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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 
 
A 
 YEAR BOOK 
 
 OF 
 
 SOUTHERN POETS 
 
 By 
 
 HARRIET P. LYNCH 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 214-220 East 23d Street 
 
Copyright, 1909, by Dodge Publishing Company 
 [Southern Poets] 
 
 ^K* 
 
 NOTE 
 
 The compilers desire to thank the following publishers who have 
 generously consented to permit the use of selections of which they 
 hold the copyright : Houghton, Mifflin Company for selections from 
 "Colonial Ballads, Sonnets and Other Verses," by Margaret J. 
 Preston; B. F. Johnson Publishing Company for selections from 
 Poems of Henry Timrod; J. B. Lippincott Company for selections 
 from " Songs Old and New," by Margaret J. Preston; John C. Wins- 
 ton Company for selection from Poems by John Trotwood Moore; 
 Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for selections from Poems by 
 Paul Hamilton Hayne; John Lane Company for selections from 
 Lyrics — Poems — Later Lyrics by John B. Tabb, and "Augustine 
 the Man," by Amelie Rives; Little, Brown & Company for selections 
 from "Cartoons," by Margaret J. Preston, and "Hidden Sweet- 
 ness," by Mary Bartley; Whittet & Shepperson for selections from 
 " Sonnets on Scripture Themes," by Robert Whittet; Thomas Y. 
 Crowell & Co. for selections from Poems by Edgar Allan Poe; The 
 Century Company for selections from Poems by John C. McNeill and 
 Poems by Irwin Russell; M. Stolz & Company for selections from 
 "The Shadows on the Wall," by Howard Weeden; Frederick A. 
 Stokes Company for selections from " Rings and Love Knots," by 
 Samuel Minturn Peck; Chas. Scribner's Sons for selections from 
 Poems by Sidney Lanier, and "The Coast of Bohemia," by Thomas 
 Nelson Page; The Neale Publishing Company for selections from 
 "The Ivory Gates," by Armistead C. Gordon; Doubleday, Page & 
 Co. for selections from "A Freeman and Other Poems," by Ellen 
 Glasgow; J. P. Kennedy & Sons for selections from Poems by Father 
 Ryan; and Harper Brothers for selections from Song by Mary Car- 
 rington Coles. 
 
 LIBRARY Of CONGRESS 
 Two CoBies Received 
 
 MAY 271909 
 
 ha* Copyriitnt tntrv J 
 CLAS/f A kxc No 
 
 ^ V 5 5 *] 
 
 'copy a. ' 
 
cA YEARj, BOOK ^ 
 SOUTHERN POETS 
 
 January first 
 
 Toss your green plumes, ye pine-covered mountains, 
 Revel in gladness, thou beautiful earth ; 
 
 Sprinkle your silver, ye bright rippling fountains, 
 A year from the midnight has taken its birth. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"Hymn to the New Year"). 
 
 January second 
 
 Oh ! bright New Year, with snow-white train, 
 Oh ! glad New Year, you've come again : 
 Covering the earth, its every stain. 
 With snow-white train from mount to main — 
 
 May good live on in you, 
 
 The beautiful and true ! 
 Margaret I. Weber {"The Old and the New"). 
 
 [3] 
 
January third 
 
 A wind moved through the night 
 
 On wings that shiver — 
 On icy wings through pearly chill moonlight, 
 Beyond the stars that glisten weirdly bright, 
 
 Away forever. 
 On icy wings that shed the downy snows 
 
 The spirit flees, 
 Bearing away to the vale where Lethe flows 
 The vanished year red with a myriad woes. 
 
 Leaving us peace. 
 
 And unto Thee, whose love will bid the snows 
 To melt, and cleanse the earth of gore, 
 O Prince of Peace, we pray that Sharon's rose 
 May in the valleys of our hearts repose 
 Untrampled evermore. 
 
 /• H. Booton ("New Year Nocturne"). 
 
 [4] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 January fourth 
 
 What will I care for the unshared sigh, 
 If, in my fear of lapse or fall. 
 Close I have clung to Christ through all, 
 
 Mindless how rough the road might lie. 
 
 Sure He will smoothen it by-and-by. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"By-and-By"). 
 
 January fifth 
 
 Thou in the Mystic Hours, will see the Veil 
 Rent, and the solemn beauty that appears, 
 Eternity, so idle with her years. 
 
 The ancient loveliness that grows not pale. 
 
 A. U. Rutledge (''The Solace of the Hours"). 
 
 [5] 
 
(iA YesiV Book, gf 
 
 January sixth 
 
 The robin laughed in the orange tree : 
 Ho, windy North, a fig for thee: 
 While breasts are red and wings are bold 
 And green trees wave us globes of gold, 
 
 Time's scythe shall reap but bliss for me 
 — Sunlight, song, and the orange tree. 
 
 Sidney Lanier ("Tampa Robins"). 
 
 January seventh 
 
 Around me, on the battle fields of life, 
 
 I see men fight and fail and crouch in prayer; 
 Aloft I stand unfettered, for I know 
 The freedom of despair. 
 
 Ellen Qlasgoxo ("The Freeman"). 
 
 January eighth 
 
 For I know not why, when I tell my thought, 
 
 It seems as though I fling it away; 
 And the charm wherewith a fancy is fraught, 
 
 When secret, dies with the fleeting lay 
 
 Into which it is wrought- 
 
 Henry Timrod ("Why Silent"), 
 
 [6] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 January ninth 
 
 And I saw night 
 
 Digging the grave of day ; 
 And day took off her golden crown, 
 And flung it sorrowfully down. 
 
 Father Ryan (^"Reverie"). 
 
 January tenth 
 
 So on I press up that steep slope 
 
 Behind whose brow that sun is setting; 
 
 I walk with Faith and not with Hope, 
 Despairing not and not forgetting. 
 
 Barton Gray {"The Crown Unwon"). 
 
 January eleventh 
 
 In dreams, in dreams we part not. The day dawn and 
 the morrow 
 May take you ; but each morning with the dreamer's 
 vision gleams. 
 You are mine when night recalls you, with your young 
 heart free from sorrow, 
 In dreams. 
 
 Armistead C. Gordon {"In Dreams"). 
 
 m 
 
oAYesLV Book §f 
 
 January twelfth 
 
 One heaven above ; 
 But many a heaven below 
 The dewdrops show — 
 God's tenderness 
 Subdued in every teardrop to express 
 The whole of Love. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"All in All"). 
 
 January thirteenth 
 
 I place my hand upon my cheek — 
 
 And sitting thus, whole hours, all mute, 
 
 Feeding on thoughts too rich to speak, 
 
 I hear the ever rushing wings 
 
 Of the many cloudy things 
 
 Which are my brain's imaginings. 
 
 Philip P. Cooke ("Lines"). 
 
 [8] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 January fourteenth 
 
 The hills ! We love the hills. 
 Their heads are nearest Heaven, 
 Their sides to morn and even ! 
 
 There is a joy that fills 
 
 Their anthem to the day 
 
 There is a peace that fills 
 
 The requiem of hills 
 
 To the light that dies away. 
 'Tis more than song or wine 
 To see their summits shine, 
 Through twilight's purple wine, 
 
 Like islands of the blest, 
 
 In the ocean of their rest. 
 
 Frank O. Ticknor {"The Hills"). 
 
 January fifteenth 
 
 The chosen spirit on its forward march, 
 Armed with just courage that makes great its cause, 
 Stands mightier than the force of common laws. 
 And grows beneath the heaven's dread favoring arch. 
 Into an eminent statue like a God. 
 
 William O. Simms ("Hannibal"). 
 
 [9] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 January sixteenth 
 
 Across insensate space, where'er thou art, 
 My being's current sets, and swiftly flies, 
 
 Fond impulse of my inmost soul and heart — 
 
 Thou'lt know, e'en beyond the seas and skies. 
 
 Annah B. Watson ("Telepathy"). 
 
 January seventeenth 
 
 From the last kiss of the sun upon the mountains. 
 
 From the far spaces where the wings of night unfurl, 
 Stream up the skies like the gleam of many fountains 
 
 Sprayings of jasper and amethyst and pearl 
 Until far up they blend into one golden 
 
 Sea, past whose waters if a man once trod. 
 He should see surely splendors but beholden 
 
 Only in the city of the Saints of God. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"A Virginia Sunset"). 
 
 [10] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 January eighteenth 
 
 Hark ! to mine a voice is calling, 
 Sweet as tropic winds at night, 
 Gently dying, faintly falling, 
 From some marvelous mystic height, 
 Troubled thought's unhallowed riot 
 By its wandering glamor kissed, 
 Feels a charm of sacred quiet 
 Fold it like enchanted mist. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"The Realm of Bliss"), 
 
 January nineteenth 
 
 Truth walked beside him always. 
 
 From his childhood's early years. 
 
 Honor followed as his shadow, 
 
 Valor lightened all his cares: 
 
 And he rode — that grand Virginian — 
 
 Last of all the Cavaliers ! 
 
 James B. Hope ("The Lee Memorial Ode"). 
 
 [11] 
 
qA Year Book gf 
 
 January twentieth 
 
 He had shpped from the paths of duty 
 
 In the dewy bright Hght of the mom ; 
 He had culled him the primrose of beauty 
 
 To embed in his bosom a thorn. 
 And his dawning came on with a sadness, 
 
 And his morning lay shadowed in blame, 
 For the birthright of sorrow is madness. 
 
 And the wage of the sinner is shame. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"Waters of Marah"). 
 
 January twenty-first 
 
 And all was calm and still again, 
 So still — the place might seem to be 
 The grave of sound. 
 
 Anon {"The Fountain of Oblivion"), 
 
 [12] 
 
Souther rb Poets 
 
 January twenty-second 
 
 Brave and self-centered in the peace of God 
 
 Is that true soul who calmly dares withstand 
 
 The cruel frenzy of the populace, 
 
 And in the hot red mouths of hostile guns, 
 
 And in the shining teeth of million swords. 
 
 And in the scornful faces of fierce men, 
 
 Lifts high in hand the heaven-bright cross of Christ, 
 
 And meekly pleads for brotherhood and love. 
 
 William H. Uolcombe {"The Peacemaker"), 
 
 January twenty-third 
 
 Yes ! what is childhood 
 But after all a sort of golden daylight, 
 A beautiful and blessed wealth of sunshine. 
 
 Henry Tim,rod ("Dramatic Fragment"). 
 
 [13] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 January twenty-fourth 
 
 He dwelt in clear white purity apart, 
 Yet walked the world ; through many a sufferer's door 
 He shone like morning; comfort streamed before 
 His footsteps ; on the feeble and the poor 
 
 He lavished the rich spikenard of his heart. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne ("On the Death of Canon Kingsley"). 
 
 January twenty-fifth 
 
 Teach us to pray ! for oh ! the earth-born soul 
 Knows little of its needs ; and the grand goal 
 
 To which we know life hastes seems far away; 
 
 And in the journey, stumbling day by day, 
 We need our Father's guidance to control, 
 
 Robert Whittet ("A Rondeau"). 
 
 [14] 
 
Southerrv Poeta 
 
 January twenty-sixth 
 
 Youth, thou shalt sip at my brimming bowl ! 
 The glances of beauty shall gladden thy soul! 
 Where the roses bloom shall thy pathway be, 
 And my smile shall enliven thy revelry ; 
 But mark me, youth ! when thy days are o'er 
 The favor of Pleasure shall greet thee no more. 
 
 Thomas Semmes {"The Song of Pleasure"). 
 
 January twenty-seventh 
 
 The fire-fly lights the night 
 A moment and then dies ; 
 The lilacs pine for light. 
 
 With sweet and odorous sighs : 
 So Hope's deceitful beam 
 Illumines my despair, 
 While still I sigh and dream. 
 With many a sobbing prayer, 
 Lady, lady, list ! 
 List and smile ! 
 
 James A. Bartley {"Serenade"). 
 
 [15] 
 
c4 "Year Book sf 
 
 January twenty-eighth 
 
 We know, O Lord, so little what is best. 
 
 Wingless, we move so lowly. 
 But in Thy calm all-knowledge let us rest — 
 
 Oh, holy, holy, holy — 
 
 John C. McNeill ("Sundown"). 
 
 January twenty-ninth 
 
 Away with thee, Light ! thou "effluence bright !" 
 
 Make room for my ebon car. 
 When it wheels on its track with its hangings of black, 
 
 I curtain the Moon and the Star : 
 I love to go forth, with the storms of the North, 
 
 To follow the hurricane's sweep, 
 When the ships mounting high, ride up to the sky! 
 
 Then down to the fathomless deep. 
 
 Carter Landon ("Darkness"). 
 
 [16] 
 
Southerrb Poets 
 
 January thirtieth 
 
 Like serf beneath a king, 
 Under the weight of woman's tyranny 
 I bow! 
 
 Arion. {"The Surrender"). 
 
 January thirty-first 
 
 My Mother, when of thee I think, or speak, 
 
 So perfect is my love. 
 The energy of language is too weak. 
 Its wondrous height and depth to fully prove, — 
 Words fail as dies the taper in the blast ; 
 
 'Tis known to Him above. 
 With whom we hope to live when death's dark gulf is 
 
 past. 
 
 Mary O. Buchanan ("To My Mother"). 
 
 [17] 
 
cA Year Book ^ 
 
 February first 
 
 In truth that falsehood cannot span, 
 
 In the majestic march of Laws, 
 That weed and flower and worm and man 
 
 Result from one Supernal Cause, 
 In doubts that dare and faiths that cleave. 
 Lord, I believe. 
 
 Ellen Glasgow {"A Creed"). 
 
 February second 
 
 The God who gave 
 To the birds the virgin-wings of snow 
 Somehow telleth them the way they go. 
 
 Father By an {"Sea Dr earnings"). 
 
 [18] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 February third 
 
 As sometimes from the meanest spot of earth 
 
 A sudden beauty unexpected starts, 
 
 So you shall find some germ of hidden worth 
 
 Within the vilest hearts. 
 
 Henry Timrod {"Address"). 
 
 February fourth 
 
 And inasmuch as thou hast brought 
 
 Thy draught of water, deemed so small ; 
 
 And inasmuch as at my call 
 Thou didst the work thou hadst not sought, — 
 As double deeds, wrought and unwrought, 
 
 I needing none, accept them all. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"Inasmuch"). 
 
 [19] 
 
cA Year Book. §f 
 
 February fifth 
 
 The dark hath many dear avails ; 
 
 The dark distils divinest dews ; 
 The dark Is rich with nightingales, 
 
 With dreams and with the heavenly Muse. 
 
 Sidney Lanier {"Opposition"). 
 
 February sixth 
 
 I can't allow my picture took 
 De way you wants to draw — 
 A-leavin' off my freedom-look 
 For fashion 'fore the war. 
 
 No, Lord! my picture can't be caught 
 By man wid no sich manners ; 
 Dat's 'zactly why de war was fought — 
 To end dem same bandannas ! 
 
 Howard Weeden {"Aunt Judy and the Painter"). 
 
 [20] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 February seventh 
 
 In our aim 
 Lies all the difference betwixt pride and shame. 
 
 William O. Simms {"Sonnet"). 
 
 February eighth 
 
 There is little in life but labor, 
 
 And to-morrow may find that a dream ; 
 
 Success is the bride of Endeavor, 
 And luck — but a meteor's gleam. 
 
 /. Trotwood Moore ("Success"). 
 
 February ninth 
 
 And ever sweet thoughts without words 
 
 The shadow of old memories, 
 Rise up and float away as birds 
 
 Float down the skies. 
 
 Carlyle McKinley ("Sapelo"). 
 
 [21] 
 
c4 Year Book gf 
 
 February tenth 
 
 'Tis a pleasant thought at eventide, 
 
 When a glory looks down on our prayers, 
 That we have not mocked in the days of our pride 
 The meanest pilgrim whose dust may hide 
 
 "An angel unawares !" 
 And a beautiful hope, as the night unrolls 
 
 Her raiment of rest serene, 
 That we are nearer the beautiful souls 
 
 That our souls have never seen. 
 
 Prank O. Ticknor {"In Mamre"). 
 
 February eleventh 
 
 What myriad millions of the human race, 
 Formed in the mould and likeness of their God, 
 Live like the soulless rocks beneath their feet. 
 
 Hu Maxwell {"The Sea-Oirt Isle"). 
 
 [22] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 February twelfth 
 
 It's O, for the music of lark and thrush 
 
 And the wandering waters' flow, — 
 It's O, for the shaded summer lanes 
 
 Where the sweet shy violets grow! 
 My heart is yearning to find again 
 
 The ways that my boyhood trod ; 
 To know just a little less of men, 
 
 And a little more of God. 
 
 James Lindsay Oordon (^"Longing"). 
 
 February thirteenth 
 
 All that thou art not makes not up the sum 
 Of what thou art, beloved, unto me: 
 
 All other voices, wanting thine, are dumb; 
 All visions in thine absence, vacancy. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"A Remonstrance"). 
 
 [23] 
 
cA Year Book ^ 
 
 February fourteenth 
 
 'TIs wooing time! I listen, 
 
 With ear to the sensitive mould 
 To learn if his coming footsteps 
 
 The earth to the moss hath told. 
 'Tis loving time ! I am waiting ; 
 
 There's a spell in the air like wine — 
 All ! heart a herald is crying 
 
 "He cometh — thy valentine !" 
 
 Annah B. Watson ("Wooing Time"). 
 
