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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
■N» 
 
ALONG 
 THE HIGHWAY 
 
 BY 
 
 EDMUND G. SHANNON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 1913 
 

 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 EDMUND G. SHANNON 
 
 
 ©CI.A354 
 
o 
 
 DEDICATED 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
CREDO 
 
 I hold that he who lives to eat and drink, or lay 
 up wealth, or use a power, or lust for wanton pleas- 
 ures, has made of each a god to set before him in his 
 workshop, and time shall mold his soul to image 
 them; and love and truth and faith shall pass him 
 by. And on the other hand, that he who underneath 
 the one bright start of love shapes his life to some 
 ideal of faith or truth or charity, whether in song 
 or art or deed, whether in smiles or words or prayers, 
 — has made no idol, but found the one true God, 
 and he shall be beloved of all mankind but envy — and 
 who so live, alike are all of one religion. And these 
 are the two religions of all mankind; and two who 
 kneel and pray shall pray each one to his own God, 
 although above them bends the self-same loft and 
 though their lips repeat the self-same creed. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Caravanserai *3 
 
 My Queen 3 1 
 
 Cry of the Southern Minstrel 3 1 
 
 Garden Fancies 34 
 
 Kate 44 
 
 Happy New Year 45 
 
 Judge Me Not 46 
 
 Veritas 46 
 
 Little Girl o' Mine 47 
 
 The Devil's Pipes 48 
 
 Pastoral 49 
 
 Death 56 
 
 The Earth 56 
 
 Two Worlds 56 
 
 -If You Love Me 57 
 
 The Call of the Dead 57 
 
 Mary 62 
 
 Quatrain 63 
 
 Love the Gift 63 
 
 On the Taking of the Philippines 64 
 
 A Prayer 66 
 
 Way of the Cross 67 
 
 Mother 67 
 
 Sonnets to a Lady . .70 
 
 The Kiss 91 
 
 The Mocking-Bird 94 
 
 This is the Mocking-Bird 95 
 
 On Finding Three Graves in the Woods .... 102 
 
 We Two 108 
 
 Mammon 109 
 
 My Dream of Fame no 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 You Hypocrites in 
 
 Who Cares? m 
 
 The Trouble of Jenny 112 
 
 For Eternity 113 
 
 Two Little Maids 114 
 
 Hope Abandoned 115 
 
 Pro and Con "5 
 
 To Lucy "7 
 
 Love's Lament 117 
 
 The Old Brown Gourd 118 
 
 The Voice of Twilight 120 
 
 "Ye Patient Stars" 121 
 
 To Molly 121 
 
 The Fable of the Vain Stork 122 
 
 Fill the Glass 125 
 
 A Dirge 125 
 
 Come, Love, Let Us Roam 126 
 
 Does Not That Smile Sometimes Grow Weary? . . 127 
 
 Love's Fruition 127 
 
 Remember Me, Dear 128 
 
 Molly's Friends, the Flowers 128 
 
 Thine the Sun 129 
 
 Three Maidens 130 
 
 Oh, Come With Me! 131 
 
 The Passing of Love 132 
 
 The Violet Never is Scornful 134 
 
 Away With Thee, Love 134 
 
 The Butterfly and the Rose 135 
 
 To Mignon 136 
 
 October Song 137 
 
 Love's Offering 137 
 
 Sweet Mary and Me 138 
 
 Laugh When Your Heart is Lightest 139 
 
 John Dean's Philosophy 140 
 
 Meta 142 
 
 An Answer to a Request for a Poem 142 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Separation 143 
 
 I. K. S 144 
 
 Autumn Dreamings 144 
 
 After Summer 145 
 
 Sonnet 146 
 
 Written in an Old Churchyard 146 
 
 The Dance of the Zephyrs 148 
 
 Robin Flying Southward 149 
 
 Withered Violets 152 
 
 Maiden of Puerto Barrios 152 
 
 A Rose, A Lilac, and a Lady 154 
 
 To Leonore 154 
 
 Fare-Thee-Well 155 
 
 My Love, Are You True? 156 
 
 Show Me How to Find You 156 
 
 Forgotten 157 
 
 Our Dreams 158 
 
 The Summons 159 
 
 For You 159 
 
 Love's Power 160 
 
 Spring Song 161 
 
 All the Way 161 
 
 Queen of the Carnival 162 
 
 Shadows 167 
 
 Last Night 170 
 
 A Lullaby 171 
 
 Quatrain 171 
 
 Little Hands 171 
 
 You 171 
 
 Idle Sighs 172 
 
 Ma and Pa 172 
 
 Aunt Jane's Chair 174 
 
 The World's Standard 175 
 
 Help Me to Do the Best I Can 176 
 
 The Dreams That Count 176 
 
 The Mocking-Bird Said 177 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 And Once He Dies 177 
 
 The Pyres of the Eternal 178 
 
 The Love of the Brook 180 
 
 The Star of Bethlehem 186 
 
 Christmas 188 
 
 Merry Christmas 189 
 
 Christmas Time 189 
 
 The Fallen Rose 192 
 
 Peonies 194 
 
 The Flower That Turns to Gold 195 
 
 humanitarianism 196 
 
 Trysting Song 196 
 
 The Nigger That Busted the Levee 197 
 
 The Battle of the Wilderness 199 
 
 A'ter de Harves' 202 
 
 Richard on Possum Hunting 204 
 
 Richard Sells a Cord of Wood 207 
 
 Richard on the New Religious Spirit 209 
 
 Hard Times 211 
 
 Richard's Plea for the Fox 211 
 
 Dinah's Haunt 212 
 
 De Times is Mouty Dry 213 
 
CARAVANSERAI 
 
 We kneel here in the dark and pray, 
 You and I, in our own way: 
 You to your God, and I to mine, 
 In the shadow of something divine. 
 
 We pray since weVe learned to know 
 That the leaves will fall and the sun go: 
 Since we must die and would not die, 
 We pray to our God, you and I. 
 
 There is summer always somew T here, 
 The fee of sorrow and prayer; 
 So we pray with half heart, half faith, 
 Toil on somehow in the dark path. 
 
 " Our prayers are not heard, " we complain, 
 " We are spending our efforts in vain." 
 Still our lips will tremble and pray 
 In a hoping, hopeless kind of way. 
 
 We are tired, we want to creep 
 In some peaceful harbor and sleep, 
 When the flush has gone from the west, 
 And the dead leaves swing in the nest. 
 
 To rest in the shade and be well, 
 With life at our lips, and the smell 
 Of incense, and self our theme; 
 So we dream an old man's dream. 
 
 At the door of death we dream. 
 We were young once and did not seem 
 
 13 
 
i 4 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 To want so much ; we were strong, 
 The cold winds did us little wrong. 
 
 Impatient of the cross and rod 
 We seemed not to need a God. 
 So we built us up love and a home 
 For the long days that had to come. 
 
 But death coming shoved the door, 
 
 And it opened, and a little more — 
 
 Our love had gone out in the night, 
 
 In the dark, but the stars were still bright. 
 
 So we spoke to God, " Who didst give 
 Unasked, us to love and to live, 
 Wilt Thou scourge us and never cease? 
 Canst not let us be in peace ?" 
 
 Like the howls of a bitch for her whelp 
 Our cries were, and as little help. 
 Then we cried, " We seek our dead." 
 " You are fools," a still voice said. 
 
 " Yes, fools, but who made us fools? 
 Are we the work and the tools, 
 And the workman too, that the shame 
 Should lie with us, and the blame?" 
 
 So we left the empty forms 
 Of our creeds to rot and the worms. 
 We gambled with life, or drained 
 The glass while many moons waned. 
 
 " Let the women pray on their knees. 
 They can move mountains and seas 
 With prayer, they say; let them pray 
 At the break and close of day. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 15 
 
 " Let them teach the children too; 
 They have nothing else to do. 
 Will prayer make a single sip 
 Of the cup more sweet on the lip? 
 
 ' Those women with their beads who prayed 
 While we slept, whom we loved and laid 
 With the flowers that fell from their bloom, 
 With the rose and chrysanthemum: 
 
 " Who have slept ten thousand years, 
 Or one, and are dry as our tears; 
 Whose kisses we recall when the day 
 Meets the night and goes out their way: 
 
 " Who live in our dreams and when we fall, 
 
 Have never lived at all — 
 
 As dead as the graveyard sands, 
 
 And the pearls that slipped through their hands." 
 
 And this is all to the tale, 
 That once on a time lived a frail 
 Girl, like a flower, with eyes merry, 
 And whose lips were red as a berry. 
 
 Whom we loved in the spring when the bush 
 Was like a woman's blush 
 With the rose, and love on the wing 
 Could find no sweeter thing. 
 
 And she loved Sir Galahad 
 She thought, but when all is said, 
 Though she made him a better man, 
 She really loved Don Juan. 
 
 What we called love at twenty and eight 
 Is folly at sixty and eight. 
 
16 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 From the summit of forty and ten 
 We came down, and so are old men. 
 
 Our beards hang mourning now 
 Like winter on the bough; 
 Our green sins are gone, and we sing 
 Psalms when the church bells ring. 
 
 If we could like garments shake 
 The pallid skin and the ache 
 Of the bones quite off, and bloom 
 Like a plant in the dead leaf's room, 
 
 I'm afraid the priest would bless 
 Many hoary mourners less. 
 Ne'er a leaf grew sere in June 
 But it fell a little too soon. 
 
 Which is to say, the over-good 
 Have not too much of life's blood ; 
 And this I have learned from the fields, 
 What was sown the harvest yields. 
 
 When I drink too deep, or desire 
 
 Crops out with its red blooms like fire, 
 
 I know, why a fool can read 
 
 That some hand has passed with the seed. 
 
 If the commonest florist prize 
 
 What he sows, he will sterilize 
 
 The ground, so the weeds will not sprout 
 
 When growing time comes about. 
 
 A child will not curse the soil 
 If the weeds make vain his toil — 
 And if cockle be found in me, 
 Surely the Reaper will see. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 17 
 
 I know too that as man nears 
 His lease of a hundred years, 
 When he's faint of ear and eye, 
 That the weeds shedding will die. 
 
 I have lived all the seasons through 
 But winter, and the dew 
 Of another spring, if it fall, 
 Shall find me over the wall. 
 
 If the laws of that land permit, 
 I shall ask for leave to sit 
 Beneath some heliotrope sky 
 That the full moon passes by, 
 
 And pick the days I like best 
 From this life, love and all the rest; 
 Throw aside the books where the wise 
 Have writ down their foolish lies: 
 
 As a man, when the night watch is o'er, 
 Seeing in the chink of the door 
 The shadow of morn, puts away 
 His lamp and goes out in the day; 
 
 Or to wander hand in hand, 
 
 By a strip of opulent land, 
 
 With a friend, and renew old themes 
 
 That died in this world of dreams. 
 
 How the times have mended apace, 
 What friends are in this or that place; 
 How was found more good than evil 
 In some one we sent to the devil. 
 
 I've come back the way I went up 
 With the hearty song and cup; 
 
1 8 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 I drank life to the dregs, now I meet 
 Those going up with swift feet, 
 
 With youth in their palms like a stone 
 
 To throw away. My own 
 
 I cast in the stream Delight, 
 
 And the stream swept it out of sight. 
 
 When I blow out like a lamp 
 
 On some foggy night, w T hen the damp 
 
 Winds creep from the marsh — I have gone 
 
 O'er the way to search for my stone. 
 
 Then come let me advise, 
 
 For I shall be two worlds wise, 
 
 Say the priests, and surely they know, — 
 
 It is their business to know. 
 
 The lips that taught me this, 
 To kneel in prayer, to kiss 
 A cross, that nothing above 
 Or below is like Christ's love, 
 
 Have been mute for twenty years. 
 
 She said her final prayers 
 
 Like a child, and lay down to sleep, 
 
 With the cross, in Christ's faith and keep. 
 
 Ah, the day that I learned to know 
 More than she! Now the cold winds blow 
 With a rattle from the desert of death, 
 Nor have so pleasant a breath. 
 
 Each night when the day goes out, 
 From the dark I hear a voice shout, 
 " In the time of thy j^outh remember, 
 Lest forlorn be thy life's December." 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 19 
 
 And another, " I went with thee, brother, 
 By thy side through fire and smother; 
 I stung thee through many a kiss, 
 And the cup made less sweet for this." 
 
 And others, bacchanalian shouts, 
 The ghosts of midnight routs, 
 Cry clamoring, " We wait 
 For thee at the swing of the gate." 
 
 Ah, well, the cards I have — 
 I played at the table — Chance gave 
 Them in the deal: laugh or sigh, 
 One must play and then must die. 
 
 Poor man! If he chance in a rut 
 On a dark road, or his foot 
 Strike a stone and he fall, is it well 
 To say he has stumbled into hell? 
 
 Your religion has quite crammed 
 
 You with need that I be damned ; 
 
 Cry, " The devil!" we're in one boat, 
 
 Pray, " our God," you would cut my throat. 
 
 Should religion teach us to kill 
 That was made for love? Or fill 
 The bankrupt soul of man 
 With more crimes than the devil can? 
 
 Knee service, that's all. Let it go, 
 We will not wrangle, nor sow 
 The seed of discord lest 
 It shall break on our future rest. 
 
 From the past that was like a cloud 
 I heard a voice calling aloud — 
 
20 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Through the rolling time it ran, 
 And was echoed by ev'ry man. 
 
 'Twas age looking back from its goal 
 Through the past. " Reverse the scroll — 
 We remember youth forgot 
 A thing or two and a blot." 
 
 Let it go scratch not the sore 
 
 That has healed lest it hurt you more 
 
 In the op'ning. You 'scaped with some pain, 
 
 Might you suffer less again? 
 
 Brush away these cobwebs, give ear — 
 Let the world boil, we'll rest here 
 On the greensward with a glass 
 Between us, and the fresh grass. 
 
 Let us reach out like roots for truth 
 
 In the loam. Put this nut to your tooth; 
 
 A serpent was carved on a gate. 
 
 He writhed in flames and spat hate. 
 
 And his coils were on the skulls 
 Of men, and he burned their souls. 
 A black form stood at the gate; 
 Men shuddered and called it Fate. 
 
 A wall of night like a cloud 
 Ran up to the gate and lowered 
 Eternally. 'Neath their breath 
 Men said, " Take care, this is death!" 
 
 They were pressed by an unseen might, 
 Gibbering like monkeys with fright, 
 To the hissing snake, the fire pond, 
 And the horror of something beyond. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 21 
 
 : ' You men, what are you about 
 In the rear! Bear, back, let us out!" 
 They shriek. Cry others, " Pray the sun! 
 Get help! Something must be done! 
 
 " Moon and stars! O earth! 
 
 Some power that gave us birth!" 
 
 Cry others at a loss, 
 
 "What means that man with the cross? 
 
 " Can he help us? Help! Too late! 
 
 All is dark — we are through the gate." 
 Trembling, some would say, 
 And laughing, pretend to be gay, 
 
 That over the wall is a host 
 Of glad friends we counted lost; 
 Laughter and music and lights, 
 And a wonderful order of knights. 
 
 Hand in hand with some old love, 
 
 We move up to the Grand Knight above, 
 
 Get our spurs and the shibboleth, 
 
 And laugh, " So this is death." 
 
 While the sparkling world is turning, 
 And we pass the sky ports and the burning 
 Lights, we admire what we see, 
 But our earth we love passionately. 
 
 They made wine here, good wine too, 
 I drank it, what else could I do? 
 And women were there to my hand, 
 Why the whole thing seemed so planned. 
 
 This dear old wine-shop where all 
 Are drunk more or less, and fall 
 
22 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 More or less, they say, long ago 
 
 God called good, and we've found it so. 
 
 I was a vessel, a mug 
 Of clay, empty till the drug 
 Of life from the bottle's neck 
 Was poured wine red to my beak. 
 
 And I sang; why, I knew not; 
 In a breath I was cold and hot; 
 Many vessels fell in twain, 
 Were broke and were clay again. 
 
 Now the webs are about my beak; 
 To-morrow I shall fall and break; 
 And the shop will be as gay 
 As it was another day. 
 
 See this hand full of dust; 
 
 Do you feel any wanton lust 
 
 At its sight or its touch? Yet I think 
 
 I have kissed this dust. Do you shrink? 
 
 And why? Are not here the eyes 
 That loved, the lips whose sighs 
 I drank, The breast divine 
 That rose and fell on mine? 
 
 Here the hair as the water flows 
 Rippling, and in it a rose? 
 This hand full of dust is the same 
 In another form and name. 
 
 The licking winds scoop up 
 
 The rivers in a cloud cup, 
 
 Squeeze out the juice of the flowers 
 
 And send them back in showers 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 23 
 
 For to-morrow's buds. So take 
 These vessels of ours that break 
 When the winds come out of the sky 
 Despite us and drink them dry. 
 
 Will this drug of life rain back 
 To-morrow in some cup, to make 
 A new season, to give the same joys 
 To other girls and boys? 
 
 These passions never die 
 
 Though the vessels broken lie; 
 
 In new time they'll come with the turtle 
 
 Dove and showers of myrtle. 
 
 Passion plays and the storms sweep, 
 Or the worlds smile, or they weep — 
 In our opium smoke we ask why, 
 Conjecture a while, and die. 
 
 But let us back to our prayers, 
 Our paters and aves. Time wears — 
 Our abstraction ravels out 
 Their work with fingers of doubt. 
 
 With the priest Night in his black 
 Striding cassock we toil down the track 
 Of seventy years, while we go 
 Back alone, halting and slow. 
 
 I hate the night; voices speak 
 In the night when I lie awake. 
 Give me light and color, and a ray 
 Of sunshine opening the day. 
 
 My hours were mostly in the sun, 
 For I taught my feet to shun 
 
24 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The paths of the clouds, and my cross 
 I twined with ivy and gloss. 
 
 " Set down the glass," some one said. 
 " Mix tears with your meat and bread, 
 For you know not what gift of sorrow 
 May lie in the hand of to-morrow/' 
 
 " There is time beyond, " I replied. 
 " Shall I be boorish and chide 
 That I have good heart to-day 
 When to-morrow I never may. 
 
 " Yet were times and times again 
 When my spirit for sighs was fain; 
 And I said, not wanting strife, 
 And very much tired of life, 
 
 " Between the fev'rish strain 
 For gold and barter for gain, 
 And the fear of want and the shy 
 Of sins and the devil, and to die, 
 
 " And fever, and ague, and fire, 
 And water, and thunder, and the ire 
 Of God, who can say that his birth 
 Is a thing to be glad for on earth ?" 
 
 But then there's a heaven to pay, 
 Somewhere, some time, where men play 
 At being gods, they tell me, 
 And I feel the propinquity, 
 
 Even now with my gray old head; 
 I feel coming the youth that has fled 
 Somewhere before me. " Take hold," 
 It says, " you are not old." 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 25 
 
 I have lived when I knew not, 
 
 I shall live when I know not, 
 
 Whatever else the fates give, 
 
 This I know and always — I shall live. 
 
 Over there in the churches they sneer 
 At their brothers, some smooth chin'd seer 
 Damns us. Peace, brother, peace! 
 We have suffered, and lacked in grace. 
 
 When a man has been abroad 
 
 And come home, we ask him the road, 
 
 And he tells us so and so; 
 
 Thus we make sure how to go. 
 
 But if I ask his son, 
 
 Or friend, or the hundredth one 
 
 That has heard of the way, my advance 
 
 All wrong shall like as not chance. 
 
 I have not in my life heard, 
 
 Or seen one who came back from this road 
 Of death, to inform the rest 
 Of us which road may be best. 
 
