 
 Of murmuring streams which onward madly 
 race 
 
 Singing of their release from winter's chill em- 
 brace. 
 
 A West wind whispers softly through the trees, 
 
 [ 4 ] 
 
A drowsy hum of bees comes from the new-born 
 
 flowers 
 And thrushes chant their tuneful litanies 
 From the green gloom of hidden, leafy bowers. 
 
 [ 5 ] 
 
IN A PINE FOREST 
 
 I WANDERED, lonely, 'mid the murmur- 
 ing pines. 
 Lonely, because my loved one was away. 
 Lonely though all the forest seemed to sing 
 With joy of flowers and birds and magic spring. 
 
 Then suddenly my loneliness was gone 
 
 As goes black night at coming of the dawn. 
 
 For in the nodding form of each fair flower 
 The image of my loved one was revealed 
 And in the West wind's sighing through each 
 
 tree 
 I heard my loved one whispering to me. 
 
 [ 6 ] 
 
F 
 
 THE TAJ MAHAL 
 
 AR, far from here beyond all Western 
 
 seas 
 
 I know a land where every passing breeze 
 Wafts to me ancient lore and histories 
 Voicing its tales through whisperings of the 
 
 trees. 
 Their leafy tongues respond to each caress 
 Now murmuring low of rulers and their queens 
 Who lived and saw and loved and died — ah 
 
 yes, 
 For death from kings a harvest also gleans. 
 But when come tempests and wild storm winds 
 
 blow, 
 They moan strange tales of famine, plague or 
 
 blight, 
 Of secret murders, war and wide-spread woe, 
 For this is India whereof I write. 
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
In this far land there Is a tomb so fair 
 That those who view Its wondrous loveliness 
 Are held spell-bound, forgetting every care 
 While grief and pain grow for the moment less. 
 Built by the mighty Shah Jehan it stands 
 Of love's great power convincing monument; 
 Though of an age and living In those lands 
 Where men took many wives, he was content 
 With only one. But so adored was she 
 That, when death claimed her, single he re- 
 mained 
 For all his days and in her memory 
 Took oath that, ere his reign had waned, 
 He would erect a tomb which should outlast 
 In beauty and In perfect symmetry 
 All tombs of years to come, of ages past. 
 
 I 8 ] 
 
Better that we forget the cruelty, 
 
 The suffering endured by countless slaves 
 
 Who for long, weary months did toil and 
 
 sweat. 
 Yes — even finding through this work their 
 
 graves : 
 The architect lest he should e'er beget 
 Another wonder-child that might compare 
 Was robbed of eyes. All this we must forget 
 Since most great things to which the world falls 
 
 heir 
 Are consummated only when a debt 
 Of pain or death or sorrow has been paid. 
 Few men who wrought with pen and conquer- 
 ing sword 
 Have traced more lastingly with ink or blade 
 Upon the sands of time, their names' record 
 
 [ 9 ] 
 
Than this frail woman whose distinction lay 
 But through her being able to Inspire 
 A love which knew not how or wished to stray 
 E'en after perished was its heart's desire. 
 
 'Mid shrubbery and trees this fair tomb lies, 
 Along an entering path white fountains play, 
 A pearl set in the turquoise of rare skies 
 And emeralds, thus it seems to one by day. 
 Within, reign solemn stillness and gray gloom, 
 Attendants, silent-footed, vigil keep 
 And scatter o'er two graves the jasmine's 
 
 bloom 
 Where now a man and wife sleep their last 
 
 sleep ; 
 For after death, his wishes were obeyed. 
 The Shah Jehan was laid beside his love. 
 Upon request and If a trifle paid 
 Some guardian chants soft notes; dim heights 
 
 above 
 
 [ lo ] 
 
Take up the sounds each depth re-echoing 
 Till sweet, low chords are filtered downward 
 
 when, 
 Like music of some heavenly choir, these ring 
 Then die away as dies a hushed amen. 
 
 At dusk most lovely is the tomb to me: 
 White marble walls with precious stones in- 
 laid 
 Take on the tint of ancient ivory 
 As the rich, golden light begins to fade; 
 A bit of carving o'er the Western door 
 Appearing almost like some rare, old lace. 
 The sun still lingering as though it forebore 
 To leave such an attractive resting-place. 
 More human now It seems and less apart 
 As if a gentle mother who doth hark 
 To her sad children with kind, pitying heart. 
 And now the sky Is swiftly growing dark 
 For twilight here lasts but a moment brief; 
 
 [ II ] 
 
Dim, dimmer still those fairy outlines show, 
 One hears the patter of some falling leaf 
 Or just a near-by fountain's rythmic flow. 
 All else is wrapped in silence tense, profound. 
 More ghostly looms the tomb in this weird 
 
 light 
 As though some mist-like curtain fell around, 
 A warning vanguard of approaching night. 
 Then soon black darkness creeps out from its 
 
 lair 
 To stretch forth and envelop everything. 
 A sudden chill pervades the evening air 
 Yet long I sit there idly pondering 
 On love, its wondrous joys. Its bitter pain. 
 Does all the bliss for its griefs compensate? 
 E'en while I muse the blackness yields again, 
 For now there comes a moon to dissipate 
 
 [ 12 ] 
 
The mists and lo ! that white, pure sepulchre 
 Gleams out once more ethereal, shimmering, 
 A silent but convincing arbiter. 
 An answer to my thoughts and questioning. 
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
L 
 
 THE BIRTH OF LOVE 
 
 OVE comes to some as comes the rising 
 
 sun 
 
 In tropic lands where momentary dawn 
 Gives briefest warning of a day begun 
 And scarce are stars behind their veils with- 
 drawn 
 When, bold, Impetuous mounts this ball of light 
 O'erwhelming night as upward now it darts. 
 Just so this passion-love, born of first sight, 
 O'erwhelms with sudden rush some human 
 hearts. 
 
 To others, love comes as the evening star 
 When we sit at the close of day and gaze 
 With weary eyes fixed on the heavens afar. 
 Vast, opalescent dome kissed by pale rays 
 Of a fast waning sun. We stare and stare 
 Yet view naught save a vacant wall of sky 
 Which shades to hue of sapphires as the air 
 [ 14 ] 
 
Is tinged with sudden chill and from on high 
 Down slides the fiery orb behind gray hills, 
 Into sad valleys of gone yesterdays. 
 Lulled by a peace which this fair scene in- 
 stils, 
 We droop our lids, perchance, like one who 
 
 prays, 
 Just for the briefest count, and now behold ! 
 When once again we look that darkening wall 
 Is bare no more; a twinkling point of gold. 
 Still pale and vague but quite defined withal, 
 Peeps forth at us in bashful loveliness. 
 This waxing star was surely there before 
 As were the loves of some who little guess 
 E'en their Incipient births until the door 
 Of lonely hearts has long been left ajar. 
 And so, as with this child of twilight skies, 
 Those loves, which yearning hearts may not 
 
 debar. 
 Are oft long gazed at with unseeing eyes. 
 
 [ IS ] 
 
TO ONE WHO SAILED AWAY 
 
 HOW sinks the heart and falls 
 When to far lands we watch depart 
 some ship 
 That bears one loved till, fading out, Its sails 
 Below the sky line dip. 
 
 Then still we gaze and gaze 
 
 Towards where their ship was swallowed In the 
 
 main, 
 Yet knowing well that for long, weary days 
 Our gazing must be vain. 
 
 [ i6 ] 
 
Most eyes are dimmed by tears; 
 Some men weep not, but is their grief the less? 
 For to each inner soul come nameless fears 
 And ah ! such loneliness. 
 
 O ship, swift blow the wind 
 That wafts thee far, so earlier be thy start 
 For havens here with one beloved to find 
 The haven of a heart. 
 
 [ 17 ] 
 
THE WITCHES' REVENGE 
 
 DEEP In the Southern forests' eerie, mid- 
 night gloom, 
 When lightning flashes and thunder crashes 
 They ride, each on a broom, 
 Great witches gaunt with eyes that haunt, 
 Foul lips that shriek of doom. 
 
 As each one dashes by, the branches catch her 
 
 hair 
 And this attaches In queer, gray patches. 
 You see them everywhere. 
 Such branches die and shrivel dry. 
 The wItch-haIr still clings there. 
 
 [ i8 ] 
 
TO ONE BELOVED 
 
 AS chill, gray mists of early morn 
 All vanish at the sun's caress, 
 So flee my cares do I but see 
 Thy loveliness. 
 
 Yet fairest flowers. If deprived 
 Of moisture or God-given dew, 
 Must surely perish; likewise I 
 If robbed of you. 
 
 [ 19 ] 
 
LINES AND WHAT LIES BETWEEN 
 
 LOOK with the magic of thine eyes 
 On these dull lines then thou must see 
 A wealth of words between them lies, 
 Words traced in love from me to thee. 
 
 For each one that defined doth grow 
 I pray thee from thy heart to send 
 Me back a thought so I may know 
 That thou dost surely comprehend. 
 
 [ 20 ] 
 
TO THE NORTH WIND IN WINTER 
 
 WIND of the North! 
 Wind from the land of everlasting 
 
 snows ! 
 What are the weird, wild sounds 
 You bear upon your wintry blast; 
 Are they some un-stilled echoes of your cradle 
 
 song? 
 Was it 'mid frigid cliffs of glaciers gaunt and 
 
 bleak, 
 Beneath a shuddering sky which knows no sun, 
 That you were given birth. 
 Or in dank, brooding caverns vast, ice-walled. 
 Reverberating with the wail 
 Of subterranean seas? 
 