 February fifteenth 
 
 Perhaps in us the darkness lies 
 
 That seems to veil the world without ; 
 
 Perhaps our evils cause our doubts, 
 And false opinions blind our eyes. 
 
 William H. Holcombe ("Perhaps in Us"). 
 
 [24] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 February sixteenth 
 
 Contented with Httle, suspicious of riches, 
 
 He jingled the very small coin in his breeches, 
 
 And squandered his substance 'gainst precept and rule 
 
 With the heart of a king and the brains of a fool. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"Lines to an Intimate Friend"). 
 
 February seventeenth 
 
 Month after month I followed my quest. 
 
 A bud from her bosom, a smile from her lips. 
 Would fill my heart with a vague unrest, — 
 
 Or a touch of her finger-tips ; 
 Yet no matter the time, no matter the place. 
 
 Where roses blossomed, where leaves turned yellow. 
 She'd leave me alone with a smile on her face 
 
 At a word from that other fellow. 
 
 Armistead C. Gordon ("Toujours Jamais"). 
 
 [25] 
 
oAYesirBooVisf 
 
 February eighteenth 
 
 Forget thee? No never! the ocean may cease 
 
 Its wild beating dirges, and roll on in peace ; 
 
 The winds hush their murmurs, the stars cease to shine. 
 
 The jewel to sparkle when struck from the mine. 
 
 John C. McCabe {"Forget Thee? No Never!"). 
 
 February nineteenth 
 
 A murmur from the sea, 
 
 A faint and dying strain. 
 Takes, as the night-winds flee, 
 
 Their parting moan again ; 
 And the twin voices link 
 
 Their pinions from the shore. 
 Flutter with plaining on the brink 
 Then on the sands subside, and sink 
 
 To sleep once more ! 
 William O. Simms ("Night Scene — How Still is Nature Now!") 
 
 [26] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 February twentieth 
 
 Resigned, O Lord! we cannot all forget 
 That there is much even Victory must regret. 
 
 Henry Timrod ("The Cotton Boll"). 
 
 February twenty-first 
 
 God and our consciences alone 
 
 Give us measure of right and wrong; 
 
 The race may fall unto the swift 
 
 And the battle to the strong: 
 
 But the truth will shine in history 
 
 And blossom into song. 
 
 James B. Hope {"The Lee Memorial Ode"). 
 
 [27] 
 
c4 YesiV Book gf 
 
 February twenty-second 
 
 Bright natal morn ! what face appears 
 
 Beyond the rolling mist of years? — 
 
 A face whose loftiest traits combine 
 
 All virtues of a stainless line 
 
 Passed from leal sire to loyal son ; 
 
 The face of him whose steadfast zeal 
 Drew harmonies of law and right 
 From chaos and anarchistic night: 
 Wrought from rude hoards of turbulent states 
 
 The grandeur of our commonweal: 
 All hail ! all hail ! to Washington ! 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"Washington"). 
 
 February twenty-third 
 
 Then I said to myself in my sleep, 
 
 How lovely is all that I see ! 
 I shall never have reason to weep, 
 
 For the world is a garden to me. 
 But an angel came down from the skies, 
 
 And claimed me at once as her own ; 
 Fair truth shed her light on my eyes. 
 
 And the shades of Illusion are flown. 
 
 William Maxwell {"The Revery"). 
 
 [28] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 February twenty-fourth 
 
 'Tis not the clashing of storm-clouds 
 That opes the sweets of the flower, 
 But the silent strength of the sunbeam 
 That blossoms in wealth the bower; 
 The fervor and force of true manhood 
 Will make the many to quail, 
 And sympathy 
 Of great degree 
 Will win, where fury will fail. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman ("The Strongest Bond of AH"). 
 
 February twenty-fifth 
 
 There was but one I ever wished to guide 
 Over the chasm or up the mountain side. 
 And pipe to on the meadows green and wide, 
 
 From shady nook. 
 Oh, Thou Good Shepherd ! seek her in the path 
 That many a pitfall, many a sorrow hath ; 
 On her bewildered head let not Thy wrath 
 
 Eternal break. 
 
 James Lane Allen ("The Wanderer"). 
 
 [29] 
 
cA Year Book gf 
 
 February twenty-sixth 
 
 Oh ! may thy hf e be ever bright, 
 
 As aught my early dreams have framed, 
 And not a shadow dim its light. 
 
 Till heaven, in mercy, shall have claim'd 
 Thee, as a being fit for naught 
 That earth can boast, all sorrow-fraught 
 As are its brightest visions. May 
 
 Thy life be one long dream of love, 
 Unbroken 'till the final day, 
 
 When heaven shall waft thy soul above, 
 And crown thee, as an angel there. 
 Who wast indeed an angel here. 
 
 A. B. Meek {"To a Yo^mg Lady"). 
 
 February twenty-seventh 
 
 In Faith's clear firmament afar — 
 
 To Unbelief a stranger — 
 Forever glows the golden star 
 
 That stood above the manger. 
 
 Theophilus H. Hill {"The Star Above the Manger"). 
 
 [30] 
 
Souther rv Poets 
 
 February twenty-eighth 
 
 Oh ! Love is like a river-flood, 
 That rolls and pauses never — 
 
 An ocean-tide that bears us on 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 James A. Bartley {"Love"). 
 
 March first 
 
 The winds are loud and trumpet clear to-day ; 
 
 They seem to sound an onset half in ire, 
 
 Half in the wildness of a vague desire 
 To force spring's fairy vanguards to delay ; 
 For here methinks worn winter stands at bay — 
 
 Yet stands how vainly ! springtime's subtlest fire 
 
 Melts his cold heart to nothingness, while nigher 
 Draw April's hosts, and rearward powers of May. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"Sonnet"). 
 
 [31] 
 
cAYeeirBodkef 
 
 March second 
 
 There's beauty in the morning's blush 
 
 That scatters mist and gloom; 
 There's beauty in the soft pale light 
 
 Of the silvery summer moon ; 
 Yet doth the sympathizing heart 
 A dearer light to life impart. 
 
 Anna Venable Koiner {"Soul Beauty"). 
 
 March third 
 
 The man with little love shall find 
 But little loving in mankind. 
 
 Frank O. Ticknor ("Diogenes"). 
 
 March fourth 
 
 Out of night-lands, a wind 
 
 Awakens a wave: — spent are the tranquil charms, 
 Yet the dim stars are driven till they find 
 
 Rest in each other's arms. 
 
 A. H. Rutledge ("Shadow-Stars"). 
 
 [32] 
 
Southerrv Poeta 
 
 March fifth 
 
 Do you know the land, the fairest land 
 
 In the mythical realm of old? 
 Where the earth and the air, and the flowers rare 
 
 All sleep 'neath a sun of gold? 
 Where the elf king's bugle in winding note 
 
 Drowns the dreamy drum in the black bee's throat, 
 And the fairy queen floats in a peach-bloom boat? 
 
 And the fireflies dance where the lily maids meet 
 
 And the flowers are dreams that lie at your feet 
 In the summer of Long Ago. 
 
 John Trotwood Moore ("In the Summer of Long Ago"). 
 
 March sixth 
 
 And sweeping onward through the dark, 
 
 Bursts like a call the night-wind from the woods ! 
 
 Low bow the flowers, the trees fling loose their dreams, 
 
 And through the waving roof a fresher moonlight 
 
 streams. 
 
 Henry Timrod {"A Vision of Poesy"). 
 
 [33] 
 
oAYear Book^ 
 
 March seventh 
 
 Give Fancy freedom, freedom to-night ! 
 
 Let her soar up in the face of the stars ! 
 What's the soul-virtue, if never, in flight, 
 
 We fling off^ our sense of the earth with its bars? 
 The spirit that cHngs to its fetters of clay, 
 
 Whose eyes never lift in a prayer for a wing. 
 Hath no pinions of soul which shall bear it away 
 To that realm of delight. 
 Which is born of the flight, 
 Where the very soul-soaring compels it to sing. 
 
 William G. Simms {"Volans Video"). 
 
 March eighth 
 
 I hear the surf beat on the sands. 
 
 And murmurous voices from the sea ; 
 
 The wanton waves toss their white hands 
 
 And beckon me. 
 
 Carlyle McKinley {"Sapelo"). 
 
 [34] 
 
Souther rv Poets 
 
 March ninth 
 
 We now can see the dawn of better days : 
 Look at the South from shore to shore, 
 Her night of darkness almost gone. 
 The master, who the thraldom felt far more 
 Than slave, is now more free than e'er before. 
 Untrammeled men and women will aspire. 
 With minds and hearts and souls set free, 
 To soar to heights unknown, and ardently desire, 
 With every height attained, the strength to go still 
 higher. 
 
 Margaret I. Weber ("Lines"). 
 
 March tenth 
 
 Long ago, when life was younger, and life's burden cast 
 no shadow, 
 When the gladness of existence had a summer foun- 
 tain's flow. 
 Side by side we trod dim woodlands, river bank, or 
 haunted meadow. 
 
 Long ago. 
 
 Armistead C. Gordon {"Long Ago"). 
 
 [35] 
 
o4^ar Book<gf 
 
 March eleventh 
 
 Dust of a plain ground into red 
 
 By armies of majestic dead. 
 
 Gaunt shadows on the changeless sky, 
 
 A flock of vultures swarming nigh. 
 
 'Mid ashes where a hearth hath stood, 
 
 Children that cry aloud for food. 
 
 Where green the peaceful highways run, 
 
 A woman ravished in the sun. 
 
 And far across the reeking sod 
 
 A nation sounding thanks to God. 
 
 Ellen Glasgow {"War"). 
 
 March twelfth 
 
 "Unc' Si, de Holy Bible say. 
 In speaking ob de jus', 
 Dat he do fall seben times a day ; 
 Now how's de sinner wuss.'"' 
 
 "Well, chile, de slip may come to all, 
 But den de difF'ence f oiler; 
 For, if you watch him when he fall, 
 De jus' man do not waller." 
 
 John B. Tabb ("The Diference"). 
 
 [36] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 March thirteenth 
 
 No luring forms of polished art 
 
 Would serve alone our thoughts to call 
 
 From him beneath ; — a nation's heart 
 Is proudest monument of all. 
 
 Seek ye mementoes more? Look around: 
 
 Behold, throughout the land they're found. 
 
 /. E. Snodgrass (^'The Patriot's Chosen Sepulchre"). 
 
 March fourteenth 
 
 How calm was that hour ! as calm as if Death 
 
 Had reigned o'er the land and the sea — 
 For the dash of each wave, and moan of each breath 
 
 Spoke but of repose unto me. 
 The green earth around me was yet smiling on, 
 
 Thought's luminous spirit had fled, — 
 And soft from the sky the evening-star shone. 
 
 Like the hope that remains for the dead ! 
 
 Anon. ( "Stanzas" ) . 
 
 [37] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 March fifteenth 
 
 Out of this woven web of sound 
 
 Grow clear within sight and reach 
 Glad aspirations and gladder dreams 
 
 That never before found speech ; 
 And life seems sweeter and faith completer — 
 
 Wide open Love's portal stands, 
 And we walk therethrough while the violin sings 
 
 To the touch of a master's hands. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"The Violin Player"). 
 
 March sixteenth 
 
 The bluebird flits, and coos the ring-dove tender 
 
 Amid the young green leaves ; 
 Mansions of mist and silver, white and slender, 
 
 The shy wood-spider weaves ; 
 Swingth the swallow to his old home under 
 
 The unforgotten eaves. 
 
 Frank O. Ticknor {"A Spring Morning"). 
 
 [38] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 March seventeenth 
 
 The army of heroes in the future that sleeps — 
 
 Abiding its time while liberty weeps — 
 
 Shall wake with a shout, the shout of the free, 
 
 Whose echoes shall roll far over the sea; 
 
 As the lava that rolls from a mountain of fire — 
 
 Thy children aroused shall come forth in their ire ; 
 
 And the tyrant shall feel for his head and his crown ; 
 
 When freemen look up the despots go down, 
 
 And the cloud that has hung o'er the land of our hope 
 
 Will scatter like mist when the morning doth ope. 
 
 Samuel H. Newberry {"Ireland"). 
 
 [39] 
 
cA Year Book §f 
 
 March eighteenth 
 
 I shall not leave thee utterly behind, 
 
 World of the bright blue wave and tossing foam! 
 Thy spirit shall go with me, like a wind, 
 
 To the green stillness of my upland home — 
 Shall whisper, morn and evening, to my ear 
 
 The mysteries and the splendors of the deep. 
 
 Nor leave me in the dreadful dark of sleep ; 
 For when I start, dream-haunted, cold with fear, 
 
 The voices and the thunderings and the powers, 
 Heard in no temple man hath ever trod, 
 
 Shall close around me in melodious showers. 
 And lull my soul to perfect rest in God. 
 
 William H. Holcombe {"Farewell, O Sea!") 
 
 [40] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 March nineteenth 
 
 Judge not, God did not fashion man 
 
 That thou should'st criticise His plan ; 
 
 Nor is it meet that work of God 
 
 Should'st pass beneath thy chastening rod; 
 
 Wreck not thy soul upon the spot 
 
 Within thy brother's eye — 
 
 Judge not. 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"Judge Not"). 
 
 March twentieth 
 
 There is no bourne beyond the reach 
 Of sorrow ; no soul lives and bides 
 So far but she will visit each ; 
 Through every fortress wall she glides, 
 In every creature's life she hides. 
 There is not need that art should teach, 
 For sorrow knoweth sorrow's speech. 
 Robert Burns Wilson ("My Soul She Hath Great Care for Me"). 
 
 [41] 
 
o4 Year Book ^ 
 
 March twenty-first 
 
 As the sparkling waters run 
 
 Through shady wood and sunny valley, 
 Singing in a quiet tone, 
 Singing ever musically 
 
 Down unto the restless sea — 
 Where the sounding billows pour 
 Singing on the lonely shore — 
 Thus thou singest unto me 
 Evermore. 
 
 Susan A. Talley ("The Spirit of Poesy"). 
 
 March tvyenty-second 
 
 Oh human grandeur! fleeting as the beam 
 That lights the vision of the poet's soul ; 
 
 Oh human glory ! passing like the stream 
 
 Whose courser-swiftness never brooks control. 
 John C. McCabe ("The Pilgrim Amid the Ruins of Borne"). 
 
 [42] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 March twenty-third 
 
 Oh ! Thou who fling'st so fair a robe 
 
 Of clouds around the hill untrod — 
 Those mountain-pillars of the globe 
 
 Whose peaks sustain Thy throne, oh God! 
 All glittering round the sunset skies 
 
 Their fleecy wings are lightly furled, 
 As if to shade from mortal eyes 
 
 The glories of yon upper world ; 
 There, where, the evening star upholds. 
 In one bright spot, their purple folds. 
 My spirit lifts its silent prayer ; 
 For Thou, oh God of love, art there. 
 
 Amelia Welhy {"The Presence of God"). 
 
 March twenty-fourth 
 
 The statesman gazing yet with doubts and fears 
 
 Up the dim vista of the coming years — 
 
 The man of science looking out afar 
 
 Into the welkin for an unknown star — 
 
 These are our patriots — and no work they wrought 
 
 Has ever yet been perfected for nought. 
 
 John R. Thompson {"Patriotism"). 
 
 [43] 
 
o4 Year Book gf 
 
 March twenty-fifth 
 
 Love alone can bestow 
 
 Such bhss here below 
 
 As angels in heaven must feel. 
 
 The rapture and thrill 
 
 Of a love-conquered will 
 
 Can never be found in the Real. 
 
 Duval Porter {"The Refuge"). 
 
 March twenty-sixth 
 
 The mountains ! the mountains ! they lift their soul on 
 
 high, 
 And fill the mind with thoughts sublime of vast infinity, 
 Frowning and massive as they stand, wide-spreading all 
 
 abroad, 
 
 They show the strong majestic hand of their Creator — 
 
 God! 
 
 8. H, Dickson {"The Mountains"). 
 
 [44] 
 
Souther rv Poets 
 
 March twenty-seventh 
 
 Once I knew a silver tone, 
 
 Sweeter than an angel's hymn, — 
 It from earth methought had flown, — 
 
 Flown to join the Seraphim ! — 
 But thy voice recalled the spell, — 
 
 Melody unknown above ! — 
 On my heart its influence fell. 
 
 And all was music, — all was love ! 
 
 A. B. Meek ("Long in Sorrow's Gloomy Night"). 
 
 March tvyenty-eighth 
 
 Peace, like a presence, reigns 
 O'er all the hills infold ; the dwellers in 
 
 God's vast and silent plains 
 Hear His still voice, unbroken by the din 
 
 Of echoing steps that beat. 
 Like pattering rain, the city's crowded streets. 
 
 David B. Arnell ("Rural Hymn"). 
 
 March tvyenty-ninth 
 
 How sweet the feeling that enshrouds the heart 
 Whene'er doth softly fall the voice of Hope ! 
 
 Josie F. Capjjleman ("Hope"). 
 
 [45] 
 
March thirtieth 
 
 I love thee, oh ! I love thee, 
 
 As the sweet bee loves the flower, 
 As the swallow loves the summer, 
 
 And the humming-bird the bower ; 
 As the petrel loves the ocean. 
 
 As the nightingale the night ; 
 I love, I love thee, dearest ! 
 
 Thou being good and bright. 
 