 " So, however much I may want 
 To know the way, I have scant 
 Information; perforce I must 
 Take what they tell me on trust. 
 
 II Then who is to settle the cost, 
 When I do my best and am lost, 
 If the Master let these signs stay, 
 That are apt to lose us our way?" 
 
 Why are men so eager to burn 
 
 The souls of their friends? Let us turn 
 
26 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 This over to God, Who foresaw 
 All things when He made His law. 
 
 When He made all things that move, 
 Being glad, not for hate but love; 
 When He planned for the bird and his mate. 
 Surely for love, not for hate. 
 
 Let us not be beetles and brain 
 Ourselves against the white pane. 
 When the windows ope it may be, 
 We too shall pass in and see. 
 
 There is no great fault in this plan 
 Of things. Yesterday I ran 
 After folly, 'til weary of fun, 
 And to-day I rest in the sun. 
 
 A nurse, as she fingered the stitch, 
 Spun tales of an Eastern witch. 
 As I ran my laughter increased 
 At this tale of a witch in the East. 
 
 For I saw the East and West meet, 
 
 And heard the earth's heart beat 
 
 Ev'rywhere the same; I played 
 
 By the Sphinx, and where M 'hammed prayed. 
 
 Nothing suffered but had its release. 
 And the night came calling " Peace," 
 Where the Cross streamed in mystery, 
 And Pagoda looks East to the sea. 
 
 Once in frenzy I tore my hair, 
 Cursed life, cursed fate in despair, — 
 Then some power soothed me and smiled, 
 And crooned, " Sleep, poor child, poor child." 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 27 
 
 So I slept, and with morning's bloom 
 I laughed — Again it shall come 
 When my last night's shadows creep 
 About me, and whisper, " Sleep!" 
 
 Let us go, then, as readily. 
 What we shall wake up to be 
 We know not, but this we know, 
 That good things to better grow. 
 
 There is no chrysalis knows why 
 
 He becomes a butterfly; 
 
 Nor larva, nor cocoon, 
 
 Can foresee his glory next June. 
 
 We can see the stars, not their laws, 
 We can see the flowers, not their cause — 
 But the death! We tremble and sigh, 
 For we do not want to die. 
 
 How we shrink and turn to our saints, 
 Our Madonnas the dreamer paints. 
 Looking out of Egypt with eyes 
 That are dim and weary of lies. 
 
 Across the white sands to a man, 
 We have come in the caravan. 
 Our beards to our belts have grown, 
 Yet the palms are a little way on. 
 
 They are always a morning's march, 
 While the wide sands behind us parch, 
 And our burdens grow. Shall we doubt? 
 What good! There's no other way out. 
 
 This caravan that began 
 
 With the making of woman and man 
 
28 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Must go right, since it goes by the law 
 That some of our fathers saw. 
 
 The law of the Caravaneer, 
 The great Leader, Eternal Seer; 
 He showed our fathers the way 
 And the caravanserai. 
 
 Let us rest and be on again 
 O'er the undulating plain 
 A small way. It can't be far 
 To the one confirming star. 
 
 A poor old child man I be, 
 And have never been able to see 
 Quite well, any more than you, 
 What was always best to do. 
 
 We would fret like a cross gossoon 
 
 For the silver points of the moon, 
 
 And seemed never to know that the things 
 
 We most wanted had venomous stings. 
 
 Yet this an old man can teach, 
 If you will come where the reach 
 Of the hand of the sun is warm 
 And the bird has no thought of harm. 
 
 Who made this w T orld so fine, 
 Had a heart as kind as mine 
 Or yours, whatever they tell 
 Of His wrath and the fires of hell. 
 
 In the churches the walls are so close 
 And man-built that I seemi to lose 
 These lessons, where women come even 
 To divide our worship with heaven. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 29 
 
 But alone in the church of the sun, 
 Where the leafing boughs have begun, 
 And the stars will come out soon 
 One by one with the reigning moon, 
 
 For my short, failing eyes 
 To wonder at — How the skies 
 Put our weakling wisdoms to flight 
 In the immensity of the night! 
 
 Musing where a million bells 
 Are tinkling, and the incense smells 
 In the censers, swung with the breeze, 
 All my spirit is on its knees. 
 
 What spidery temple spun 
 By man has a dome like the sun! 
 Come with me and leave these piles, 
 Pigmy frames with pews and aisles. 
 
 When they ask what the old man taught, 
 Tell them this, though they count it naught, 
 Love all things. Therein is the key 
 To many a mystery: 
 
 Love greatly and broadly, nor forget 
 
 When carelessly it is met, 
 
 To go on and love, not less, 
 
 But more, so you learn blessedness. 
 
 Now when the wind blows o'er 
 The coop of my hand, and no more 
 Of light is left but to show 
 You I lived and died, even so; 
 
 Make no great to do of that, 
 Nor grow a whit less fat 
 
30 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Of mirth, as I know you will not. 
 But if passing by the spot, 
 
 In some summer shortly after, 
 Which they call my grave, and your laughter 
 Checks a moment from thought of your end, 
 Not enough that your knee will bend; 
 
 Take this mem'ry of me; was here 
 One who did work his share 
 Of evil and go out with a debt 
 Of sins uncanceled yet; 
 
 But who went less in fear than grief, 
 Since he held firmly his belief, 
 That the spirit in his breast 
 Always loving what was best, 
 
 Even with tears, and his kind, 
 And all things, God will not blind 
 With sheet fire and cast astray 
 In the world where hate holds sway. 
 
 Have we said our prayers? Well, our lips 
 Were moving like idle ships; 
 And you dreamed your dreams of the wine 
 Of youth and I dreamed mine. 
 
 Now the day has flown an arc, 
 Like a bird that comes out of the dark 
 Of a room. The East and West meet, 
 A great crowd has come in the street. 
 
 From here in the Temple hard by 
 I can hear the men's voices cry 
 For drink. If the glass be full, 
 What pressing need to be dull? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 31 
 
 But an image as gray as mine 
 Casts a shadow even in wine; 
 No matter, fill a glass for me, 
 A Sazerac let it be: 
 
 Hold it up, so the soul of youth glows ; 
 Drop the glass! How the bold spirit goes! 
 When my spirit goes thus, so you may 
 Sweep the broken vessel away. 
 
 MY QUEEN 
 
 When ev'ry one shall turn to his own home, 
 And this wide world, forgetting and forgot, 
 Shall leave just thee and me alone beneath 
 The stars to dream and hallow one loved spot, 
 
 My queen, thou shalt no tribute ask of them, 
 Nor I a thought from any maid or man. 
 What more than hand in hand beneath the stars, 
 With God in Eden as the world began. 
 
 Then God shall send his cherubs to thy breast 
 And crown thee with the glory of a son, 
 And they and I shall worship 'round thy throne, 
 Strong armed and true to make thy will be done. 
 
 CRY OF THE SOUTHERN MINSTREL 
 
 Who has struck the living strings 
 Of thy harp, my native State? 
 
 Who has heard thy eagle's wings 
 Rushing fearless to its fate? 
 
 Who has seen thee in thy ire, — 
 
 Bard, is none, to catch thy fire? 
 
32 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Minstrel spurn this lethargy! 
 
 Feel the frenzy of that past; 
 Rise and strike the fetters free, 
 
 Brooding silence long has cast 
 'Round the splendor of her name 
 And forgotten harp of fame. 
 
 Rise and sing us yet one song, — 
 Tell of men to glory born, 
 
 Of the pure and true and strong, 
 Fill thy song with stinging scorn 
 
 For the base that live in shame, 
 
 Dead to virtue and to fame. 
 
 Sing of men with purpose high, 
 Men that can't be bought or sold, 
 
 Men whose lives are not a lie, 
 
 Godlike men with hearts that hold 
 
 Simple faith to love's command, 
 
 God and home and native land. 
 
 Where are they, and why so still? 
 
 Are they deaf or blind, or what? 
 See they not the land is ill? 
 
 Will they stand unmoved at that, 
 Let the deadly scourge increase 
 So it breaks not on their peace? 
 
 O you men your mothers bore ! 
 
 Can you, then, so soon forget? 
 Men that children, wives, adore, 
 
 Can you then, so soon forget? 
 Ah, these women! By God's will 
 They shall save our honor still. 
 
 No land yet was ever lost 
 
 That had daughters fair as they. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 33 
 
 Though in blood we pay the cost, 
 We shall have the price to pay, 
 By their virtue, by their prayers, 
 By their sufFrings and their tears. 
 
 Yet our honor's all but dead, 
 
 And the soul of glory flown, 
 Leaving hopeless gloom instead, — 
 
 To some bolder, brighter zone. 
 When I think of what you were, 
 What you were and what you are, 
 
 Madness fires my soul like wine, 
 
 Sets a braver spirit free, — 
 When I think you were divine, 
 
 When I dream you still might be. 
 Wake, my country! Spread your wings 
 We shall rise to brighter things. 
 
 'Cross Grand Rio take me south 
 While I dream of great deeds done, 
 
 Let me get it from the mouth 
 Of some idler how was won. 
 
 Buena Vista, go you hear 
 
 Of the things to which you're heir. 
 
 Richmond, speaking for her dead, 
 
 Answers back to Mexico. 
 Where such deathless heroes bled, 
 
 Can the living fall so low, 
 Thus to shame with souls unmoved 
 This fair land their fathers loved? 
 
 Better trackless wastes of yore, 
 
 Better laws and arts untaught, 
 Better savage bathed in gore, 
 
 Than the shames that we have wrought. 
 
34 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Strike the laurel from her brow! 
 There's a curse upon her now. 
 
 Hang the harp on silent walls, 
 Fold the shroud about her gloom; 
 
 For her sun of glory palls 
 And her fame is on the tomb 
 
 Where her warrior heroes lie. 
 
 Gods can such names ever die? 
 
 Can their children mate with slaves? 
 
 Find a deeper level still, 
 Fall beneath oblivion's waves, 
 
 Lose their white man's soul and will 
 With some brutish octoroon 
 'Neath the passionate southern moon. 
 
 Why so still? Does none deny? 
 
 What, not one? No single knight 
 Dares to give the tale the lie? 
 
 Dares to boldly stand and fight? 
 Rise, O dead, and let the sky 
 Ring with your wild battle cry. 
 
 Men who died with zeal devout, 
 Faced the hell of belching guns, 
 
 Rise and send them howling out — 
 Slaves with slaves and half-breed sons- 
 
 You who fill such honored graves 
 
 Cannot give your blood to slaves. 
 
 GARDEN FANCIES 
 
 What shall I gather to give her? 
 
 Flowers, come teach me your tongue. 
 Which of you voices the passion 
 
 That was old when Eden was young? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 35 
 
 Roses, you're flesh with the fleshy, 
 
 You appeal too much to the eye; 
 Lily, your exquisite fibre 
 
 Was cast too pale in its dye. 
 
 Oh, but there's a breath in the garden 
 
 That's the very essence of love. 
 Does it come from the soul of my flowers, 
 
 Or come from a garden above? 
 
 It steals in my spirit's casement 
 
 Like a lamp in a darkened room. 
 In the morning I strive to find it 
 
 And offer my love through a bloom. 
 
 But it wings away from my garden 
 
 As the sun flashes round the sky, 
 Leaving one star at evening 
 
 And I cross where the shadows lie, 
 
 And kneel at the warm stained railing 
 In the cliff scarred mountains of time, 
 
 Where the day heat passions are fading 
 And show in the heavens sublime. 
 
 And all the sweets of my garden 
 
 Curl upward against the sky, 
 With incense soft and splendid, 
 
 To the shrine where my love dreams lie. 
 
 My garden is white in the moonlight, 
 With a whisper of doubt in its leaves. 
 
 There's a dream form there by the fountain's flow, 
 Where the fragrant jasmine weaves. 
 
 She walks with a movement pensive, 
 Her cloak a diaphanous cloud — 
 
3 6 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Her going as soft and sweet as the breath 
 Of a rosebud thinking aloud. 
 
 Is it flesh of my flesh that I tremble? 
 
 Is it blood of my blood that I ache 
 To be but one with her, body and being, 
 
 That Heaven may mold and break 
 
 The form, and our souls escaping, 
 
 Like perfume from dead gone flowers, 
 
 Rise up one spirit perfect in bliss 
 With all of eternity ours? 
 
 And I follow along by the fountain, 
 
 Always a step behind; 
 By the sweet ribbed violet beds in the dew, 
 
 By the beds the narcissus bind. 
 
 Always a step behind her 
 
 'Til the pastures, oak studded, lay 
 
 With a lace of moonlight and leaves before, 
 And behind me an empty way. 
 
 For the form is gone of my dreaming, 
 Like the odors I strive to grasp; 
 
 And only the mantle of moonlight is left 
 Like her veil slipped loose from its clasp. 
 
 The world will tell you there's nothing true, 
 
 And love is lost in a day. 
 The world will tell you that gold is its god, 
 
 But these are the things the flowers say. 
 
 Many maidens will tell you their man is false, 
 
 With a lifelong debt to pay — 
 And many a lad has plucked a thorn, 
 
 But these are the things the flowers say: 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 37 
 
 From the daisy I find that you love me, 
 
 From the violet you are true; 
 But the red rose is your passion, 
 
 And the white rose, love, is you. 
 
 The spotless soul of the lily 
 
 Looks up to the morning star, 
 And they tell to one another 
 
 How stainlessly pure you are. 
 
 The cherry says you are constant, 
 The moon-flower asks of the moon, 
 
 Was there ever another such maiden 
 Or a flower as fragrant in June. 
 
 And one and all they tell me 
 
 With their fingers on my eyes, 
 That love is the vessel that holds us 
 
 And the world is full of lies. 
 
 When the stars are up above me 
 And the flowers in the hedge, 
 
 There's a crack in heaven's window 
 And the key is on the ledge — 
 
 For you are in the garden 
 
 Where the moonbeams pry and peak 
 And the rose breaks through its petals, 
 
 Thinking to hear you speak. 
 
 Sometimes when the flowers are here alone 
 
 I pace the fragrant way, 
 And question the deep, true depths of your soul ■ 
 
 But these are the things the violets say: 
 
38 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 You are so true, 
 
 That if you 
 
 Should fall asleep 
 
 In the sleep that is so deep 
 
 And men call death, 
 
 This I know, — 
 
 That from your eyes would grow 
 
 Violets, you are so true. 
 
 And if you 
 
 Were not so true 
 
 To me, dear love, 
 
 When clods are packed above, 
 
 And I a clod long since, 
 
 Still from my tomb 
 
 The bleeding hearts would bloom 
 
 If you were not so true. 
 
 Daily I send you something 
 
 From this garden quaint of mine, 
 Petals that whisper fondly, 
 
 Or tendrils that cling and twine. 
 
 Daily I send you something 
 To tell you as well as it can 
 
 The sweetest little secret 
 
 And the tender heart of a man. 
 
 I send you cherry blossoms, ah! 
 
 Cherry blossoms, they will say, 
 
 They will speak and say 
 To the ears of your soul 
 
 The words I never may. 
 
 Ah, love, ah, love! my heart has grown 
 them, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 39 
 
 My tears have kept them fresh and wet, 
 My lips have met 
 To kiss them through the night, 
 Lest your heart forget. 
 
 I send you pansies, 
 
 Love, only kiss 
 The buds if they droop, 
 
 And they shall not miss 
 The sun or the spray 
 
 Of the midnight dew, 
 But finding their heaven there, 
 Shall drink of your lips 
 
 And live anew 
 With fine scorn of the garden's care. 
 
 I send you pansies, 
 
 Love, only wear 
 Them close to your breast 
 
 And they'll nestle there 
 To tell you the thoughts 
 
 That blossomed in mine — 
 For none knows like the pansies do 
 What you are to me, 
 
 And none can divine 
 Like the pansies how I love you. 
 
 And so, through the rain and sunny hours 
 I'm filling your life with love and with flowers. 
 And after the sunset I come to pray 
 And to hear the things the flowers say. 
 
 To dream of you while the whippoorwill 
 Flutters from the shadows over the hill, 
 To dream of you while the flowers pine 
 And murmur your name to the stars that shine. 
 
40 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Ah, dreams, they will still be coming 
 
 When I'm gray as the moonlit cobwebs there! 
 
 To twine in the rosy warmth of your fingers 
 Or nestle in the shadowy braid of your hair. 
 
 Though my dreams diverge and vary, 
 And there come as many faces as flowers 
 
 With each its several rare old fragrance, 
 
 Forget-me-not faces that charm me for hours, 
 
 This glorious girl of my garden 
 
 Is my spirit's best and mellowest wine, 
 
 And my pleasures are almost bacchanalian 
 When I think of claiming those lips for mine. 
 
 The old god with his measure of nectar 
 
 Drinks his pledge and holds the moment divine, 
 
 But my soul shall drink of a rarer vintage 
 When the lips of this sweetheart girl are mine. 
 
 If a thousand miles were a moment, 
 
 And travel were quick as the heart's desire, 
 The witches could bring from the pasture their 
 caldron 
 To the gloom of my garden and light their blue 
 fire. 
 
 For there'd be no knight to guard it 
 
 If a moment's space would carry me there 
 
 To the star that shines so far and dimly 
 In the east and makes my dreams so fair. 
 
 Come into my garden, 
 Come, dearest, to-night. 
 
 Come into my garden, 
 
 'Twill thrill you with delight. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 41 
 
 For its spices are wafted 
 
 On pinions of love, 
 And attuned all its voices 
 
 To the throat of the dove. 
 
 Come into my garden 
 
 And adorn thy rich throne, 
 Ere the winter has sered it, 
 
 Ere the blossoms are blown. 
 
 Oh, the flowers are lovely, 
 
 All the fruit of my care, 
 Grown by a lover 
 
 For some one to share — 
 
 Grown for a fairy 
 
 By a fairy's slave. 
 Come, or the garden 
 
 Will change to a grave. 
 
 Roses and pansies, 
 
 Forget-me-nots too, 
 Ox-eyed daisies 
 
 With diamonds of dew — 
 
 Violets, violets, 
 
 The sweetest of all, 
 And the willow is weeping 
 
 Over the wall. 
 
 Come into my garden, 
 
 Pride of my sight, 
 Come into my garden, 
 
 And complete its delight. 
 
 Ev'ry step you take, dearest, 
 Is a seed in the dust 
 
42 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Of my heart, my garden, 
 Come, girl, you must. 
 
 She is coming, the fireflies follow her step; 
 
 She is coming — the trees over head 
 Stir from their dreaming and scatter their pearls 
 
 O'er the path where her dainty feet tread. 
 
 She is coming — the south winds whisper it low, 
 And their murmurs the haughty rose vex, 
 
 For the red bud pales and its sweets grow faint 
 By the fairest fair of her sex. 
 
 She is coming — the skies were never so deep, 
 
 Nor the voice of the night so still. 
 She is coming, and all that is good in the world 
 
 Like handmaidens wait on her will. 
 
 She is coming, my darling, 'mid summer blooms 
 best, 
 
 With a crown on the brown of her hair, 
 With a crown that Heaven has fashioned for her 
 
 And my love placed worshiping there. 
 
 She is coming fairylike, — tremble, O love. 
 
 Music had never such charms 
 As the fall of her step while I wait here alone 
 
 In the dusk with my outstretched arms. 
 
 She is coming, roses, bow down your heads. 
 
 She is coming, night, curtain your eyes. 
 Be reverent all, while my spirit adores 
 
 This vision so fair from the skies. 
 