 [ 21 ] 
 
At your command, 
 
 Behold ! great rivers check their onward flow 
 And lakes and pools are cased in cloaks of cry- 
 stal mail. 
 Each, fettered by the icy bonds you weld, 
 Must sleep until there comes a vernal sun 
 Whose rays contain the dissipating key. 
 
 And do you lonely grow, at times. 
 Your dreaded sister of the East 
 Is summoned from her fog-encumbered skies; 
 At touch of your chill breath 
 Her veil of mist to veil of snow is changed. 
 Then, with a potency two-fold. 
 Together you assail and flay a cowering world. 
 Great forests are laid low, great ships de- 
 stroyed, 
 
 [ 22 ] 
 
God's handiwork and man's — and men them- 
 selves — 
 
 While over all, 
 
 The maimed, the slain, you drop a blinding 
 shroud 
 
 To mask your wanton deeds. 
 
 Blow, mighty North Wind, blow 
 
 Across the Arctic Seas, 
 
 Through valleys, over hills, to the abodes of 
 
 man. 
 Roar down our chimneys and with sudden gusts 
 Dash salvos of harsh sleet against the window 
 
 panes 
 And make us draw more closely 'round the 
 
 hearth, 
 
 [ 23 ] 
 
Thankful to fate 
 
 That we are warm and safe Inside. 
 
 But, when In kindlier mood, 
 
 As part atonement for your cruelty. 
 
 Spread fertilising blankets o'er the planted 
 fields. 
 
 The thirst of drought-parched springs assuage 
 
 And weave for our wondering eyes with mys- 
 tic snow 
 
 On bush, on tree, on those same window panes 
 
 Fantastic figures which outvie. 
 
 In magic of design, the very stars. 
 
 [ 24 ] 
 
TO THE SOUTH WIND AS WINTER 
 ENDS 
 
 WIND of the South! 
 Wind from the lands of sunshine and 
 of flowers! 
 How softly now you kiss the thawing fields, 
 Stirring each sleeping thing and bidding it 
 
 awake, 
 Crooning through fir and pine. 
 Through every bush and tree, 
 Your resurrection song. 
 
 Behold ! At your approach, the ice and snow 
 Which long have shackled fast the passive 
 
 earth. 
 Swift disappear, 
 
 The cloak of faded brown that lies beneath, 
 Changing in turn to one of living green 
 As every plant gives heed 
 And bares frail, verdant shoots to your caress. 
 
 [ 25 ] 
 
The long-stilled waters of small brooks and 
 pools, 
 
 Of lakes, of rivers, burst the crystal film 
 
 Which binds with chill, monotonous embrace. 
 
 Then soon these waters once again resume 
 
 Their various play and happy murmurlngs 
 
 While in their mirror surfaces 
 
 We watch the lazy clouds go sailing by. 
 
 In these same waters, too. 
 
 The sun, deprived of them for many a day. 
 
 His glowing face may lave; 
 
 The stars and moon 
 
 A thirst, too long endured, this night may sat- 
 isfy. 
 
 Blow, balmy South Wind, blow 
 
 From far-off tropic seas, 
 
 Through forests carpeted with giant ferns 
 
 And strange, exotic blooms 
 
 Which thrive but In the Impenetrable shade; 
 
 [ 26 ] 
 
Where gorgeous butterflies drift to and fro 
 
 Seeming like bits of rainbows given life. 
 
 Blow through broad groves of stately palms 
 
 And stoop sometimes to moisten parched lips 
 
 In lily-covered lakes. 
 
 Then, wafting on your healing, amorous blast 
 
 Perfumes from each place visited, 
 
 Steal through our windows in the early dawn, 
 
 Bringing the Sleeper treasure-dreams 
 
 Of Springs already past, 
 
 Bringing to those who lie with wakeful eyes 
 
 A fragrant promise of glad Springs to come. 
 
 [ 27 ] 
 
BECAUSE OF THEE 
 
 BECAUSE of thee, 
 Things which to me were meaningless 
 before 
 I now can view with comprehending eyes; 
 The forest gives me of its secret lore 
 And nature bares her hidden mysteries. 
 
 Because of thee, 
 
 Music I scarce gave ear to in past years 
 Now charms and thrills me with a mystic power 
 And sometimes brings to eyes strange, sudden 
 
 tears 
 Or makes me heedless of the fleeting hour. 
 
 [ 28 ] 
 
Because of thee, 
 
 At dawn the heavens gleam with hues more 
 
 rare, 
 More beauty In the sun-set skies 1 see, 
 The flowers grow more fragrant and more fair, 
 The whole world seems more wonderful to 
 
 me. 
 
 [ 29 ] 
 
MEMORIES , 
 
 HOW sad at times seem recollected words, 
 Words that were murmured with our 
 loved one's fleeting breath, 
 And sad the memory of a last caress ; 
 Who IS it calls thee kind, O death? 
 
 How sad is just an empty, little glove 
 Which still retains the fragrance of a van- 
 ished hand, 
 The haunting odor of some favorite flower, 
 The sudden end of things we planned. 
 
 And ah! how sad is music or a song 
 
 Dear to those gone before, whose words and 
 
 strains remind; 
 Echoes from lands of all that might have been; 
 O death, I ne'er could call thee kind! 
 
 [ 30 ] 
 
F 
 
 TO A LOVED ONE 
 
 AIR as the vision of a summer moon 
 Reflected on the bosom of an inland 
 
 sea 
 
 Or of bright stars viewed near the edge of 
 
 thunder clouds, 
 Thou art so fair to me. 
 
 Dear as the memories of days gone by, 
 Days when I knew not pain or e'en a single 
 
 tear. 
 Of gladdest dreams and things most treasured 
 
 In past years, 
 To me thou art so dear. 
 
 Sweet as the fragrance of arbutus blooms 
 Which trail in mossy nooks and thrive from 
 
 man apart 
 Or of a full-blown orchard visited at dusk. 
 So sweet to me thou art. 
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
NATURE'S SECRET 
 
 FOR ages men have sought in vain to 
 learn 
 Of Alchemy the secret; how to turn 
 Plain silver into gold, 
 
 One thing into another of a greater worth. 
 But nature still the answer doth withhold 
 Though flaunting her own power through 
 
 methods manifold; 
 For as the sun up-mounts the sky each morn, 
 Where moon-made silver lay the night before, 
 Patches of shimmering gold these spots adorn 
 And what were naught but dew-drops, if we 
 
 now explore 
 Behold I bright crystals in their stead are born. 
 
 [ 32 ] 
 
LETTERS AND ART 
 
 This poem was written to be read before the <> B K 
 Society at the annual meeting held in Philadelphia, Decem- 
 ber, 1915. 
 
 LETTERS and Art! 
 What magic lies in these twin-sister 
 words, 
 They conjure up what wealth of mental imagery 
 For all who strive to understand, 
 Who seek to press beyond those narrow paths 
 Which bound the little lives of everyday. 
 Letters and Art ! Two potent words 
 For ever they must help to shape men's des- 
 tinies. 
 
 To-day — perhaps to-morrow — we discuss 
 Brave records of some world-inspiring deed, 
 Some noble act. 
 
 [ 33 ] 
 
Some goal attained by might of sword alone; 
 And yet how soon these records all must pass 
 Into oblivion's void 
 Unless they be writ down within the book of 
 
 years 
 By Art's deep-graving tool 
 Or clear illumined letter of the Scribe. 
 
 Art came to man ere letters. First up-sprung 
 
 The glories of an Ancient Greece, 
 
 Fair wonder-forms of stone which still stand 
 
 forth 
 As mighty monuments to master-minds. 
 Long ages have elapsed 
 Since these great children of great thoughts 
 Were given birth and shape, 
 Yet still from zone to zone, 
 O'er all the vast world civilised, 
 Unto this day 
 
 [ 34 ] 
 
Greece shows the perfect models of a perfect 
 
 art. 
 Though we be quite un-knowing, art must ever 
 
 weave 
 Refining bonds of influence 
 Around our high desires and mold our very 
 
 lives. 
 
 As centuries rolled by 
 
 Vain men have sought to innovate 
 
 Creations of their own, 
 
 Yet most creations which survive 
 
 The sure, discriminating test of time, 
 
 Contain some element defined or classic sign 
 
 Filched from a Greek original. 
 
 Then, in a flood all glorious, letters came. And 
 
 now. 
 When we the pages of our books turn o'er, 
 [ 35 ] 
 
What treasures lie exposed for wondering 
 
 eyes. 
 According to our momentary mood, 
 Here we the Inmost thoughts may share 
 Of poet, sage, philosopher 
 Whose words are vital on this very day 
 Though the man breathing them is dead 
 Perhaps a thousand years ago. 
 And so we learn that deeds of men 
 Die not when men die but. If good or bad. 
 Writ down may live immortalised 
 And given thus to all posterity, 
 Are praised or are despised. 
 
 So If we but reflect each one must comprehend 
 What wealth of dower comes to all 
 Who seek and woo successfully 
 
 [ 36 ] 
 
Or art's elusive muse or literature's; 
 
 For surely it must thrill the human soul 
 
 To feel that one's own thoughts 
 
 May be transmitted to one's fellow men 
 
 Through mediums far-reaching and secure 
 
 Of painting, writing, music or the sculptor's 
 
 craft. 
 And surely this same knowledge should bring 
 
 forth 
 All that is best in us and should inspire 
 Each one to seek fair, lofty goals 
 Which seemed beyond our reach before. 
 