 James A. Bartley {"Love Song"). 
 
 March thirty-first 
 
 The soul hath ties in the mountain breeze, 
 
 In the charms of a summer sky ; 
 In wandering along 'neath budding trees 
 
 By the light of a laughing eye ; 
 Or living in isle of Indian seas, 
 
 Where perfumes wanton by. 
 
 Thomas Semmes {"Ties"). 
 
 [46| 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 April first 
 
 Spring with that nameless pathos in the air 
 
 Which dwells with all things fair, 
 
 Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain. 
 
 Is with us once again. 
 
 Henry Timrod ("Spring"). 
 
 April second 
 
 Now Spring is here and all the world is white, 
 
 I will go forth, and where the forest robes 
 Itself in green, and every hill and height 
 
 Crowns its fair head with blossoms, — spirit globes 
 Of hyacinth and crocus dashed with dew, — 
 
 I will forget my grief, 
 And thee, O Sorrow, gazing on the blue, 
 
 Beneath a last year's leaf, 
 Of some brief violet the south wind woos, 
 
 Or bluet whence the west winds rake the snows; 
 The baby eyes of love, the darling hues 
 
 Of happiness, that thou canst never know, 
 O child of pain and woe. 
 
 Madison Cawein ("To Sorrow"). 
 
 [47] 
 
<yiYea.rBodk.§f 
 
 April third 
 
 Recalling thee, I come, 
 To the deep silent hours ; 
 To a lost land of flowers 
 
 My heart retumeth home. 
 
 A. H. Butledge {"To Recall"). 
 
 April fourth 
 
 I list to the roar of the rising tide, 
 
 As it breaks on the beach in its crested pride. 
 
 I drink in the balm of the sunlit breeze, 
 
 As it rustles and stirs in the old palm trees. 
 
 And oh ! my heart, it seems to me, 
 
 We've won our peace from the shining sea. 
 
 Nannie M, Durant {"Isle of Palms"). 
 
 [48] 
 
Souther rv Poets 
 
 April fifth 
 
 And the stars in their beauty were shining above 
 
 From the fields of the limitless sky ; 
 And the zephyrs came whispering whispers of love 
 
 As soft as the breath of a sigh. 
 
 Hu Maxwell {"Afar"). 
 
 April sixth 
 
 Dusk, and with Hesper, 
 
 South wind thou wakest ! 
 With wooing and whisper, 
 
 Green leaves thou shakest! 
 In the hush of the sunset hour. 
 In the blush of the virgin flower. 
 In the bright sun flush, in the soft shower, 
 
 Sweet South thou wakest! 
 
 William O. Simms ("Dusk, and with Hesper"). 
 
 [49] 
 
o4 Year Book g/* 
 
 April seventh 
 
 Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast 
 
 As yon red rose, and dare the day, 
 
 All clean and large and calm with velvet rest? 
 
 Say yea — say yea. 
 
 Sidney Lanier ("Rose-Morals"). 
 
 April eighth 
 
 A glorious change has come to pass; 
 
 And April sky is overhead ; 
 A glistening emerald tints the grass, 
 
 And flowers are rising from the dead. 
 
 Blush-tinted petals of the new 
 Peach-blossoms lend a rosy hue 
 To fields that widen on the view. 
 
 To where — withdrawn into a mist 
 
 Of crimson haze and amethyst — 
 The sky puts off its living blue. 
 
 Theophilus H. Hill {"The Sabbath of the Spring"). 
 
 [50} 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 April ninth 
 
 I know, I know, 
 
 Where zephyrs blow. 
 And the teaming turf upheaves; 
 
 Our Mother Earth 
 
 Is giving birth 
 To violets under the leaves. 
 
 Silent and shy, 
 
 No human eye 
 Will discover her charm I ween; 
 
 The full-blown rose 
 
 In secret grows, 
 And bursts from buds unseen. 
 
 Margaret I. Weber {"Carol at Sunset"). 
 
 April tenth 
 
 Not understood, O oft-repeated tale ! 
 
 Echoing through the dim corridors of time. 
 Comes back the murmur, the low, plaintive wail, 
 Borne on yet cursed by life's blighting rime. 
 Not understood. 
 
 Anna Venable Koiner {"Not Understood"). 
 
 [51] 
 
April eleventh 
 
 Last night I wandered in dreamland 
 In the star-lighted dusk and the dew : 
 
 And I met where the sunshine lay whitest 
 O'er the valleys a vision of you ; 
 
 Your cold hand was laden with lilies, 
 
 On your breasts there were roses and rue ; 
 
 And your eyes were adroop with a sorrow unspoken 
 
 For the dreams that never come true. 
 
 James Lindsay Oordon {"For Music"). 
 
 April twelfth 
 
 Ere yet the earliest warbler wakes 
 
 Of coming spring to tell, 
 From every marsh a chorus breaks — 
 
 A choir invisible — 
 
 As though the blossoms underground 
 
 A breath of utterance had found. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"Meadow Frogs"). 
 
 [52] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 April thirteenth 
 
 The past and future join their happy hands 
 Across the shining present. 
 
 William H. Holcombe ("Listening"). 
 
 April fourteenth 
 
 Come and listen to the cooing and the wooing of the 
 
 dove, 
 As she sighs her plaintive burden through the shady 
 evening grove, 
 And the mellow notes go floating 
 To the sunbeams which are sporting 
 
 Far above. 
 All the drowsy land seems listening 
 E'en the breezes cease their whistling, 
 As her tiny throat is glistening 
 With its love; 
 And the fleecy clouds go sailing through the sky, 
 And they listen to her wailing from on high, 
 And the ripples on the river 
 Seem in ecstasy to shiver, 
 As the evening breezes quiver 
 To her sigh. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"The Dove"). 
 
 [53] 
 
c4^ar Book<g/* 
 
 April fifteenth 
 
 A mocking-bird on quivering wings 
 
 Floats up the woodland ways, 
 And, glad with me, he soars and sings 
 
 Our song of praise. 
 
 Carlyle McKinley ("Sapelo"). 
 
 April sixteenth 
 
 The thrush and robin sing their lay,- — 
 The sea-gull soars above the spray, 
 And distant, o'er the silvery bay 
 
 Fleet sails are going. 
 On every zephyr's breath a strain 
 Comes, borne from rustling fields of grain ; 
 And out upon the verdant plain 
 
 The herds are lowing. 
 
 Anon {"Lines to My Father"). 
 
 [fi4] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 April seventeenth 
 
 Come listen — Oh hark ! to that soft dying strain 
 Of my Mocking-bird, up on the housetop again ; 
 She comes every night to these old ruined walls, 
 Where soft as the moonlight, her melody falls, 
 Oh, what can the bulbul or nightingale chant, 
 In the chimes which they love and the groves which they 
 
 haunt. 
 More thrilling and wild, than the songs I have heard. 
 In the stillness of night, from my sweet Mocking-bird — 
 Carter London {"The Mocking Bird"). 
 
 April eighteenth 
 
 For me there is no time, no space, no depth. 
 No love, no hate, no passionate despair. 
 
 I face my destiny — to what has been 
 And will be, I am heir. 
 
 Ellen Glasgow {"The Mountain Pine"). 
 
 [«] 
 
cA Year Book ^ 
 
 April nineteenth 
 
 Love, in Heaven's tongue, means immortality 
 
 Of youth and joy. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne ("Frida and Her Poet"). 
 Love to his own self is sometimes coy. 
 
 Henry Timrod ("A Southern Winter Night"). 
 
 April twentieth 
 
 A dream in fragrant silence wrought, 
 A blossoming of petaled thought, 
 A passion of these April days, — 
 A blush of Nature now betrays. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"Peach Blossom"). 
 
 April twenty-first 
 
 O violets ! fling 
 
 The breath of spring 
 With lavish waste along her way ; 
 
 Roses distil 
 
 Your sweets, and spill 
 Their rareness round her Wedding Day. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"Her Wedding-Song"). 
 
 [56] 
 
Souther lb Poets 
 
 April twenty-second 
 
 Enshrined in laurel rustlings and perfume 
 
 Of myrtle and of pine ; 
 
 Burning in mystic beauty, half concealed 
 
 In odorous dusks that are too sweet for gloom, 
 
 Thou, Yellow Jessamine, 
 
 By thy own fragrance art revealed- 
 
 A. H. But ledge {"A Jesssamine"). 
 
 April twenty-third 
 
 They are all raving mad except you, dear, and me; 
 
 Their dollars bar them out of pleasures that we 
 
 Make an every-day part of our lives, yours and mine ; 
 
 We ramble afield, and, where glory-vines twine. 
 
 We sit ; and the river slips by at our feet. 
 
 And your eyes laugh to mine, and I think, dear, how 
 
 sweet 
 The world is and you are, and, dear, I'm so glad 
 That we see the world right and that we are not mad ! 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis {"Sane"). 
 
 [57] 
 
c4 Year Book ^ 
 
 April twenty-fourth 
 
 A wild flower out of the wild wood, 
 
 Too wild for even a name ; 
 As strange and as simple as childhood, 
 
 And wayward, yet sweet all the same. 
 
 Father Ryan {"Sorrow and the Flowers"). 
 
 April twenty-fifth 
 
 The night has come, and I will glide 
 
 O'er sleep's hushed wave the while, 
 In dreams to wander by thy side 
 
 Through that enchanting isle. 
 For, in the dark, my fancy seems 
 
 As full of witching spells 
 As yon blue sky of starry beams. 
 
 Or ocean-depths of shells. 
 
 Rose Vertner Johnson ("The Night Has Come"). 
 
 [58] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 April twenty-sixth 
 
 Bright are the blossom-tinted hills 
 
 In violet and cerulean lights; 
 Into the vale a luster spills 
 From fervent heights. 
 
 /. H. Boner {"Ballad of an Old Pine"). 
 
 April tvyenty-seventh 
 
 All Nature woke! — woke with a smile — 
 As tho' the morning's golden gleam 
 Had broken some enchanting dream, 
 But left its soft impression still 
 On lofty peak and dancing rill. 
 
 James B. Hope {"A Story of the Caracas Valley"). 
 
 [59] 
 
April twenty-eighth 
 
 And boyhood is a summer sun 
 
 Whose waning is the dreariest one — 
 
 For all we live to know is known 
 
 And all we seek to keep is flown — 
 
 Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall 
 
 With the noon-day beauty — which is all. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe ("Tamerlane"). 
 
 April twenty-ninth 
 
 My chile? Lord no, she's none o' mine. 
 She's des one I have tried 
 To put in place of Anna Jane — 
 My little one what died. 
 
 As soon as it outgrows my chile 
 I lets it go right straight — 
 An' takes another in its place 
 To match de Heabenly mate. 
 
 Howard Weeden {"The Borrowed Child"). 
 
 [60] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 April thirtieth 
 
 O, Love, ye are potent on earth, 
 
 0, Love, ye are boundless above. 
 All of rapture we know or we dream 
 
 Flows from thee, thou immortal, O, Love. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman {"A June Fancy"). 
 
 May first 
 
 I made my soul a song for her singing. 
 
 What time the gloaming was yellow with May, 
 
 And the whispering harebells, their curfew ringing. 
 Swelled the dirge of the dying day ; 
 
 And out of the depths of the spirit's passion 
 Love, the great master, touched the keys. 
 
 Barton Gray {"Out of the Depths"), 
 
 [61] 
 
cA Yesir Book §f 
 
 May second 
 
 Often from the whispering hills, 
 
 Borne from out the golden dusk, — 
 
 Gold with gold of daffodils, — 
 Thrilled into the garden's musk 
 
 The wild wail of whippoorwills. 
 
 Madison Cawein {"The Farmstead"). 
 
 May third 
 
 The breeze is singing a joy-song 
 
 Over the sea to-day ; 
 The storm is dead and the waves are red 
 
 With the flush of the morning's ray. 
 
 Father Ryan {"Wrecked"). 
 
 [62] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 May fourth 
 
 'Tis the part of a coward to brood 
 
 O'er the past that is withered and dead: 
 
 What though the heart's roses are ashes and dust? 
 What though the heart's music be fled ? 
 Still shine the grand heavens o'erhead, 
 
 Whence the voice from an angel thrills clear on the soul, 
 
 "Gird about thee thine armor, pass on to the goal !" 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"Lyric of Action"). 
 
 May fifth 
 
 Lo, the Blossom to the Bee 
 
 Yields not more than thou to me — 
 
 Food for love to live upon 
 
 When the summer days are gone, 
 
 Poorer than they came, to find 
 
 What was sweetest, left behind. 
 
 John B. Tabh {"Memory"). 
 
 [63] 
 
o4 Yesir Book §f 
 
 May sixth 
 
 To mountains hoar and russet plain, 
 A joyous sprite I come again ; 
 With many a sweet and joyous strain, 
 And break grim winter's icy chain. 
 
 James A. Bartley {"The Song of May"). 
 
 May seventh 
 
 No hvelier song was ever heard 
 Than the notes of the southern Mocking-bird 
 When leaf and blossom are wet with dew 
 And the wind breathes low the long night through. 
 O music for grief! It comes like a song 
 From a voice in the stars ; and all night long 
 The notes flow. But you must live in the South 
 Where the clear moon kisses with large, cool mouth 
 The land she loves, in the secret of night. 
 To hear such music — the Soul— delight 
 Of the Moon-Loved Land. 
 
 J. H. Boner {"The Moon-Loved Land"). 
 
 [64] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 May eighth 
 
 White of the hawthorn, green of the budding tree, 
 
 Soft on the air the sorrow of spring ; 
 
 Glamor of sunht waters murmuring 
 Ineffable melodies of the morning sea ; 
 Perfume of violets over lawn and lea 
 
 Poignant with memory ; golden throats that sing 
 
 High up in heaven the golden notes that bring 
 The ghosts of mj old love dreams back to me. 
 
 Shadows and shapes of hopes yet unfulfilled, — 
 
 Midnights and morns through whose long hours were 
 spilled 
 The dreams that make divine the years of youth, — 
 
 Wherein all pure and passionate fancies stir 
 
 Ever about the imaged body of her 
 Whose face is beauty and whose soul is truth. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"Old Love Dreams"). 
 
 May ninth 
 
 There is a solemn stillness in the hour 
 
 Of midnight, when all nature's hushed to calm, 
 
 And she, and her rich beauties, voiceless pour 
 Upon the glowing soul their holy balm. 
 
 Thomas Semmes ("Love"). 
 
 [65] 
 
o4 Year Book # 
 
 May tenth 
 
 Back to my own green hills once more, 
 Back to my own bright sunny plains ; 
 
 Back to sweet freedom's glorious shore, 
 
 To catch once more her thrilling strains ! 
 How leaps the warm tide in my veins, 
 
 As back to thee my wild thoughts fly, 
 
 While standing 'neath a foreign sky ! 
 
 John C. McCabe {"The Homeward Bound"). 
 
 May eleventh 
 
 Hush, sweetest South, I love thy delicate breath. 
 
 Henry Timrod {"A Southern Winter Night"), 
 
 "Thou knowest the violets hoard their odors best 
 In the night absence of their lord, the sun." 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"Alcyoni"). 
 
 [66] 
 
Southertb Poets 
 
 May twelfth 
 
 A rosebud unfolded its leaves to the view, 
 All crimson with beauty, all silvered with dew, 
 Like a soul which has fallen from happier spheres, 
 Yet smiling with hope through its penitent tears. 
 
 William H, Uolcombe {"Rosebud and Sunshine"). 
 
 May thirteenth 
 
 He's yours and mine, is Robert Lee, 
 
 He's yours and mine. Hurrah ! 
 These tears you shed have sealed the past, 
 
 And closed the wounds of war ! 
 Thus clasping hands, Old Blue Coat, 
 
 We'll swear by the tears you weep. 
 The sounds of war shall be muffled — 
 
 "Marse Robert is asleep !" 
 
 Miss S. B. Valentine {"Marse Robert Is Asleep"). 
 
 [67] 
 
aAYeSir Book, gf 
 
 May fourteenth 
 
 As one who in the hush of twihght hears 
 
 The pausing pulse of Nature, when the Light 
 Commingles in the dim mysterious rite 
 
 Of darkness with the mutual pledge of tears, 
 
 Till, soft, anon, one timorous star appears, 
 Pale — budding as the earliest blossom white 
 That comes in Winter's livery bedight. 
 
 To hide the gift of genial Spring she bears, — 
 
 So, unto me — what time the mysteries 
 
 Of consciousness and slumber weave a dream 
 And pause above it with bated breath, 
 Like intervals in music— lights arise, 
 
 Beyond prophetic Nature's furthest gleam. 
 That teach me half the mystery of Death. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"Glimpses"). 
 
 May fifteenth 
 
 Ah, hold me fast! what of the day.? 
 
 I care not if the sun be dead, 
 Nor if the stars be gold or gray. 
 
 Nay though the rising moon be red, 
 Our dawn is here, our night is past. 
 The world may fade — ^but hold me fast! 
 
 Ellen Glasgow {"Reunion"). 
 
 [68] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 May sixteenth 
 
 Life is spirit — and life is force — 
 
 As water rises to its source, 
 
 So upward springing to the skies, 
 
 Life still lives and never dies. 
 
 'Tis just the bloom that fades or dies — 
 
 The seed finds wings and onward flies — 
 
 Samuel H. Newberry {"Life"). 
 