 She is coming, fond heart, thy choice, she is near; 
 Away to thy place at her side, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 43 
 
 And drink from her eyes twin fountains of bliss, 
 'Til thou'rt drunk and drowned in their tide. 
 
 But the form at the fountain has vanished. 
 
 Ah, no! she comes not to-night: 
 Though the spell is all of her weaving, 
 
 Though the garden's light is her light. 
 
 Not to-night will she come, nor to-morrow. 
 
 Ah, rose, you need have no fear! 
 When she comes your leaves will have fallen, 
 
 And the bush will be ragged and sere. 
 
 Hectic tints will show in the forest, 
 And a sweep of leaves and rain 
 
 Will come robbing the wood of its beauty, — 
 And a rattle of sleet on the pane. 
 
 And my garden will be a snowdrift, 
 
 And a dream of daffodil, 
 And a warbling bird in the springtime, 
 
 When winter has had his fill. 
 
 But more than a dream will my hearth be, 
 With this golden-eyed girl for my bride; 
 
 By the roaring red of the hearth-fire, 
 We two sitting side by side. 
 
 Ah, then she will come, my flowers, 
 And there'll be no winter then, 
 
 Though the snowdrift freeze on the hillside 
 And the sharp ice cover the fen. 
 
 We shall watch the sparks in the chimney, 
 
 With my dreams all gone to rest 
 So near that they need not wander 
 
 To the girl I love the best. 
 
44 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 We will need the whole long winter 
 To fit for the spring our nest, 
 
 And then you shall bloom for me, flowers, 
 And the girl I love the best. 
 
 KATE 
 
 When the winds of the wood are calling, Kate, 
 And October's leaves are falling Kate, 
 
 It seems so queer 
 
 That you are not here, 
 And no one comes when I call Kate. 
 
 You used to be always laughing, Kate, 
 So gay and eternally chaffing, Kate. 
 
 Then why should I, pray, 
 
 Be weeping to-day 
 When you never wept in your life, Kate. 
 
 Oh, you were so very clever, Kate, 
 
 And would do for a friend forever, Kate, 
 
 And ask for no pay, 
 
 For that was your way, — 
 Unselfish as days were long, dear Kate. 
 
 To share what you had you were ready, Kate, 
 Always, and so true and steady, Kate — 
 
 And I've seen you run 
 
 From sun to sun 
 To serve all first and last serve Kate. 
 
 That sorrow may never come near you, Kate, 
 But that love and plenty may cheer you, Kate, 
 
 Is the prayer of your friend 
 
 World without end, 
 And all of my heart goes with it, Kate. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 45 
 
 HAPPY NEW YEAR 
 
 'Twas in the last December — 
 Ah, how well do I remember! 
 
 Somewhat glad and somewhat sighing 
 I heard the din of merry bells 
 
 For the old year lay a-dying. 
 
 Ding dong! a happy New Year — 
 The glad notes swell and fall — 
 
 A happy New Year, happy New Year, 
 A happy New Year to all! 
 
 A witch on the winds was flying, 
 And the old year lay a-dying. 
 
 No shadow then of sigh or sorrow, 
 For the mad, glad world was drunk with 
 dreams 
 
 Of the wonderful year of to-morrow. 
 
 In all the great, wide city 
 For the dead there was no pity. 
 
 And I alone with a heart to remember 
 Sat brooding and thinking, " Ah well, ah 
 well!" 
 
 My joy was in you, December. 
 
 And to-night as I sit here sighing 
 While another old year is dying, 
 
 The world may go mad with joyous en- 
 deavor ; 
 But I know what the dead year held for me, 
 
 And I know it is gone forever. 
 
 Ding dong! a happy New Year. — 
 The glad notes swell and fall. 
 
46 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 A happy New Year, happy New Year, 
 A happy New Year to all. 
 
 JUDGE ME NOT 
 
 Judge me not by the things I say — 
 
 For how can you, 
 Knowing not the silences, 
 
 Make your judgment true? 
 
 Nor yet by the things I do; for these, 
 Some grow from the stern 
 
 Old Must that ruthlessly drives 
 
 Though my heart break and burn. 
 
 Oh, judge me not at all, my friend. 
 
 Give your love to hide 
 My weakness and try to see 
 
 My tortured heart inside. 
 
 VERITAS 
 
 If Thou art hurt by tears of those Thou lovest, 
 As tears of those I love hurt me, — 
 
 If on Thy shoulders burdens that Thou givest 
 Increase a million-fold to burden Thee, — 
 
 If Thou dost know the hunger of the hungry, 
 And helpless want to give them meat and bread, 
 
 The hurts, the wrongs, the wants of all creation, 
 Hast known and must 'til ev'ry man be dead. 
 
 And if the love Thou givest all eternal, 
 Younger than life and older than the stars, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 47 
 
 Comes back to Thee turned sneers and wanton 
 coldness 
 In hate, in crimes, in wickedness and wars — 
 
 If Thou must feel the failure of Thy purpose, 
 To Thy command the answer bellowing, " No! " 
 
 The temple that Thou build'st about Thee top- 
 pling, 
 And sighing say, " I made it thus and so," — 
 
 If friends of hell ensnare Thy best creation, 
 Thy imaged likeness carved of joyous conceit, 
 
 And Thou from heav'n canst but thunder curses, 
 Helpless, upon the victim of defeat — 
 
 If even in that vaunted peace of heaven, 
 
 Thy bosom's friend scoffed at Divinity's rod, 
 
 And traitors made the flower of Thy kingdom, 
 That could not judge between the less and God — 
 
 Lord God of things as we poor people see them > 
 Teach us the things of God that really are, 
 
 Lest tangled creeds that sicken understanding 
 Disgust our faith and try our souls too far. 
 
 LITTLE GIRL O' MINE 
 
 If you could come and kiss me, 
 
 When I'm sort of tired and blue, 
 
 I'd brighten up and freshen 
 The way the flowers do 
 When it rains. 
 
 Could you put your arms around me, 
 And your little hands in mine, 
 
48 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And come and stand behind me, 
 I shouldn't fret and pine 
 'Bout little pains. 
 
 That's all I seem to care for, 
 
 Little girl o' mine, 
 That's all that I'm a-wantin' 
 
 And never yet a sign 
 Of hopeful days. 
 
 But sometimes when I'm dreamin* 
 I seem to feel the touch 
 
 Of your lips and hear you whisper 
 That you love me very much, 
 And will always. 
 
 THE DEVIL'S PIPES 
 
 Dance, if you will, I'll meet the cost, 
 
 Though the devil the piper be. 
 It's nothing to you so dance — 
 
 And leave the payment to me. 
 
 I had not cared to make the debt, 
 
 For I liked the sunny road, 
 By the hedge that bloomed and piping things 
 
 And sky as deep as God. 
 
 There a man might have his soul's desire, 
 
 With never a reck'ning day. 
 But the devil came by with his pipes, and you 
 
 Would dance, and I must pay. 
 
 So dance and dance, and peace to your heart 
 When you come some day to see, 
 
 That the music you boasted of paying for 
 Was bought with the soul of me. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 49 
 
 PASTORAL 
 
 THE FARMER'S MORNING 
 
 Sweet silence waits in dark confessional, 
 
 The drowsy birds are dreaming of the moon, 
 
 The reedy tinklings beat in dewy dell. 
 
 The sudden watchdog bays and stops as soon. 
 
 From some far pine on gloomy hill's high crest 
 A great owl squints and hoots the coming day; 
 
 And whippoorwill, soft chanting by her nest, 
 In dismal woods is hills and hills away. 
 
 Now in the east the flounces of the morn 
 Are fluttering; a thrush's gutt'ral now 
 
 Proclaims the infant day from slumber born, 
 By glad hearts welcomed and the rustling bough. 
 
 Here o'er a path, where leaps the timid hare, 
 Some mocking-bird in flush of myrtle tree, 
 
 Some poet, learning how to love, lays bare 
 His little heart with happy piety. 
 
 The woods are somber where the floating mist 
 Hangs like a veil, that only half conceals 
 
 The modest maiden blushes in the east, 
 Whose rosy beauty dawning light reveals. 
 
 Along yon road, that winds its way to town 
 Through verdant pastures and by tillaged fields, 
 
 A stooping figure moves with careworn frown, 
 Blind to delights that lovely nature yields. 
 
 Each early morn by this accustomed road 
 This stolid sire of ignorance must toil, — 
 
 Upon his shoulders labor's sweaty load, 
 Less man than beast, mistrusted with a soul. 
 
5C ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 With rough mahogany of hand and brow, 
 With apelike forehead and distended nose, 
 
 'Tis his to guide the undulating plow, 
 
 And scourge his sons along the cotton rows. 
 
 The brand of slave is on him where he goes. 
 
 Now warblers from their nightly haunts repair. 
 And breaths of fragrance from the mint and rose, 
 
 And jasmine blooms are in the morning air. 
 
 Anon woodpeckers, at their lusty trade, 
 
 Cry shrilly, rousing all the peaceful grove; 
 
 And on the shelving side of distant glade 
 Half mournful coos some pretty maiden dove. 
 
 The cow expectant calls her bleating young, 
 The while her homeward way she slowly goes, 
 
 Snatching the tender clover with her tongue 
 Where richest in the fields it rankly grows. 
 
 And lo! the pageant of the coming day! 
 
 A wave of gold sweeps through the silent pines. 
 The sun is up and every dewy spray 
 
 Becomes a jewel where his splendor shines. 
 
 'Neath yonder shade of oak and evergreen, 
 
 Just catching sparks of sunlight through the 
 leaves, 
 
 The green gray shingles of a roof are seen, 
 With tufts of moss about the battered eaves. 
 
 The blue smoke rises from the crackling fire 
 With hazy peacefulness. A morning's song 
 
 Now meets the pleasant toil, as hopes suspire 
 From dreams and rest to cheer the whole day 
 long. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 51 
 
 A housewife, queen in miniature domain, 
 Prepares the morning's plentiful repast. 
 
 A thousand cares are hers; to soothe the pain 
 Of infant ills, that follow youth so fast; 
 
 To guide the baby feet, and when they stray, 
 To lead them back and kiss them well again; 
 
 Working with angels that their small souls may 
 Grow fair as lilies and as free from stain. 
 
 Where e'er they go, sin, suffer as they will, 
 Or pointed at with scorn, or rich or proud, 
 
 Her mother love and care are with them still — 
 She stands between them and the wrath of God. 
 
 Around the kitchen door the rank and file 
 Of haughty geese parade with noisy scorn. 
 
 The strutting gobbler spurns the earth as vile, 
 And thinks himself the only beauty born. 
 
 These also are her charge, and well they know, 
 These feathered frauds, how easy 'tis to cheat 
 
 Her gentleness with cries of want and woe — 
 Their craws crammed full and yet disposed to 
 eat. 
 
 The lord and master, well contented too, 
 Laz'ly saunters by the garden walk; 
 
 He notes the melons sparkling in the dew, 
 And heavy fruitfulness of vine and stalk. 
 
 Near by the orchard stretches into view, — 
 The juicy plum, the peach scarce turning pink, 
 
 From which the jaybirds claim their ample due, 
 Or thrush or crow or noisy bobolink. 
 
 Here in these apple trees, whose sour fruit 
 Is now no bigger than a partridge egg, 
 
52 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The hopes of future crisp brown pies recruit, 
 
 Served hot, seasoned with spice and ground nut- 
 meg. 
 
 Or roasted apples sputt'ring on the plate 
 
 With sugar browned; wholesome delights like 
 these 
 
 Come crowding on his fancy, cheer his state, 
 And stay his step beneath the apple trees. 
 
 Another promise of the summer days, 
 The rip'ning fig in purple lusciousness 
 
 Would tempt a king to stop and sound its praise, 
 And rest beneath its ample shade's caress. 
 
 His heart is large with kindness and with cheer. 
 
 His orchard bears alike for rich and poor. 
 No cost so large or selfish need so dear, 
 
 To turn a hungry beggar from the door. 
 
 Nor yet so humble, but on wintry nights, 
 When warm the fire is burning on the hearth, 
 
 In tales of chivalry his soul delights, 
 
 While claim he makes of noble line and birth. 
 
 How sire of his was shot at Bloody Lane, 
 How Gettysburg had drained his uncle's life; 
 
 High deeds, that from his flashing eyes distrain 
 Admiring tears for those that fell in strife. 
 
 Then, growing mellow as the mem'ries flow, 
 His fancies turn to sunny days of peace: 
 
 Old quarter songs and tales of long ago 
 
 Told o'er and o'er, still entertain and please. 
 
 Some faithful slave, long dead these twenty years, 
 Enthroned by love, still claims an envied place 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 53 
 
 In these fond tales and tributary tears, 
 Despite the lowliness and humble race. 
 
 Though at his stern command and haughty mien, 
 The timid negroes, half in fun and fear, 
 
 Skip from his path in dread of being seen, 
 To laugh and prank behind his awful ear, — 
 
 Yet, when oppression brings its tyranny, 
 
 Or skePton want its scant, unwholesome fare, 
 
 The master's shoulders lift the burdens free, 
 The master's board divides its plenteous share. 
 
 So lays he up for gray-haired heritage 
 A quiet conscience and unsullied name. 
 
 Each day turns back of life a well-filled page, 
 With small recorded folly, naught of shame. 
 
 Like rock-ribbed harbor tossing into spray 
 
 The angry waves crashing against its base, 
 And men who hear them by some summer bay 
 Hear only murmurings that sound like peace; 
 
 So he stands guarding manfully his home. 
 
 No breath of shame has ever entered there, — 
 And when the wranglings from the world do come, 
 
 They sound like dying messages of care. 
 
 So faint and far away they only breathe 
 A moment's melancholy music's strain, 
 
 And, dying, haunt the mem'ry through their death 
 With something like a pleasant thrill of pain. 
 
 Let politicians sell their little faith, 
 
 Or lie a thousand times to get one vote, 
 
 Place on hypocrisy a laurel wreath, 
 
 And tell their virtues that they have by rote; 
 
54 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Let royalty kill its heart with pomp, let wealth 
 In frenzied finance lose a man his soul, 
 
 Let crafty natures lay their plan of stealth, 
 Or money-lenders reach their damning goal; 
 
 Not all their vaunted wealth, success, or power 
 Can buy the peaceful joy this good man knows. 
 
 And when they've fretted through their peevish hour. 
 With God begun; they've lost him at its close. 
 
 Not so with him; his kindly face is set 
 Towards the rising and descending sun; 
 
 Gold's not his god, nor lust for it can fret. 
 His pride, — a well-spent life, a duty done. 
 
 No home of broken vows, damning divorce, 
 
 Daughters besmirched and sons of lewd address. 
 
 The law of nature here has still some force, 
 And fashion ne'er has seemed to make it less. 
 
 Here is a mother counting wealth no gain, 
 Counting a noble life of toil no price; 
 
 So that she makes the path of duty plain, 
 Counting no cross too great, no sacrifice. 
 
 The gossip clubs, where heartless slander rules, 
 Soft silks cov'ring a tiger's vengeful mood, 
 
 And silly tongues of some poor gadding fools, 
 Spreading a tale that soon may end in blood; 
 
 For these she has no time, and if she had, 
 Her simple life, her holy love for home, 
 
 Devotion to her children and regard 
 
 For charity, these all pronounce her doom. 
 
 She has not style enough — a bitter shame — 
 What though her brain is rare as polished gem, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 55 
 
 Her character like marble, such as fame 
 
 Delights to sing, of which all good men dream! 
 
 A harlot covering her nakedness 
 
 With silks, and wanton heart with lying speech — 
 Dame Fashion gently passes up the mess, 
 
 Where virtue plainly clad can never reach. 
 
 But turn the picture; it were shame to make 
 Further comparison. Let's take some other, 
 
 As one who from the thought of such would speak, 
 First breathes a prayer and tells you of his 
 mother. 
 
 The sun like some enormous golden kite 
 
 Has cleared the limbs of yon encircling trees; 
 
 And fussy toil, that slept throughout the night, 
 Has kicked the oxen from their sleeping knees. 
 
 Across the fields the master rides away, 
 
 Still in his heart the parting kiss and words; 
 
 In touch with all that nature has to say, 
 
 His soul harmonious with the songs of birds. 
 
 And like the birds that gather 'round the nest 
 And sing their slumber songs so peacefully, 
 
 When twilight's nursing calls them back to rest, 
 So underneath the shelt'ring roof and tree, 
 
 When evening comes, shall come this family, 
 And sing their evening songs and look up high 
 
 To the stars, give thanks to Heaven happily, 
 And sleep and dream beneath a peaceful sky. 
 
56 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Better, far better than any wish I ever made — 
 Dreamer of dreams that I am, they lose their luster 
 
 and fade, 
 I that carried a candle, you will give me a star, 
 Death, when you come and show me what manner of 
 
 life you are. 
 
 THE EARTH 
 
 A bubble, where He who made it, 
 
 And blew it into space, 
 To please Divinity's fancy, 
 
 Looks and sees His face. 
 
 TWO WORLDS 
 
 Tonight there is no glamour in the sky 
 The world is but a shop and common place ; 
 My restless thoughts with restless limbs keep 
 pace ; 
 
 For happiness in past or future try. 
 
 To-morrow what a change shall come to pass! 
 God's holy light shall hang in this old dome 
 Of earth, and ev'rywhere will be my home, 
 
 For waking I shall look into your face. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 57 
 
 IF YOU LOVE ME 
 
 If you love me, why, then, the spring 
 Is warm beneath the winter's wing — 
 And though the flower buds be bare 
 A breath of fragrance lingers there, 
 If you but love me. 
 
 If you love me the moments fly 
 Like swallows on the wing and I, 
 On wings of thought as light as they, 
 Go flitting round you all the day, 
 If you but love me. 
 
 Unless you love me, though delights 
 Of budding days and dreamy nights 
 Be 'round me — though the song-birds sing 
 And boughs be green, yet 'tis not spring, 
 Unless you love me. 
 
 Unless you love me kingly gain 
 Has no more worth than wind and rain. 
 Though princes pose as half divine, 
 I would not give for their lot mine, 
 If you but love me. 
 
 THE CALL OF THE DEAD 
 
 (In Memoriam, Irene Shannon.) 
 
 I CAST myself down on the ground 
 In the grasses and white clover tops, 
 Where the bees gathered their crops 
 
 Of honey. Stung by the droning sound 
 Of their wings and the murmuring trees 
 
58 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 To the consciousness of a sere 
 
 And blight in the verdant year, 
 I wept as I watched the flight of the bees. 
 For the book of life lay apart, 
 
 Where a blot was dry on the page, 
 
 While vague suggestions of age 
 Were feebly helpless somewhere in my heart. 
 The clover blossoms and bees 
 
 They seem so far away 
 
 And yet they are here to-day, 
 With the scent from the full-blossomed china 
 
 trees. 
 How strangely, distantly sweet 
 
 With their breath are the meadland winds, 
 
 To my soul that willowy bends 
 In the clover bed where the steady beat 
 Of the busy wings goes on. 
 
 But they all seem things of the past, 
 
 And a shadow its going has cast, 
 From a brighter way where the past has gone. 
 I can't see how it can be 
 
 That the bees and the clover blooms 
 
 Come back again from their tombs 
 With the year, come back again to me, 
 And she, the pulse of it all 
 
 With a spirit gracious and brave, 
 
 Lying out there in the grave, 
 Can never hear nor come at my call. 
 These tokens I shrink from to-day 
 
 For they hurt my soul instead 
 
 Of pleasing. They speak of the dead, 
 The dead, to me in their pitiful way, 
 And I must forget. Forget ? — 
 
 I could laugh, if I were not sad. 
 