 Such passion for expression knows no bounds; 
 Even the uncouth savage who exists 
 Merely from day to day, 
 
 [ 37 ] 
 
Whose life's horizon bounded seems 
 
 By lusts for food, for flesh, for fighting and for 
 sleep, 
 
 Not far removed from animals he lives, he 
 dies. 
 
 Yet most of these same savages 
 
 On rocks, on clay may trace their crude de- 
 signs, 
 
 Recording thus their narrow, void careers 
 
 And fashion forms of pottery 
 
 In primitive attempt at art. 
 
 Once even such as they create, they pass be- 
 yond 
 
 The small, ignoble few 
 
 Who in an uncreating darkness dwell. 
 
 It might well be maintained 
 
 That men's gradation in the human scale 
 
 May be adjudged 
 
 By what each has of letters or of art. 
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
And we who gather in this hall to-night 
 
 I am quite sure experience at times 
 
 Strange feelings not unmixed with awe 
 
 At sight of some fair monument, 
 
 Of painting rare, of temple's sacred fane 
 
 Or when some passage exquisite we scan 
 
 Or listen to the pulsing, rythmic throb 
 
 Of music's magic strains. 
 
 Why that same awe to wonder turns 
 
 And of a sudden comes to inmost selves the 
 
 thought 
 That these same things of beauty may have 
 
 charmed 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand eyes, 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand ears. 
 
 And whether we be moved by master-works 
 
 of man 
 Or master-works by God and nature formed, 
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
Emotions much the same In most of us are 
 born. 
 
 Silent perhaps, we listen or we gaze 
 
 Yet filled with many words which, though un- 
 voiced, 
 
 Contain the mystic quality of prayer. 
 
 [ 40 ] 
 
THE DIFFERENCE 
 
 I LISTEN to the words of some and yet 
 They make no more impression than a 
 wind 
 Which darts across still pools and leaves be- 
 hind 
 The surface ruffled where it stoops to wet 
 Parched lips, then hurries swiftly on once more. 
 Faint ripples mark each spot; they widen, wane 
 And in a moment all is calm again. 
 The pools more placid seeming than before. 
 
 [ 41 ] 
 
But mighty glaciers of an age long past, 
 That forced from mountain heights their cer- 
 tain way, 
 Though vanished now themselves, on rocks, on 
 
 clay, 
 On everything which touched those borders 
 
 vast 
 Have deeply carved their record, lasting, clear. 
 Yet not more deeply, not more lastingly 
 Than now Is carved upon my memory 
 Each word that thou hast voiced for me to 
 hear. 
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
BELIEF 
 
 SURELY you were not born, dear love, 
 As we poor mortals here were given 
 birth. 
 Ah, no I I think some radiant star 
 Fell, weary, from the heavens above 
 And you had come to grace, a while, our earth. 
 
 Surely, dear love, you cannot die 
 
 As others must who live upon this sphere. 
 
 Ah, no I A fair, new star will be 
 
 Discovered in the evening sky 
 
 Then we will find that you are gone from here. 
 
 [43 ] 
 
TO A WILD ROSE 
 
 BORN with the breath of wood nymphs 
 fanning thee, 
 Laved by the early morning dew, 
 Thy shade of pink was filched from Eastern 
 
 skies 
 Just ere the sun appeared in view. 
 
 As this sun rose, thy heart became pale gold, 
 All day its warmth helped thee to grow. 
 At eve a drowsy brook lulls thee to rest. 
 Thy slumber song the night winds blow. 
 
 Wild rose we name thee while thou givest us 
 
 Thy fair, pink beauty and sweet scent, 
 
 Or is this not the wood nymphs' fragrant 
 
 breath 
 Which fanned and made thee redolent? 
 
 [ 44 ] 
 
IN A MIRROR 
 
 IF near my lips a mirror should be held 
 I think upon Its surface thou couldst see, 
 Were I awake or In my hours of dreams, 
 Thy dear name breathed in mist-like tracery. 
 
 [ 45 ] 
 
THREE QUESTIONS 
 
 THERE came one to me asking questions 
 three ; 
 *' Hast thou e'er been aroused from some fair 
 
 dream 
 And, while but half awake, thought that to 
 
 thee 
 Came strains of music which did almost seem 
 As though from Heavenly choirs they must 
 
 be?'' 
 " Nay," answered I. " Yet, even were all 
 
 mine the choice, 
 More wonderful to me would be my loved one's 
 
 voice." 
 
 Then, questioning again, my friend inquired 
 " Hast thou perchance sat on some winter night 
 Before thy lonely hearth when it transpired 
 That thou didst feel a ghostly touch though 
 sight 
 
 [46 ] 
 
Revealed not one whom thou hadst most de- 
 sired? " 
 
 ** Nay," I replied, " such things I need not un- 
 derstand 
 
 For I may feel and see my own beloved's 
 hand." 
 
 " Now tell me finally, hast thou e'er trod 
 With faltering feet upon thy weary way 
 When, suddenly, it seemed as if kind God 
 Awarded that for which thou oft didst pray. 
 Hast thou e'er glimpsed at Heaven nor deemed 
 
 this odd?" 
 " Yes," I replied, " my friend," he looked up 
 
 in surprise, 
 " Yes, often, have I gazed into my loved one's 
 
 eyes." 
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
TO THOSE WHO VIGIL KEEP 
 
 SOMETIMES the look of pain or utter 
 weariness 
 On a dear face of one about to leave 
 For unknown realms we mortals may not guess, 
 Is banished even as we watch and grieve 
 While, in Its place, 
 A sweetness, ah I how wonderful, doth now 
 
 succeed. 
 As though. In death, we saw reflected on this 
 
 face 
 Expressions of the angels who have come 
 From those far realms beyond the stars to lead 
 Our waiting loved one home. 
 
 [ 48 ] 
 
IN A GARDEN 
 
 I SAT one day within a garden fair 
 Pining for thee and sad because alone, 
 Wishing some fate could send thee to me there. 
 
 All things appeared to share my saddened 
 
 mood, 
 Each flower drooped, the sun was hid from 
 
 view, 
 The very birds in silence seemed to brood. 
 
 Then, as I day-dreamed with my eyes half 
 
 closed. 
 Sudden the birds began to sing again. 
 The flow'rs, uplifting heads, no longer dozed. 
 
 Thinking the sun had come once more for me 
 And for all nature, to effect such change, 
 I turned and lol saw not the sun but thee. 
 
 [ 49 ] 
 
SUNSET AND THUNDER CLOUDS 
 
 GREAT banks of storm clouds, leaden- 
 hued, appear 
 Up-mounting in far, Western, sunset skies, 
 Each border shifting shape as the clouds rise. 
 Now jagged peak, now chasm yawning sheer. 
 
 These armies of the mist the sun now claim 
 Yet, in his waning, potent still he seems 
 For, as he is engulfed, each cloud-edge gleams 
 And sudden bursts into a fringe of flame. 
 
 [ 50 ] 
 
BENEATH A WINDOW 
 
 DEAR heart, beneath your window, 
 I picture in my mind a bed of flowers, 
 Rare, tiny, fragrant violets. 
 Lifting fair faces to the sun and showers. 
 
 For did you not confide that once 
 
 You leaned without and wept through loneli- 
 ness? 
 
 So now I think there must be sprung 
 
 A bloom where fell each tear which you con- 
 fess. 
 
 [ 51 ] 
 
THE SCENT OF ROSES 
 
 AS written letters, on a page that burns, 
 Grow faint and fainter till some magic 
 flame, 
 Quite different from the others, makes each 
 
 name 
 Stand out distinct just ere the paper turns 
 To pale, gray ashes; so likewise with me 
 When fades thy vision in my wearied brain 
 And comes the scent of roses. For again, 
 As if by magic, now immediately 
 The vision rises clear and sharp defined. 
 Yet, to each dying word those flames renew 
 Its life but for a moment while I view 
 Thy face within my strengthened brain en- 
 shrined 
 Long after fail these perfumes which remind. 
 
 [ 52 ] 
 
THE ISLAND OF FORGETFULNESS 
 
 THERE is an Island in a far-off sea 
 Which lies, like some rare emerald, in 
 a blue 
 As deep as that of sapphires yet but few 
 E'er reach this isle to anchor in the lea, 
 Though many start weighed down by misery. 
 The skies overhead are always wondrous fair. 
 The spring Is never-ending and the flow'rs 
 Fade not or die ; the all too fleeting hours 
 Are passed in bliss, each wholly free from care. 
 
 'TIs called The Island of Forgetfulness; 
 There dreams come true and what one most 
 
 desires 
 Is ne'er denied, but without fail transpires. 
 All those who land and feel the soft caress 
 Of winds that waft their welcome from the 
 
 marge, 
 
 C 53 ] 
 
Are charmed by some strange, unseen power 
 
 and soon 
 Forget the past; then God grants them the 
 
 boon 
 Of life just for the present, and in charge 
 Of kindly fates who dry away all tears. 
 And ah, how few are those who, when they 
 
 reach 
 The much-sought shores, are able to remain; 
 Most stay a little while and then again 
 Sadly they set their sails for lands where each 
 Must tread once more the paths of grief and 
 
 pain. 
 Yet blest are all who rest e'en but a day 
 In this retreat for as remembered dreams 
 Oft-times refresh our waking thoughts. It 
 
 seems 
 The memories of glad hours of joy convey 
 New strength to help us on our weary way. 
 
 [ 54] 
 
This island you and I may also know, 
 Perchance to-morrow or in after years; 
 But we can surely find it if love steers 
 Our seeking ship and we together go; 
 Nor matters then how stormy winds may blow. 
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
THE SEA 
 
 HOW many secrets does this vast thing 
 keep, 
 This thing men call the sea, and in its depths, 
 How many of these men lie silently. 
 Grim victims of a might they fought in vain? 
 