 May seventeenth 
 
 Over the dreamy purple hills 
 
 My grief worn soul would fly, 
 Where peace her dewy draught distills 
 
 Under a quiet sky ; 
 There, where the gentle stars in love 
 
 The gates of rest unbar — 
 Where slumber nestles as a dove. 
 
 Over the hills afar. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"Over the Hills"). 
 
 [69] 
 
qA Year Book gf 
 
 May eighteenth 
 
 Vanish the day with sorrow gray, 
 
 Smile earth and sky and sea, 
 What time her witching fingers sway 
 
 The magic keys for me. 
 
 Armistead C. Gordon {"On the Sea"). 
 
 May nineteenth 
 
 But through my open window far away 
 
 Beyond the utmost reach of traffic's sway, 
 
 Into eternal silences I gaze ; 
 
 Infinitude of peace and patience stays 
 
 Upon those heights, that man may know the will 
 
 Of Him who calms the waves with, "Peace be still." 
 
 Waitman Barhe {"Eternal Silence"). 
 
 [70] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 May twentieth 
 
 'Tis now, 'twixt the daylight and darkness 
 
 The world seems the farthest away, 
 And a conjurer's wand dipped in Lethe 
 
 Transforms all the cares of the day. 
 'Tis now, when the pansy-eyed twilight 
 
 From the mystical garden of rue. 
 Gives her portion for rest and forgetting 
 
 'Tis now, Love, I'm nearest to you. 
 
 Annah R. Watson {"At Eventide"). 
 
 May twenty-first 
 
 One slippered foot, flushed as the blossoming trees, 
 Is thrust, half -naked, in the bloom and spray 
 Of orchards, where throughout the dreamy day 
 The sunshine glints the wings of weaving bees. 
 And all her children, music-mad, do touch their thousand 
 keys. 
 
 J. Trotwood Moore ("To the Spirit of May"). 
 
 [71] 
 
o4^ar Book^ 
 
 May twenty-second 
 
 Your hand in mine at the day's decline, 
 
 Your eyes to mine uphfted, 
 And face to face with a lilting pace, 
 
 Be the clouds banked dark or rifted. 
 We'll take our way through the glad to-day 
 
 With hearts too glad for sighing; 
 Oh, the time that's here is glad with cheer, 
 
 Though the day be dying, dying. 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis {"To-day"). 
 
 May twenty-third 
 
 Hark ! as rises now the moon, 
 
 And the star of day declines. 
 Soaring with night's growing noon ; 
 
 Hark ! along yon mount of pines, 
 Slowly sweet, the memories rise, 
 
 As of spirit born to sing 
 Of the loves of earth and skies, 
 
 In the coming of the spring — 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 William O. Simms ("Woodland Vespers"). 
 
 [72] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 May twenty-fourth 
 
 I stood beneath those sounding purple spires 
 As down the pathway of her solemn light 
 The moon descended. 
 
 A. H. Rutledge ("Under the Pines"). 
 
 May twenty-fifth 
 
 Yes — oft will memory call a tear, 
 When laughter sparkles in the eye; 
 
 Oft lurks a heart oppress'd with care, 
 Beneath the mask of thoughtless joy. 
 
 Mrs. Little foi-d ("On Remembrance"). 
 
 May twenty-sixth 
 
 Defeat and failure bring no shame to those 
 Who choose to die as free, not live as slaves ; 
 
 Honors fall on them from their very foes. 
 
 And Freedom guards, with pious trust, their graves. 
 
 Fannie H. Marr ("Virginia"). 
 
 [73] 
 
o4^ar Book^ 
 
 May twenty-seventh 
 
 Of course I'll gladly give de rule 
 I mek beaten-biscuits by, 
 Dough I ain't sure dat you will mek 
 Dat bread de same as I. 
 
 'Case cooking's like religion is — 
 Some's 'lected, an' some ain't, 
 An' rules don't no more mek a cook 
 Dan sermons mek a saint. 
 
 Howard Weeden {"Beaten Biscuits"). 
 
 May twenty-eighth 
 
 Along the wilds, and feather-winnow'd air, 
 
 In animating undulations flow'd 
 
 The sweetly modulated songs of Spring. 
 
 Daniel Bryan {"The Adventures of Daniel Boone"). 
 
 [74] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 May twenty-ninth 
 
 But, oh, how dim are suns and stars 
 Seen through a mist of tears ! 
 
 How dull the happy sounds of earth 
 
 To sorrow-deafened ears ! 
 Love, at thy shrine three costly gifts 
 
 I offer as we part, 
 A withered hope, a trust betrayed, 
 And last — a broken heart. 
 
 Mary Coles Carrington ("Song"). 
 
 May thirtieth 
 
 Much I have pondered what our lives may mean. 
 
 And what their best endeavor, 
 Seeing we may not come again to glean. 
 
 But losing, lose forever. 
 
 John C. McNeill ("Recompense"). 
 
 [75] 
 
c4 Yesir Book gf 
 
 May thirty-first 
 
 The air is laden with rich perfume, 
 Borne from the spot where the roses bloom, 
 And in the rajs of the soft moonlight, 
 The dewdrops glisten, like diamonds bright. 
 
 Time passes on, and a withered bough 
 Is all that remains of beauty now; 
 For fragrance and bloom will soon decay. 
 And mortals, like roses, fade away. 
 
 Anon. {"Roses"). 
 
 June first 
 
 O braided dusks of the oaks and woven shades of the 
 
 vine 
 While the riotous noon-day sun of the June-day long did 
 
 shine 
 Ye held me fast in your arms and I held you fast in 
 
 mine. 
 
 Sidney Lanier {"The Marshes of Glynn"). 
 
 [76] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 June second 
 
 Oh! sweet and soft, 
 Returning oft, 
 As oft thej pass benignly. 
 The warm June breezes come and go. 
 Through golden rounds of murmurous flow 
 At length to sigh 
 Wax faint and die 
 Far down the panting primrose sky 
 Divinely. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"The Breezes of June"). 
 
 June third 
 
 And when in wild or thoughtless hours, 
 My hand hath crushed the tiniest flowers, 
 * * * * * 
 
 Little angel-flowers with wings 
 
 Would haunt me through the night. 
 
 Henry Timrod ("Flower-life"). 
 
 [77] 
 
o4 "Year Book gf 
 
 June fourth 
 
 There are many fair things in this life to love — 
 There are sweets from the earth and sweets from above — 
 I have tasted of all ; but my heart whispers this : 
 There is nothing so sweet as a baby-kiss. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman {"A Baby-kiss"). 
 
 June fifth 
 
 Through the still hush of the night 
 
 Where the far, white star-beams bum, 
 Up toward the fading light 
 
 In the last dim watch I yearn ; 
 All earth's dreams are dead in me, 
 
 As long since earth's hopes have died; 
 
 "Lord, forever at Thy side 
 Let my place and portion be." 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"At the Sunrise Watch"). 
 
 [78] 
 
Southern; Poet§ 
 
 June sixth 
 
 Every murmur around dies into my dream, 
 Save only the song of a sylvan stream. 
 Whose burden set in a somnolent tune, 
 Has lulled the whispering leaves of June. 
 
 Theophilus U. Hill {"Ideal Siesta"). 
 
 June seventh 
 
 Mimic of the South — shy warbler, 
 Hast thou caught the firefly's glow 
 In the sparkle of thy flow. 
 Or gathered from the sunset's bow 
 Thy shafts of rhapsody? 
 
 Magnolia blossoms in the breeze — 
 
 Art thou singing now of these. 
 
 While filling heaven's purple frieze 
 With incense musical? 
 
 Trotwood Moore {"To a Mocking-hird in the Pine-top"). 
 
 [79] 
 
od'Year Book(g/' 
 
 June eighth 
 
 He stood beneath the starlight, and hope was on his 
 forehead, 
 And all his life was breathed upon with passionate de- 
 light; 
 And all things to his vision had a golden glory borrowed. 
 And angel whispers floated through the stillness of the 
 night. 
 
 Barton Gray {"A Lost Love"). 
 
 June ninth 
 
 Amber-belted through the night 
 
 Swings the alabaster moon. 
 Like a big magnolia white 
 
 On the fragrant heart of June. 
 
 Madison Caicein ("Creole Serenade"). 
 
 [80] 
 
Souther rv Poeta 
 
 June tenth 
 
 We thought they slept! — the sons who kept 
 
 The names of noble sires, 
 And slumbered while the darkness crept 
 
 Around their vigil-fires ; 
 But, aye, the "Golden Horseshoe" knights 
 
 Their old dominion keep, 
 Whose foes have found enchanted ground. 
 
 But not a knight asleep ! 
 
 Frank O. Ticknor (^"The Virginians of the Valley"). 
 
 June eleventh 
 
 Oh seek a pleasant valley 
 
 When thy heart is full of care. 
 And a forest where the lulling wave 
 
 Can ripple in the ear ; 
 The freshness and the silence 
 
 And the beauty will impart 
 Their balm unto thy fretted thought. 
 
 Their peace unto thy heart. 
 
 William U. Holcombe ("Nature Consoling"). 
 
 [81] 
 
cA Year Book ^ 
 
 June twelfth 
 
 In all the trees — amid the flowers — 
 
 They hide and sing and sing, 
 The world seems full of birds and flowers 
 
 Wake up my heart, 'tis Spring. 
 
 Carlyle McKinley ("In Spring"). 
 
 June thirteenth 
 
 Unto the hills I mount and see 
 
 The vultures of the mountains flee ; 
 
 My failing eyes I backward cast 
 
 To glean the harvest of the past. 
 
 My tottering feet have paused alone 
 
 Before the barriers of the known — 
 
 For onward still, through wrong and ruth, 
 
 I fare — a hunter of the truth. 
 
 Ellen Glasgow ("A Hunter"). 
 
 [82] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 June fourteenth 
 
 Perfume shed by garden rose 
 Ne'er to memory seems so sweet 
 
 As this that by the roadside glows, 
 Brushed in passing by my feet. 
 
 Nannie M. Durant {"Rose O' the Road"). 
 
 June fifteenth 
 
 Mix with action when thine anguish is too great for thee 
 
 to bear ; 
 
 Mingle tumult with existence — flood thy life and drown 
 
 thy care. 
 
 Hu Maxwell {"The Bandit's Bride"). 
 
 June sixteenth 
 
 Love's the lover's only magic, 
 
 Truth the very subtlest art ; 
 Love that feigns and lips that flatter. 
 
 Win no modest heart. 
 
 Henry Timrod {"The Lily Confidante"). 
 
 [83] 
 
cA Year Book (g/* 
 
 June seventeenth 
 
 Dance to the beat of the rain, little fern, 
 And spread out your palms again, 
 
 And say, "Tho' the sun 
 
 Hath my vesture spun, 
 He hath labored, alas, in vain. 
 
 But for the shade 
 
 That the cloud hath made, 
 And the gift of the Dew and the Rain." 
 
 Then laugh and upturn 
 
 All your fronds, little fern, 
 And rejoice in the beat of the rain! 
 
 John B. Tabb {"Fern Song"). 
 
 June eighteenth 
 
 It is enough : I feel this golden morn. 
 As if a royal appanage were mine. 
 Through Nature's queenly warrant of divine 
 
 Investiture. What princess, palace-born. 
 
 Hath right of rapture more, when skies adorn 
 Themselves so grandly? — the air exalts the wine? 
 
 When pearly purples steep the yellowing com? 
 
 Margaret J. Preston ("Moods") . 
 
 [84] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 June nineteenth 
 
 In the stillness of the starlight 
 
 Thou art resting on the billows — 
 On the waters, while afar, night smiles to see 
 That thy tiny leaves are tangled 
 
 In the wave which softly pillows, 
 And thy silent bed is spangled bright and free. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley ("To a Bayou Lily"). 
 June twentieth 
 
 They come as the breezes come over the foam, 
 
 Waking the waves that are sinking to sleep — 
 The fairest of memories from far-away home. 
 The dim dreams of faces beyond the dark deep. 
 
 Father Ryan {"Memories"). 
 June twenty-first 
 
 From the distant tropic strand, 
 Where the billows, bright and bland. 
 Go creeping curling round the palms with sweet faint 
 undertunes 
 From its field of purpling flowers 
 Still wet with fragrant showers, 
 The happy South Wind lingering sweeps the royal 
 blooms of June. 
 
 Paul U. Hayne {"A Dream of the South Wind"). 
 
 [85] 
 
o4 Year Book g/" 
 
 June twenty-second 
 
 If 'tis madness to think in the spring and dew, 
 
 And the brown, sun-parched noon-time of summer, of 
 
 you; 
 To compare with your laugh every song of a bird. 
 With your voice every whisper when branches are stirred 
 By the South's perfumed breeze, then, dear, I am glad 
 For this madness of loving — am glad I am mad ! 
 For the birds' songs are sweeter, the torrent's far call 
 Is sweeter and clearer and dearer, and all 
 Of the world, dear, is changed, like a gem washed in dew, 
 And heaven is nearer, dear, since I love you ; 
 For this madness of loving I'm thankful again, 
 God bless you and keep you, and keep me insane ! 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis {"Mad"). 
 
 June twenty-third 
 
 With locks of gold to-day ; 
 
 To-morrow silver gray ; 
 
 Then blossom-bald. Behold, 
 
 O man thy fortune told ! 
 
 John B. Tabb {"The Dandelion"). 
 
 [86] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 June twenty-fourth 
 
 To-morrow ! to-morrow ! oh, where shall I be? 
 
 My heart has been light while its home was with thee! 
 
 And still its warm pulse shall bound lightly as air, 
 
 For wherever I wander its home shall be there ! 
 
 And while it is absent, with thee, from my breast, 
 
 Its place by the presence of thine shall be blest ; 
 
 And thine, in each throb, there will whisper of thee ! 
 
 To-morrow! to-morrow! oh, where shall I be? 
 
 B. W. Huntington {"Parting Song"). 
 
 June twenty-fifth 
 
 Never was day more cloudless in the sky — 
 
 Never the earth more beautiful in view : 
 Rose-crowned the mountain summits gathered high. 
 
 And the green forests shared the purple hue ; 
 
 Midway the little pyramids all blue. 
 Stood robed for ceremonial, as the sun 
 
 Rose gradual in his grandeur, till he grew 
 Their god, and sovereign elevation won. 
 Lighting the loftiest towers as at a service done. 
 
 William G. Simms {"The Mountain Winds"). 
 
 [87] 
 
o4 Year Book sf 
 
 June twenty-sixth 
 
 A fig for the fans that are made nowadays, 
 
 Suited only to frivolous mirth ! 
 A different thing was the fan that I praise, 
 
 Yet it scorned not the good things of earth. 
 At bees and at quiltings 'twas aj^e to be seen ; 
 
 The best of the gossip began 
 When in at the doorway had entered serene 
 
 My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. 
 Samuel Minturn Peck {"My Grandmother's Turkey-Tail Fan"). 
 
 June twenty-seventh 
 
 Young flowers were whispering in melody 
 To happy flowers that night — and tree to tree ; 
 Fountains were gushing music as the}' fell 
 In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell ; 
 Yet silence came upon material things — 
 Fair flowers, bright waterfalls, and angel wings — 
 And sounds alone that from the spirit sprang 
 Bore burden to the charm the maiden sang. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe {"Al Aaraaf"). 
 
 [88] 
 
Souther rv Poets 
 
 June twenty-eighth 
 
 O hearts, beat warmer — warmer! 
 
 The storms of hf e are chill ; 
 With the sunlight of affection 
 
 The darkened bosom fill. 
 You know not all the burdens 
 
 Which shackle other Hves, 
 The daily cares and crosses 
 
 With which the spirit strives. 
 
 Anna Venable Koiner ("Heart Throbs"). 
 
 June twenty-ninth 
 
 Thy joyousness is like the glow 
 
 Of the sunbeams on the sea, 
 As they sparkle to and fro. 
 Laughingly, laughingly — 
 But beneath the caverns deep 
 Calm and still the waters sleep ; 
 Far too mighty and profound 
 For flashing hght — for rippling sound — 
 
 Thus my soul lies calm forever — 
 Silent in its deep emotion, 
 Hushed as to a still devotion. 
 
 Susan A. Talley {"The Spirit of Poesy"). 
 
 [89] 
 
cA Year Book ^ 
 
 June thirtieth 
 
 Where sweep the wanton zephyrs with a slow 
 And gentle motion o'er the waving grass, 
 That moves beneath it as a thing of life ; 
 Where bend the wild flowers to its lambent kiss, 
 Hanging their heads and blushing as a girl 
 When her heart's idol whispers in her ear ; 
 Where the pink clover blossoms peep from out 
 The rich green leaves that half conceal their hue, 
 Like sprigs of coral in a Nereid's hair ; 
 I'll walk alone and think of thee, my love. 
 
 Thomas Semmes {"To Isabel"). 
 
 [90] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 July first 
 
 Zephyrs of light have shaken 
 
 From off their golden wings, 
 Odors, but lately taken 
 
 From the depths of Sonora's springs. 
 Tampa's flowers have given 
 
 Sweets, that, even as they fall, 
 Make us still fancy that heaven 
 
 Hath somewhere a blessing for all ! 
 Oh ! moments wing'd and gilded, 
 
 Ye will all too soon have passed: 
 Souls of Love, be yielded. 
 
 Now while your raptures last. 
 
 William O. Simms {"Songs Be Ours"). 
 