 Ah, death may forget and the dead, 
 But life has too much of memory yet. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 59 
 
 For the clover tops will speak, 
 
 With the busy bees and blooms 
 
 That the year has brought from their tombs, 
 They will rise each day from the shadows and 
 
 seek 
 For the sun of the presence that lies 
 
 Eclipsed by the planet of death; 
 
 But all their beauty and breath 
 Never more shall excite the soul in her eyes. 
 In the busy rush of the day, 
 
 In the Midas mania of the street, 
 
 Where Judas and Mamon meet, 
 And my heart harks back from its better way; 
 I seem to forget a while, 
 
 And the lights go out from the hall 
 
 Where grief hangs over the pall, 
 And mine answers in kind the world's false 
 
 smile. 
 Or is it that the undefiled 
 
 Cannot follow, but watches afar 
 
 Where the bees and the clover blooms are, 
 With the longing, innocent, eyes of a child? 
 Love is so foolishly sweet, 
 
 Ever anxious it is to deceive 
 
 Itself, to make believe 
 Like a child at toys, and credit its deceit. 
 I have plucked the china flowers 
 
 From this old tree year after year, 
 
 For they seemed to bring her so near 
 That she touched and blessed this world of 
 
 ours. 
 The sweets came from the dress she wore 
 
 And her eyes, like the flow T ers, were blue, — 
 
 'Twas tearfully sad since I knew 
 That ne'er while I lived should I see them 
 
 more. 
 To-day I have only the cross, 
 
60 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Those foolish whims have fled 
 
 And left me alone with the dead, 
 To morbidly count the infinite loss. 
 Isn't it strange, that of all the earth, 
 
 There is nothing to take the place 
 
 In my heart of this missing face? 
 The want of it beggars the plenty of mirth, 
 Comes stealing like a ghost 
 
 At all places and times to my side: 
 
 When most I think to hide 
 From it, it is here and chides me most. 
 I walked in the crowds of a city, 
 
 In the hive of human bees, 
 
 And loneliness was like a disease: 
 For in all of the crowd there was no pity, 
 Only heartless laughter and jest. 
 
 And I found myself staring ahead 
 
 In vain for the face of the dead, 
 And turning I fled from my crazy quest, — 
 Came back to the fields to sit 
 
 In the grasses and clover tops, 
 
 Where the busy bees gather their crops 
 Of honey, and twittering swallows flit. 
 For she will be there, I said, 
 
 Her spirit will fold over mine, — 
 
 Surely she will give me a sign 
 Through the friendly blooms that she is not 
 
 dead. 
 But the kind old soul of the wood 
 
 And the flowers have failed me to-day. 
 
 The sunlight beats on the spray 
 Of the clover leaves, and the purple blood 
 Is at rise in the china tree. 
 
 The sun and summer rain 
 
 Have come to those that were fain 
 For them, and peace to all but me. 
 What comes to me that is good 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 61 
 
 From the arms of mother earth? 
 A sigh that has its birth 
 In my heart and dies away in the wood. 
 For, smelling the breath of the flowers, 
 And hearing the voice of the trees, 
 My longing is like a disease, 
 For the beautiful April days that were ours. 
 Oh, heart, will you not be still? 
 
 Will you hunt me to death with the dead? 
 With the sting of a hasty word said, 
 That was never meant, but it makes me mad 
 To think, if man knew in time, 
 How a kindness left undone, 
 Or a hard word spoken in fun, 
 May grow to haunt the mind like a crime. 
 If I had another chance — 
 
 Poor fool, art thou dreaming still 
 So fallen and flat thy skill, 
 The dream of a Knight with a broken lance? 
 Ah, well, it is we have dreams, 
 Else how could we live at all 
 With our ears ever full of the call 
 Of the dead? One could not resist it seems 
 To me if it were not for cheating 
 The reason with nursery rhymes, 
 With the hearing of unheard chimes, 
 And the sweet romance of a future meeting. 
 Faith was wise when it taught 
 That man was never a slave 
 To death and the bonds of the grave, 
 But lives again in a brighter thought. 
 And so, may I hold since I deem 
 Life useless without some prayer 
 That shall lighten the weight of my care, 
 And build me a hope to fit my dream; 
 That as the grasses of May 
 
 With the leaves and the clover blooms 
 
62 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Come back again from their tombs, 
 And the sun comes back to a better day; 
 So she in a greater way 
 
 Shall come back to me, or I, 
 On the earth or somewhere in the sky, 
 Shall go to her in a better way. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Ah, could you hurt me now, lass? 
 
 I can mind how often 
 Wee small cares of mine, lass, 
 
 Made you melt and soften. 
 
 We two would stroll the meadows 
 And shun the woodland dreary; 
 
 I was the prince of thistles 
 She the garden fairy. 
 
 She was the truest lassie 
 
 Ever earth did carry, 
 False might prove the seasons, 
 
 False could not be Mary. 
 
 And when she grew to blossom, 
 
 I a foolish lover, 
 Trembled lest the breezes 
 
 Hurt her passing over. 
 
 The roses had no flower, 
 
 Not a bush a berry, 
 Heaven not an angel 
 
 Fair as was my Mary. 
 
 They came and took my lassie — 
 Fresh the braes were budding, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 63 
 
 Wild rose blooms and jasmine 
 All the green hedge studding. 
 
 I sit and watch the braes now, 
 
 Hedges sweet and sunny, 
 Ah, but they are wretched, 
 
 Once so blithe and bonny. 
 
 Wide as all this world is, 
 
 Ocean, mount and prairie, 
 In it all and through it, 
 
 None I love but Mary. 
 
 Quatrain 
 
 My soul is somber like the pines — 
 Your soul is like the sun that shines 
 Upon the pines and drives away their gloom. 
 You teach my lips to smile, my heart to bloom, 
 
 LOVE THE GIFT 
 
 Thou dost not truly love, 
 Unless thou canst forget 
 
 The all he owes to thee, 
 And never count the debt. 
 
 For if thou stint in giving, 
 Or charge him more or less, 
 
 That is but love of self, — 
 Not love, but selfishness. 
 
64 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 ON THE TAKING OF THE PHILIPPINES 
 
 A DREAM OF PROPHECY 
 
 'Tis writ that all that's fair must fade, 
 The vulture fills his hungry craw 
 
 With what was once in beauty made. 
 I dreamed, and in my dream I saw 
 
 A vision and a prophecy, 
 
 That which has been, that which may be. 
 
 Out in the west there lay a land, 
 Hills, valleys, spread from sea to sea. 
 
 No footprints scarred its rugged strand 
 Except the prints of liberty. 
 
 The eagle's nest, the red deer's trail, 
 
 O'er rocky wild and wooded vale. 
 
 Its sons were reared at Nature's breast. 
 
 They bent the bow and threw the spear, 
 Fleet-footed, bound on danger's quest, 
 
 Their hearts were never tamed to fear, 
 But nerved their sinews strong to dare 
 To grip the tiger in his lair. 
 
 Then westward came the strange pale-face 
 Who brought the arts of peace and war, 
 
 To chain the spirit of this race, 
 
 To give them terms to make their law. 
 
 They yield, but yield alone to death, 
 
 They could not draw a fettered breath. 
 
 And on the red man's trodden bones 
 
 Another nation took its rise; 
 The makers of a hundred thrones, 
 
 Who taught the arts which civilize. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 65 
 
 And breathing still the same free air, 
 Liberty smiled and settled there. 
 
 It grew, and from the east came hordes; 
 
 With wolvish greed they eyed its wealth, 
 They measured justice by their swords, 
 
 To take by force, or take by stealth, 
 It was their way, they did not reck 
 To find in one so weak a check. 
 
 Then shrieked the eagle, wild and shrill. 
 
 The war horse's neigh, the trumpet's blast, 
 Sent echoes back from hill to hill, 
 
 And England's troops recoil, aghast. 
 From Cowpens' flows a ghastly flood, 
 And Monmouth's plains are red with blood. 
 
 Rough was the shock and fierce the fight, 
 And failure threatened prophecy; 
 
 But steady forward shone the light 
 That ever beamed on victory; 
 
 Unconquered sword of Washington 
 
 The dawn of Freedom's rising sun. 
 
 And then I saw where wilds had been, 
 
 Through which in sterner times had passed 
 
 These weary, reckless, failing men, 
 
 All chilled by breath of wintry blast. 
 
 Rich cities fertile fields athrong, 
 
 A nation truly great and strong. 
 
 While thus she stood in all her pride, 
 
 Without a rival or a peer, 
 Counting her sons from tide to tide, 
 
 Forgetting soon the price so dear — 
 
66 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Our brave forefathers paid in fee 
 To buy above a slave's degree. 
 
 She turned the strength waxed powerful 
 Through tears and bloodshed of the free, 
 
 While in her infancy, to cull 
 A weaker's hopes, for slavery. 
 
 And in the Golden Gate amazed 
 
 Stood Liberty and westward gazed. 
 
 As there she rose, her arms outspread, 
 Displeasure in her wondrous eyes, 
 
 And heaven's glory 'round her head, 
 An angel stepped from paradise: 
 
 A melodious chord broke on the ear, 
 
 Sweet, high, and wonderfully clear. 
 
 " Columbia," she cried, " my child, 
 From such a seed what can you reap, 
 
 But bitter fruit in kind?" And wild 
 The eagle shrieked above the deep, 
 
 A black cloud rose up threat'ningly, 
 
 And there I read my prophecy. 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 Lord God, if I have sinned, 
 Surely I have paid the debt, 
 
 With tears, with anguish of heart; 
 Take the price and let me forget. 
 
 Burn my heart to a crackling crust, 
 
 Crush my bones and set 
 Thy cross on my quivering flesh, 
 
 But only let me forget. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 67 
 
 WAY OF THE CROSS 
 
 Thy absence is my cross, dear love, 
 
 And life without thee Calvary. 
 
 I gladly take the cross and try 
 
 To bear it so each pain may be 
 
 A prayer for thee, sweetheart. 
 
 Each day fulfills the sacrifice, 
 Each hour distills the bitterness 
 I drink to make thy anguish less 
 With lips that pray and yearn to kiss 
 Thy tears away, sweetheart. 
 
 O wasted lives in hopeless want! 
 O precious soul and countless loss! 
 Yet love, that holds our hearts so close, 
 Makes sweet the bearing of the cross, 
 For thee, for thee, sweetheart. 
 
 MOTHER 
 
 I feel to-day all that I owe to thee, 
 Standing midway between life's two extremes, 
 The wonder of it, power to foresee — 
 See and remember. 
 
 This world a rose unfolding perfumed dreams 
 To golden tongues of melody and strains 
 Celestial in sun or soothing beams 
 Of love's begetting. 
 
 Dear mother heart, through your enduring pains 
 And trespassing e'en on the land of death 
 I have these things, these sweet companion gains, 
 Laugh and am happy. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 How many bitter blades have found their sheath 
 In thee that turned aside had been my own 
 And pierced me through and sharply cut my breath 
 Drinking in pleasure. 
 
 Dost thou remember, though the days are flown, 
 How I would bring and lay before thy eyes 
 My childish treasures as before a throne 
 Queen, for thy notice? 
 
 See, now I hold the sparkling cup I prize, 
 That Time has crushed the grape of pleasure in, 
 Thoughts sipping from it like spring's butterflies, 
 Sipping all summer. 
 
 Yet could I teach thy lips, oh, Mother mine, 
 To drink it, not a drop should wet my tongue. 
 Time's hand should bring to thee two cups of 
 wine, 
 Heav'n still another. 
 
 Alas! when once the aged hand has hung 
 The empty beaker in the church of time, 
 And once the blithesome song of youth is sung, 
 Comes there no other. 
 
 Thy girlhood's beauty and thy witching prime 
 Of loveliness have lost their summer's blush ; 
 Yet spring's not all. I've seen more tints sub- 
 lime, 
 Mother, in autumn. 
 
 These thoughts are sad; sigh not. Come, let us 
 
 brush 
 Aside regretful tears. Thou canst a while 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 69 
 
 Stand by my side and taste the grapes we crush 
 'Spite the to-morrow. 
 
 The usual cross old Age but seems to smile 
 On thee, as if his God had bid him see 
 How well the elements of goodness fill 
 All of thy nature. 
 
 Could I once tell thee what thou art to me, 
 How beautiful thy eyes that now are dim 
 With shedding tears when I might seem to be 
 Somewhat less happy. 
 
 My heart is like an organ and a hymn 
 Of thankfulness to thee each happy day; 
 And all the days are happy to their brim, 
 Knowing I have thee. 
 
 My heart has cracked and crumbled part away, 
 Yet 'round it climbs the ivy of thy love, 
 And if I weep, 'tis really but in play, 
 Let us believe. 
 
 One prayer I pray and all my hopes approve, 
 May Heaven lead thee softly here below 
 With sweet foretaste of sweeter things above — 
 Guide thee with angels. 
 
 But never from me mayst thou further go 
 Than I can reach somehow and feel thee near, 
 Lest all my heart be lost in void of woe 
 Losing thee, Mother. 
 
7o ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 SONNETS TO A LADY 
 
 THE DEDICATION 
 
 Sitting in this ring of percolating smoke 
 From love's sweet incense, wide my eyes upcast, 
 Like some old priest that moaning on the past 
 With oft-told, soul-tongued prayer and nettle cloak, 
 Does penance praying, ever on the stroke, 
 By his fond, fearful, reck'ning of some vast 
 State beatific; while the cold-tongued blast 
 Beats on the temple chilling shrine and crook. 
 So sitting I have reached and caught these dreams 
 From out the smoke of love that wrapped me 'round. 
 So chance it may that I shall never see 
 One dream fulfilled of sad or sweet extremes, 
 Too great for one so very near the ground, 
 Yet hold them out I do, my dreams, to thee. 
 
 II 
 
 Again the path of Phoebus northward tends. 
 The modest snows his eager suit dismiss, 
 Preferring death to his defiling kiss; 
 All else more carnal with his passion blends. 
 When last he came, the spring source that now 
 
 sends 
 Its stemless torrent through me was submiss, 
 Controlled, a gentle font of regnant bliss; 
 'Tis now my master, shaping all my ends. 
 I did not think, sweet one, when first I bent 
 My head to thee in mock servility, 
 That some day thou shouldst hold supreme control 
 Of all I am; that I, most impotent 
 In thy weak hands, should at thy mercy be, 
 Thine unredeemably body and soul. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 71 
 
 in 
 
 Last night the soul of music spoke in strain 
 
 Of most compelling power, life inspired 
 
 Arose sublime, and all its being fired, 
 
 Forgot that it was doomed to death's sharp pain. 
 
 Thus lifted to my most superior plane, 
 
 I vowed next day with this new force acquired, 
 
 To pen a line to you that all admired, 
 
 Should be your person's glory and my gain: 
 
 To-day the spell is numb and I am clay: 
 
 The weakened sense of greatness, then so keen, 
 
 Has with the music died ; the earthy veil 
 
 Just for the gracious moment torn away, 
 
 Obscures my vision's limit and the sheen 
 
 Of last eve's fancy grows a sickly pale. 
 
 IV 
 
 What a most marv'lous craftsman art thou, friend! 
 See yonder man who claims superior sense, 
 With all his cumbrous line of implements, 
 See how he works and sweats to gain his end. 
 Thy methods his do wonderfully mend — 
 Thou buildest both thy house and sustenance, 
 With skill and ease that shame intelligence 
 Of man and all his vaunted boasts transcend. 
 But tell me this, canst weave a mesh whose thread 
 Shall captive take a struggling lady's heart? 
 If this thou'lt do, I'll make thee lord and king 
 Of spiders. Thou shalt have before thee spread 
 The fattest flies and right to ply thy art 
 In all I own without a reckoning. 
 
 Abide, sweet Time, here shalt thou tarry, yea, 
 While yonder blue-stained, star-embroidered sphere 
 
72 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Pours down one precious draught that love holds 
 
 dear. 
 Yea, shalt thou tarry in eternal May, 
 As dear and needed as red lips that pay 
 Love's boon. Ah, dearest Time, grow never sere 
 And old, nor teach thy eye to drop a tear 
 Lest we stand struck and murmur " Lack-a-day ! " 
 For this in thee, O Time, the Vantage fair 
 No trebly blest eternity can show. 
 Since my fond love whose heart is in the breach, 
 And hurls grim, scaling griefs back into air 
 Is mine in time, and yet did she but know, 
 With soul to soul, what might the knowledge teach ? 
 
 VI 
 
 I'll paint a picture of my Love, I said. 
 
 And straightway all my soul, to frenzy wrought, 
 
 Fine canvas stretched and brush and colors brought. 
 
 My fancy drew the outlines of the head, 
 
 And then I fell to worshiping instead; 
 
 When lo! an angel stole betwixt my thought 
 
 And me, and at my heart a demon caught 
 
 And wrung it white with whisp'ring, " She is dead." 
 
 Ah, Death, thou couldst not do so wrong. Attend; 
 
 Bury the sun, and let men's minds go blind, 
 
 With groping. No, thou wouldst not do that, 
 
 Death. 
 Then wouldst thou bring to so untimely end 
 My sun? Ah, never, Death be so unkind, — 
 Leave her and blow on me thy autumn breath. 
 
 VII 
 
 Come nearer, love, so rapturously near. 
 Embrace me closely like the trunkless vine 
 Whose clinging tendrils live on what they twine 
 That none in all God's star-bound bowers shall hear, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 73 
 
 But He alone, while in thy secret ear 
 I breathe a message for my Valentine, 
 Whose sweet import, by any ear than thine, 
 Were deep profaned, it is so sacred, dear. 
 Ah, now, be there a need for any speech? 
 No; silence hath a softer, sugared tongue 
 Than poesy. No, speech were artifice. 
 Thus lip to lip, life ebbs from each to each, 
 And all the rhymes by lovers told or sung 
 Were wind-blown straws to one long lover's kiss. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Ah, mocking-bird, wilt sing, and shall not I ? 
 
 A day just gone, when winter held in death 
 
 All life, thou wert so stupid, not a breath 
 
 Of song hadst thou nor any heart to try. 
 
 But spring has come, and love's o'er-happy sigh — 
 
 Thou art the harpsichord that answereth — 
 
 A flower-song for flower underneath, 
 
 A ripple for a ripple in the sky. 
 
 And shall not I, O mocking-bird! voice too 
 
 My deepest soul's accordant melody, 
 
 Since love has come to me that came to you? 
 
 So my heart strings in no less high degree, 
 
 By this one flower's sweetness thrilling through 
 
 May answer it in love's soft minstrelsy. 
 
 IX 
 
 Sonnet, I would that I could strike thy keys 
 
 With all the magic of a master hand, 
 
 Like echoes heard from distant wave rocked seas' 
 
 Eternal music throbbing on the strand, 
 
 That like to it in ages yet to be, 
 
 Containing charms for ev'ry ear's amaze, 
 
 All men might linger on my minstrelsy 
 
 With raptured grasp of thoughts that live always,— 
 
74 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 So I might teach to earth and sea and air, 
 
 And make men's hearts beat wild with worshiping 
 
 The noble worth and beauty of this Fair 
 
 My earth bound muse so languishes to sing. 
 
 Ah, then, from feeble notes and discord free, 
 
 Thy soul should ever her acclaimer be. 
 
 Come, pass the torch of life to me, my love, 
 
 And help me cheer the places that are dark, 
 
 I've brooded long upon the glow above; 
 
 For oh, the world of it has not a spark, 
 
 And life is weak and trembling from the death 
 
 Its enemy has aimed to reach its heart: 
 
 Afraid yet loathing ev'ry baleful breath 
 
 That heavy bears despair and stinging smart. 
 