 Great vessels boldly start to sail across 
 
 These waters, vessels boasting of their strength; 
 
 Then strikes the tempest, hungry waves up- 
 reach; 
 
 Where are those vessels, where this vaunted 
 
 power? 
 
 Some stagger to their ports in crippled shape 
 
 While others, after struggling for a while. 
 
 Give up the fight with final, frantic plunge. 
 
 [ 56 ] 
 
Slowly they sink at first but gather speed 
 When now mad waters lap their topmost rails, 
 Then down each slides with sullen, sobbing 
 
 sound 
 Muffled by roar of gale and conquering wave. 
 A few on board may manage to escape 
 And bring home awesome tales for wondering 
 
 ears. 
 Tales of sad, aimless drifting in small boats, 
 Wild hunger, deadly thirst and hideous fears. 
 The rest, — a helpless crew on helpless ships, 
 Bound for strange ports uncharted and un- 
 
 guessed. 
 While through the shattered windows or the 
 
 doors. 
 Huge fish and loathsome, slimy creatures pass 
 Searching each corner — weird, unwelcome 
 
 guests. 
 
 [ 57 ] 
 
If wind and wave have failed to satisfy 
 With victims for an ocean's greedy maw 
 Perchance the ice receives its fell command; 
 Floating almost submerged and hard to view, 
 A fearful bulk which rends the stoutest plank. 
 Or sight-destroying fog through which men 
 
 pass 
 Yet cannot see and so run on dread rocks. 
 Or sunken reefs which stretch forth waiting 
 
 arms, 
 Like clinging tentacles, and gather toll. 
 Yes, many weapons does this vast thing know 
 But deadliest, — those battered, drifting hulks 
 Abandoned by their crew, with decks awash, 
 No lights to warn at night, — the derelicts. 
 Grim vagary of fate that these ghost-ships 
 Already perished, should be left to give 
 A death blow to those other ships which sail 
 Unconscious of this menace, till it strikes. 
 
 [ 58 ] 
 
" Creature of moods thou art, O mighty sea, 
 With temper ruled by whence the winds may 
 
 blow. 
 If come fair breezes from thy Southern shores 
 Reminding thee of tropic heat and calms, 
 Quite lazily thou art content to drowse. 
 When storms descend recalling gale-swept 
 
 coasts, 
 As though in sympathy thy bosom heaves, 
 And thou dost rise in wild, tumultuous rage. 
 
 " Most things which hear thy call, the ships, the 
 
 men, 
 Small mountain streams that start on distant 
 
 way 
 Acquiring strength as other streams join in. 
 And finally, great rivers, reach their goal, 
 Most shall be lost in thy immensity. 
 
 [ 59 ] 
 
The rivers when they cross thy bars, the 
 
 ships, — 
 Perchance their first day out should fate agree, 
 Or mayhap some will sail until long years 
 Have caused each plank to rot ; thou wilt obtain 
 Just worthless bones. All men who do persist 
 In tempting thy forbearance over long, 
 As grim reward these also dost thou claim. 
 
 " Below thy surface, In thy silent deeps, 
 A weird and watery world without a sky. 
 We know tall mountains, valleys, plains, exist 
 Quite like those here above. And yet for us 
 Who know thy ways, we picture in these deeps 
 A land of gruesome harbors for dead ships, 
 Of tombs for perished men, a land of ghosts, 
 Mysterious gloom and everlasting night.'* 
 
 [ 60 ] 
 
AS A MIRROR — SO MY HEART 
 
 FOR those who stricken lie upon their beds 
 of pain, 
 The plain, gray mirror by some window placed 
 Is turned, when comes the day, into a magic 
 
 thing 
 On which the wonders of a world outside are 
 
 traced. 
 Yet this same magic thing when vanishes the 
 
 day, 
 Becomes again naught but a mirror plain and 
 
 gray. 
 
 And so my heart when thou approacheth near, 
 Thrilling with strange, sweet joys, becomes a 
 
 treasure-store 
 Yet when thou dost depart, ah then, dear love, 
 Only an empty heart it Is once more. 
 
 [ 6i ] 
 
TO A VIOLET 
 
 FROM what vast, secret, hidden source 
 Dost thou obtain thy wondrous dower 
 Of fragrance and fair loveliness, 
 O little, purple flower? 
 
 Thy beauty shames that of the rose 
 While on thy virgin breast, at dawn, 
 Gleam dew-drops, — Nay, are they the tears 
 Of fairies just now gone? 
 
 And from thy heart dost thou dispense 
 Perfumes of lands both East and West; 
 Mysterious combination rare; 
 Yes, thou art very blest. 
 
 [ 62 ] 
 
HOW DIFFERENT 
 
 AS thrills a harp when struck by certain 
 hands, 
 Seeming, almost, as though with life imbued 
 But answers not for others when they seek 
 Upon its potent silence to intrude. 
 
 So, at the magic of a loved one's touch, 
 Our heart strings throb and thrills our inmost 
 
 soul, 
 Yet both for others unresponsive lie, 
 Nor matter with what wiles these would cajole. 
 
 [ 63 ] 
 
At times a forest dell, In shadow still, 
 
 Quite dull appears though graced with many a 
 
 flower. 
 Then comes the sun or moon, at once for us 
 This spot Is changed Into a perfect bower. 
 
 And often when we stand within some room, 
 Though filled with many persons it may be. 
 Lonely and void the room seems to our eyes 
 Until the face of one beloved we see. 
 
 [ 64 ] 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 AFTER THE FIRST FROST 
 
 SOME Spirit of the North has hovered 
 near, 
 First vanguard of great hosts which follow on 
 Perchance to-day, perchance not yet awhile; 
 But they have left the land of lasting snows 
 And like grim fates are started on their way. 
 Already plants and trees have felt the breath 
 That withers and destroys their verdant life; 
 A seared and yellow leaf, a wilted bloom, • 
 A shade of brown where yesterday was green. 
 These tell us that the Summer now is o'er, 
 While Autumn drear and sad comes on apace. 
 
 [ 65 ] 
 
Henceforth all nature drowses and doth seek 
 Some sheltered spot where it may lie and rest 
 Through Winter days grown brief and length- 
 ening nights, 
 In that deep slumber so akin to death. 
 The wind that whispered softly through the 
 
 trees, 
 Blows fitfully and moans with ghost-like sound, 
 Voicing its tale of coming frost and snow. 
 
 Wild creatures both of forest and of field 
 Heed well the warning that is given them. 
 No longer do we hear an insect's drone, 
 The booming sound of frogs or hum of bees; 
 For they have found, each one, a hidden lair 
 And in these dark retreats their silence keep. 
 Look closely, you will see the tiny squirrels 
 In busy search for nuts and various food 
 Which now for future use they hoard away, 
 Oblivious to their present hunger-cry. 
 [ 66 ] 
 
The birds of flight have heard the Southing call 
 And wing their certain way to warmer climes : 
 Whence comes the mystic call and how con- 
 veyed 
 Just what directs that straight, unerring flight, 
 Is known to God, but not to you and me. 
 
 Ah ! Strangely quiet is the wood to-day 
 Since nature now to rest hath lain her down 
 But we have faith this stillness cannot last, 
 That at some future time when comes the 
 
 spring, 
 Warm, conquering winds will blow from out the 
 
 South 
 And drive back to their frozen, ice-bound 
 
 shores, 
 Chill spirits of the North which long held sway. 
 Then birds will sing again, this forest gloom 
 As if by magic touch will disappear; 
 
 [ 67 ] 
 
The plants and trees will waken from their 
 
 dreams, 
 All living things that creep or move on wings, 
 Each, — strengthened by its long, life-giving 
 
 sleep. 
 
 [ 68 ] 
 
THE WITCHING HOUR 
 
 TO those who stroll amid cool forests' 
 gloom 
 There comes at times the fragrance of some 
 
 bloom 
 Which grows unseen and hidden from all view 
 Yet sends this perfumed message to the few 
 Who happen near, and makes its presence 
 
 known. 
 Likewise, sometimes when I sit quite alone, 
 A sudden feeling comes that thou art there 
 Invisible yet close beside my chair. 
 
 But when almost expectantly I turn, 
 
 Both hands outstretched towards what I can 
 
 discern 
 Only with eyes tight closed, then instantly 
 I realise that thou art fled from me 
 
 [ 69 ] 
 
As fragrance of the hidden bloom swift flees 
 Before some vagrant, dissipating breeze, 
 Giving us but its memory to remind. 
 Yet thy departing spirit leaves behind 
 A subtle pledge, for I could almost swear 
 There lingers on the fragrance of thy hair. 
 More dear to me than scent of rarest flowers, 
 A comfort in my dark and lonely hours. 
 
 [ 70 ] 
 
THE SEA WOLVES 
 
 GREAT, slimy monsters of the cruel sea, 
 Wolves of a watery world, relentless, 
 grim. 
 How stealthily on gruesome quest they move. 
 Searching the depths with small, pale, lidless 
 
 eyes; 
 Unblinking, sleepless both by night and day. 
 Naught in their puny brains save lust for blood; 
 Ready to dash at, seize and then devour 
 Even a crippled brother; none are spared. 
 
 In vessels' ruffled wakes they trail along 
 Or sullenly drift by whene'er, becalmed 
 These vessels wallow, windless, in the trough 
 With sails reflected on a glassy sea. 
 Sudden is cleft the surface by sharp fins 
 Attached to shadow-bulks that glide beneath. 
 