 July second 
 
 To-day the woods are trembling through and through 
 With shimmering forms, that flash before my view, 
 Then melt in green as dawn-stars melt in blue. 
 
 Sidney Lanier ("Corn"). 
 
 [91] 
 
July third 
 
 Out from the bay this summer day, 
 
 From corroding care we race ; 
 We sail away in sun and spray, 
 
 That bronze each happy face; 
 Potent as wine the bracing brine. 
 
 And as Vikings free are we ; 
 Almost divine the joy of thine, 
 
 O, sovereign, sunlit sea. 
 
 Bev. P. L. Dufy ("Yachting"). 
 
 July fourth 
 
 America ! all hail the name — 
 
 Chiming down the passing ages ; 
 Whose march shall win the proudest fame, 
 
 Blazon'd on time's gilded pages. 
 
 It is her mission to be free 
 
 And lead the way for human freedom ; 
 To stretch her arms beyond the sea 
 
 And gather in the lost of Eden. 
 Samuel H. Newberry ("America! All Hail the Name"). 
 
 [92] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 July fifth 
 
 Deep buried in the forest was a nook 
 
 Remote and quiet as its quiet skies; 
 
 ***** 
 
 Dark oaks and fluted chestnuts gathering round, 
 Pillared and greenly domed a sloping mound. 
 
 Henry Timrod {"A Vision of Poesy"). 
 
 July sixth 
 
 He sang a song, a little song 
 
 No other poet knew ; 
 And she looked up and thought him strong, 
 
 Looked down and dreamed him true. 
 
 Barton Gray ("First and Last"). 
 
 [93] 
 
o4 Year Book §f 
 
 July seventh 
 
 Magnolias bright with glossy leaves and flowers, 
 Fragrant as Eden in its happiest hours ; 
 The gloomy cypress towering to the skies, 
 The maple, loveliest in autumnal dyes, 
 The palm armorial, with its tufted head. 
 Vines over all in wild luxuriance spread. 
 And columned pines, a mystic wood he sees. 
 That sigh and whisper to the passing breeze. 
 
 William J. Grayson {"The Hireling and the Slave"). 
 
 July eighth 
 
 'Twas yesterday we stood, glad in the dawn 
 
 Of the love-mystic land; 
 To-morrow shall we turn and face the West : 
 
 Silently, hand in hand. 
 
 A. H. Butledge {"To-morrow"). 
 
 [94] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 July ninth 
 
 Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day's 
 Too fervid kisses ; every bud that drinks 
 
 The tipsy dew and to the star-light plays 
 
 Nocturnes of fragrance, thy wing'd shadow links 
 
 In bonds of sweet brotherhood and faith ; 
 O bearer of their order's shibboleth, 
 Like some pale symbol fluttering o'er these pinks. 
 
 Madison Cawein {"A Twilight Moth"). 
 
 July tenth 
 
 In a vanished year was it not here wbere the flowering 
 fields and the forest meet, 
 
 On a radiant day of a golden May to breathe whose sun- 
 shine seemed so sweet, — 
 
 Was it not here, O dear and dear, that I laid a life's love 
 at your feet? 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"Beyond Arvallon"). 
 
 [95] 
 
o4 Year Book ^ 
 
 July eleventh 
 
 Let the world roll blindly on ! 
 Give me shadow, give me sun, 
 And a perfumed eve as this is ; 
 
 Let me lie, 
 
 Dreamfully, 
 When the last quick sunbeams shiver 
 Spears of light athwart the river, 
 And a breeze which seems the sigh 
 Of a fairy floating by 
 
 Coyly kisses 
 Tender leaf and feathery grasses ; 
 Yet so soft its breathing passes. 
 These tall ferns just glimmering o'er me, 
 Blending goldenly before me 
 
 Hardly quiver. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"Dolce Far Niente"). 
 
 July tyyelfth 
 
 Ah! life is sweeter than we thought, 
 
 And sorrow softens, even. 
 As if our world had strayed somehow 
 
 A little nearer heaven. 
 
 Carlyle McKinley {"In Spring"). 
 
 [96] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 July thirteenth 
 
 Waiting for words — as on the broad expanse 
 Of heaven the formless vapors of the night 
 Expectant, wait on the oracle of light 
 
 Interpreting their dumb significance ; 
 
 Or like a star that in the morning glance 
 
 Shrinks, like a folding blossom, from the sight, 
 Nor wakens till upon the western height 
 
 The shadows to their evening towers advance — 
 
 So, in my soul, a dream ineffable, 
 
 Expectant of the sunshine or the shade. 
 Hath oft, upon the brink of twilight chill, 
 
 Or at the dawn's pale glimmering portal stayed 
 In tears, that all the quivering eyelids fill. 
 In smiles, that on the lips of silence fade. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"Unuttered"). 
 July fourteenth 
 
 The loftiest-soaring thoughts that ever find 
 Within our souls their transient nesting-place. 
 Elude most subtly the detaining grasp 
 Wherewith gross speech would hold them. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"The Unattained"). 
 
 [97] 
 
cA Year Book gf 
 
 July fifteenth 
 
 And now and then it surely seemed, 
 
 The little streams were laughing low, 
 
 As if their sleepy wavelets dreamed 
 Such dreams as only children know. 
 
 Father By an {"A Memory"). 
 
 July sixteenth 
 
 It has come! In its smile, see all nature rejoice! 
 
 It has come ! on the flower-gemmed hill 
 Its footsteps are heard, and its musical voice 
 
 May be caught in the murmuring rill. 
 It has come I o'er the earth waves its glorious wing ! 
 
 And Thy name, Gracious Father, we praise, 
 For the beauty, the gladness, the brightness of spring, 
 
 And rich blessings to gladden our days. 
 
 John C. McCabe ("Spring Time"). 
 
 [98] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 July seventeenth 
 
 O sea-breeze rising from the south 
 With shadowy feet upon the sea, 
 
 And fragrant kisses on thy mouth ! 
 
 Beloved one, bring some balm to me. 
 
 William H. Holcombe ("O Sea-Breeze!") 
 
 July eighteenth 
 
 Sleep softly, little sweetheart, sleep, 
 
 Night's silent lamps are gleaming, 
 May hovering angels shield and keep 
 
 Their gentle sister dreaming; 
 In rose's breast the dewdrops rest; 
 
 So, in thy bosom white, 
 May peace lie locked in slumber's arms — 
 
 My little love, good night. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley ("Good Night"). 
 
 [99] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 July nineteenth 
 
 Oh, the days of our boyhood ! the hght on the sea ! 
 The path 'neath the trees, and the dew-begemmed lea ! 
 And the mocking-bird somewhere as glad as can be ! 
 Oh, the days of our boyhood forever. 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis ("Mooning"). 
 
 July twentieth 
 
 O welcome wind that comes His gracious law fulfilling. 
 
 In you the brown bee hums, the skylark's song is thrill- 
 ing; 
 
 Voices of wood and fields your whispering voice dis- 
 closes, 
 
 And in your breath revealed I find the summer roses. 
 
 Mary Bradley {"Summer Wind"). 
 
 [100] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 July twenty-first 
 
 One word of silent prayer in earnest trust 
 
 Is worth eternity of soulless form, 
 And words without devotion. From the dust 
 
 A soul can be uplifted to the warm 
 And peaceful light of truth. We cannot thrust 
 
 Ourselves to heaven, nor stop the raging storm. 
 Another hand must guide us, and will guide. 
 The rest will come at last, though storm betide. 
 
 Hu Maxwell ("Nacimiento"), 
 
 July twenty-second 
 
 As from a distance hill and vale 
 
 Appear one level plain. 
 So to the eye of heaven may be 
 
 The great and small of men. 
 
 Fannie H. Marr {"Fidelis in Parvo"). 
 
 [101] 
 
cA Year Book g/" 
 
 July twenty-third 
 
 We never value while possessing, 
 
 But we crave a happier lot, 
 Hope holds out a future blessing 
 
 And the present's all forgot. 
 
 John Lewis {"Evening"). 
 
 July twenty-fourth 
 
 Earth that all too soon has bound him, 
 
 Gently wraps his clay ! 
 Linger lovingly around him 
 Light of dying day ! 
 
 Softly fall the summer showers, 
 Birds and bees among the flowers. 
 Make the gloom seem gay ! 
 
 John B. Thompson {"Ashby"). 
 
 [102] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 July twenty-fifth 
 
 O Sea reposeful, find I rest 
 Upon jour sympathetic breast; 
 
 O summer sea, 
 
 O whispering sea. 
 
 How much you comfort, comfort me, 
 How much one being you have blest ! 
 
 Josie P. Cappleman ("O Summer Sea"). 
 
 July twenty-sixth 
 
 The breeze — the breath of God — is still — 
 
 And the mist upon the hill 
 
 Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken 
 
 Is a symbol and a token. 
 
 How it hangs upon the trees, 
 
 A mystery of mysteries ! 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe ("Spirits of the Dead"). 
 
 [103] 
 
aA Year Book <§/* 
 
 July twenty-seventh 
 
 How redly glows the tropic sky ! 
 How hushed the distant waters lie ! 
 It seems as though a simoon's wing 
 Slept silently on everything. 
 The palms like weary eaglets droop, 
 See how my fragrant lilies stoop ; 
 Bereft of morning's lucid dew, 
 Like me they pine and languish too. 
 
 Julia Pleasants {"The Persian Bride"). 
 
 July twenty-eighth 
 
 The flowers are springing. 
 
 Like fairy things bright ; 
 And the young birds are singing 
 
 By fountains of light — 
 Then hail ! mirth and laughter, 
 
 And love, song, and wine ; 
 Let sorrow come after — 
 
 The present is mine. 
 
 Thomas Semmes {"Nunc Tempus"). 
 
 [104] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 July twenty-ninth 
 
 Oh, love ! the dew lies on the flower, 
 
 And the stars gleam on the sea ; 
 It is the charm'd, the silent hour, 
 
 When I should roam with thee. 
 The day dies out within the West, 
 
 The shadows gather near; 
 And now sweet fancies fill my breast, 
 
 And thou art strangely dear. 
 James A. Bartley {"Oh, Love! The Dew is on the Flower"). 
 
 July thirtieth 
 
 Just at your ear, all night you hear 
 
 The wailing whip-poor-will; 
 The turkey tramps through the hollow near. 
 
 The owl hoots from the hill ; 
 The katydid too if the summer wake her. 
 
 Pipes out from the flame-bush nigh : 
 Sure, the song of the midnight woods is sweeter 
 
 Than mortal minstrelsy ! 
 Hillo ! Hillo ! 
 
 Robert M. Bird ("The Pine Wood"). 
 
 [105] 
 
qA Yea.r Book ^ 
 
 July thirty-first 
 
 Come, my love — O ! come with me, 
 We will wander wild and free, — 
 Where the pale moon sheds her light, 
 And the dewdrops glisten bright; — 
 Where is heard the gurgling flow 
 Of the streamlet, we shall go. 
 And our joyous feet shall tread, 
 Near the humble violet's bed. 
 We will breathe the rich perfume. 
 Born of fragrant flowers in bloom ; 
 All that's sweet and all that's fair. 
 From green earth or scented air. 
 Nature brings in vesture gay. 
 Laughing strews around our way. 
 
 Alexander L. Beard {"Invocation"). 
 
 August first 
 
 Down I lay 
 
 In amber shades of many a golden spray, 
 
 Where looping low with languid arms the Vine 
 
 In wreaths of ravishment did overtwine 
 
 Her kneeling Live-Oak, fold to plight 
 
 Herself unto her own true stalwart knight. 
 
 Sidney Lanier ("The Bee"). 
 
 [106] 
 
Southern^ Poets 
 
 August second 
 
 Thousands of insects faintly sung 
 
 In the warmth of the southern night. 
 The bat flew low, and the great owl swung 
 
 Like a bell in the mystic night. 
 The ripe corn rustled its yellow blade, 
 
 The field flowers woke from their swoon, 
 And the leaves of the wild grape lightly played 
 
 In the rays of the rising moon. 
 
 /. H. Boner {"Home from Camp-Meeting"). 
 
 August third 
 
 Amber smile of early morn 
 Had flashed across the ripening com ; 
 And on the spider's netting frail 
 
 The dew is gleaming bright, 
 As if an elf had lost her veil 
 While fleeing from the light. 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck (^'Midsummer Song"). 
 
 [107] 
 
o4^ar Book^ 
 
 August fourth 
 
 O the Southern Pineland free 
 
 Breathes immortal melody, 
 Like the immemorial music of the old melodious sea : 
 
 Purer than the live oak shines, 
 
 Sweeter than the Jessamines, 
 Is the wild and lonely liberty beneath the windy pines. 
 
 A. H. Rutledge {"Southern Pines"). 
 
 August fifth 
 
 Often thou 
 Hast uttered, through some all unworthy song, 
 Truths that for man might else have slumbered long. 
 Henry Timrod {"A Vision of Poesy"). 
 
 [108] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 August sixth 
 
 Wandered a child by a green-banked river, 
 In a dim low shadow-strewn sunset land, 
 AVhere the rushes bend and shimmer and shiver 
 Like a lute soft struck by some angel hand : 
 Afar in the purple distance hung 
 One large round star — and the moon was young — 
 Young with that pale, calm beauty that never 
 Hath been worthily told by mortal tongue. 
 
 Barton Gray ("In Arcady"). 
 
 August seventh 
 
 Aye, odors have a power — 
 
 ]\Iost subtle are their ways — 
 Of flashing fresh upon us 
 
 The dreams of other days. 
 
 Josie F. Capjyleman ("August Lilies"). 
 
 [109] 
 
c4 Year Book sf 
 
 August eighth 
 
 I love Queen August's stately sway, 
 And all her fragrant south winds say, 
 With vague, mysterious meanings fraught. 
 Of unimaginable thought ; 
 Those winds 'mid change of gloom and gleam 
 Seem wandering thro' a golden dream — 
 The rare midsummer dream that lies 
 In humid depths of Nature's eyes. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"Midsummer in the South"). 
 
 August ninth 
 
 A man should keep a compact with himself, 
 Nor strip himself quite bare save unto God. 
 
 AmMie Rives ("Augustine the Man"). 
 
 [110] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 August tenth 
 
 Each winding creek in grave entrancement lies 
 
 A rhapsody of morning stars. The skies 
 
 Shine scant with one forked galaxy, — 
 
 The marsh brags ten : looped on his breast they lie. 
 
 Sidney Lanier {"Hymn of the Marshes"). 
 
 August eleventh 
 
 The lotus bowed above the tide and dreamed; 
 
 The broad leaved calamus arose and fell 
 As on a lover's breast the head 
 His beating heart has rocked to sleep ; 
 
 And all the air was drowsed with tropic calm. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {Bhodop^'s Sandal"). 
 
 [Ill] 
 
oA Year Book gf 
 
 August twelfth 
 
 Clad on with glowing beauty and the peace, 
 Benign, of calm maturity, she stands 
 Among her meadows and her orchard lands. 
 
 And on her mellowing gardens and her trees, 
 Out of the ripe abundance of her hands 
 Bestows increase 
 
 And fruitfulness, as, wrapped in sunny ease. 
 Blue-eyed and blond she goes 
 
 Upon her bosom summer's richest rose. 
 
 Madison Cawein {"August"). 
 
 August thirteenth 
 
 O shadow, in thy fleeing form I see 
 The friend of fortune that once clung to me. 
 In flattering light, thy constancy is shown ; 
 In darkness thou wilt leave me all alone. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"The Shadow"). 
 
 [112] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 August fourteenth 
 
 I'd love to drift in a canoe 
 
 With you beneath the moon, 
 Where water-HHes catch the dew, 
 
 And, far away, the loon 
 Sends his weird cry through the still night, 
 
 And where the forest tree 
 Spreads its wide boughs, through which the light 
 
 Would sift on you and me. 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis {"Adrift"). 
 
 August fifteenth 
 
 Up comes the sun : thro' the dense leaves a spot 
 
 Of splendid light drinks up the dew; the breeze 
 Which late made leafy music dies; the day grows hot. 
 And slumberous sounds come from the marauding 
 bees: 
 The burnished river like a sword-blade shines, 
 Save where 'tis shadow'd by the solemn pines. 
 
 James B. Hope {"Three Summer Studies"). 
 
 [113] 
 
c4 "Year Book <£/* 
 
 August sixteenth 
 
 No hand might clasp, from land to land; 
 
 Yea ! there was one to bridge the tide ; 
 For at the touch of Mercy's hand 
 
 The North and South stood side by side 
 
 Father Ryan {"Reunited"). 
 
 August seventeenth 
 
 Sun-shimmer'd fields of dreaming green, 
 A sky blue-domed in azure sheen, 
 And hill on hill dipped deep between. 
 And with soft sighs the breezes rise 
 To waft cloud-kisses to the skies. 
 
 /, Trotwood Moore ("Tennessee"). 
 
 [114] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 August eighteenth 
 
 I blame you not !• — I blame you not ! 
 
 But, dearest love, why came you not? 
 And such a night — 
 A very moon and star delight, 
 With pearly clouds so soft and white. 
 And, 'mong the trees, 
 As 'twere a Love itself at ease. 
 So frolic and so sweet a breeze! — 
 
 Ah ! dearest love, I blame you not ! 
 
 I sorrow — but why came you not? 
 
 William G. Simms {"I Blame You Not"). 
 