 Oh, pass the brand that means so much to me, 
 
 Of all that man has need of here on earth, 
 
 Love and its fair attendant prophecy 
 
 Of home delights, of bed and board and hearth. 
 
 Unless some light you give, a lover's smile, 
 
 Some token from your eyes, life's scarce worth while. 
 
 XI 
 
 How sweet the morn to weary watching eyes 
 When night's cold fogs ascend on tinted wings 
 Like butterflies, and heart-locked sorrowings 
 Grow calm and borrow hope from sun-lit skies! 
 How like the morn, that blooms and beautifies, 
 Is this loved messenger of thine! it brings 
 Into my heart a flood of light and swings 
 A radiant world upon my glad surprise. 
 Life is not all a cross, for though we weep, 
 There still is given even through our tears 
 Some glimpse into the golden realms above, 
 Some promise mirrored in our souls so deep 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 75 
 
 With light of hope, and yet none soothes and cheers 
 Like this, a token from a heart we love. 
 
 XII 
 
 When angels pluck thy roses, steal the light 
 From thy bright eyes to decorate thy throne 
 In heaven, and thy spirit aged and lone 
 Tarries in cheerless mansion ere its flight: 
 Will then my love like beggar parasite 
 Turn traitor and its early vows disown, 
 Forsaking thee whose treasures it has known, 
 Some newly pleasing fancy to requite? 
 Ah, no, thy monument my heart shall be, 
 Enscribed with thy young beauty's epitaph, 
 Monument scarred in its enduring trust, 
 Yet lasting as the stone-carved memory 
 That baffles peevish Time's destructive staff, 
 Until the marble crumbles in the dust. 
 
 XIII 
 
 The day was made for work, necessity 
 
 In its hard light stands skel'ton like and bare: 
 
 Man's peace is blinded by the golden glare 
 
 Of wealth or frighted off by penury. 
 
 But when my dreaming eyes can scarcely see 
 
 The flitting bats, and swallows home repair, 
 
 And something more than toil seems mankind's 
 
 share, — 
 That time of all is sacred dear to thee. 
 In ev'ry starry gleam from blue-veined brows 
 Thy spirit seems to be a light-winged guest, 
 And pensive voices whisper only this, 
 " She loves you," lispings from the moon-lit boughs, 
 And ev'ry breath that filters through the west 
 Leaves on my lips from lips of thine a kiss. 
 
76 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 XIV 
 
 Go bring the flowers of the summer past, 
 That blushed upon thy breast some months away, 
 The withered roses that were worn and cast 
 In Time's eternal shade, and bid to-day, 
 Their shrunken, leafless stems to bloom again. 
 Go melt the hoary frost from bush and briar, 
 And coax with sun and rippling sweep of rain 
 The fragrant leaves that breathe of sweet desire. 
 If this the magic of thy charms can do, 
 Perhaps my heart may warm for thee once more — 
 If thou canst make the frozen 'cicles dew, 
 And living blood to lifeless things restore — 
 The bloom of love, thy summer looks once fed, 
 Thy wintry breath has chilled and love is dead. 
 
 xv 
 
 Love's not dead, it only sleeps like a child 
 Tired out with weeping for the mirrored moon, 
 That seals its lids 'gainst grief to some old tune 
 Crooned by its cradle side, and all the wild 
 Heart yearnings are at peace and seem as mild 
 As sunset paintings in the lap of June. 
 So love unreason'ble fretted for a boon 
 Beyond its reach, till sleep its want beguiled: 
 But come, you, dearest, in the morning hours, 
 Or in the long white heat of noon-day's wane, 
 Or in the taper-lighted twilight time, 
 And love shall waken all its dormant powers 
 To lisp thy name and smile on thee again, 
 Though heart be hoar and head be flecked with rime. 
 
 XVI 
 
 My farewell thought ere dark-robed Slumber draws 
 The curtains o'er my eyes and screens the glare 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 77 
 
 Of life, are snapped while ling'ring 'round the rare 
 And hallowed dreams of which thou art the cause. 
 My waking consciousness through morning's gauze 
 Of painted fogs, shunning the nets of care, 
 Flies straight to thee, to breathe its morning prayer, 
 And there its living inspiration draws. 
 Thou art the sun of dawning and midday, 
 The crescent of the evening, stars that shine 
 And please, — all have their seeming worth and glow 
 From thee. My pensive hours, my grave and gay, 
 Thou givest all. The healthy vines that twine 
 Around my heart from thee would never grow. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Were I an angel poised at heaven's gate, 
 
 Lonely in bliss, forsaking all my kind, 
 
 My willing wings I'd spread earthward to find 
 
 Thee, love, thy slightest grief to consolate. 
 
 And when those gentle lips should supplicate 
 
 The throne of Mercy, I would storm the Mind 
 
 Of Heaven, both our pleadings intertwined, 
 
 Till thou shouldst get thy wish in teeth of Fate. 
 
 But being only man, and that so poor, 
 
 Rich but in love, I live in constant dread 
 
 Of thy just scorn, deserving little better, 
 
 Drifting along supine thus to endure 
 
 Proud Fortune's quibs in airy realms, instead 
 
 Of breaking for thy sake her galling fetter. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 How canst thou doubt my sworn fidelity? 
 Are not my words avouched by ev'ry deed? 
 Are not my faculties as one agreed 
 In voting all their fruitfulness to thee? 
 If there be one that's not thy devotee, 
 Or once thy captive pining to be freed, 
 
78 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 I'll have it tried and give a traitor's meed 
 For guarding faithlessly thy memory. 
 Believe me, then, and fear no change, my own. 
 Thou couldst not find the shoals of my affection, 
 It is so like the deep and boundless main, 
 Pacific, ruled by thy slight will alone, 
 With ev'ry wave a slave to thy direction, 
 Where thou canst steer life's boat and solely reign. 
 
 XIX 
 
 When I of you do write, your splendid worth, 
 
 Increasing e'er in eyes of contemplation, 
 
 Like avalanche from its great elevation 
 
 Comes crushing my weak powers to the earth; 
 
 For how can I, of gifts owning such dearth, 
 
 Pen aught aspiring to your commendation? 
 
 What better hope from your consideration 
 
 Than biting scorn or else good-natured mirth? 
 
 My stubborn perseverance waxes faint 
 
 With such considering, and then for days 
 
 I swear myself to silence most obscure; 
 
 Until my words will out and make complaint, 
 
 Berating me and sounding forth your praise, 
 
 Despite restraint in sonnets immature. 
 
 xx 
 
 Most lovely vision of my happy hours, 
 
 Had I the artist's skill and hands to trace 
 
 Thy lineaments with all their pleasing grace, 
 
 To paint thy face, its like of lights and flowers, — 
 
 What artist's work eternal that now towers 
 
 In high esteem but by it would apace 
 
 Lose its prestige, grow dull and commonplace, 
 
 So irresistible thy beauty's powers? 
 
 And yet before the world 'twould do thee wrong, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 79 
 
 Being in soul as perfect as in form, 
 
 To paint thy spirit's beautiful repair 
 
 And call it thee, — these Comments rich belong 
 
 To it as settings to grace and lend it charm. 
 
 The whole is thee, incomparable, most fair. 
 
 XXI 
 
 Oh, come thou wanton sprite, thy art unfold 
 With flowers whose potent milk dropped in the eyes 
 Doth make fair maidens love what they despise, 
 For I have sworn revenge. When late made bold 
 By coy equivocating ways, I told 
 My love, marked off and stopped with bursting sighs, 
 She did but smile demure and tantalize, 
 Her heart unmoved quite passionless and cold. 
 Most wicked Fair to laugh at my sad plight. 
 But I will make her rue her merriment. 
 With Love allied I'll storm her obdurate breast, 
 And fill with traitors through the quiet night, 
 I'll torment her with sharp delight, till spent, 
 She comes to sue for peace at my behest. 
 
 XXII 
 
 I am amazed that I should hardily dare 
 
 In halting verse do violence to thee, 
 
 By whom the stars lose half their brilliancy, 
 
 And most aspiring flowers grow less fair. 
 
 But chided fondness coupled with despair 
 
 Must offer plea for my temerity; 
 
 As theirs the fault so theirs the sorrow be, 
 
 And thou hast caused them both, so thine the care. 
 
 Upbraid me not, nor silence with thy frown, 
 
 My muse. The passion that enslaves my will, 
 
 If thou canst not reciprocate, then give 
 
 Thy pity, other kindly works to crown: 
 
8o ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Or if thou wilt, then bid my heart be still, 
 For if I may not sing I cannot live. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Morn's gorgeous hues, the sober tints of eve, 
 The day adorned with nature's gay attire, 
 The dreamy eyes of night that rouse desire, 
 The cobweb cities that the moonbeams weave ; — 
 All these I own, and life, by Heaven's leave, — 
 Life in a land of blooms and golden fire, 
 Where ev'ry bird like some enchanted lyre 
 Blends harmonies that man cannot conceive. 
 But still to me, with you away, it seems 
 A worthless waste, and I am like to one 
 That weary watches for the favored guest, 
 And as the longed for hours pass he deems 
 The gay hall lonely, pleasure finds he none, — 
 One missing form outvalues all the rest. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 This land is cold and miserly, its snows 
 
 Are on the heart of things ; there's too much thought, 
 
 And impulse in the ice of reason caught 
 
 Is chilled. Life sleeps and wakes and moves in 
 
 prose. 
 But oh, there is a land where always glows 
 The gen'rous warmth from noble feelings wrought, 
 Where winter's cooling breaths have only taught 
 Us how to value summer's blushing rose. 
 Then come, my love, and I, thy votary, 
 Will twine the rarest wreath of that fair South 
 For thee, and to its breezes I will sing 
 Thy praises, till they sound from sea to sea, 
 And thy concordant name to ev'ry mouth 
 At thought of what is prettiest shall spring. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 81 
 
 XXV 
 
 Another day of conning from the book 
 Wherein my heart keeps tally of its score, 
 The record of thy deeds and all the lore 
 That touches thee, thy ev'ry word and look; 
 Now wrangling with the boorish days that rook 
 My eyes from sight of what I most adore, 
 Now blessing gracious time that will restore 
 Thy enervating presence to this nook. 
 So much am I enmeshed in thy enchantment, 
 That all the season's wealth of roseate hues 
 Attendant in thy train are seen by me 
 But when thy eyes to mine bestow advancement; 
 And with thy absence tints resplendant fuse, 
 The dullness stays, the splendor follows thee. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 Oft-times I've harshly called myself to task, 
 
 With reason's logic striving to convince 
 
 Some counsel in me, wary for defense, 
 
 Its fond hallucinations to unmask; 
 
 And thus I plead ; that any snail may bask 
 
 In light, the sun will never drive it thence, 
 
 So insignificant its insolence; 
 
 But more than that small right it cannot ask, 
 
 But bravely answers the defense, " Admit 
 
 What you have said, yet does the snail not get 
 
 The sun's good warmth as much as you or I? 
 
 And so may I, though wanting grace and wit 
 
 To win the favor of my lady, yet 
 
 Enjoy her light which she does not deny." 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Th' enchantress Circe has spilled her vat of wine, 
 And made the gray- rimmed world a world of love; 
 
82 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The dead stalks push to brighter life above; 
 
 Love moves the bird to build in pregnant vine. 
 
 O heart, wild heart, what mate song answers thine? 
 
 Art thou the only lonely in the grove? 
 
 Pluck up thy heart, thou winter mourning dove, 
 
 And woo again and win thy Valentine. 
 
 Go to her, sonnet, with thy lapping wave, 
 
 And whisper in the shells that are her ears 
 
 The secret of my soul's deep restless sea. 
 
 She is its sky and land-mark, cliff and cave, 
 
 She is the hope to which its heaving veers, 
 
 Its life, its death, its light, its mystery. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 My heart is like unto a hive of bees. 
 
 And ev'ry drop of blood springs forth in thought 
 
 That rocket swift through ether, bending seas, 
 
 By Love compassionate and prec'dents taught, 
 
 Encompass thee in soft, revolving chain; 
 
 Returning honey laden: one of dew 
 
 From thy sweet, waking flower eyes has lain 
 
 A nectar'd store, another from the rue 
 
 Of hope half doubting brings the bitter-sweet, 
 
 And others that have dared to venture near 
 
 The rose-fold of thy lips, more indiscreet, 
 
 Have fallen victims in the honeyed mere. 
 
 Thus ever busy do they lay away 
 
 Rich stores for us against a winter's day. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 I've run my course, the wreath is not for me. 
 I've run and lost, the fire of contest dies, 
 Th' horizon closes in upon tired eyes, 
 Before me beckons bleak despondency. 
 The ready cheers, the smiles of sympathy, 
 Triumphant music that assails the skies, — 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 83 
 
 All these the winner's with the willing prize; 
 They crown the trophy car of victory. 
 But must we fall submissive to defeat? 
 I hold him nobler, scorning throws of chance, 
 That beaten rises, strives for greater things, 
 With all life's force fixed firm and sure as Fate, 
 Steel strong in faith of his great soul's advance, 
 With that sustaining self that makes men kings. 
 
 XXX 
 
 Thou art the rugged rock, impressionless, 
 O'er which the waves of my affection break, 
 Back tossed into the deep with snowy flake, 
 Each sighing as it falls in vain distress. 
 And yet despite thy frowning heartlessness 
 The heat of thy displeasure cannot slake 
 Their flow, nor from their circling wooings take 
 Thyself, being the coast that they caress. 
 For move the beach inland and still the sea 
 Will follow; crush the beetling stones and o'er 
 Their tops the surf will sweep resistlessly, 
 Forever onward! till they find the shore, 
 The which it laps with soft insistency, 
 Conjoining both in one forever-more. 
 
 xxxi 
 
 If but my fearful tongue could smoothly say 
 
 What struggles in my heart to speak to her, 
 
 I know the sorrow of its tone would stir 
 
 Her gentle thoughts propitious like the May; 
 
 But coward Love, when oft I would assay 
 
 In speech my burning passion to refer, 
 
 Plucks back the impulse wild with weak demur, 
 
 Reading in saucy eyes a ready nay. 
 
 Oh, love, my beautiful, be kind, be kind. 
 
 Our days are few of joy, and canst thou stake 
 
84 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Their rhythmic flow ? Oh, love, lest thou forget — 
 Sweet mem'ries are like dew unto the mind 
 And soothe its pain, but stormy break 
 Remorseful waves lashed on by black regret. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 Sails of my eager bark are poised for flight. 
 
 Fate steers and busy Time frowns on my stay. 
 
 My eyes are strained far o'er the restless spray 
 
 To where their one desire recedes from sight. 
 
 And who can say if e'er again 'neath skies so bright 
 
 Our full-winged barks shall cross each other's way, 
 
 Or rest again in some secluded bay, 
 
 In murmuring waves and mutual delight? 
 
 Good-bye, your heart is young and will forget, 
 
 For other lips shall woo it back from me. 
 
 The life-long watch and loneliness are mine. 
 
 And so I'd have it be, 'twould only fret 
 
 My mind if, lurking in your memory, 
 
 One thought of me should cause you to repine. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Dearest, there's but one tone to this lute of mine. 
 
 I took it up and thought to find the height 
 
 Of all man strives for, thund'ring with the might 
 
 Of Jovean wrath or drawing out the fine, 
 
 Sad sweetness of a soul in song divine. 
 
 Ah, here all silent gazing out of sight 
 
 Sit I in tears, nor aught can play, poor wight, 
 
 Unless I see thy image in their brine. 
 
 Say, shall I lean upon a willow tree 
 
 And do the elements outrage with my woe? 
 
 Or shall I carol lightly, sorrow free, 
 
 With thinking on the happiness I owe? 
 
 'Tis thine, dear heart, to furnish forth the key, 
 
 Or sad or glad, for love is all I know. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 85 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 Blushing she came to me and plucked my sleeve; 
 Spring-favored, glorying in its richest morn, 
 Summer-ripe cheeks, her hair like tass'ling corn 
 And winter's frost upon her breast's broad heave. 
 Ah, fain was I right happily to leave 
 Care frowning on the meager way forlorn, 
 To wear sweet ringlets on my brow, close shorn, 
 With Love and laugh away Time's short reprieve. 
 Alas, it cannot be, for though I turn 
 While worn trudging and backward turn again, 
 With passion lips e'er breathing Love's sweet name, 
 The quenchless fires that in my wild breast burn 
 And some dread spell by some dread power lain 
 About me, urge me forward, crying fame. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Thou art akin to Nature's favored pet, 
 
 The violet; for when the months choice made 
 
 Of all her wealth by Flora's hands arrayed, 
 
 The wreath of March received the violet. 
 
 And still unsatisfied, the gay croquette 
 
 Claimed thee, and to the envious eyes displayed 
 
 Thee as her treasure, best beloved, and laid 
 
 Upon thy brow her own blue coronet. 
 
 And through these handmaids modest first I knew 
 
 My love, and dared to think of thee. Always 
 
 The same endearing messages they tell, 
 
 Always of thee and plead, " Oh, sir, be true 
 
 To her, our sister; love her all thy days, 
 
 For none we know deserves it half so well." 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Fool, thou! to burden thus most wickedly 
 
 With freight of grief Time's transports; on thy face 
 
86 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The map of sorrow, all because no place 
 
 Within one woman's heart's secure to thee. 
 
 Go find her yonder in the dance and see 
 
 Her moving in another's close embrace, 
 
 In ecstacy thy death could not embase, 
 
 And let thy pride to love a teacher be. 
 
 Thus wisely warns the passionless voice of reason, 
 
 But hated for its very wisdom. Oh, 
 
 If this be folly, love, like April's day 
 
 From Reason's court I'll banished be for treason, 
 
 And with sweet Folly through the hard world go, 
 
 Laughing and suffering, we two for aye. 
 
 xxxvn 
 
 Whatever galling thorn of discontent 
 May irritate, whatever frowning mien 
 Of Fortune substitute for laughter lean 
 Sorrow with moan for loss and all for-spent, 
 Your coming always sunny, redolent, 
 Dispels; and at your feet full fed with keen 
 Enjoyment, all the Furies' harbored spleen 
 Were powerless to mar my languishment. 
 You are the magnet of my happiness, 
 Directing cause of ev'ry pleasing act; 
 Your smile the worth of all the good I plan, 
 And so without you life were barrenness: 
 For when you from these many goods substract 
 The cause, yourself, I am but half a man. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 There is great comfort and an exaltation 
 In contemplating duty finished well, 
 And in the plaudits that impulsive swell, 
 The friendly hand's sincere congratulation. 
 'Tis good to live when healthful animation 
 Stirs joyously in ev'ry youthful cell, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 87 
 
 When promise leads and failure cannot quell 
 Nor backward force the will's determination. 
 But life is happiest when some word or glance 
 Of yours admiring says: " Done well and true." 
 And your soul's hand reached forth clasps close in 
 
 mine. 
 Ah, then, e'en to the skies my thoughts advance, 
 Then nagging worry bids my course adieu 
 And rainbow loops o'er scattered cloudlets' tine. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 White rose or red, the pensive pallor bred 
 
 Of pure and spiritual fire, the more 
 
 Of earth, but of its best, whose flight may soar 
 
 With angels, love to noble spirits wed; 
 
 I've seen within my cheeks both banners spread, — 
 
 The red that cupids kneeling down adore, 
 
 The virtue white that bridges heaven o'er 
 
 For man's rapt thoughts to cross with eager tread. 
 
 Choice have I made a thousand times in vain, 
 
 For e'en while swearing pref'rence for the one. 
 