 [ 71 ] 
 
" The Sharks ! The Sharks ! " Strong men 
 
 pass on these words 
 Then hurry, each one curious, to the rail; 
 Seeming by some odd fascination held. 
 At those detested shapes spell-bound they gaze. 
 To most come thoughts, unsummoned, of far 
 
 homes 
 Which sudden seem more distant than before. 
 Some few may coarsely jest, a few may curse 
 But In the hearts of all I think there creeps 
 A feeling of strange awe, of loneliness. 
 
 Should storms descend 
 
 Resistless, overwhelming these proud ships 
 Until, sad, battered hulks they disappear. 
 As each one slowly sinks, the sharks now swim 
 In ever lessening circles then, grown bold. 
 They pass through shattered doors and soon be- 
 come 
 Weird pilots for uncharted ports unguessed. 
 
 [ 72 ] 
 
" Quite different from most other things which 
 
 swim, 
 Strange mammals giving birth unto your young, 
 With mouth so placed that you must partly 
 
 turn 
 On back or side ere you may seize your prey. 
 With fangs, saw-edged, arranged like shears to 
 
 cleave 
 And pointing down towards maws Insatiate 
 So things once seized upon cannot escape. 
 When vou were planned, 
 Great, loathsome gluttons, feared, abhorred by 
 
 all. 
 Aye! Nature surely was in hateful mood." 
 
 [ 73 ] 
 
THE TENNIS MATCH 
 
 KEEN and alert and with combative eye, 
 Two white-clad figures on a ground of 
 green, 
 They face each other with the net between. 
 
 For one brief count immovable they poise 
 (As hawks poise sometimes ere they down- 
 ward sheer) 
 Then darts across the net a speeding sphere. 
 
 Driven by hard-swung racket, this now seems 
 A signal which brisk, sudden action brings; 
 Each white-clad figure into motion springs. 
 
 [ 74] 
 
silent, their straining lips tight-pressed, they 
 
 glide 
 With panther-grace and swiftly flashing feet, 
 A point to press or an attack to meet. 
 
 And when the match is o'er, a word of praise 
 To victor by the vanquished — no Ill-will; 
 The game, the fight good sportsmanship Instil. 
 
 [ 75 ] 
 
AT PARTING 
 
 FAREWELL! Ah drear, sad word, 
 thou canst but bring 
 Long heart-aches and an ending of the spring 
 To those who love and yet must separate. 
 Still, they have hopes of meeting soon again 
 While treasured recollections lessen pain; 
 The past Is theirs; to-morrows they await. 
 
 Yes, far more sad are those who say good-bye 
 For always and who, hopeless, weep or sigh 
 At thought of dear, glad hours that come no 
 
 more ; 
 Of glances from loved eyes now dimmed by 
 
 death. 
 Of words low murmured with the fleeting 
 
 breath. 
 Oh thoughts which haunt and burn! Oh days 
 
 of yore! 
 
 [ 76 ] 
 
And now when thou and I perforce must go 
 By different paths, remember that although 
 These paths may wind and lead our steps afar, 
 They will unite again. Grieve not since thus 
 We are so blest with memories and for us 
 The door of future years remains ajar. 
 
 [ 77 ] 
 
DAWN IN JUNE 
 
 THE world seems wrapped in hushed ex- 
 pectancy, 
 Stilled Is the sough of wind through reed and 
 
 tree, 
 Stilled are all night sounds but the rythmic 
 
 drone 
 Of insects which themselves have drowsy grown. 
 
 The sky itself, the vaulted dome of space. 
 Now turns more dark while each star shows its 
 
 face 
 A trifle brighter just as though It knew 
 How soon in Eastern skies would come to view 
 An orb before whose glowing, conquering fire, 
 Starlight must pale then instantly expire. 
 
 [ 78 ] 
 
And so, as oft-times things about to die, 
 More lovely show themselves, likewise on high 
 Those stars with two-fold radiance seem to 
 
 shine ; 
 They bathe all in their light yet naught define. 
 
 A little while then far-off Eastern skies 
 
 Are streaked with bars of gray as darkness 
 
 dies. 
 At this first sign some bird gives forth its call; 
 Ten thousand others answer to enthrall. 
 Each one, a listening mate that tends the brood, 
 Hearing again sweet songs with which 'twas 
 
 wooed 
 And these combine in one great paean of joy, 
 Soft wondrous music that could never cloy. 
 
 [ 79 ] 
 
The very air throbs with glad melody 
 As gray-streaked heavens brighten rapidly 
 Changing dark shades for gay, prismatic hues 
 Until the sun Itself comes to suffuse 
 All nature with Its warm, life-giving rays. 
 Pale mists swift vanish even as we gaze. 
 Each blade of grass dries up Its dewy tears. 
 Each thing, that breathes of night, now dis- 
 appears. 
 
 [ 80 ] 
 
WHEN A LOVED ONE IS NEAR 
 
 WHEN a loved one is near, 
 How eloquent the silence of deep 
 woods, 
 The piping of a robin in the rain, 
 The song of thrushes watching o'er their 
 broods. 
 
 A sudden dash of sleet against the pane 
 Or lisping patter of soft-drifting snow. 
 The fire's cheerful crackle from the hearth 
 When moaning storm winds blow. 
 
 [ 8i ] 
 
How wonderful to watch the Eastern sky 
 As darkness dies and dawn's bright hosts ap- 
 pear 
 Then later, see the daylight fade in turn, 
 When a loved one is near. 
 
 But with our loved one gone, 
 These same things no unusual charm possess, 
 Their meaning fails, we comprehend them not 
 Yet oft they bring a strange, vague loneliness. 
 
 [ 82 ] 
 
TO A STAR 
 
 FAIR star of a fair, August sky, 
 Child of the summer sun and moon. 
 What is thy sudden, sweet, unlooked-for boon? 
 Why dost thou shine so brilliant and outvie 
 In radiance e'en thy parent orbs, ah why? 
 
 Tell me, is it through sheer delight 
 
 At thought of thy life scarce begun, 
 
 That thou canst always wax when wanes the 
 
 sun, 
 Or is it not because from thy far height 
 Thou dost watch o'er my love asleep this night? 
 
 [ 83 ] 
 
B 
 
 YOUTH AND OLD AGE 
 
 Youth 
 
 ESIDE my hearth, alone; the end of day; 
 Yet not alone for crowding to my mind 
 Come hopes and thoughts, an endless, glad 
 
 array, 
 Thrilling though scarcely half defined. 
 
 The hopes of struggle sought and goals at- 
 tained; 
 
 Fond thoughts of love, full-crowned, bright 
 days in store, 
 
 While, 'mid the glowing flames, in fancy 
 feigned, 
 
 Are pictured faces quite unknown before. 
 
 Ah Sleep I If these be lost when thou art 
 gained. 
 
 Thy realms I seek not to explore. 
 
 [ 84 ] 
 
Old Age 
 Beside my hearth; the end of day, alone; 
 Yet not alone for to my weary brain 
 Come trooping thoughts and memories one by 
 
 one, 
 Filling my soul with vague, strange pain. 
 
 Sad thoughts of many things which might have 
 
 been. 
 Memories of wonder-days which come no more, 
 And through the waning flames dear faces seen 
 Of those who wait upon a distant shore. 
 Ah God! If true oblivion sleep doth mean, 
 Grant that I pass Its threshold o'er. 
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
H 
 
 IN JUNE 
 OW fair and fragrant doth the wood- 
 
 bine grow, 
 
 Stretching forth tendrils over roof and wall, 
 Clothing each stone in living green as though 
 It heard and heeded Spring's awakening call; 
 Yet close around thine open window there aloft, 
 
 ah! there 
 I think it grows more fragrant still, a little 
 
 bit more fair. 
 
 We mortals pass adown life's stony ways 
 Finding our smiles and tears as God designs; 
 Sometimes one joy for many a sorrow pays 
 And so I'm sure that, just as with these vines. 
 For us who know thy presence, see the won- 
 der of thy face. 
 Our lives are made more fragrant, the world 
 seems a fairer place. 
 
 [86 ] 
 
TO MOUNT ARARAT 
 
 WITH hoary head uplifted 'mid the 
 clouds 
 Which wreathe its furrowed brow and veil its 
 
 face 
 Or draw far off a mighty height to show 
 Stands Ararat dividing three great lands. 
 
 '* O great, majestic mountain of all time 
 Already wast thou old when came the ark 
 To rest upon the loftiest of thy peaks, 
 Safe refuge from a slow-subsiding flood 
 Though all known other things were still sub- 
 merged. 
 Towering above thy fellows, thou hast seen 
 The human race begin and pygmy man 
 Contending, fighting, planning down the years; 
 Yet came grim death alike to slave and king 
 While thou didst gaze with pity or disdain. 
 
 [ 87 ] 
 
" Mother thou art of streams which have their 
 
 birth 
 In thy vast, snow-girt flanks then hurry down 
 To nourish mighty rivers in their turn 
 And so bring gladness to a waiting world. 
 At Dawn thou dost behold the rising sun 
 When we below can see but fading stars, 
 And this sun, later sinking in the West, 
 Thine ice-crowned brow caresses with last rays, 
 Yet elsewhere hover shadows and gray dusk. 
 Black night descends, then comes an Eastern 
 
 moon, 
 With molten silver now thy slopes are bathed. 
 Ethereal, shimmering in the pale, weird light; 
 All nature looks, spell-bound all nature seems. 
 
 " We men who live and die scarce comprehend 
 Such beauty or thy great longevity; 
 Unheeding storm and time, stand on supreme 
 O rock of ages past, of years to come." 
 [ 88 ] 
 
THE WHITE ROSE'S MISSION 
 
 GO fair, pure flower, go 
 Bearing sweet messages of love from 
 me 
 And tell the one to whom I send thee so 
 Each thing I now tell thee! 
 