 August nineteenth 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle; 
 
 Hark the tiny swell 
 Of wavelets softly, silvery 
 
 Toned like a fairy bell. 
 Whose every note dropped sweetly 
 
 In mellow glamor round, 
 Echo hath caught and harvested 
 
 In airy sheaves of sound ! 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"The Meadow Brook"). 
 
 [115] 
 
oAYear Book^ 
 
 August twentieth 
 
 Upon the sea a vesper calm 
 
 Lay brooding over liquid miles, 
 Hallowed like a wordless psalm 
 
 Or stillness in cathedral aisles. 
 Like fair nuns' faces, pure and white. 
 
 Wave crests were gleaming on the bar ; 
 And, like a sanctuary light. 
 
 There glimmered far the evening star. 
 
 Bev. P. L. Duffy {"On the Beach"). 
 
 August twenty-first 
 
 I once might hear the fairies sing 
 Upon the feathery grass aswing, 
 Or in the orchard's blossoming : 
 Their melody so fine and clear 
 One had to bend his ear to hear, 
 Or else the music well might pass 
 For zephyrs whispering in the grass. 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page {"Youth"). 
 
 [116] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 August twenty-second 
 
 Why need we angels in this vale below, 
 To banish grief or give a balm for wo? 
 To still the sigh or dry the rising tear — 
 Oh ! tell me, is not lovely woman here ! 
 
 Anon. {"Lines"). 
 
 August twenty-third 
 
 Zephyrs worship you and love you 
 
 More and more. 
 As you pass, the flowers are bending 
 
 To adore. 
 Bluest blossoms bow before you. 
 Orange blossoms quiver o'er you, 
 Plead to kiss you and adore you 
 
 Evermore. 
 
 Hu Maxwell {"The Conquest"). 
 
 August twenty-fourth 
 
 The universe with its infinity. 
 
 Is but the visible garment of our God. 
 
 William H. Holcombe {"New Thanatopsis") . 
 
 [117] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 August twenty-fifth 
 
 And as some flood tumultuous 
 
 In sounding billows rolled 
 
 Gives back the evening's glories 
 
 In a wealth of blazing gold: 
 
 So does the present from its waves 
 
 Reflect the lights of old. 
 
 James B. Hope {"The Lee Memorial Ode"). 
 
 August tvyenty-sixth 
 
 We sing of the love of the future, 
 
 Or toast the hours gone by ; 
 But we do not see, all smilingly, 
 
 To-day's love waiting nigh. 
 Nannie M. Durant (^'Aujourd'hui C'est d Nous"). 
 
 [118] 
 
Southerrb Poets 
 
 August twenty-seventh 
 
 O my royal purple pansies 
 Drooping low their yellow eyelids, 
 Sweetly sleeping where the evenino- 
 Waits all crimsoned with the blushes 
 Of the luscious jacqueminot; — 
 Silver curtains hung from Starland, 
 Opened and a lilac cloudlet 
 Floating earthward turned to pansies — 
 Pansies dozing in the pearl dusk, 
 With the moonlight's golden quiver 
 Folded to their yellow hearts. 
 
 Kit Courtland ("A Study in Purple"). 
 
 August twenty-eighth 
 
 In tears and in sorrow we part, 
 
 Yet love gives in earnest most sweet, 
 And whispers the hope to my heart. 
 
 In rapture and smiles we shall meet. 
 Then cherish this vision so fair 
 
 Nor shun the gay pastimes of youth. 
 For why should the bosom despair, 
 
 That breathes pure affection and truth. 
 
 John Lewis ("Lines"). 
 
 [119] 
 
c4^ar Book^ 
 
 August twenty-ninth 
 
 Is it so long, — the path that hes 
 
 Between thy starting and thy rest? 
 
 Seek'st thou beneath noon's burning skies 
 The cool soft shades of evening blest? 
 
 Labor and love make smooth the roughest lot, 
 
 And time is short to him who counts it not. 
 
 Fannie H. Marr {"Finem Respice"), 
 
 August thirtieth 
 
 Oh, give me the wind that sighs 
 
 In soft Eolian caves ; 
 Oh, give me the dreams that rise 
 
 Like Venus from the waves. 
 
 I sigh for the unreal. 
 
 Bright dreams of love and grace ; 
 I live in the ideal, 
 
 And loathe the commonplace. 
 
 Duval Porter {"The Poet's Wish"). 
 
 [120] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 August thirty-first 
 
 The heart was young — it was stalwart, too, 
 
 To meet life's fight — its weal or woe, 
 And we still find joy in the leal and true 
 
 Of these vanished scenes of long ago. 
 Though old, we cling to the love it brought 
 
 Nor lose the relish of youth-time's glow; 
 For oh ! how sweet was the bliss it wrought 
 
 In the happy time of long ago. 
 
 Robert Whittet {"The Days of Long Ago"). 
 
 September first 
 
 Summer is routed fnom her rosy plains. 
 
 The splendid queen with colors flying fled 
 Far to the south, leaving her legions dead 
 
 Upon the fields all in the dismal rains. 
 
 /. H. Boner {"The Old Guard"). 
 
 [m] 
 
cA Year Book gf 
 
 September second 
 
 Standing here where just the latest ember 
 
 Of the summer dieth with the day, 
 And the shadows of the dusk September 
 
 Sweep athwart the way, 
 Look I far beyond the west wind's hushes, 
 
 Look with eyes that faint not for the night, — 
 Far beyond the sunset's glooms and blushes 
 
 To the unfading light. 
 
 Barton Oray {"Looking Westward"). 
 
 September third 
 
 Sweet are the perfumes lingering through 
 This royal mantle of Autumn's bride. 
 
 The distilled fragrance of the dew, 
 The odor of roses in their pride. 
 
 Nannie M. Durant {"The Mantle"). 
 
 [122] 
 
Southerrv Poets 
 
 September fourth 
 
 I heard a little bird sing out one morning 
 While yet the darkness overspread the sky, 
 
 And not a single streak of rose gave warning 
 That day was nigh. 
 
 It sang with such a sweet and joyful clearness, 
 The silence piercing with a note so fine, 
 
 That I was filled with sudden sense of nearness 
 To Love Divine. 
 
 Mary Bradley {"Song in the Bark"). 
 
 September fifth 
 
 To the glorious mysterious westward. 
 
 Through the ways our eyes cannot see, 
 
 O beautiful sorrow of sunset. 
 We turn, we turn unto thee. 
 
 A. H. Butledge {"Sunset"). 
 
 [123] 
 
oAYeeiV Book gf 
 
 September sixth 
 
 The sun had set ; and wold, and stream, and air 
 Slept in the Sabbath of his chastened light. 
 
 While scarce discerned in blue, a crescent fair. 
 
 Upturned, poured dews upon a neighboring height ; — 
 When, suddenly, all the sky between grew white. 
 
 And silvered into cloud, that, as it drew 
 
 Towards the horizon, was in blackness dight ; 
 
 'Till, as some bird of prey had hither flew, 
 
 Above the dying day its condor wings it threw. 
 
 David R. Arnell ("An Autumn Storm"). 
 
 September seventh 
 
 Sweet friends 
 
 Man's love ascends 
 To finer and diviner ends 
 Than man's mere thought e'er comprehends. 
 
 Sidney Lanier ("The Symphony"). 
 
 [124] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 September eighth 
 
 I know not why I love the cloud-Hned hills, 
 
 Stretching away so faint in trembling rills 
 
 Of smoke-blue ether. Far away they seem 
 
 Like fixed billows of the ocean — like the dream 
 
 Of the sea, when in his mad and wild unrest 
 
 He longs to sleep upon his earth-bride's breast. 
 
 Transfixed his waves — in blue and brown they stand, 
 
 The image of the ocean in the land. 
 
 The trees that tower in the twilight far 
 
 Are masts of bannered ships with naked spar, 
 
 While o'er the crest, like lighthouse lamp, shines out the 
 
 evening star. 
 
 John Trotwood Moore ("The Hills"). 
 
 September ninth 
 
 Could we but lift the latch of the door 
 
 And see what the future has in store ; 
 
 We know we would look with wondering eyes. 
 
 And see all the blessings hid in disguise. 
 
 For God in His wisdom gives darkness and light. 
 
 To teach us to journey by faith and by sight. 
 
 Samuel H. Newberry ("Song"). 
 
 [125] 
 
o4 Year Book ^ 
 
 September tenth 
 
 Ah, God ! for the wings of the eagle above me, 
 With their steadfast vigor and royal might ; 
 
 Ah, God! for an impulse like theirs to move me 
 
 In endless courses of upward flight ; 
 The clouds may billow, the vapors heave, 
 But still his pinions the darkness cleave ; 
 And proudly serene in those realms above me. 
 
 He soars from conquering height to height. 
 
 Paul H. Uayne {"Above the Storm"). 
 
 September eleventh 
 
 De stars is all a-shinin' 
 Up in de silunt sky, 
 De birds is all a-noddin' 
 Up in de cedars high. 
 Go to sleep, my darlin' babies, ole mammy's settin' near, 
 Ter help de angils gward yuh from eb'ry sort er fear. 
 
 Annah R. Watson {"Mammy's Lullaby"). 
 
 [126] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 September twelfth 
 
 Here Beauty holds her Court, her gracious King 
 The sovereign sun ; her suite the flowers ablaze 
 With radiant raiment woven by Southern rays, 
 The placid woodland waters mirroring 
 The flowery splendors of the bourgeoning Spring. 
 Here petalled portieres deck the walls of bloom ; 
 Azaleas aflame the halls illume ; 
 Magnolias column stately avenues. 
 Gleaming arcades, marbled with lucent hues. 
 
 The sunlit air is vibrant with perfume 
 Sweeter than music and each bud unblown 
 Incenses Beauty on her glowing throne. 
 
 The roses breathe their homage all day long, 
 Spring is her vassal, life a scented song. 
 Rev. P. L. Dufy ("Magnolia Gardens on the Ashley"). 
 
 September thirteenth 
 
 What is the power that holds one hour of life undying 
 
 though others die.-^ 
 I have seen the blaze of a thousand days fade from the 
 
 blue of a cloudless sky 
 And just one day of one sun-sweet May shines crystal 
 
 clear in my memory. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon ("Beyond Arvallon"). 
 
 [127] 
 
cA YeeiV Book gf 
 
 September fourteenth 
 
 How much would I care for it, could I know, 
 That when I am under the grass or snow. 
 The ravelled garments of life's brief day 
 Folded, and quietly laid away ; 
 The spirit let loose from mortal bars, 
 And somewhere away among the stars : 
 How much do you think it would matter then 
 What praise was lavished upon me, when, 
 Whatever might be its stint or store, 
 It neither could help nor harm me more? 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"Before Death"). 
 
 September fifteenth 
 
 A nameless sorrow haunts the air 
 
 With whispers vague and scattered ; 
 It echoes round each blossom fair 
 By zephyrs lately flattered. 
 The rose at night 
 Awakes in fright 
 From dreams of beauty shattered. 
 Samuel Minturn Peck ("The Passing of Summer"). 
 
 [128] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 September sixteenth 
 
 Magician he, who autumn nights, 
 
 Down from the starry heavens whirls ; 
 
 A harlequin in spangled tights. 
 
 Whose wand's touch carpets earth with pearls. 
 
 Madison Cawein {"Frost"). 
 
 September seventeenth 
 
 The wind is wailing in the pines ; 
 My boat is rocking in the sea ; 
 The last light dies in fading lines ; 
 The world will soon be dark to me : 
 Oh let me go ! 
 Cut loose the frail, the single strand 
 That holds my rocking boat to land. 
 And let me go ! 
 
 William H. Holcombe {"Let Me Oo!"). 
 
 [129] 
 
cA Year Book gf 
 
 September eighteenth 
 
 Leafless, stemless, floating flower, 
 From a rainbow's scattered bower. 
 Like a bubble of the air 
 Blown by fairies, tell me where 
 Seed or scion I may find 
 Bearing blossoms of thy kind. 
 
 John B. Tabb {"The Butterfly"). 
 
 September nineteenth 
 
 When the bells of evening ring 
 And the hush of night is falling. 
 When the weary earth seems calling 
 Through the shadows as they cling ; 
 There is stillness in the twilight 
 With a prophecy complete 
 Of a rest secure and sweet. 
 When the bells of evening ring. 
 
 Carter W. Wormeley {"Evening Bells"). 
 
 [130] 
 
Southertv Poets 
 
 September twentieth 
 
 The twihght hours as birds flew by, 
 
 As hghtly and as free ; 
 Ten thousand stars were in the sky, 
 
 Ten thousand on the sea ; 
 For every wave with dimpled face, 
 
 That leaped upon the air, 
 Had caught a star in its embrace 
 
 And held it trembling there. 
 
 Amelia Welby {"Twilight at Sea"). 
 
 September twenty-first 
 
 Never a song that the breeze whispers low, 
 Never a measure that the bugles may blow. 
 
 Like the lilt and the croon 
 
 Of the old-fashioned tune 
 That babes in the arms of their glad mothers know. 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis {"The Mother-Tone"). 
 
 [131] 
 
c4^ar Book^ 
 
 September twenty-second 
 
 In the sunset's glow 
 The shore shelved low 
 And snow-white, from far ridges screened with shade 
 Of drooping palm. 
 
 Father Ryan {"Rhyme"). 
 
 September twenty-third 
 
 A violeen is like an 'ooman, mighty hard to guide, 
 And mighty hard to keep in order after once it's buyed. 
 Dere's alluz somefin' bout it out ob kelter, more or less, 
 An' 'tain't de fancies'-lookin' ones dat alluz does de bes'. 
 Irwin Russell {"Christmas Night in the Quarters"), 
 
 [132] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 September twenty-fourth 
 
 The muffled drum's sad note has beat 
 
 The soldier's last tattoo ; 
 No more on Hfe's parade shall meet 
 
 The brave and fallen few. 
 On Fame's eternal camping-ground 
 
 Their silent tents are spread, 
 And Glory guards, with solemn round. 
 
 The bivouac of the dead. 
 
 Theodore O'Hara {"The Bivouac of the Dead"). 
 
 September tvyenty-fifth 
 
 Give me your hand. Old Blue Coat, 
 
 Let us talk of this awhile, 
 For the prettiest march of all the war 
 
 Was this of rank and file! — 
 Was the passing of that army. 
 
 When 'twas hard, I ween, to keep 
 Those men from crying out, "Hurrah ! 
 
 Marse Robert is asleep !" 
 
 Miss S. B. Valentine {"Marse Robert Is Asleep"). 
 
 [133] 
 
<yi Year Book §f 
 
 September twenty-sixth 
 
 Swaying and singing, a mocking-bird, 
 
 And this was the soul of the song I heard — 
 
 O love, O love. 
 
 From the blue above, 
 
 From the gleaming sheen 
 
 Of the leaflets green. 
 From each flower-heart you leap, O love. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman {"A Love Song"). 
 
 September tvyenty-seventh 
 
 When autumn skies are deeper blue 
 
 Than any skies June ever knew ; 
 When frost has touched the mellow air 
 
 Till yellow leaves fall everywhere; 
 When wild grapes scent the winds with wine. 
 
 And ripe persimmons give the sign, 
 Then Life seems happy as a rhyme 
 
 Because — it's nearly 'Possum time ! 
 
 Howard Weeden ('"Possum Time"). 
 
 [134] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 September twenty-eighth 
 
 'Tis a beauteous time, — 'tis a holy time — 
 The sweet still days of the autumn prime; 
 When Nature sadly and meekly fair, 
 Seems bowed with awe at her silent prayer ; 
 And well may man, from his pride beguiled, 
 A lesson learn from her teaching mild, — 
 Go forth to the dim and solemn wood. 
 And there commune with his soul and God. 
 
 Susan A. Talley (^"Autumn"). 
 
 September twenty-ninth 
 
 Life's a flower — its bloom eternal 
 Lends brief glory unto day. 
 
 Life's a river, restless ever. 
 
 Onward still its waters flow; 
 Murmuring and ceasing never, 
 
 Making notes of bliss and woe. 
 
 Anon, {"Lays of Courage"). 
 
 [135] 
 
o4 Year Book §f 
 
 September thirtieth 
 
 Torch-bearers are the grim black pines ; 
 Their torches are the flaming vines 
 Bright on the mountain's skyward lines. 
 
 Philiy P. Cooke {"The Mountains"). 
 
 October first 
 
 There's something — but what I can scarcely divine, — 
 Perchance 'tis the breath like a potent wine, 
 
 Of the cordial clear October, 
 Which makes, when the jovial month comes round. 
 The life-blood bloom, and the pulses bound, 
 And the soul spring forth like a monarch crown'd, — 
 
 God's grace on the brave October. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"October"). 
 
 [136] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 October second 
 
 Nations themselves are but the monuments 
 Of deathless men, whom the Divine intents 
 Decree for mighty purposes. 
 
 William O. Simms {"Calhoun"). 
 
 October third 
 
 Autumn winds are sadly sighing, 
 Autumn leaves are withered lying. 
 Like the summer she is dying — 
 Weep for her. 
 
 Mart, G. Wells ("A Lament"). 
 
 October fourth 
 
 Gather leaves and grasses, 
 
 Love, to-day. 
 For the autumn passes 
 
 Soon away. 
 Chilly winds are blowing. 
 It will soon be snowing, 
 
 J. H. Boner {"Gather Leaves and Grasses"). 
 
 [137] 
 
cA Year Book gf 
 
 October fifth 
 
 To give labor to the poor, 
 
 The whole sad planet o'er, 
 And save from want and crime the humblest door, 
 Is one among the many ends for which 
 God makes us great and rich ! 
 