 Thy change had split my vows in twain ; 
 
 Doubly forsworn to both, I'm true to none, 
 
 And yet I am not fickle in the main, — 
 
 To both in thee as faithful as the sun. 
 
 XL 
 
 How poorly does my awkward mien compare 
 
 With that gay throng, whose grace reflecting thine, 
 
 Adorns and beautifies thy dazzling shrine ; 
 
 They are the flowers, I the useless tare. 
 
 But ah, the meanest thing must have some share 
 
 Of light and rain, and seeing thee is mine; 
 
 Forbid me not thy presence which I pine, 
 
 I love it, though it teaches me despair. 
 
 More gifted ones caressingly may bribe 
 
88 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The heralds to thy heart with figured speech, 
 So flattering thy ready sympathy, 
 Yet none of these who with tense vows subscribe 
 Their love can with their measure tripled reach 
 The high regard I'll always hold for thee. 
 
 XLI 
 
 A little cloud that gave our eyes delight, 
 Its beauty so adorned the sunlit sky, 
 We never thought 'twould ever terrify 
 And tear the giant pine from its proud height; 
 We never knew that all the vaunted might 
 Of men would tremble as it thundered by. 
 
 We never knew Alas, alas, for aye ! 
 
 All's wrong, all's wrong, and naught can set it 
 
 _ r ight. 
 A little cloud not up in heaven's blue, 
 But on th' horizon of our lives its sweep, 
 One gentle word it backward would have born, 
 But passion fanned it on. We never knew, 
 We never cared, each hid his eyes to weep, 
 Nor saw how deep the other's heart was torn. 
 
 XLII 
 
 'T is spring, she hears the mocking-bird's sw T eet trill ; 
 Through downy leaves with rich-toned melody 
 Her answer pulses from the earth, and see, 
 A thousand tissued wings the glad world fill; 
 While sweets are born from ravished daffodil, 
 And shadows quick, like sprites in revelry 
 Surprised, glide through the budding wood and flee 
 And fade from sight with sigh from hill to hill. 
 Oh, Nature, loveliest 'neath thy sweeping crown 
 Of dogwood wreathed with fern and apple bloom, 
 When festive banners furled, again unroll 
 And chase from hill and dale harsh winter's frown, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 89 
 
 There is no loneliness with thee, no gloom, 
 For thou communest with our inmost soul. 
 
 XLIII 
 
 I'd rather live one sunny day with thee, 
 With hand upon the hair that is my pride, 
 Out-facing heaven's glory with my bride, 
 Knowing great love for thee and thine for me, 
 Than weary out a long eternity 
 Of painful breath by shrewish Fate denied 
 This darling wish to which my heart affied, 
 Apart would fret and never blessed be. 
 Ages must pass and with their passage bear 
 Their gifts; the dead are dead and live will go. 
 None sees what step is stepping in the grave, 
 And who would crawl the earth and shackles wear 
 For this, when he one perfect day might know 
 And find oblivion in a glorious wave. 
 
 XLIV 
 (With a Box of Candy.) 
 
 Good-bye, O wayward one, you'll find the sweet 
 Of parting here inclosed, the bitter part 
 Fve locked away securely in my heart. 
 With it I'll think of thee in lone retreat, 
 And breathe thy name until the birds repeat. 
 I'll tell the violets how cruel thou art, 
 Till pity's tears to their kind eyes shall start, 
 Such heartlessness in one so young to weet. 
 For all of that I envy not thy joy. 
 While youth is in its May-morn pluck its flowers ; 
 Laugh at old Time, make merry with his bent, 
 That when he comes thy beauty to destroy, 
 Thou still canst boast of many pleasant hours 
 Whose dreams are dear, although the real be spent. 
 
9o ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 XLV 
 
 I'm sad, dear heart, for what is written here 
 
 In words is love's veriest ecstacy, 
 
 That makes the before one with the all to be 
 
 Through love attuned to God's own list'ning ear. 
 
 The metal of my heart is just as sheer, 
 
 And from the humbleness of bended knee 
 
 My soul looks full as high to honor thee 
 
 With heart's most worshipful love. But, oh, my 
 
 dear, 
 I read these lines and scarce withhold to weep, 
 Seeing how I have failed in my sweet task. 
 This lapwing minstrel, spending all her breath, 
 Has rippled of a love that seems to sleep 
 In me; yet drop the proof of words and ask 
 What-e'er thou wilt, I'll serve thee well till death. 
 
 XLVI 
 
 I love you ; that is all and yet so much 
 
 Remains of feeling in me out of reach 
 
 That clamors to be rosaried in speech, 
 
 Of tendrils w T eakly reaching forth to clutch 
 
 At thy dear self, that life is but a search 
 
 For ways and words, as each day follows each, 
 
 Of new expression that my love may teach 
 
 Thee all its moods and keep thy soul in touch. 
 
 For saying just " I love thee," seems so weak; 
 
 It does not tell thee how each day and night 
 
 Is crowded full with thoughts and dreams of thee; 
 
 Nor of my loneliness the while I peek 
 
 In through the blinds of 5'esterday for sight 
 
 Of thee and hold so close the memory. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 91 
 
 THE KISS 
 
 What Summer winds are to the sphere, 
 What music to the raptured ear, 
 What rain and sun and shade and showers 
 To drooping plumes and bending flowers, 
 And all the seasons of the year, 
 
 And what of need all these appear 
 To joy sweet life, they come not near, 
 I swear, in bliss bestowing powers, 
 Thy first fond kiss. 
 
 Through Winter's rage or Summer drear 
 There can no grief be mine, my dear, 
 Though blight should wither all the bowers, 
 While thy sweet lips can coin the hours, 
 And make a rainbow in a tear 
 With thy fond kiss. 
 
 11 
 
 Oh, kiss me, love, not once nor twice, 
 Nor any number — man's device 
 To fix the time or worth of things, 
 For so each numbered bliss takes wings 
 And flies away to paradise. 
 
 But life in one continuous kiss 
 Shall grow eternally in bliss, 
 Forgetful of bee fortune's stings 
 And all things else, 
 
 But that our souls shall float and rise 
 And lord it o'er the starry skies, 
 
92 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Where some old god all doleful sings 
 Of scattered fanes and worshipings, 
 A kiss our state and worth the price 
 Of all things else. 
 
 in 
 
 Here love, my trembling lips for thine 
 Are pleading mutely, the round line 
 Soul land's horizon all aflame 
 With sun love's all sufficient beam. 
 Come let thy youthful branches twine 
 
 And bear and ripe in this love shine; 
 And all soul land shall be thy shrine, 
 And I, its priest, shall preach thy fame 
 Full endlessly. 
 
 Ah, life would surfeit, sweetheart mine, 
 In kiss sips quaffed from hearts of wine, 
 If thou wouldst help to fill my dream, 
 And blessings now that only seem 
 Would really be and prove divine 
 Full endlessly. 
 
 IV 
 
 Shell curved, cold lips, lonely beset, 
 Two waves long sweeping forward met: 
 The kiss that joined the oceans wide, 
 And all the sea on either side 
 Through ages' flight have felt it yet. 
 
 So, love, not more could I forget 
 Thy kiss and all the compound debt 
 Of love, the star of my soul's tide 
 That flows to thee. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 93 
 
 So back and forward, soon and late, 
 My spirit holds a while to whet 
 Its sweet desire, till longings chide 
 Affection's flood and forward glide 
 The eager waves, and brook no let, 
 That flow to thee. 
 
 The farmer piles the rugged wain 
 Until its great wheels groan with pain, 
 And in the wood the leaves that die, 
 Fall down tremulous with a sigh, 
 And bird eyes backward look in vain, 
 
 While in the meadows they complain 
 Of barren boughs and garnered grain. 
 But see, not sorrowed, love, am I, 
 Thy kiss repays. 
 
 Let blasts deflower Summer's fane, 
 Let man rob all the world for gain, 
 The cold death hands that heavy lie 
 On stalk and blossom I defy. 
 Forgotten all in this refrain, 
 Thy kiss repays. 
 
 VI 
 
 Oh, heart, what house of wealth art thou, 
 That gifts so precious canst bestow 
 With these two spendthrift lips of thine, 
 That bless as deep as bless divine, 
 And princely all thy claims forego? 
 
 If I should pay thee all I trow 
 
 In love bonds, what a sum 'twould grow, 
 
94 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And Cupid's clearing should assign 
 Thee ev'ry thing. 
 
 By my account, dear heart, 's so low 
 That I a paupered wretch must go, 
 Crushed down with debt, shouldst thou design 
 To claim for thy gifts like of mine, 
 For I have naught worth while and owe 
 Thee ev'ry thing. 
 
 VII 
 
 Not seeing aught, I passed roughshod, 
 Destructive, where the lilies nod, 
 Until I saw thee standing there, 
 And thou didst make all things so fair, 
 At once I knew and understood. 
 
 All in another faith and mood, 
 Whate'er of nobleness or good 
 Had slept in me, thou didst repair 
 E'en as thy own. 
 
 So when the frost falls on my blood, 
 And my old body's barren sod, 
 Then with thy lips sweet doors of prayer, 
 Kiss once my soul to prove thy care, 
 And tearful pass it up to God, 
 E'en as thy own. 
 
 THE MOCKING-BIRD 
 
 1 Whate'er birds did or dreamed, this bird could say." 
 
 — Sidney Lanier. 
 
 I cannot say when first I heard his song, 
 It is so much of all my life a part. 
 There is no mem'ry when his cunning art 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 95 
 
 Did not my soul with inspirations throng. 
 And waking with the spring, desires grow strong, 
 Recalling joys, that past, now soothe, now smart, 
 And to each piping note my fancies start, 
 Attentive for his voice the whole day long. 
 I yearn to hear again, O mocking-bird, 
 Thy ringing flow of matchless melody, 
 Weaving 'round me with its magic thread 
 Old days and striking cords that have not stirred 
 For years, in vaults 'neath sorrow's lock and key 
 Where darkly dwell rich mem'ries of the dead. 
 
 THIS IS THE MOCKING-BIRD 
 
 What art thou, pray? 
 
 Sure not of clay, 
 Though earth may love and hallow. 
 
 More like the wing 
 
 And voice of Spring 
 O'er budding wood and fallow. 
 
 Art thou a bird, 
 
 Or spirit heard 
 To dream of ever after? 
 
 Filling all time 
 
 With songs sublime 
 And silver notes of laughter. 
 
 I woke from a dream 
 
 Of frozen field and stream, 
 
 Of sunless days with frosty gleam. 
 
 There came a trill 
 
 From bed of daffodil 
 
 That shook the air with happy thrill. 
 
96 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 With sun allied 
 
 Of Summer circled wide, 
 
 And rushed the warm blood's sluggish tide. 
 
 It dropped like rain, 
 
 As soft, and 'rose again, 
 
 And flooded forest, hill, and plain. 
 
 It wooed the flowers 
 
 With tales of happy hours 
 
 In leafy nooks of summer bowers. 
 
 It spoke to man, 
 
 In spring's oncoming van, 
 
 Of earth's gay tints and sky's japan. 
 
 A mocking-bird, — 
 
 He sang and nature heard, 
 
 And danced to hear the mystic word. 
 
 Sing, poet, sing! 
 From dewy home uprising. 
 
 Sing, poet, sing! 
 The proud of earth despising. 
 A thousand ears shall listen, 
 A thousand eyes shall glisten, 
 A thousand hearts shall christen 
 
 The poet past thy kind. 
 
 Sing, poet, sing! 
 The moon beams in the valley, 
 
 Sing, poet sing! 
 The morning's glories dally. 
 Awake thee from thy sleeping 
 The stars are bright and peeping, 
 The rose is sad and weeping, 
 
 To hear thy matin song. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 97 
 
 Sing, poet, sing! 
 Of hopeful days undying. 
 
 Sing, poet, sing! 
 And ease a mortal's sighing. 
 The world from thee would borrow, 
 For none can twine their sorrow 
 With flowers of the morrow, 
 
 Like thee, O poet bird! 
 
 Voice of love in the Springtime 
 
 IVe waited thy coming long, 
 Sad-eyed through the Winter IVe waited 
 
 And harked for thy dropping song. 
 
 And passion and breath and power, 
 
 Were merged in a wish to hear 
 Another, further chapter 
 
 From this age-wise woodland seer. 
 
 Voice of love in the Spring-time, 
 
 And voice of love in the Fall, 
 Was thy harmony one of sorrow? 
 
 No, its notes were of happiness all. 
 
 Such a vessel with merriment brimming 
 And torrent-like jumping its bounds, 
 
 Filling the world with a flood-tide 
 Of matchless musical sounds. 
 
 Pretty bird, — or what thou art, — 
 
 What angel taught thy tuneful art, 
 
 So blithely gay and cumberless, 
 
 So joyed with happy eagerness, 
 
 To sing the tyrant care from reigning, 
 
 Sing away cross moods complaining. 
 
98 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Pretty bird, if such thou be, 
 
 Come, pray thee, from the myrtle tree, 
 
 And tune thy throat at my commanding, 
 
 Give my ears thy understanding, 
 
 Sing thy secret song to me. 
 
 Thus I had it from the fairies 
 Heaven's high majestic hall, 
 As for some great festival 
 
 Flashed and glittered 
 Gayly littered 
 
 All with angels, 
 Bearing each a harpsichord, 
 Singing sweet " hosannas " to the Lord. 
 
 Cherubim and seraphim 
 
 Swung w^ith glowing hand 
 
 Eager incense fanned 
 
 By a choir of pinions, virtue white, 
 Circling in a maze before the throne of light 
 
 Giant lightening forked and flashed, 
 
 Through the eaves of night it crashed 
 
 Scorching ruins of sableness; 
 
 Deep the organ's roar intoned 
 
 O'er the night enthroned, 
 
 Rocking, ringing through the skies, 
 
 Shook the pillars of paradise. 
 
 Rumbling deep and distant 
 
 Ringing full and clear, 
 
 Filling each attuned ear, 
 
 Thrilling ev'ry soul with vibrant bliss, 
 
 Ev'ry knee was bent, 
 
 Ev'ry head was bowed, 
 
 Ev'ry heart intent, 
 
 Throbbed with precious sense endowed, 
 
 'Rose upon the music's wave, 
 
 As their being in it did lave. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 99 
 
 Soft then deep it grew again, 
 Dying, sobbing, in its pain, 
 Low and low through conscious air, 
 Soft as tones of whispered prayer, 
 Suddenly it ceased. 
 
 Down the lovely organist, 
 
 Saint Cecilia, stepped with modest eye, 
 
 Leaned against the golden bars, 
 
 And a radiance shot the sky, 
 
 Tinged the earth and lit the stars. 
 
 Like a moth that spies the ray, 
 
 Tempted from its darker way, 
 
 Lost and trembling in its fear, 
 
 Beats its breast against the pane; 
 
 So a bird had winged its flight 
 
 Through the night. 
 
 Saint Cecilia, looked and spied, 
 
 At her side, 
 
 Blind, the wanderer. 
 
 Tender-hearted Saint Cecilia, 
 
 Saint Cecilia, God-made fair, 
 
 Splendor-lit and great and pure, 
 
 Matchless in that kingdom there, 
 
 Like a child she wept glad tears, 
 
 Like a child she chid its trembling fears. 
 
 " Little sinning eremite, 
 
 Scarce your eyes can brook the light." 
 
 Smiling, thus: " Earth's a sad place, 
 
 Is it not, I crave your grace? 
 
 Poor, poor man, gave he his cares 
 
 Wings like thine of willing prayers, 
 
 Earth might be a little heaven, 
 
 And the hearts that burst unshriven 
 
 In the flames of hell's despair 
 
 Might have tasted life untired, 
 
 In the presence of the All Desired. 
 
ioo ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Speed you back to man for me, 
 
 Thus I tune your trembling throat anew, 
 
 Sing you now in field and grove, 
 
 Sing when weary 
 
 Sing at rest, 
 Sing from hearts their eerie guest; 
 Lift some tempted one above his folly, 
 Drawing him to heaven with thy music's chain, 
 Then my little bird will you not have sung in vain." 
 
 Hushed was ev'ry thing. 
 
 Silence swung the gates of utt'rance closed, 
 
 And a voice, source of music's spring, 
 
 Filled the list'ning skies. 
 
 Earth its echo heard on summer's breeze, 
 
 In the hilly roar of distant seas, 
 
 In the exquisite pain of something needed, 
 
 Speaking from the heart in ready tears, 
 
 Dreamed of through the years, 
 
 Longed for, yet unknown, 
 
 Hosts of Heaven wondered, 
 
 Marveled and in dove-like peace adored. 
 
 Stilled the Voice, and like the autumn blown 
 
 Sedge, a stir from wing to wing explored, 
 
 Silken voiced, and Saint Cecilia, 
 
 Home her little captive sent, 
 
 Guiding through the night 
 
 With a shaft of light. 
 
 Turning then she went, 
 
 Pensive climbed the proud ascent, 
 
 Found the keys and roused their slumb'ring might. 
 
 No more, I hear his voice in the meadow, 
 His feathers by south winds blown. 
 
 The arbutus is blooming for him, 
 
 And the jasmine has built him a throne. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 101 
 
 The fairies have heard their musician 
 And dance through the glad, long day. 
 
 The ghosts of the somber seasons 
 With the snow-clouds stalk away. 
 
 Come merry, come merry, come merry, 
 For the greenwood is ringing with glee 
 
 Come feast on the blossom and berry, 
 And rest 'neath the dogwood tree. 
 
 Oh, hurry, oh, hurry, oh, hurry! 
 
 The sky's propitious above. 
 A truce to your fighting with worry, 
 
 For the bird is singing of love. 
 
 Come marry, come marry, come marry, 
 We will build in the grapevine a nest, 
 
 Where the wand'ring minstrel may tarry, 
 And teach us that care is a jest. 
 
 There will be no to-morrow 
 
 In the thought of to-day, 
 No toning of sorrow 
 
 In our roundelay. 
 
 For the bird will be singing 
 
 At midnight and morn, 
 And Triton shall 'wake us 
 
 With a blast of his horn. 
 
 There will be no to-morrow, 
 
 And each rollicking blast 
 Of the breezes shall borrow 
 
 For us joys of the past. 
 
 Oh, the woods shall not tarnish 
 
 Nor the hills grow bleak, 
 Nor time eat the varnish 
 
 From thy apple-bloom cheek. 
 
102 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 But hark, the bird is singing! 
 
 What does he say? 
 To-day is but a promise 
 
 Of a better day. 
 
 A land of laughter hears him, 
 Merry fields and skies, 
 
 And hearts that carry sunbeams' 
 Shafts in fearless eyes. 
 
 Oh, sunny soulful Dixie, 
 Hold him to thy breast, 
 
 He is thy own bird, Dixie, 
 And thy heart his nest. 
 
 Thou gray-coated wee warrior, 
 Knight so bold and free, 
 
 I pay my love and homage 
 Fealty's debt to thee. 
 
 ON FINDING THREE GRAVES IN THE 
 WOODS 
 
 Three graves beneath this cherry tree, 
 
 This quiet little spot, 
 Around it writhe the tangled vines, 
 
 The sunshine strikes it not. 
 
 Still westward slips the setting sun, 
 
 The moon and all the stars, 
 In cycles lapping endless years, 
 
 And leaving ruthless scars. 
 
 New trees are on the same old hill, 
 
 New paths are in the wood, 
 A crumbling quarter chinked with light 
 
 Broods where the farmhouse stood. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 103 
 
 The morn comes riding gorgeously 
 
 Into a slumb'ring world, 
 The dew gleams glist'ning in her locks, 
 
 And lips with glad smiles curled. 
 