 Then, with this mission o'er, 
 
 Though fails thy fragrance and thy beauties 
 
 fade, 
 Mayhap thou wilt be placed in some safe 
 
 drawer, 
 'Mid other treasures laid. 
 
 And though thy life be spent. 
 
 Whene'er this drawer is visited, alone. 
 
 My message, through thy dead yet clinging 
 
 scent. 
 Will live again for one. 
 
 [ 89 ] 
 
TO THE FOUR WINDS 
 
 O BALMY wind that comes from far off 
 Southern Seas, 
 O' fragrant wind that rests oft-times in placid 
 
 leas 
 Of islands coral-girt and steals their flowers' 
 
 scent, 
 About clear waters blue and bluest firmament 
 Thou hast a tale for us. Also of giant palms, 
 Huge, tropic ferns, white glare, moist heat 
 
 and deadly calms. 
 
 O Wind exhaling grief, East wind of mystery. 
 
 All men shun thy embrace, while nature fear- 
 fully 
 
 Doth cower and despair till pass thy ghost-like 
 wings, 
 
 Dank, reeking palls called fog, the breath of 
 seas, it brings 
 
 [ 90 ] 
 
Great dread unto our hearts. These blinding 
 
 mists provide 
 A cloak for thy misdeeds which thou dost well 
 
 to hide. 
 
 And thou, great, boisterous wind that rushes 
 
 madly forth 
 From caves which gave thee birth far in the 
 
 frozen North, 
 Thou tellest us of lands whence come the snow 
 
 and frost; 
 Thou boastest of thy might and ships like 
 
 feathers tossed 
 Which thou didst hurl and wreck on reefs of 
 
 ice-bound coasts. 
 Too well we realise thine are not empty boasts. 
 
 O healing, clearing breeze that comes from out 
 the West, 
 
 [ 91 ] 
 
Of all the winds that blow, the world doth love 
 
 thee best. 
 New life to things which live and vigor dost 
 
 thou bring, 
 A message of good cheer, a promise of the 
 
 spring; 
 Dark, lowering storm-clouds yield and flee at 
 
 thy caress. 
 Yes, thou art ever kind, O wind of happiness. 
 
 [ 92 ] 
 
TO ONE AWAY 
 
 HOW do I feel with thee away? 
 Nay, — ask how feels the lonely, dark- 
 ening night 
 Bereft of moon and stars, or else the day 
 Should it be robbed of sun and light. 
 
 Or ask how feels the dying rose 
 
 Deprived of moisture, or some clinging vine 
 
 Whose prop is filched, whose life draws to its 
 
 close ; 
 Their answer would be mine. 
 
 [ 93 ] 
 
TO ONE DEPARTED 
 
 IN some safe, hidden drawer I laid away 
 The pale blue flowers thou didst give to 
 
 me 
 When we two strolled, led by our destiny. 
 Through shaded forest paths and thou didst 
 
 say 
 That thou didst care for me. Oh happy day 
 And oft-remembered spot, where we both knew 
 The ecstasies of love; how moments flew 
 While death or pain in some dim future lay! 
 
 Mayhap these forest paths, in days gone by. 
 Were visited by other women fair 
 Who gave such flowers or a lock of hair 
 As tokens of their love, and, with a sigh, 
 The men beside them, just as once did I, 
 Received the tokens, with as tender care. 
 
 [ 94 ] 
 
It may be also that, from time to time, 
 These lovers, singly or together, came 
 To know the smart of fleeting years or claim 
 Of death; which meant that all their joys sub- 
 lime 
 Were past, and they could never more retrace 
 Glad footsteps through their flowered, wooded 
 
 path. 
 And ah! how very sad the aftermath 
 For us who ran with death our losing race. 
 The death of fond hopes cherished long ago 
 Or of a loved one. So, when more and more 
 We suffer, stealing to our secret drawer. 
 We gaze on faded, pale blue flow'rs, e'en 
 
 though 
 They are but ghosts of yester-year, we know. 
 
 [ 95 ] 
 
And yet these flowers ever will retain 
 Some subtle, haunting odor as of yore. 
 So, In my drawers of memory, I store 
 Dear but sad thoughts which help me live again 
 Those days gone by, and which, as with the 
 
 flowVs, 
 Nor years nor death nor many suffering hours 
 Can rob of all their fragrance, — or their pain. 
 
 [ 96 ] 
 
COMPARISON 
 
 THE little bird with plumage plain and 
 dull 
 Whose notes sound harsh, whose songs In 
 
 sweetness fail, 
 To Its own mate is e'en more wonderful 
 Than bird of Paradise or nightingale. 
 
 And so It Is with those who truly love; 
 Observing just the best nor asking more. 
 Although a world may scorn and disapprove, 
 Each other's faults they see not — or Ignore. 
 
 [ 97 ] 
 
THE STORY OF A ROSE 
 
 AS died one day in early June 
 Was born a tiny, crimson bloom 
 Then, as it first gazed on the world, 
 Your voice was heard within your room. 
 
 For this small blossom, just a rose. 
 Beneath your window had its birth, 
 It looked to see whence came that sound. 
 Observed the opening far from earth. 
 
 Yes, though to you and me that height 
 Would be as nothing, to the rose 
 Long seemed the way to climb and steep ; 
 The flower pondered ere It chose. 
 
 Then, once again, your voice was heard. 
 The bud, enraptured, thrilled with love: 
 Henceforth impatiently it strove 
 To gain your window high above. 
 
 [ 98 ] 
 
Each day less distance intervened 
 As ever up the blossom went, 
 Each eve your voice came softly down 
 As though in sweet encouragement. 
 
 Then finally the goal was reached, 
 The rose full-blown had won its race, 
 But you had left that very day 
 And moved to some far distant place. 
 
 The flower clambered o'er the sill 
 And peeped within, naught met its stare 
 Except a vacant, lonely room; 
 Ah! even flowers may feel despair. 
 
 That night you came not or the next. 
 The following morn some one espied 
 A fading rose without your sash 
 And idly wondered why it died. 
 
 [ 99 ] 
 
TO ONE ABSENT 
 
 OFTTIMES at saddest hour when breaks 
 the pale, gray dawn, 
 I waken from my slumber and dear dreams of 
 
 thee; 
 All nature starts to rouse, my blinds aside are 
 
 drawn, 
 Yet enters not the light, the hour is dark for 
 me. 
 
 Too soon I realise that I am here alone 
 While thou art left in lands where comes nor 
 
 grief nor pain; 
 No pleasures of this world can for thy loss 
 
 atone, 
 I fain must seek thee in the world of dreams 
 
 again. 
 
 [ 100 ] 
 
H 
 
 HOW STRANGE IT SEEMS 
 
 AST thou e'er thought how passing 
 strange It seems 
 That often-tlmes grim tales of dreadful war 
 and woe, 
 
 Of saddest suffering, e'en a view of death it- 
 self, 
 Can leave the eyes quite dry; Is this not so? 
 
 Then mayhap later, borne upon the breeze, 
 Come strains of memory-hallowed music to our 
 ears. 
 
 Or comes the haunting fragrance of some little 
 flower, 
 
 And now these same eyes are suffused with 
 tears. 
 
 [loi] 
 
THE ABANDONED HOME 
 
 APART, deserted, lonely now it stands. 
 The one-time home of those who lived 
 there for a space, 
 Who heard the call of death, mayhap, or else 
 
 of fate 
 And went their sad ways to some other place. 
 
 The lichen-covered gate that bars a path 
 Which leads up to the house beneath great, 
 
 hoary pines 
 As though discouraging intruders who would 
 
 pass 
 Is held by twining branches of strong vines. 
 
 [ 102] 
 
Perchance their seeds were planted by fair 
 
 hands 
 Of one who died herself ere she could view 
 
 these things 
 For which she once had stooped and dug to 
 
 give them birth; 
 We all may sow, but fate our answer brings. 
 
 I tear aside this verdant, growing lock 
 
 Yet, when I force my way, the tendrils which 
 
 were rent 
 Stretch out like clutching fingers of a drown- 
 ing man 
 
 To scratch and cling as though in fierce dissent. 
 
 [ 103] 
 
I now approach the ivy-covered walls, 
 
 The porch enclosed in woodbine and my final 
 
 goal; 
 Upon the fragrant breeze are borne In scented 
 
 waves 
 Perfumes of flow'rs from which it took sweet 
 
 toll. 
 
 And glancing o'er the lawn I see these blooms 
 Of lilac, violet and crimson, garden rose 
 That struggle to exist amid rank, choking 
 
 weeds 
 Whose sure encroachment means their lives 
 
 must close. 
 
 [ 104] 
 
The queer, stale odor of a place long sealed 
 Gives me unpleasant greeting when I force the 
 door 
 
 And pass at length beyond Its threshold to a 
 hall 
 
 Re-echoing my footsteps on the floor. 
 
 Unusual sounds for this deserted house, 
 They now Intrude upon the silence of each 
 room; 
 
 I hear some frightened mice rush off with 
 
 scurrying feet, 
 A bat, disturbed, flits by Into the gloom. 
 
 [105] 
 
Beside a great, wide open hearth I pause 
 And picture in my mind how others took their 
 
 stand 
 Or sat on wintry nights before the cheerful 
 
 blaze, 
 What tales they would relate, what things were 
 
 planned. 
 