 Henry Thnrod {"Ethno genesis"). 
 
 October sixth 
 
 All the earth is full of beauty, all the sky in azure fold, 
 And the sunshine in its softness melts in dreamy waves 
 
 of gold. 
 The wild goose flying southward sounds its startled, 
 
 clarion note. 
 And the trumpet of the harvest march is in his echoing 
 
 throat. 
 While the flashing of a thousand cotton banners' mid the 
 
 corn. 
 Like our skies, are red at evening but are silver in the 
 
 mom. 
 
 John Trotwood Moore ("A Harvest Song"). 
 
 [138] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 October seventh 
 
 And we — we weep him not whose task is ended, 
 Whose glorious future outshines all success ; 
 
 Though on his grave a whole world's tears descended, 
 We could not love him more — nor mourn him less. 
 
 Barton Gray {"Robert Edward Lee"). 
 
 October eighth 
 
 Misname not thou an idle dream, the ardent poet's 
 
 thought, 
 Who makes his brotherhood of things from Nature's 
 
 treasures brought ; 
 Their voiceless beauty speaks to him in language sweet 
 
 and clear, 
 A music, and a melody than earthly tones more dear ! 
 
 Anon. {"The Themes of Song"). 
 
 [139] 
 
aA Year Book if 
 
 October ninth 
 
 When Autumn's parting days grow cold and brief 
 Light hoar-frost sparkles on the fallen leaf, 
 The breezeless pines, at rest, no longer sigh. 
 Bright, pearl-like clouds hang shining in the sky. 
 
 W. J, Grayson {"The Hireling and the Slave"). 
 
 October tenth 
 
 A-drcam and 'mid wild asters filled with rain, 
 I glimpsed her cheeks red-berried by the breeze, 
 
 In her dark eyes the night's sidereal stain. 
 And once upon an orchard's tangled path, 
 
 When all the golden-rod had turned to brown. 
 Where russets rolled and leaves were sweet of breath, 
 I have beheld her 'mid her aftermath 
 
 Of blossoms standing in her gypsy gown, 
 
 Within her gaze the deeps of life and death. 
 
 Madison Cawein {"October"). 
 
 [140] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 October eleventh 
 
 The sun at morn 
 Rose fair as at Creation's dawn. 
 And every httle leaf and flower, 
 That grew beneath his kindly power, 
 Bore on its breast a dewy gem 
 Bright as monarch's diadem. 
 The courting birds that filled the woods. 
 Which else were silent solitudes, 
 Awakening by the morning ray 
 Seemed joying in the early day, 
 As from the boughs of bush and tree 
 Their mating songs came merrily. 
 
 Lewis F. Thomas {"Inda"). 
 
 October twelfth 
 
 The golden-rod was aflame in the fields, 
 
 With dew was the green grass wet ; 
 A faint blue haze hung over the hills, 
 
 Where the earth and the sky lines met. 
 And the green of the grass and the gold of the fields. 
 
 Where the grain in the summer stood, 
 Were swathed in dreams that drifted slow 
 
 On the breath of the russet wood. 
 
 Annah R. Watson ("In October"). 
 
 [141] 
 
o4 Year Book ^ 
 
 October thirteenth 
 
 Oh, is not this the utmost pang of sin, 
 
 To know thyself destroyed by thine own act ! 
 
 Lo ! on a sudden how the void boils o'er 
 
 With scarlet mists that wreathe and cling about me. 
 
 They are the phantoms of my delicate vices. 
 
 Amilie Rives {"Augustine the Man"). 
 
 October fourteenth 
 
 If to stretch a hand to the hands that needed, if to 
 
 soften the path unto weary feet, — 
 If fair deeds done in life's silent places, because such 
 
 deeds to his heart were sweet, — 
 If these make light on the shadowed waters, he has gone 
 
 where a thousand splendors meet. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"Gone Seaward"). 
 
 [142] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 October fifteenth 
 
 We never know each other here, 
 No soul can here another see — 
 
 To know — we need a light as clear 
 As that which fills eternity. 
 
 Father Ryan {"Thoughts"). 
 
 October sixteenth 
 
 Perched amid the withered grass, 
 Like a friar singing mass 
 
 O'er the blossoms dead; 
 Hauntingly a note of woe 
 Echoes from thy tremolo, 
 
 Mourning beauty fled. 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck {"To a Cricket"). 
 
 [143] 
 
aA year Book if 
 
 October seventeenth 
 
 Human hearts are weak and wailing — 
 
 But the human mind is strong, 
 And an iron will availing 
 
 To oppose the sternest wrong. 
 
 Julia Pleasants ("The Present"). 
 
 October eighteenth 
 
 What can I crave of good 
 That here I find not? Nature's stores are spread 
 Abroad with such profusion, that I would 
 Not have one glory added, if I could 
 Beneath or overhead. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"Nunc Dimittis"). 
 
 [144] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 October nineteenth 
 
 I am sitting by a window that is open to the South, 
 
 And a magic perfumed sweetness is pervading all the 
 air, 
 And it comes to me as softly as red kisses on the mouth, 
 And the breeze is like slim fingers softly moving 
 through my hair. 
 Oh, crape-myrtle leaves are scarlet, I can see them flame 
 afar. 
 And the golden cosmos morning is a-drip with silver 
 dew; 
 Oh, I long to come and seek you, come and find you 
 where you are, 
 Just to bring the lovely pictures of the Southland to 
 your view. 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis {"Pictures of the Southland"). 
 
 October tvyentieth 
 
 There are thoughts in my heart to-day 
 
 That are not for human speech ; 
 But I hear them in the driving storm, 
 
 And the roar upon the beach. 
 
 Henry Timrod ("Hark to the Shouting Winds"). 
 
 [145] 
 
cA^arBook^ 
 
 October twenty-first 
 
 Behold, the fleeting swallow 
 
 Forsakes the frosty air; 
 And leaves alert to follow, 
 
 Are falling everywhere. 
 Like wounded birds, too weak 
 A distant clime to seek. 
 
 John B. Tabb ("October"). 
 
 October twenty-second 
 
 The night was beautiful. A silence slept 
 
 Serenely over all the world of waves, 
 
 Save ever and anon the roar and moan 
 
 Of billows on the reef, or the wild cry 
 
 Of sea-birds screaming through the startled night ; 
 
 Or the hoarse howl and bay of ocean dogs 
 
 That swam from rock to rock. But all this passed 
 
 And came at intervals ; and night hung dull 
 
 About the island hills. 
 
 Hu Maxwell {"The Sea-Girt Isle"). 
 
 [146] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 October twenty-third 
 
 She's a well-poised, queenly creature 
 
 As she moves in tune and time, 
 And graceful as the lily 
 
 Of her own soft, sun-kissed clime; 
 With an air half pride, half pathos ; 
 
 A voice like brooklets' purl ; 
 With ways that haunt and hold one — 
 
 Our gracious Southern Girl. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman {"The Southern Oirl"). 
 
 October tvyenty-fourth 
 
 Old age has come ! 
 But 'tis the expectant dawn, 
 
 And glitters splendid with the dew 
 Of fostered friendships, leal and true ; 
 And heartsome deeds of kindness, sown 
 Long long ago, as fruits are known. 
 
 Which come to harvest in these quiet days 
 And yield coy pleasures in life's simpler ways 
 Since age has come ! 
 
 Robert Whittet {"When Age Has Come"). 
 
 [147] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 October twenty-fifth 
 
 The earth is eloquent of man : his thoughts, 
 
 His work, his plans, his schemes, his sin, his strife; 
 
 And like a monumental stone, is wrought 
 With deep-cut records of his transient life. 
 
 But to the sky the higher task is given 
 
 To tell of God, and purity, and heaven. 
 
 Fannie H. Marr ("The Sky"). 
 
 October twenty-sixth 
 
 I wandered away in my dreaming — - 
 
 It mattered but little to me 
 The way that my feet were wending. 
 
 So long as my spirit was free. 
 So weary was I of earth's travel, 
 
 I journeyed away to a clime 
 To find for my soul some Eden — 
 
 Not found in the desert of time. 
 
 Samuel H. Newberry ("Ideal"). 
 
 [148] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 October twenty-seventh 
 
 Give me, give me here my tea ; 
 Ladies' nectar ! give it me ; 
 Sweet as what the Hummer sips, 
 Or the dew on Beauty's hps. 
 Tea 'tis makes the spirit's flow, 
 Tickles up the heart of wo. 
 Sets the tongue, enKvens wit, 
 Gives the sweet poetic fit. 
 Tea 'tis makes the charming fair 
 Sprightly, pleasing, as they are. 
 What is more than all, 'twas Tea, 
 Tea, that set Columbia free. 
 
 William Maxwell ("Tea"). 
 
 October twenty-eighth 
 
 Already o'er the sea-girt hill, 
 
 The blasts that lead the tempest blow; 
 
 And lo ! the frightened billows swell 
 And whiten all the shore below. 
 
 John Shaw {"The Autumn Flower"). 
 
 [149] 
 
c4 Yea.r Book gf 
 
 October twenty-ninth 
 
 The City — the City — its glare and din — 
 Oh! my soul is sick of its sights and shows, 
 My spirit is cramp'd, and my soul pent in — 
 I can scarcely think, and it seems to me 
 My very breathing is not so free, 
 As where the breeze in its freedom blows, 
 And the vines untrammel'd but seem to be 
 Disporting to tell of their liberty. 
 There, there I'd be — Oh ! my spirit pines 
 For the river, the trees, and the forest vines. 
 
 Anon. ("The City"). 
 
 October thirtieth 
 
 As the lifewarm helianthus leans to brightness from 
 
 above, 
 So a woman's deep existence turns to him who speaks of 
 
 love — 
 Turns to him who softly whispers words almost too low 
 
 to hear ; 
 But she knows the meaning-words are ne'er too low for 
 
 woman's ear ; 
 Meaning never is too hidden for the wisdom of her 
 
 heart — 
 
 To interpret love unspoken Is a woman's native art. 
 
 Hu Maxwell ("The Bandit's Bride"). 
 
 [150] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 October thirty-first 
 
 What a brave splendor 
 In the October air ! How rich and clear, 
 And bracing and all- joyous! We must render 
 Love to the spring-time, with its sproutings 
 
 As to a child quite dear; 
 But autumn is a thing of perfect glory, 
 
 A manhood not yet hoary. 
 
 A strong joy fills 
 (A joy beyond the tongue's expressive power) 
 My heart in autumn weather fills and thrills! 
 And I would rather stalk the breezy hills. 
 
 Descending to my bower 
 Nightly, by the sweet spirit of Peace attended. 
 
 Than pine where hfe is splendid. 
 
 Philip P. Cooke ("Life in the Autumn Woods"). 
 
 November first 
 
 Landward, rise the moss-veiled trees ; 
 And they wail, the while they sway 
 In the sad November breeze. 
 
 Father Ryan ("Sea Rest"). 
 
 [151] 
 
cA Year Book §f 
 
 November second 
 
 "Love is such living, Sweet ;" 
 Thus I dreamed in my dream ; 
 "Each unto each complete, 
 Stars in a lustral stream, 
 That the waves move to meet, 
 Love is such living, Sweet." 
 
 A. H. Butledge ("Revelation"). 
 
 November third 
 
 The wintry wind is shrieking 
 
 Like some wild thing in wrath. 
 And snaps the hoary beechen-boughs. 
 
 And stamps them in their path. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston ("Rosalie"). 
 
 November fourth 
 
 His thoughts went forth like Emperors, and all 
 His words arrayed themselves around them like 
 Imperial guards. 
 
 James B. Hope {"A Friend of Mine"). 
 
 [152] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 November fifth 
 
 From West to East, from wood to wood, along the 
 
 forest side, 
 The winds — the sowers of the Lord, — with thunderous 
 
 footsteps stride ; 
 Their stormy hands rain acorns down ; and mad leaves 
 
 wildly dyed. 
 
 Like tatters of their rushing cloaks, stream round them 
 
 far and wide. 
 
 Madison Cawein (^"Sunset in Autumn"). 
 
 November sixth 
 
 Yet out of the shackles of error 
 
 Throbs forth the imperious will, 
 And darkness is shorn of its terror. 
 
 Though life be a battle-ground still. 
 What though every meadow be sterile.'' 
 
 What though every pathway be rough .f* 
 Faith gleams through the loss and the peril 
 
 And Faith is enough. 
 
 Barton Gray ("Expectans Expectavi"). 
 
 [153] 
 
cA Year Book # 
 
 November seventh 
 
 There's many a thought I may not tell, 
 Hidden beneath the heart's deep swell; 
 There's many a sweet and tender sigh 
 Breathed out when only God is nigh ; 
 And each familiar thing I see 
 Is blended with the thought of thee. 
 
 Anon. {"To 
 
 November eighth 
 
 The fir-tree felt it with a thrill 
 
 And murmur of content ; 
 The last dead leaf its cable slipt 
 
 And from its moorings went ; 
 
 The self-same silent messenger 
 
 To one the shibboleth 
 Of Life imparting, and to one 
 
 The countersign of death. 
 
 John B. Tabb ("The First Snow-Fall"). 
 
 [154] 
 
Southerrv Poeta 
 
 November ninth 
 
 Now, with wild and wintry roar, 
 Stalwart Winter comes once more, — 
 O'er our roof-tree thunders loud. 
 And from edges of black cloud 
 Shakes his beard of hoary gold. 
 Like a tangled torrent rolled 
 Down the sky-rifts, clear and cold. 
 
 Paul H. Hayne {"Welcome to Winter"). 
 
 November tenth 
 
 Ho ! thou who thirsteth, who, with longing vision, 
 Lifteth tear-dimmed eyes to glowing west. 
 
 Where dying day hath set a crimson jewel 
 
 To shine upon the evening's throbbing breast — • 
 There cometh rest. His promised rest. 
 
 Annah B. Watson {"The Promise"). 
 
 [155] 
 
c4^ar Book<gf 
 
 November eleventh 
 
 The night is wild, but sweet to me 
 
 The uncertain music that it brings ; 
 And o'er the darkly heaving sea 
 
 I hear the rushing might of wings : 
 That wailing wo that seems to brood 
 
 Along the bosom of the deep 
 Wakes in my soul a kindred mood, 
 
 And I must watch and may not sleep. 
 
 William G. Sitnms ("Stanzas at Sea"). 
 
 November twelfth 
 
 Life's wasting — but ye still shine on, 
 
 And seem to me to be 
 The light upon the horizon 
 
 Of Eternity's black sea ! — 
 Pointing to the sunlit far off west, 
 Where all immortal spirits rest. 
 
 D. Martin ("Hymn to the Stars"), 
 
 [156] 
 
Southerrb Poets 
 
 November thirteenth 
 
 Grant that Thy Spirit like a mighty wind 
 
 Blow through my mind and kindle it to flame, 
 
 Until my radiant thoughts shall mount like Seraphs, 
 
 Choiring Thy glory unto heaven and earth. 
 
 AmUie Rives {^'Augustine the Man"). 
 
 November fourteenth 
 
 I have come back to my first love, to my constant love, 
 
 the sea ; 
 To the beautiful face and the ceaseless voice of music 
 
 and mystery ; 
 From the weary wastes of the inland ways, from the 
 
 homes and haunts of pain 
 
 I have brought a tired life back to lay it down on her 
 
 shrine again. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon ("A True Love"). 
 
 [157] 
 
cA Year Book # 
 
 November fifteenth 
 
 Hark ! how the wintry tempest raves 
 
 Along the frozen plain — 
 Dark, dark the lowering clouds above, 
 
 And fast descends the rain. 
 
 But, lady ! now a deeper gloom 
 
 Surrounds thy lover's soul. 
 And wilder floods of grief and wo 
 
 Around his spirit roll. 
 
 James A. Bartley ("Stanzas"). 
 
 November sixteenth 
 
 Thou art no aimless drift from wreck of ocean, 
 Upon the shore, unconscious, idly cast — 
 
 Thou art inheritor of primal forces ; 
 To-day holds in solution all the past. 
 
 Annah B. Watson ("Heredity"). 
 
 [158] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 November seventeenth 
 
 For him there is no death, 
 
 Only the stopping of the pulse and breath — 
 
 But simple breath is not the all in all ; 
 
 Man hath it but in common with the brutes — 
 
 Life is in action and in brave pursuits ! 
 
 By what we dream, and having dreamt, dare do, 
 
 We hold our places in the world's large view, 
 
 And still have part in the affairs of men 
 
 When the long sleep is on us. 
 James B. Hope {"To Alexander Gait, the Sculptor"). 
 
 November eighteenth 
 
 Oh! hopes that die, and griefs that live. 
 And joys that life will never give; 
 Shadows, that fall from light unseen, 
 So dark, we stumbling walk between — 
 Hence, hence away — 
 Leave me to pray 
 Requiescat. 
 
 Margaret I. Weber ("Requiescat"). 
 
 [159] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 November nineteenth 
 
 The winds are piping shrilly 
 
 Above the trembling tree ; , 
 Before their fingers chilly 
 The frightened leaflets flee; 
 One longing look behind them, cast upon the branches 
 
 bare, 
 And on they wildly flutter, the exiles of the air. 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck {"The Fugitives"). 
 