 But these poor dwellers wake no more 
 
 To join in daily strife. 
 A skull and bones and narrow cell 
 
 Their only signs of life. 
 
 My fancy frames a day long past. 
 
 I see the creeping hearse, 
 The drooping plumes, the mourning crowds 
 
 That gather and disperse. 
 
 Another grave is made, and laid 
 
 Within its gloomy keep 
 One loved one more, and at the bar 
 
 Fond mourners stay to weep. 
 
 And catch a glimpse of half-seen sails, 
 
 That float beyond their ken, 
 And ships by angel captains steered 
 
 And manned by souls of men. 
 
 Ah, death has snapped all ties in twain. 
 
 Here slumber side by side 
 Old loves and now eternal bonds 
 
 May soul from soul divide. 
 
 A gulf nor love nor hate can cross, 
 
 'Twixt realms of woe and bliss, 
 'Twixt death and night and life and light, 
 
 In other worlds than this. 
 
 They built their homes so very near, 
 A span of earth apart, 
 
104 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 That death might all unite once more, 
 That heart might beat to heart. 
 
 A whim of fancy, looking back, 
 
 Would give dead forms new shape, 
 
 And tenant homes long tenantless, 
 That doorless gloom and gape. 
 
 Around the eaves the sparrows flit, 
 
 And in the apple trees; 
 And all the breeze-blown perfumed blooms 
 
 Are brown with honey-bees. 
 
 And scarcely knee-high treads the sun 
 
 Among the ox-eyed daisies 
 Where in the western pasture-land 
 
 The herd contented grazes. 
 
 The faint, far echo of a horn, 
 
 The day's hard work is done, 
 And home sits 'twixt the farmer's eyes 
 
 And slowly setting sun. 
 
 He hears the busy shuttle hum, — 
 
 And at the big farm gate 
 A curly-headed baby pouts 
 
 Because her " dad " is late. 
 
 A mother's love, a father's pride, 
 
 A rare Utopian bloom 
 That lives to cheer their parent hearts 
 
 And chide away their gloom. 
 
 Her tiny arms about their necks, 
 
 Her little cheek to theirs, 
 Her kisses sweet like angels' breaths 
 
 Can banish half their cares. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 105 
 
 Her strange conceits they have by heart, 
 
 Their friends to proudly tell. 
 Their joy to hear her chiming laugh, 
 
 So like an altar bell. 
 
 And while she pouts two long arms swoop 
 
 And bear her up so high, 
 And kisses smother her until 
 
 She scarce has breath to cry. 
 
 The loom is idle now, the wife 
 
 In haste has laid aside 
 Her work and runs to join the two, 
 
 Bright-eyed with love and pride, 
 
 To share her husband's fond caress, 
 
 And hold his rough, hard hand, 
 And each in other's beaming eyes 
 
 Gaze while their hearts expand. 
 
 Inside the low-browed home they pass, 
 
 And peace and cheer abide 
 About their board, and in their hearts 
 
 Love floats a ceaseless tide. 
 
 The scene is changed, the child is dead, 
 
 Her hands across her breast, 
 Her cold, soft cheek by sunny curls 
 
 Of six short years caressed. 
 
 The house is saddened, lone, and dark, 
 
 A dreary longing creeps 
 About the father while he works 
 
 And mother while she weeps. 
 
 The empty plate, the empty bed, 
 The still voice in their ears, 
 
106 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The name that gladdened all their souls, 
 Now fills their eyes with tears. 
 
 The dead will not be put away. 
 
 All day all night the cry 
 Of that small voice is clamoring, 
 
 Because it would not die. 
 
 And time may make the gape seem less, 
 May smooth the edge of pain, 
 
 But mem'ry cannot pass that way 
 And be at peace again. 
 
 Come, tell me, child, if that the dead 
 Can grant the living's prayer, 
 
 That I shall meet some distant day 
 A little sister there. 
 
 Beneath a dark magnolia tree, 
 In sea of green-capped waves, 
 
 With cross and slab and silent choirs 
 She sleeps in a home of graves. 
 
 Has earth no claims upon her love? 
 
 She was a babe like you, 
 And though she be an angel now, 
 
 She is my sister too. 
 
 Time's dust lies heavy o'er that past, 
 
 But even now I hear 
 Unchanged her voice and see her face 
 
 And feel her footsteps near. 
 
 What happy cares are hers each day? 
 
 Where sound her harp and voice, 
 Around the gorgeous throne of light 
 
 When heaven's hosts rejoice? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 107 
 
 No sound, stern silence me rebukes. 
 
 No sound to mar your rest 
 Except the tulip's throbbing, 
 
 And its echo in my breast. 
 
 Be still, wild heart, why flutter so? 
 
 Dost think that death will speak? 
 Fear not nor hope, all men have failed 
 
 In the quest that you now seek. 
 
 No prayers, no tears, no human will 
 
 Can break on their repose — 
 In life perhaps they frolicked here, 
 
 Beneath this tree, who knows? 
 
 And life to death and death to life, 
 
 One to the other gives, 
 The germ of death still feeds on life, 
 
 And life in death still lives. 
 
 Sleep on within your cloister dark, 
 
 Your narrow bed of clay, 
 And here forgotten you shall lie 
 
 Till dawn of judgment day. 
 
 And each awaits your awful fate, — 
 
 A flame with ev'ry breath, 
 A soul by ev'ry wind fanned out 
 
 The end that man calls death. 
 
 Some slumber wrapped in majesty, 
 
 And hushed the passer's tread 
 As stooping to the carved slab, 
 
 He recollects the dead. 
 
 And some lie hid as you do here, 
 Unmarked by cross or stone, 
 
108 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 No one to watch or deck their graves 
 But Nature's hand alone. 
 
 But I'd prefer a spot like yours 
 To take my last long sleep, 
 
 Where birds alone sing requiems, 
 And dewdrops softly weep. 
 
 Where gnarled oaks entwine their boughs 
 To shade the resting head, 
 
 And sent'nel pines sob out their grief 
 And farewells to the dead. 
 
 But hark the weird owl keeps his watch 
 O'er ghostly shades of night, 
 
 And whippoorwills her trumpeters 
 Begin their noisy flight. 
 
 The cold moon chills your resting place, 
 
 It creeps o'er hill and dell, 
 Upon the world it casts its spell. 
 
 Unknown, unknelled, farewell. 
 
 WE TWO 
 
 We two have walked apart so long, 
 
 And shall we walk together 
 Through hot and cold and weal and woe, 
 
 And never mind the weather? 
 
 And will you steadfast stand, my lass, 
 My right arm's strength in trouble? 
 
 Or will your Summer love be rent, 
 And vanish like a bubble? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 109 
 
 A fearsome road it is, my lass; 
 
 And few there are that make it 
 The rosy path to heaven's gate 
 
 They dream of when they take it. 
 
 For, lass, their love is cake and lace, 
 With ne'er a thought of duty. 
 
 No faith have they that sacrifice 
 Is half of true love's beauty. 
 
 A while they learn the bitter taste 
 
 And bicker at their blunder; 
 And they who walked together, lass, 
 
 From thenceforth walk asunder. 
 
 But surely you are true, my lass, 
 
 And surely we shall weather 
 The roughest storms of life, and go 
 
 The whole sweet way together. 
 
 MAMMON 
 
 I saw a vision, where the hard old cobblestones 
 Gutted the wheels that thundered by incessantly; 
 The houses reeked with filth and ev'ry vile disease. 
 O'erhead the smoke of factories shut out the sky. 
 
 And in the dismal street the children of the poor 
 Plucked up the filth and wiped it on their tumbled 
 
 hair. 
 Gaunt women, slaves to want, watched without 
 
 frown or smile, 
 With calloused brains and souls that never thought 
 
 of prayer. 
 
no ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And all day long the children's cries went up for 
 
 bread, 
 And half-starved mothers, hearing, cursed maternity. 
 Their men, broad-shouldered, bore the burdens of the 
 
 world, 
 Fought famine off with crime, and staked their lives 
 
 for fee. 
 
 Beyond the squalor of the street I saw the rich, 
 In silks and laces, hands begemmed, sit down to feast; 
 And laugh and jest as though no care were in the 
 
 world, — 
 Saw President, philanthropist, church power, and 
 
 priest. 
 
 Saw wealth enough to gild each filthy cobblestone 
 Squandered to stuff the maw of some sleek, soulless 
 
 hide; 
 And heard a query echo back to earth's first dawn, 
 "Am I my brother's keeper?" "Thou art," the 
 
 voice replied. 
 
 MY DREAM OF FAME 
 
 Not all can move the gaping world to wonder 
 Or write their names for future times to read; 
 
 Not all can strike with fame's eternal thunder 
 The unborn heavens, — such was not decreed. 
 
 The mystery of genius' subtler meaning 
 Is some too deep for all of us to grasp. 
 
 We may not pluck aside the altar screening; 
 Fame's mirage mocks our ever hopeful clasp. 
 
 And yet who knows where lies the debt and credit? 
 The world may scorn the richest gift of gold. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY in 
 
 The Master yet has ev'ry book to edit; 
 
 What man has scorned, by Him may be enrolled. 
 
 Let one heart know that I have done my duty, 
 Let one heart know how high has been my aim, 
 
 And see in what I've toiled for all the beauty — 
 That is my star, and that my dream of fame. 
 
 YOU HYPOCRITES 
 
 Ah, man, with your one day prating of God, 
 And down on your marrow-bones 
 To a shimmering sod or a bag of stones! 
 
 You hypocrites with hearts of brass, 
 Your prayers like a stink arise — 
 Think you to pass under His eyes? 
 
 The Christ has been kissed by Judas before. 
 Shall he likely forget so much — 
 Throw wide the door for another such! 
 
 For thirty pieces the Christ was sold. 
 Think you he has known no wince 
 For the times that gold has bought Him since? 
 
 O men, so near like God in all! 
 
 With heaven and Christ to know, 
 How can you fall and grovel so? 
 
 WHO CARES? 
 
 When the friends that I love are my friends no 
 more, 
 And friends I have nowhere, 
 
ii2 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 But memories bitter and heart so sore — 
 Who cares? Ah, mother, you care. 
 
 When I stand by the temple, crushed to the earth 
 
 For the ideals dead in there, 
 And the people pass by with their scoffing mirth — 
 
 Who cares? Ah, mother, you care. 
 
 When they laugh at my pitiful failures too, 
 
 At my being the fool to dare 
 What Heaven denied me the talent to do — 
 
 Who cares? Ah, mother, you care. 
 
 And as long as hearts for affection shall yearn, 
 And hearts shall answer their prayer, 
 
 So long shall your love to my least need turn> 
 And as God cares, you shall care. 
 
 THE TROUBLE OF JENNY 
 
 A pipe you can get for a penny, 
 An* a penny's the price of a smoke, 
 
 But ah, the whims of Jenny, 
 
 An' the times she's kept me broke. 
 
 Sometimes she's worth the money, 
 An' again I'm darned if I know. 
 
 But a pipe is a man's best crony 
 When his spirit is down an' low. 
 
 Now Jenny'll grow fat an' wrinkled, 
 Or lean an' stiff as a rod; 
 
 Like a bean that's soaked get crinkled, 
 An' would look best under the sod. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 113 
 
 I'm not sayin' aught 'gainst Jenny, 
 She's a peach with a July fit — 
 
 But if Jenny was bony an' skinny, 
 She wouldn't delight me a bit. 
 
 But a Chinee smoked this filly 
 
 A century in Hongkong, 
 Where I found him settin' silly 
 
 An' he sold her for a song. 
 
 An' there ain't a wrinkle in her, 
 Though she's yellow in her hide, 
 
 She's better after dinner 
 Than Jenny for a bride. 
 
 Jenny's got eyes for others, 
 
 Which has set me to figger in mind, 
 
 To what lengths she has been with my 
 brothers, 
 An' how far I'm taggin' behind. 
 
 So, Jenny, not able to read you, 
 
 I'm shy of bearin' the yoke, 
 Go on with your wares, I don't need you, 
 
 I'd swap you off for a smoke. 
 
 FOR ETERNITY 
 
 I loved, she loved, we loved for aye, 
 Just the two of us forever, ever and a day. 
 The pendulum of Time " tick-tocked " 
 
 From midnight back to noon. 
 And half the time it was the sun, 
 
 And half the time the moon. 
 
 And ev'ry star a minute told 
 And ev'ry space an hour, 
 
ii 4 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And we two watched them break and fall 
 
 Like petals of a flower; 
 My lips, her lips, our lips for aye, 
 Pressed so close together forever and a day. 
 
 We looked not back nor yet before, 
 
 For all eternity 
 Was in the love I bore for her 
 
 And that she bore for me; 
 We lived and live, will live for aye, 
 In our love for one another forever and a day. 
 
 TWO LITTLE MAIDS 
 
 Last year four stockings hung at the hearth 
 Where now there hang but two; 
 
 For two in the attic are folded away, 
 Each in its little shoe. 
 
 Up in the attic cold and alone, 
 There's a doll with a broken leg, 
 
 That stares in the dark at a little blue dress 
 Hung on a wooden peg. 
 
 One little red dress doffed for the night 
 To be donned on Christmas day; 
 
 Two little knees at the bedside bent, 
 Two chubby hands folded to pray. 
 
 One little girl lisping her prayers, 
 Looking up with eyes of brown, 
 
 One little girl that heavenward went 
 With blue eyes looking down. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 115 
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 O, MY poor heart! 
 Ye woods and fields and sunny days, 
 Your glamour goes, your sorrow stays, — 
 And O, my heart ! my heart is broken, sunny days. 
 
 The dark night falls, 
 O, sunny days! It falls on sea 
 And land and sky eternally, 
 And hope that never more on earth shall come to 
 me. 
 
 Ah, well for those 
 Who sleep full deep and know no pain, 
 And those who wake to laugh again, 
 But ah, dear sunny days, pity me whose hopes are 
 vain. 
 
 PRO AND CON 
 
 Tell me, Cupid, come now, pray you, — 
 Is there meaning in a dream? 
 
 Do impressions caught in dreaming 
 Happen really as they seem? 
 
 I've a kiss that seems to linger 
 On my lips as it was pressed, 
 
 And the world is ten times brighter, 
 North and east and south and west. 
 
 Shall I bid her to remember 
 
 Where her lips were yester-night ? 
 
 Would she blush and prove her spirit 
 Conscious of that same delight? 
 
n6 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Oh, her lips are like the meeting 
 Of the sunbeam and the rose; 
 
 Cunning dimpled lines of danger, 
 How I stand it, Heaven knows. 
 
 Laughing, begging " Come and kiss me," 
 But the eyes warn, " Don't you dare." 
 
 " Taste from me," they're shyly saying, 
 " But you must not venture there." 
 
 What would happen should I kiss them? 
 
 Would I wither in her eye, 
 Like the light'ning-splintered forest 
 
 Struck by anger from the sky? 
 
 Would the ugly, sinful goblins 
 Ride me on their devil's work? 
 
 Snatch me from the hope of Christians 
 Tie me to some wicked Turk? 
 
 Oh, I've held those lips so sacred, 
 Yes, to love but nothing more. 
 
 They are shrines for love's sweet offerings, 
 One must love them, not adore. 
 
 Think, my soul, those lips are mortal, 
 They were made for man to kiss. 
 
 Screw your courage up and steal one, 
 She won't take it much amiss. 
 
 Maybe in her heart she's yearning 
 For the bliss your fears deny. 
 
 If the dream's so sweet, fond lover, 
 Is it not worth while to try? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 117 
 
 TO LUCY 
 
 (Could it be forever thus.) 
 
 Oh, could it be forever thus, 
 
 To gaze into your eyes 
 And feel the thrill of love that wafts 
 
 The soul to paradise, 
 
 I think that I could live always, 
 
 Nor feel a want or woe, 
 And angels far above would sigh 
 
 For joys they could not know. 
 
 Cease, world, your never-ending toil, 
 Cease, Time, your weary flight, 
 
 And let me quaff the bliss that fills 
 The brimming cup to-night. 
 
 LOVE'S LAMENT 
 
 Take me in the forest deep 
 Where the pine and cypress sleep, 
 There alone leave me to weep, 
 For my heart's so weary. 
 
 Oh, my soul is sorrow's sheath, 
 Love has poisoned ev'ry breath, 
 Love has stung my soul to death, 
 Woe is all my being. 
 
 Woe is me, for I must die, 
 Wounded by a maiden's eye, 
 Oh, heart break in one great sigh. 
 Live I cannot longer. 
 
n8 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Maidens all whose hearts are true 
 Haunt my home of gloomy yew, 
 Pansies sweet and violets blue 
 On my coffin scatter. 
 
 Fair, warm life and love, good-bye, 
 Hunted, wounded, let me die, 
 Slain by a maiden's scornful eye — 
 For my heart's so weary. 
 
 THE OLD BROWN GOURD 
 
 When you'd left the dusty road, 
 The hot and dusty road, 
 
 With the sweat a-steaming on your faces, 
 There was the coolest spot, 
 Where the span of beech was broad, 
 And the sun pricked through like shot 
 
 The weaving leaves and limbs and shady places. 
 
 You galloped down the hill 
 
 Through the sand, with right good will, 
 Where the ferns and mossy trees and boulders 
 
 Had scarce ever seen the sun 
 
 And were peeping at it still, 
 
 And you dropped about a ton, 
 With the sun and dust that burned and bent 
 your shoulders. 
 
 A gourd hung just in reach, 
 
 From an ante-bellum beech, — 
 A gourd with a big brown bulging belly. 
 
 And it held about a quart 
 
 That was worth a hundred each 
 
 When your breath was hot and short, 
 And your lungs a-quiver like a jar of jelly. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 119 
 
 And you dipped it in a spring 
 
 That was just the very thing, 
 A deep gourd, a cool gourd, a full gourd, dripping 
 
 With the water over-flowing from the brim, 
 
 And you gulped it at a fling, 
 
 With your warm lips to the rim, 
 And your swallow thrown wide, all parched with 
 a thirst that was ripping. 
 
 No hell-pot of gin 
 
 Aburning you like sin, 
 No vampire drink aflame in the glasses. 
 
 Just cold water from the spring, 
 
 'Neath the leafy muscadine, 
 
 Where the brown marsh robins swing 
 And the squirrel stops to eye you as he passes. 
 
 You drank the full gourd dry, 
 
 And you hung it with a sigh 
 By the long brown crooked finger handle, 
 
 And you didn't mind the dust, 
 
 Nor the baked sun hot and high, 
 
 Nor the saddle like a crust 
 Of snuff just dripped from off a lighted candle. 
 
 Just a drink, a dream, a rest, 
 And you climbed into your nest, 
 With a gouge and a trot where the sun was shin- 
 ing. 
 But you cared no more for that, 
 For the flame was falling west, 
 And the water cooled your hat, 
 And its mem'ry hedged you off from thought of 
 pining. 
 
 Oh, the spring has gone from there, 
 And the wood has gone from there, 
 
iao ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And the bare earth blisters in the June-day. 
 Oh, the change would break your heart, 
 For a great brown thoroughfare, 
 Like a scourge lashed out and tart, 
 
 Leaps where the spring and wood once cooled the 
 noon-day. 
 
 'Tis the rattle of the cart, 
 
 On its sultry way to mart, 
 'Tis the whistle of the train by the ferry. 
 
 And the sweet, ripe, mellow gourd 
 
 Is a form in a. dreamer's heart, 
 
 It has long gone by the board, 
 And they've choked the spring that made the road 
 so cheery. 
 