 A thousand eyes, no doubt, in by-gone years. 
 Have gazed on this same hearth which also 
 
 mine behold. 
 Perchance some watched until the embers paled 
 
 and died; 
 How many of their fires are too grown cold? 
 
 [io6] 
 
How many tiny beings first saw the light 
 
 In these bare rooms explored when now I 
 mount the stairs? 
 
 How oft came death to claim those who await- 
 ing lay 
 
 Or those In slumber, taken unawares? 
 
 I ponder o'er these things and all the while 
 A low, weird sobbing of the wind comes to my 
 
 ears. 
 Nay, — is it sighing of departed ones returned 
 To view again their home of former years? 
 
 [ 107] 
 
I must away for light gives place to dusk, 
 Already, here within, black night spreads out 
 
 its pall, 
 The sun slants long, gray shadows down the 
 
 Western hills 
 As now I step from out the ghostly hall. 
 
 A pale, white moon appears and strikes Its 
 
 fires 
 Then kindles to bright gold up in the Eastern 
 
 sky; 
 The same moon knew those dwelling in this 
 
 house, — will know 
 All those to come when gone are you and I. 
 
 [io8] 
 
A little sad and sobered by such thoughts, 
 I wend my way once more down through the 
 
 flow'rs and trees; 
 The gate Is opened, closed; I leave this blighted 
 
 spot 
 To silence, to Its ghosts and memories. 
 
 [109] 
 
YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 
 
 THE heavens yesterday were overcast, 
 The sun was hid and all the world 
 seemed drear 
 But ah! what difference did this make to me 
 For thou wast here. 
 
 To-day the skies are blue and very fair, 
 A golden Sun has gleamed since early dawn 
 But ah I what difference does this make to me 
 For thou art gone. 
 
 [no] 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN 
 
 DOWN In the steel-fringed, safe-deposit 
 vaults 
 Attendants there would watch her come and 
 
 The strange, veiled woman always robed in 
 black, 
 
 While picturing In their minds the wealth her 
 box might show 
 
 Could It Inspected be; 
 
 And yet each wondered why she came so fre- 
 quently, 
 
 At least a visit every week or so. 
 
 Within one of the cell-like rooms 
 
 She would withdraw then close fast to the door 
 
 Remaining there, alone, sometimes an hour or 
 more. 
 
 [Ill] 
 
In summer, winter, spring and fall alike, 
 For years she visited in this same way. 
 Always mysterious and always robed in black, 
 Until announcement of her death arrived one 
 
 day. 
 Not wealth of gold, of stocks or bonds were 
 
 found 
 When finally the box was opened up to view 
 But just a lock of golden hair. 
 The picture of a baby and one tiny shoe. 
 
 [112] 
 
THEN AND NOW 
 
 IN a fair garden spot 
 I wandered once at noon 
 Seeking brief respite from my dally toll; 
 A wealth of blooms grew there, 
 (Those blooms which welcome June) 
 And clothed with scented coverlet the soil. 
 
 It seemed naught could in fragrance to such 
 
 flowers compare; 
 But then, dear heart, I had not known thy hair. 
 
 I viewed twin radiant stars 
 
 Peep o'er the mountain's rim 
 
 And kiss the valley pool with mystic light 
 
 Then on Its surface clear 
 
 Their shimmering features limn 
 
 And tiny waves, by silvered beams, unite. 
 
 [113] 
 
Could aught more lovely be In nature or in art? 
 Ah then I had not known thine eyes, dear heart. 
 
 I plucked a full-blown rose 
 Still moist with dew of dawn 
 And from it stole two petals crimson fair 
 And pressed both to my lips 
 Before upon the lawn 
 
 I dropped them crushed yet making sweet the 
 air. 
 
 I thought naught could be softer than this rose 
 
 full-blown 
 But then, dear heart, thy lips I had not known. 
 
 [114] 
 
WHY? 
 
 A YOUTH had all but reached the pin- 
 nacle of fame, 
 Though scarce mature In years his was the 
 
 name 
 One heard on many a tongue. 
 
 Fashioned like some Greek god, of noble mien 
 
 was he, 
 Possessed of every charm; his destiny 
 Seemed bounded by the stars. 
 
 But as he walked his lofty, well-earned path 
 
 one day. 
 At peace with all the world, care-free and gay, 
 Death happened to pass near. 
 
 [115] 
 
And though Death knew full well the promise 
 
 of the youth, 
 Observed his grace, his beauty, without ruth 
 Death bore the lad away. 
 
 Then later overtook a sickly, crippled man 
 Who had already lived beyond the span 
 Of years allotted most. 
 
 Homeless he was and friendless, praying but 
 
 to die, 
 It seemed naught could his living justify; 
 Unheeding, Death passed on. 
 
 [ii6] 
 
IMPOSSIBILITIES 
 
 SWEETNESS and loveliness and grace! 
 Ah, dear one, how can it be true 
 That others these same charms possess 
 Which kindly fate dispensed to you? 
 
 For I would swear that you were given, 
 When fashioned by some magic deft. 
 Of these fair charms each smallest part; 
 How could for others aught be left? 
 
 [117] 
 
THE SUBMARINE 
 
 DESPISED, weird rover of the seas un« 
 seen, 
 Man-made leviathan with scales of steel. 
 Abortion given birth by brains unclean! 
 
 As might a cyclops, ocean-born, survey 
 With single sight the waters near and far. 
 So you to men a single eye display. 
 
 And the horizon scan with baleful stare, 
 Mark well a victim for your fell attack 
 Then slow submerge while deadly fangs you 
 bare. 
 
 Sometimes a lookout spies the bubbling wake 
 Which marks where speeds your messenger of 
 
 death 
 Yet can do naught but watch it overtake. 
 
 [1.8] 
 
More frequently no warning sign Is given; 
 A mighty ship sails on, Its fate unguessed, 
 When suddenly the hull apart Is riven. 
 
 Amid the scenes of death and agony 
 
 Which soon succeed where peace had reigned 
 
 before, 
 You wallow gloating over what you see. 
 
 E'en those who give you life at times are slain; 
 Too long you stay submerged nor will obey 
 When, frantic, they would seek for air again. 
 
 Helpless as rats entrapped, they cannot flee 
 But suffering to the end must slowly die 
 Victims of their own Ingenuity. 
 
 Abhorred, weird rover of the seas unseen, 
 A menace to both friend and foe alike. 
 Abortion given birth by brains unclean! 
 
 [119] 
 
ASSOCIATION 
 
 IN early May, I strolled one day 
 Amid a mighty city's din and moil, 
 Among those crowded ranks which sweat and 
 
 toil. 
 Which know not what it means to play. 
 
 Then paused beside a fenced-in spot 
 O'er-strewn with dust and filth, with weeds 
 
 o'er-grown, 
 A place where sunlight rarely ever shone, 
 The very air seemed stifling, hot. 
 
 [ 120] 
 
Yet there I spied a lonely flower 
 
 Sprung from some seed brought — who knows 
 
 how or why? 
 Lifting its lovely face up to the sky 
 As though it grew in fairest bower. 
 
 Now when some soul divine I see 
 Living in this sad world, pure, noble, strong, 
 Striving undaunted 'mid the weaker throng, 
 Thoughts of that flower revert to me. 
 
 [i2i] 
 
THE WEDDING MARCH FROM 
 LOHENGRIN 
 
 THE Wedding March from Lohengrin! 
 Throbbing and pulsing through the 
 gathered throng 
 Its soft, familiar strains now rise, now fall, 
 Bringing each heart and soul a fragrant song, 
 The old, old song of love; 
 Making of most of this vast audience 
 Lovers again. 
 
 And yet what varied thoughts are passing in 
 
 these minds? 
 For love's song doth at times a sting possess 
 And there are those to whom come burning 
 
 memories 
 With vain regrets for things which might have 
 
 been, 
 Of wasted opportunities 
 And thoughts of future loneliness. 
 [ 122] 
 
Others there are who, in the light subdued, 
 Stretch forth appealing hands which meet, 
 
 which press 
 And In the pressing once again renew 
 Pledges of days gone by. 
 Youth too Is here, enthusiastic youth 
 Looking on love with first awakening eyes, 
 Observing thus naught but love's ecstasies, 
 Oblivious to Its sorrows and Its sighs. 
 
 And now the strains subside then die away. 
 
 Ah who may say 
 
 What dreams have come to youth In these brief 
 
 moments past? 
 What joys re-found for some as the soft strains 
 
 remind 
 But for a few — what sadness left behind! 
 
 [ 123 ] 
 
THE GREEK ISLANDS 
 
 LANDS of a mighty people dead long 
 since, 
 Inhabited to-day by those who live 
 But through a glory which is not their own, 
 Which comes to them by right of race alone. 
 Thus do we see the once-famed Grecian Isles. 
 
 Still not In vain is glory such as this 
 
 For other nations came to find an art 
 
 The grace of which and beauty brought delight 
 
 An art which left its mark adown the years 
 
 With monuments of stone which it inspired. 
 
 [124] 
 
Great must have been the men and great the 
 
 minds 
 That could create such models or a type 
 Which stood the test of ages and remain 
 In splendor unsurpassed, by time unchanged; 
 For to this day, in countries far and near. 
 We find fair off-spring of those potent brains. 
 
 Yet, if the spirits of the dead return 
 And roam amid those scenes they knew in life 
 How grieved each one must be to view abodes 
 Wherein they dwelt, wide-open to the skies; 
 Broad highways, marble-paved, o'er which 
 
 were wont 
 To march triumphant legions coming back 
 Victorious from some war, now rank with 
 
 weeds. 
 