 November twentieth 
 
 Tell me, oh life, in the rush of your wave, 
 
 If the tide ebbs on when over the grave. 
 
 With a rhythm like this we find on the earth — 
 
 A sigh or a song sung from our birth — 
 
 The saddest when old, the sweetest when young — 
 
 The song of the heart that sorrow has wrung? 
 
 Samuel H. Newberry {"Tell Me, Oh Life"). 
 
 [160] 
 
Southern^ Poets 
 
 November twenty-first 
 
 Out of the wild hurly-burly, 
 
 Ovsr the wide stretching miles, 
 Out of the wrack of the storm-beaten seas. 
 
 Into a harbor of smiles — 
 Into a haven of necklacing arms — 
 
 Out of life's tears and smart, 
 Into the shine of your true blue eyes, 
 
 Heart o' my love-lorn heart ! 
 
 Judd Mortimer Lewis (^"The Haven"). 
 
 November twenty-second 
 
 The sparkling of fountains — the glow of the rill — 
 The shadows that rest on the breast of the hill — 
 The gay wreaths of light, that the wild billows ride, 
 All owe to my magic their glory and pride. 
 
 Anon. {"The Sunbeam"). 
 
 [161] 
 
o4 "Year Book gf 
 
 November twenty-third 
 
 Well hides the violet in the wood: 
 The dead leaf wrinkles her a hood, 
 The winter's ill violet's good. 
 
 Sidney Lanier {"Betrayed"). 
 
 November tvyenty-fourth 
 
 Life, faithless and treacherous is ever presenting 
 To our view flying phantoms we never can gain; 
 
 Life, cruel and tasteless, is forever preventing 
 
 All our joys, and involving all our pleasures in pain. 
 Richard Dabney ("An Epigram Imitated from Archias"). 
 
 November tvyenty-fifth 
 
 Though still enchanting hues are spread 
 
 Along yon woody crest — 
 'Tis but to mind us of the dead — 
 
 The summer — gone to rest ! 
 And well they serve, by zephyrs tossed 
 
 That whisper of departed bloom. 
 To show how Nature loved the lost — 
 
 To be the garlands of the tomb. 
 
 Charles Wood {"In Autumn"). 
 
 [162] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 November twenty-sixth 
 
 The calm is sweet when storms are gone; 
 The darkness ushers in the dawn, 
 The tempest purifies the air, 
 Hope comes sweetest in despair. 
 
 Feeble though its rays may be, 
 
 Still it shines for thee and me. 
 
 When through the gates of death and pain 
 
 Our soul remounts to life again. 
 
 Duval Porter ("The Great Beyond"). 
 
 November twenty-seventh 
 
 How the feelings sear the sunshine ! 
 
 How the feelings glad the gloom ! 
 'Tis the heart that holds our pleasure, 
 
 And the heart that holds our doom. 
 'Tis in day, or 'tis in darkness, 
 
 That our lives forever fly. 
 And just as the heart-world wills it, 
 
 So the moments live and die. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman ("Heart Power"). 
 
 [163] 
 
cA Year Book §f 
 
 November twenty-eighth 
 
 His greatness might have blossomed all unseen, 
 
 Unrecognized, save in the narrow view 
 
 Of home, had not the tumult of the time. 
 
 And sore calamity of common weal. 
 
 Called him to action on a stage sublime. 
 
 And to his life affixed the enduring seal. 
 
 John R. Thompson ("In Remembrance of 
 
 George Wythe Randolph"). 
 
 November tvyenty-ninth 
 
 Hail, Liberty ! thou boon which all men crave. 
 More precious far than life or crowns of gold ; 
 
 Thou ne'er on earth hadst found an early grave. 
 
 If Thought's free range had not been first controlled. 
 Sidney Dyer {"The Pleasures of Thought"). 
 
 [164] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 November thirtieth 
 
 Each bush, and every humble shrub, with precious stones 
 
 is strung, 
 And all the sweetest, brightest things, by handfuls 
 
 round are flung; 
 The em'rald ! and the amethyst ! the topazes ! behold ! 
 And here and there a ruby red, is sparkling in the cold. 
 
 The beech tree stands in rich array of long and shining 
 threads, 
 
 Its brittle boughs all bending low to earth their droop- 
 ing heads. 
 
 And now and then some broken limb comes crashing 
 from on high, 
 
 And showering down a world of gems that sparkle as 
 they fly. 
 
 Carter Landon {"The Sleet"). 
 
 [165] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 December first 
 
 All the land lies muffled in snow, 
 The steady north winds heavily blow. 
 
 The tops of the oaks are lost in the sky, 
 The drooping cedars bend to the ground, 
 The rose-bush is drifting into a mound, 
 And still from the somber clouds without sound 
 
 The white flakes whirling fly. 
 
 /. H. Boner (^"Christmas Eve in the Country"). 
 
 December second 
 
 An angel flew from the upper band, 
 He brushed by the son of Mars, 
 He held all close in his royal hand, 
 A crown of sapphire stars. 
 
 A glad smile lit St. Peter's face 
 
 As he shut the gold gates down. 
 
 "Take the hero," he said, "to the warrior's place, 
 
 But give to the woman the crown." 
 
 Kil Courtland {"Hero and Nun"). 
 
 [166] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 December th ird 
 
 Now while the rear-guard of the flying year, 
 Rugged December, on the season's verge 
 Marshals his pale days to the mournful dirge 
 Of muffled winds in far off forests drear, 
 Good friend ! turn with me to our in-door cheer ; 
 Draw near ; the huge flames roar upon the hearth, 
 And this shy sparkler is of subtlest birth, 
 And a rich vintage, poet souls hold dear; 
 Mark how the sweet rogue woos us ! Sit thee down, 
 And we will quaff" and quaff" and drink our fill, 
 Topping the spirits with a Bacchanal crown. 
 Till the funeral blasts shall wail no more, 
 But silver-throated clarions seem to thrill. 
 And shouts of triumph peal along the shore. 
 
 Paul U. Hayne ("Now While the Rear-Ouard"). 
 
 December fourth 
 
 Give me a little space, 
 
 Lord of my life, to see 
 The tender sweetness of thy face ; 
 And suff^er in this darksome place 
 
 One gleam of light to be. 
 
 Mar if Bradley ("In Darkness"), 
 
 [167] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 December fifth 
 
 Elves and fairies weep and moan; 
 
 Wail, sweet Autumn, to the wind! 
 Brownies of the woodland groan, 
 
 With sad fingers intertwined. 
 Duller wax her brilliant dyes, 
 Dimmer wane her dying eyes, 
 Breathless now her body lies. 
 
 Strewn with roses overblown. 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck {"The Death of Autumn"). 
 
 December sixth 
 
 When calm the night, and the stars shine bright, 
 The sleigh glides smooth and cheerily ; 
 
 And mirth and jest abound, 
 
 While all is still around. 
 Save the horses' trampling sound 
 And the horse-bells tinkling merrily. 
 
 John Shaw {"Sleighing Song"). 
 
 [168] 
 
Southeriv Poets 
 
 December seventh 
 
 The earth is old, and gray the hairs of time 
 
 Have grown since erst the journeying Sages came 
 
 From the far East, and on the strange quest subhme, 
 
 Star-led to Bethlehem. 
 
 Barton Gray {"Last Days"). 
 
 December eighth 
 
 The gentle rose-bud opening fair, 
 
 Begins to show its lively hue, 
 And sweetens the surrounding air 
 
 Refreshed, by morning's early dew. 
 Thus in the opening of our days. 
 
 Religion should our youth adorn, 
 And Virtue and her lovely ways 
 
 With heavenly dews refresh our mom. 
 
 Anon. {"Rose's Moral"). 
 
 [169] 
 
qA YesiV Book gf 
 
 December ninth 
 
 Day's dying ray 
 Kindles the western mountains far away, 
 And Faith stands sentry by the Shadowy Door. 
 
 A. U. Butledge {"The Western Way"). 
 
 December tenth 
 
 Through the open door I turn my face to seaward, 
 
 When morning winds across the waters blow : 
 The singing bird is flying far to leeward, 
 
 Just as hope left me in the long ago — 
 A hope that once has gone can come back never 
 
 The chain is broken that no hand can mend: 
 Her hand can rest in mine no more forever 
 
 That wrote "Your Little Sweetheart" at the end. 
 
 James Lindsay Gordon {"Over an Old Letter"). 
 
 [170] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 December eleventh 
 
 The sportive hopes that used to chase 
 
 Their shifting shadows on, 
 Like children playing in the sun 
 
 Are gone — forever gone ; 
 And on a careless sullen peace, 
 
 My double-fronted mind. 
 Like Janus when his gates were shut 
 
 Looks forward and behind. 
 
 Edward Coate Pinkney {"A Picture Song"). 
 
 December twelfth 
 
 When tatter'd poor folk meet your eyes, 
 Think, friend, like Christian, in this wise. 
 Each one is Christ hid in disguise. 
 
 James B. Hope {"A Short Sermon"). 
 
 [171] 
 
cA Year Book gf 
 
 December thirteenth 
 
 An aimless living were but life ill spent; 
 But that which finds some duty every day 
 Accomplished, howe'er so small or mean, 
 Has not alone done all that he had meant 
 Within the act, but lent a part to sway 
 The world-controlling providence unseen. 
 
 Robert Whittet {"Living to Purpose"). 
 
 December fourteenth 
 
 It is not Day — it is not Night — 
 'Tis something lovelier far than all ; 
 
 When weird-winds weave a tune more light, 
 And flower-scents tinkle as they fall. 
 
 And eyes unnumber'd wildly glance 
 
 Through air, like gleams of young Romance. 
 
 The angel that unbars the gate 
 
 Of Night, stands wondering on yon hill. 
 
 Nor lets the burning stars, that wait 
 His bidding, march the skies until 
 
 His soul hath drunk the sound and sight 
 
 Of Earth and Heaven's sweet troth-plight. 
 
 David R. Arnell ("Twilight"). 
 
 [172J 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 December fifteenth 
 
 Plans fail or prosper, empires rise or fall, 
 And men like chasing shadows, come and go ; 
 
 Hopes bloom or wither, change creeps over all. 
 And still with noiseless and unbroken flow 
 
 The constant years move on, as tireless feet 
 
 Of faithful sentinels keep ceaseless beat. 
 
 Fannie H. Marr ("The Years"). 
 
 December sixteenth 
 
 With Sodom apples fill jour harvest bin ; 
 
 Barter heart's wealth for gold in Fashion's mart; 
 Traverse rough seas some distant point to win, 
 
 Without a chart. 
 
 Fray the fine cord of Love until it break ; 
 
 Launch the pirogue before the storm abate; 
 Tease the prone sleeping Peril till it wake:— 
 
 Then rail at Fate! 
 
 Danske Dandridge {"Fate"). 
 
 [173] 
 
cA Year Book §f 
 
 December seventeenth 
 
 Sometimes two lives that have lived apart 
 Will strangely touch on some summer day ; 
 
 Then after a time, again diverge, 
 
 Each going its sorrowful, self -same way. 
 
 Josie F. Cappleman {"Destiny"). 
 
 December eighteenth 
 
 There lives in the bosom a feeling sublime; 
 
 Of all, 'tis the strongest tie ; 
 Unvarying through every change of time, 
 
 And only with life does it die. 
 'Tis the love that is borne for that lovely land, 
 
 That smiled on the hour of our birth ; 
 'Tis the love that is planted by nature's hand, 
 
 For our sacred native earth. 
 'Twas this that the patriot victor inspired, 
 
 Was strong in the strength of his arm, 
 With the holiest zeal his brave bosom fired, 
 
 And to danger and to death gave a charm. 
 'Twas this that the dying hero blest, 
 
 And hallow'd the hour when he fell, 
 That throbb'd in the final throb of his breast. 
 
 And heaved -in his bosom's last swell. 
 
 Richard Dabney {"The Hero of the West"). 
 
 [174] ■ 
 
Southerru Poets 
 
 December nineteenth 
 
 I dream of thee, beloved one. 
 
 When the moon comes over the sea, 
 And hangs her horns of silver. 
 
 In jonder forest tree ! 
 I wake from out my slumber, 
 
 I think I hear thy voice, 
 It fills my list'ning spirit. 
 
 It makes my soul rejoice. 
 
 James A. Bartley ("To the Beloved"). 
 
 December twentieth 
 
 Where the yellow leaves as they float to earth 
 In the autumn time — when the frost has birth — 
 Alight on the turf with a rustling sound, 
 As the waters make in their pebbly bound ; 
 Or the chirping sound of dissolving snow. 
 As it runs in a gush 'neath the sun's red glow ; 
 There's Nature's music — and her harp doth here 
 Peal out on the sense with its liveliest air; 
 While its chords for another note is strung. 
 For the songs of the earth that are yet unsung. 
 
 Thomas Semmes ("Nature's Music"). 
 
 [175] 
 
o4 Year Book sf 
 
 December twenty-first 
 
 Swiftly speed o'er the waves of time, 
 
 Spirit of Death ; 
 In manhood's home, in youthful prime, 
 
 I was thy breath. 
 For the fading hues of hope are fled, 
 
 Like the dolphin's light ; 
 And dark are the clouds above my head, 
 
 As the starless night. 
 Oh, vainly the voyager sighs for the rest 
 
 Of the peaceful haven, — 
 The pilgrim saint for the homes of the blest, 
 
 And the calm of heaven ; 
 And galley-slave for the night-wind's breath. 
 
 At burning noon ; 
 But more gladly I'd spring to thy arms, O Death, 
 
 Come soon, come soon ! 
 
 Alexander K. McClung {"Ode to Death"). 
 
 [176] 
 
Southern; Poeta 
 
 December twenty-second 
 
 I love to view the mountain tall 
 
 From firm fix'd base rear high its head, 
 And brave the storms that on it fall, 
 
 Nor the rude shocks of nature dread ; 
 It tells me of the Noble Mind, 
 
 That 'mid life's storms, calm and sedate, 
 In its own sterling worth enshrin'd, 
 
 Can bear the rudest shock of Fate ! 
 
 Anon. {"Things I Love"). 
 
 December twenty-third 
 
 In wreaths and garlands on the walls 
 The holly hung its ruby balls. 
 The mistletoe its pearls. 
 
 Henry Timrod {"Our Willie"). 
 
 [177] 
 
cA Year Book ^ 
 
 December twenty-fourth 
 
 Hearts are joyous, cheerful; 
 
 Faces all are gay ; 
 None are sad and tearful 
 
 On bright Christmas day. 
 
 Father Ryan {"A Christmas Chant"). 
 
 December twenty-fifth 
 
 The dear Twenty-Fifth of December, 
 
 The festival fullest of joy, 
 Most precious for age to remember, 
 
 Most merry for maiden and boy, — 
 Comes again with its promise to gladden. 
 
 Comes again with its prodigal cheer, 
 To banish whatever may sadden 
 
 The lingering days of the year. 
 
 Margaret J. Preston {"The By-Gone"). 
 
 [178] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 December twenty-sixth 
 
 Den pile on de light 'ood en set roun' de fire, 
 
 (Crismus times is come,) 
 Rosum up de ole bow and chune de banjer higher, 
 
 (Crismus times is come,) 
 Dere's no mo' cooning ob de log in de night, 
 
 (Crismus times is come,) 
 O glory to de lam' for de hallyluyer light, 
 
 (Crismus times is come,) 
 De Crismus possom am a-bakin' mighty snug. 
 So han' aroun' de tumbler en de little yaller jug 
 Wid de co'n-cob stopper, en de honey in de bowl. 
 An' aglory hallyluyer en a-bless yo' soul. 
 
 /. H. Boner {"Crismus Times is Come"). 
 
 [179] 
 
qA Year Book §f 
 
 December twenty-seventh 
 
 When the angels with their chanting 
 
 Roused the startled shepherd throng, 
 'Twas the message of the Christ-child, 
 
 Lent the gladness to their song. 
 "Love," they sang, "divine, compelling, 
 
 Self-surrendered, Heaven unsealed — 
 All the mystery celestial 
 
 By the Christ-child now revealed." 
 
 Annah B. Watson {"A Little Stranger"). 
 
 December tvyenty-eighth 
 
 The year is almost gone ; the falling leaf. 
 Yellow and sere, flies far on every blast; 
 
 Spring flower, and summer fruit, and autumn sheaf 
 Gathered — its bright and beautiful are past. 
 
 William J. Grayson {"Threescore Years and Seven"). 
 
 [180] 
 
Southern; Poets 
 
 December twenty-ninth 
 
 Behold before the wintry gale, 
 
 Across the sea of Night, 
 How many a fragrant blossom-sail 
 
 Comes drifting to the light ! 
 Whence are they? Who hath piloted 
 
 Their journey from afar? 
 The self-same miracle that led 
 
 The Magi and the Star. 
 
 John B. Tabb ("From the Under-ground"). 
 
 December thirtieth 
 
 With failing breath 
 The old year dying lifts once more 
 His voice. Hark ! Ah, 'tis but to tell 
 The pale watch of the night farewell. 
 
 /. H. Boner ("Watch-Meeting"). 
 
 December thirty-first 
 
 Art thou not glad to close 
 
 Thy wearied eyes, O saddest child of Time, 
 Eyes which have looked on every mortal crime, 
 
 And swept the piteous round of mortal woes? 
 
 Henry Timrod ("Address to the Old Year"). 
 
 [181] 
 
MAV 21 1909