 [125] 
 
But paths for wandering goats, and everywhere 
 The vandal's hand has pilfered or destroyed. 
 Sad islands filled with ghosts and memories! 
 Look where we may but ruin meets our gaze, 
 Sheep stray at will among the crumbling walls 
 While — most incongruous spectacle of all — 
 A shepherd's hut where once a temple stood. 
 
 [126] 
 
SNOW-FLAKES 
 
 FROM foulest pool and clearest spring, 
 From unclean sources or from sources 
 
 pure 
 The sun draws waters high into the sky 
 Then kisses them with rays which heal and cure. 
 When, at the magic of this kiss, each drop 
 Is made alike, again to earth below, 
 From all pollution freed, the sun returns them 
 
 now 
 As rain or mists, as crystal hail or snow. 
 Those tiny, star-shaped flakes you catch upon 
 
 your sleeve, 
 Mayhap were waters once in tainted streams, 
 
 who knows? 
 And yet again we justly may believe 
 They were bright dew-drops on some lovely 
 
 rose. 
 
 [ 127] 
 
THE RIVER 
 
 BEFORE man lived — long centuries 
 ago, 
 A tiny stream of water, crystal-clear, 
 Of a secluded mountain lake was born 
 And from that time the lake's broad bosom fair 
 This infant stream has nurtured and has fed. 
 Rippling and swirling, babbling playfully, 
 Un-knowing and un-caring what each curve 
 Or bend might bring it set forth to explore. 
 
 And soon is met a little brook, so small 
 
 That scarcely doth the stream augment its size 
 
 When both together join and onward rush 
 
 United in a course which leads them on 
 
 To other brooks and still to others. Thus - 
 
 Each one is lured; the tiny stream now grows 
 
 Into a tiny river, but as yet 
 
 [128] 
 
Unmindful of great power till it essays 
 A fierce attack which rends the solid earth, 
 Cleaving steep banks, eroding channels deep 
 As might some Titan of gigantic strength. 
 
 Each mile traversed brings still more brooks 
 
 and streams, 
 And all are wooed while every one becomes 
 A pulsing vein of the great artery 
 Which wooed and gets in turn from them its 
 
 being. 
 Grown to a mighty river now it brings 
 To those who live along the blessed shores. 
 Great crops, great harvests, riches, gladness, — 
 
 yet 
 At times, as though with pent-up rage it teemed. 
 Full vent is given to all its latent power. 
 Then, over-flowing banks, it devastates 
 And bares the lands which but an hour ago 
 Were blest instead of blighted by the flow. 
 [ 129] 
 
" Wouldst thou but speak so we poor mortals 
 
 here 
 Could understand, O river of all time, 
 What wondrous tales to us thou couldst unfold; 
 For thou hast seen huge, mammoth beasts that 
 
 came 
 Before the human race began, to slake 
 Their thirst along thy marge. A span of 
 
 years — 
 Then followed man primeval, gaunt, uncouth. 
 Who lived high up above thy banks In caves 
 And worked or killed with Implements of stone. 
 The bronze-skinned Indian thou hast also 
 
 known. 
 The white men and their many million sons. 
 And coming down these ages, what strange craft 
 Have floated on thy waters, borne along 
 By wind or by thy current, fateful sure, 
 Propelled by rough-hewn paddle, later on 
 By oars of wood and finally by steam. 
 
 [130] 
 
Yes, thou art very wise. So are the rocks 
 Which guard and keep their watch along thy 
 
 shores ; 
 But they are seared and gray with age, while 
 
 thou 
 Must know some fountain of eternal youth 
 And steal of Its pure waters for thine own, 
 For thou are just as always, ever young. 
 
 " Called by an ocean mightier e'en than thou. 
 Roll on great river, roll resistless on! 
 Those men who boasted here but yesterday 
 At having chained an atom of thy power, 
 Where are they gone to-day, of what avail 
 To them who are no more ? So, in disdain, 
 Thou flowest on as for ten thousand years, 
 As thou wilt flow until the end of time." 
 
 [131] 
 
DO DREAMS COME TRUE? 
 
 DO dreams come true? 
 Ah yes, I'm sure sometimes they do 
 For as, this morn, the dawn's first ghostly light 
 Stole through my chamber window putting to 
 
 swift flight 
 The gloom of night, 
 I dreamt an angel came and stood beside my 
 
 bed 
 And smoothed my troubled brow though not 
 
 a word was said. 
 Then sudden I awoke; lo! you were standing 
 
 there 
 With one dear hand laid gently on my hair. 
 
 [ 132 ] 
 
AT SUNSET 
 
 GREAT, Titan shapes, flame-fringed, loom 
 In the sunset skies, 
 Outrlvalllng In shades and tints 
 Rare, gorgeous butterflies 
 
 Or opals viewed by light of drift-wood blaze; 
 As though the sinking sun wished all the world 
 
 to gaze 
 Upon his hidden treasures, ere he wane. 
 So paints, upon the curtains of these shifting 
 
 clouds. 
 Each color that his spectrum doth contain. 
 
 [ ^33] 
 
AT DUSK 
 
 THE calls of homing birds that seek their 
 mates 
 Are wafted on the twilight breeze to me 
 Beside an open window whence I see 
 The sun about to close its gleaming gates 
 Of burnished gold. All over vale and hill, 
 With ghost-like stealth, the lengthening shad- 
 ows creep 
 Enshrouding fields and trees in darkness deep; 
 Each bright till palls of mystic nothing kill 
 For each in turn the waning, shimmering light. 
 It seems as though grim night had hovered near 
 And, passing by, just touched with sable wings, 
 As with some magic wand, the rocks and things 
 Which but a moment since were outlined clear 
 Yet, even as I gaze, now disappear. 
 
 [134] 
 
So, those who know the joys of love and live 
 Forgetful of what future years may bring, 
 Must sometimes feel the cruel, deadly sting 
 Of griefs which strike and seldom warning give 
 But, like a shadow dark, they steal away 
 The joyful brightness of our yesterday. 
 
 And now the fading light is almost spent 
 While e'en the gentle zephyrs, whispering low 
 Of far-off scenes, then lower still as though 
 O'er-burdened with the fragrant, haunting scent 
 Of flowers oft caressed near wood and bay, 
 So drowsy grow, they cease to blow their lay. 
 There follows silence pregnant, tense, pro- 
 found. 
 Yet — I could almost think I heard a sound 
 As if the world had sighed or else some fay 
 By me unseen when it too ceased from play; 
 For at this witching hour and near such ground, 
 We know these creatures of the wood abound. 
 
 [135] 
 
All nature seems to wait in hushed suspense 
 While, for a moment brief, the stillness lasts; 
 Then — could it be a thought of icy blasts 
 Endured some winter time of cold intense, 
 Or did there pass a spirit from the North, 
 That caused the world to shiver as it went? 
 For trees begin to quiver and are bent 
 As by a hand unseen while, from henceforth. 
 The air is chilled though fires of stars which 
 
 morn 
 In turn will quench, grow bright in darkening 
 
 skies ; 
 The wind comes sudden, strong; I realise 
 A summer day has died, a night is born. 
 
 [136] 
 
ALWAYS 
 
 DO I behold the flaming sun 
 Burst from night's prison walls be- 
 neath the sea 
 And so proclaim to all another day begun, 
 Dear heart, 1 think of thee. 
 
 When, weary of his freedom sweet, 
 I watch this sun in Western waters sink 
 Then send his love the moon each waiting star 
 
 to greet. 
 Of thee, dear heart, I think. 
 
 Hear I a song that lovely seems. 
 View I fair landscapes formed by nature's art. 
 Be I in waking hours or In my hours of dreams, 
 I think of thee, dear heart. 
 
 [ 137] 
 
EARLY NOVEMBER 
 
 A SOUND as though of sobbing in the 
 trees, 
 With fitful, sullen gusts the wailing North wind 
 
 blows 
 Foreboding death to Nature's bloom and green 
 Or the long, winter sleep beneath deep-drifting 
 
 snows ; 
 Stilled is the hum of bees and stilled the drone 
 Of summer-frenzied insects, hushed the carol- 
 ling 
 Of birds and throaty boom of frogs. 
 Those very brooks and streams which in the 
 
 spring 
 Rushed sea-ward with exulting, noisy flow 
 Now seem to murmur plaintively as though 
 Already they the binding clasp could feel 
 Of Icy hosts which from them freedom steal. 
 
 [138] 
 
No longer to our senses comes the sweet per- 
 fume 
 Of field or forest flower since wilted is each 
 
 bloom 
 And from the suffering branches overhead 
 Sere, faded leaves In sad procession fall 
 Then o'er the drowsing earth a shroud-like 
 
 blanket spread. 
 High up above, in swift, unerring flight 
 The wild geese wing their way, against the 
 
 clouds outlined, 
 Bound for a warmer clime and as they pass 
 
 from sight 
 Derisively they taunt us lingering here behind. 
 
 [ 139] 
 
THE VALLEY OF DEPARTED DAYS 
 
 INTO the valley of departed days 
 How many here would fain again retrace 
 Their steps and stroll once more along those 
 
 flowered ways 
 Hallowed by memories which time can ne'er 
 
 efface, 
 Of youth and all that youth contained and mem- 
 ories 
 Of loved ones lost to them for life's brief space. 
 
 [ 140] 
 
For as we walk the path to future years 
 With feet which falter and more weary grow 
 As each new year succeeds, the pain, the griefs, 
 
 the tears 
 Of days gone by, forgotten are and we but 
 
 know 
 Their joys. The rearward road more beauti- 
 ful appears 
 The further on the road ahead we go. 
 
 THE END 
 
 [141] 
 

 i^