 THE VOICE OF TWILIGHT 
 
 New lights are ever rising on new worlds, 
 
 The yester-morn is pale and dead to-day, 
 
 And night, each hectic day-body's shroud enfolds 
 
 Its hopes, its premises, its work, its play. 
 
 And who can merry-hearted laugh to see 
 
 The weird wan shadows gath'ring 'round the 
 
 grave, 
 Time's vault padlocked with iron mystery 
 Has bartered off the soul that nature gave. 
 Since ev'ry twilight brings a whispered sigh 
 For ways its morn shall ne'er behold again, 
 For all its burdens as it labors by 
 Sin crushed to worm and dust in dark domain, 
 The while it plains so lonely, oh, so sad: 
 " Forgotten, aye and I gave them all I had." 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 121 
 
 "YE PATIENT STARS " 
 
 Oh, silv'ry stars in vault of ambient blue, 
 Your sweet serenity mocks the wrinkled brow, 
 The sweat of toil, the cruel years that bow 
 To dust the head of pride — they rule not you. 
 But man, poor man, whom heartless fates pursue, 
 The short reprieve they let does scarce allow 
 His eyes to see the world that hopes endow, 
 When lo! they snatch his warm life-light from 
 
 view. 
 I sometimes think that in your spheres there burns 
 A sympathetic ray for ills of man, 
 Of radiant hope and of consoling truth; 
 While stricken mute with grief my spirit yearns 
 Passionately the gulf 'twixt worlds to span, 
 And hap'ly learn from you eternal youth. 
 
 TO MOLLY 
 
 The flowers large and small were in a pet, 
 The hyacinth was fussing with her curls, 
 And breaking through the spider's jeweled net, 
 And daffodils, like flocks of late schoolgirls, 
 Stood awkwardly and fretted with the breeze. 
 The sun was not so bright nor hills so green, 
 The sky was misty, sullen all the trees. 
 I sat and wondered what the mood could mean. 
 Again I looked and there was Molly smiling, 
 And ev'rything was changed, the blue sky beamed, 
 The flowers breathed their sweets her way be- 
 guiling, 
 And Nature's humor gay and pleasant seemed. 
 Oh, it was strange how Molly's laughing face, 
 Could to a sullen day give light and grace. 
 
122 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 THE FABLE OF THE VAIN STORK 
 
 There was a stork, — 
 
 They called him York : — 
 The youngest stork of ten. 
 
 His bill was long 
 
 As is my song, 
 His legs were very thin. 
 
 He lived his days 
 
 In various ways, 
 As storks are w T on't to do, 
 
 Until he came 
 
 With idle aim 
 To sparkling Mikado. 
 
 Now that's a stream 
 
 Whose waters seem 
 A very looking-glass. 
 
 The birds go there 
 
 From ev'rywhere, 
 And many a nut-brown lass. 
 
 They bill and coo, 
 
 Their shadows woo, 
 And bathe their forms divine. 
 
 It makes the cheek 
 
 Rose-red and sleek 
 And eyes like light to shine. 
 
 Poor York, the stork, 
 
 On his first walk, 
 Into this land quite new 
 
 Went stumbling o'er 
 
 The fatal shore 
 And fell in Mikado. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 123 
 
 The waters danced 
 
 The moonbeams glanced, 
 With fright the lily shook. 
 
 His broad white wings 
 
 Scared all the things 
 That dwelt within the brook. 
 
 But York saw naught, 
 
 His eyes had caught 
 His image mirrored there. 
 
 He'd never seen, 
 
 By odds, I ween, 
 A thing look half so fair. 
 
 His reed-like limbs 
 
 Seemed paradigms 
 Of limbs par excellence. 
 
 The moon's pure light 
 
 Was not so bright 
 As tuft upon his sconce. 
 
 The night wore on 
 
 The day was gone, 
 The sun, it rose and set; 
 
 A second night 
 
 With fresh delight 
 Young York was gazing yet. 
 
 He never tired 
 
 Nor aught desired, 
 But stared as one entranced. 
 
 In hosts arrayed 
 
 Fish undismayed 
 E'en to his feet advanced. 
 
 While thus he stood 
 A fox's brood 
 
i2 4 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Approached with noiseless step. 
 
 With shifting eye 
 
 And step so sly, 
 Along the brook they crept. 
 
 As quiet as fear 
 
 Their steps drew near, 
 They saw poor York and stopped, 
 
 And in the shade 
 
 By rushes made 
 On crouching haunches dropped. 
 
 Soft on they came 
 
 Upon the game, 
 The largest made a bound, — 
 
 Poor York was dead 
 
 His foolish head 
 Was dragged upon the ground. 
 
 The fox's eye 
 
 Did not descry 
 The beauty York had seen 
 
 But swore, I guess, 
 
 With bitterness 
 Because the stork was lean. 
 
 Beware, my friend, 
 
 Of such an end, 
 Beware the looking-glass; 
 
 You'll meet York's fate 
 
 Sure, soon or late, 
 And be as big an ass. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 125 
 
 FILL THE GLASS 
 
 My life to win, my life to win, 
 
 I win. What then? 'Tis but to loose, 
 
 For time will give me ev'rything, 
 But Death relentless claims his dues. 
 
 I live a very little space, 
 
 And leave no trace, for I must die; 
 And men must work and have no time 
 
 To haunt the place where I may lie. 
 
 Fill without stint the sparkling glass 
 And let it pass; I will not care. 
 
 Let Fame another's vitals pick, 
 For me the present's passing fair. 
 
 A merry, wholesome, living laugh 
 I would not draff for honored bones 
 
 That grin and keep their gruesome sleep 
 Beneath a pile of vaunting stones. 
 
 A DIRGE 
 
 At eve from out the city 
 
 The spires rose long and gray, 
 The wind sighed low in pity 
 At the close of a winter's day. 
 But oh, the ache of the dull, dull pain, 
 That rose to God through the mist and rain, 
 For one who never shall come again, 
 In the grave with dead hopes laid. 
 
 A death's head grinned at a palace, 
 And rich one's wailed for a friend. 
 
126 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 A beggar raised the chalice 
 
 And drank to the bitter end. 
 And through the rain and cold, cold mist, 
 Rose wails of woe to Heaven's list, 
 And lips are drawn that the dead have kissed, 
 
 In wild and speechless grief. 
 
 And out from the spires of the city, 
 
 Tolled low the angelus bell, 
 Tolled low as if in pity 
 
 At the sorrow's mournful knell, 
 Long, long, long ago 
 The friends that are gone are lying low, 
 And they come no more from the long ago. 
 This is the tale that it tells. 
 
 COME, LOVE, LET US ROAM 
 
 The world is awake. Come, love, let us roam 
 Through the wood where the sun is just peeping, 
 
 Where the bright oriole is guarding her home 
 And the jasmine vines are creeping. 
 
 The thrush from the hawthorn is telling her love, 
 
 The turtle too softly is cooing, 
 While the light zephyrs play in the dew-laden grove, 
 
 And the mocker the wild rose is wooing. 
 
 Then come let us roam ere the morn is well dressed, 
 And peep at the wealth of her treasures, 
 
 Where the squirrel is holding her young to her 
 breast, 
 And the butterfly basks in its pleasures. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 127 
 
 DOES NOT THAT SMILE SOMETIMES 
 GROW WEARY? 
 
 Does not that smile sometimes grow weary? 
 
 Does it not sometimes hide a tear? 
 Does not thy heart near break with longing 
 
 For some fond hope grown hopeless here? 
 
 And does that smile so freely lavished, 
 Like sunshine beam for one as all? 
 
 Does it not hold a deeper meaning 
 Some lonely heart lives to recall? 
 
 It must be so, for all this seeming, 
 That smile must melt at times to grief, 
 
 And e'en in thy life's happy volume 
 There is at least one blotted leaf. 
 
 LOVE'S FRUITION 
 
 The sweetness of love is consumed in a day, 
 Its bitterness lasts till the head turns gray. 
 Oh ! golden its promise, when the heart beats young, 
 Ere sorrow has warped it, or falseness has stung 
 
 But its bitter is sweet and love never is vain, 
 Though false be the loved one and deep be the pain, 
 For its tears, like the showers, though shadows they 
 
 cast, 
 Will awaken the best when those shadows have 
 
 passed. 
 
 And its throb, like the song that resounds on tht 
 
 hill, 
 Will return to the soul and re-echo there still; 
 
128 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And its sweets will come back to sigh in the spring, 
 When the roses are blooming and mocking-birds 
 sing. 
 
 REMEMBER ME, DEAR 
 
 Remember me, dear, when the sun has departed, 
 Ere the coming of night with silence profound; 
 
 Then send me a message of hope happy-hearted, 
 
 On the wings of the angels that guard thee around. 
 
 When locusts begin their sweet chant in the gloaming, 
 When the breeze blows sweet from the crab-apple 
 tree, 
 
 Then think of the heart that sadly is roaming 
 
 Far, far from the charms of its home and from thee. 
 
 And when the cold moon from its white shroud is cast- 
 ing 
 Its silver limned light where the leaves part and 
 meet, 
 Then think of our promise of love everlasting 
 That binds us with ties that are ever so sweet. 
 
 MOLLY'S FRIENDS, THE FLOWERS 
 
 What are the roses so red for, Molly? 
 Now don't you know? The reason's clear, 
 To match those in your cheeks, my dear. 
 
 Of course that's why they are so red. 
 
 What do the jonquils bloom for, Molly? 
 Why they reflect the golden light 
 That slumbers in your eyes so bright. 
 
 They grow for nothing only that. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 129 
 
 Violets, what are they for, Molly? 
 
 They bloom to breathe, " Wee one, be kind, 
 
 And innocent in heart and mind." 
 They bloom to love you, little one. 
 
 Why is the world so full of flowers 
 To decorate your sunny curls, 
 And crown you queen of little girls? 
 
 They would not blossom otherwise. 
 
 Tell me, then, what are you for, Molly? 
 Ah, just to play an angel's part, 
 To give the doubting hope and heart. 
 
 I know that that's what you are for. 
 
 THINE THE SUN 
 
 Many, many days shall come, 
 Many suns as brightly shine, 
 
 Many faces come and go, 
 Faces just as fair as thine. 
 
 Viewing life's kaleidoscope, 
 Ev'ry change enraptured holds, 
 
 And a thrill comes with each scene 
 As its beauty still unfolds. 
 
 Trust me then, nor fickle deem, 
 If in other eyes I smile, 
 
 Seeing in the beauty there 
 
 Something like thee all the while. 
 
 And though other days shall come, 
 None shall lie so near my heart, 
 
 And though other faces smile, 
 None such pleasure can impart. 
 
130 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Other lights like meteors bright 
 Flash across my azure sky, 
 
 Thine the sun which once removed, 
 Life would wither, love would die. 
 
 THREE MAIDENS 
 
 Three maidens came walking from Dartmouth 
 
 town, 
 From Dartmouth town of fair renown; 
 And the tallest spake to the others: 
 " I'd like to be a queen, " quoth she, 
 " And rule a royal land; 
 And men should scour the earth and sea 
 To do my least command. 
 Fd hold my head so proudly thus, 
 And wear the grandest crown." 
 So spake the tallest of the three 
 As they came from Dartmouth town. 
 
 Three maidens came walking from Dartmouth 
 
 town, 
 And the west was burned red as the sun went 
 
 down, 
 And the fairest spake to the others: 
 " Above all Fd like to be," quoth she, 
 " The fairest woman on earth : 
 That men would waste their lives to see, 
 And sing my beauty's w r orth. 
 Oh, I should make hearts bold with smiles, 
 Or break them with my frown." 
 Thus spake the fairest of the three, 
 As they came from Dartmouth town. 
 
 Three maidens came walking from Dartmouth 
 town, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 131 
 
 And the meadows were green and the hills were 
 
 brown ; 
 And the third of the three was silent. 
 She looked to the south with dreamy eyes, 
 She thought, Oh, heart, be true. 
 One knight shall come both brave and wise 
 To fight the world for you. 
 And none shall be so fair to him, 
 For all that I'm slight and brown. 
 And they walked, three maidens in silence, 
 As they came from Dartmouth town. 
 
 OH, COME WITH ME! 
 
 Oh, come with me and sing 
 Of days that spring 
 With hopeful wing 
 From flowers in the garnished east. 
 
 The future holds such bliss 
 To quaff I w T iss, 
 A lover's kiss, 
 If thou wilt come and roam with me. 
 
 If love has joys to prove, 
 Then life should move 
 Into its groove, 
 And share its blessing while it may. 
 
 Oh, tarry not, my dear! 
 The youthful seer 
 To nature's ear 
 Has breathed his teaching through the years. 
 
 Observe the warbling bird, 
 He has not heard 
 
132 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 With doubt the word, 
 His trust has taught his heart to sing. 
 
 And man alone of all 
 In evil's thrall, 
 Has mixed with gall 
 Delights that should have been serene. 
 
 Be wise, Love! put aside 
 All doubt and pride 
 And thou, my bride, 
 And I shall sing of dearer days 
 
 That glide like ships full-sail 
 Into the trail, 
 The golden veil 
 That meets the waters in the west. 
 
 THE PASSING OF LOVE 
 
 A fine catapilla was Love, 
 
 With eight great peacock eyes, 
 And his touch could thrill like my lady's glove, 
 
 Oh, Love, oh, Love, thou breeder of sighs. 
 
 He came to the valley of Nod, 
 
 Where the dream flowers under the sky 
 
 Looked up to Beauty, their only god, 
 And Beauty looked down on Traumeri. 
 
 The Traumeri of the flowers, 
 
 A plain in the land of Nod, 
 Where rules the rose o'er fragrant bowers 
 
 With a sunset scepter of golden-rod. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 133 
 
 They had all their sweets at heart 
 
 When Love came on the winds of the west. 
 But he sang at the doors of their souls with 
 such art, 
 That they opened the portals and gave him 
 their best. 
 
 Love ruined the flowers at Nod, 
 
 In the valley of Traumeri. 
 For when he departed Love was their god, 
 
 But he paid them in grief and a soul-wasting 
 sigh. 
 
 Alas, they are the saddest flowers, 
 Grown callous to sun and dew; 
 With a hopeless hope and a dream of those 
 hours, 
 And that Love will come back and his vows 
 renew. 
 
 Poor little fickle, false god! 
 
 He lived and he died in a day. 
 And the desert of heart in the land of Nod, 
 
 Rend their petals and drudge their lives 
 away. 
 
 And Beauty looks down on the bowers, 
 
 From the blue of a wonderful sky, 
 But the shadings are pale and harsh to the 
 flowers, 
 
 Since the passing of Love from Traumeri. 
 
134 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 THE VIOLET NEVER IS SCORNFUL 
 
 The violet never is scornful, 
 
 For her nature's too high and apart. 
 
 She's the model of love in its whiteness, 
 She's the balm of the weeping heart. 
 
 Never a rose that the warm winds winnow 
 
 Is aught but a vain coquette, 
 And for all the caresses she gives you, 
 
 There's bitter to pay for the debt. 
 
 And here in this violet I find me 
 A twin to my fancies of thee. 
 
 A boon, Love, though roses be blooming, 
 Let the violets remind you of me. 
 
 AWAY WITH THEE, LOVE 
 
 Away with thee, love, thou art weak with desire, 
 Sighs are thy heralds and a ruin of youth's fire. 
 Give me no more of thy bliss or thy pain, 
 Tyrant, thou art in a barren domain. 
 So ho-ho! for a life of adventure and fun, 
 With my dog, my horse, and my good trusty gun. 
 
 The cat's crueL claws and treacherous wiles 
 Don't work half the ruin of a fair woman's smiles; 
 She will slave and sell with a smile if she can, 
 And a man in love js a womanish man. 
 So ho-ho! for a life of adventure and fun, 
 With my dog, my horse, and my good trusty gun. 
 
 For the voice of the forest, the blast of my horn, 
 The bay of the hounds and the smile of the morn, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 135 
 
 Oh, here's to them all, and the life of a ranger, 
 Whose courtship is paid to the shy court of danger. 
 So ho-ho! for a life of adventure and fun, 
 With my dog and my horse and good trusty gun. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ROSE 
 
 A butterfly, with gaudy wings, 
 
 Upon an April day 
 Went forth with heart and eyes alert 
 
 To see the world, they say. 
 
 He passed o'er fresh green fields and woods, 
 
 And flowers wooed his stay, 
 But still that heartless butterfly 
 
 Flew on untouched, they say. 
 
 He flirted here, he flirted there, — 
 
 The daisy's eye was wet 
 With heart-dropped dew as off he went; 
 
 She sighed that they had met. 
 
 But ere his life had well begun 
 
 That gallant came to woe. 
 For love had seen his dauntless flight, 
 
 And sworn his overthrow. 
 
 A rose was blooming red and rare, 
 And breezes came and sighed, 
 
 And went away with heavy hearts, 
 Their prayers for love denied. 
 
 And hither came that butterfly, 
 
 And here prolonged his stay, 
 And fanned and wooed, but all in vain, 
 
 That rosebud, so they say. 
 
136 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 The proud rose coldly spurned his love, 
 And flirted with the breeze, 
 
 Until that butterfly fell sick 
 And died of heart's disease. 
 
 Oh, you, my love, are like that rose, 
 
 And I the butterfly. 
 But have a heart, unlike the rose, 
 
 Let not 3'our lover die. 
 
 TO MIGNON 
 
 Alone, I mused upon the beach, 
 
 And in the western sky 
 The rosy tints of evening mixed 
 
 To form a deeper dye. 
 
 Upon the ocean's heaving breast 
 
 The beacon's restful gleam 
 Burned peacefully and seemed to lend 
 
 A longing to my dream. 
 
 I thought how often we had kept 
 Our tryst there, thou and I, 
 
 And in my heart a yearning woke 
 And echoed in a sigh. 
 
 I know not what thy thoughts were then, 
 
 Thy dark eyes' mystery; 
 But mine were like the sunset glow 
 
 With radiance caught from thee. 
 
 Sweet thoughts, yet dashed with bitterness, 
 To think they could not last; 
 
 Long treasured as are withered leaves, 
 In membrance of the past. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 137 
 
 For fate has written we must part, 
 
 And yet, when I am gone, 
 'Twould please if lingered in thy heart 
 
 A thought of me, Mignon. 
 
 OCTOBER SONG 
 
 Come out to Bass, if you wish to see, 
 
 The red-leafed gum and the golden cherry, 
 Come out as many as you will, be merry, 
 
 But come out one with a charm for me. 
 
 For there's a field of blue and golden-rod, 
 
 Golden-rod, 
 
 Golden-rod, 
 
 There's a field of blue and golden-rod, 
 
 At Bass in brown October. 
 
 Come out with the birds for a last love song, 
 There's nothing so rare as a rose in December, 
 A precious few buds e'en keep through Novem- 
 ber, — 
 
 And October, love, doesn't last very long. 
 
 There are secrets to whisper and sweets to be told. 
 And what though the season too late is for mating, 
 A dream of October, when lilac is waiting, 
 
 Is a blossom that cannot wither from cold. 
 
 LOVE'S OFFERING 
 
 Late, when the pulsing stars lay close 
 Against the canopied vault of night, 
 
 Still lamps to guide love's downy wing, 
 Unchained my thoughts to thee took flight. 
 
138 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Thy name to reverent lips arose 
 Like murmured prayer of anchorite, 
 
 And drowned the voice of suffering 
 In welcome floods of pure delight. 
 
 Hope, fanning fancy into being, 
 
 Saw heaven in your golden eyes, 
 Consent* to long unanswered pleas, 
 
 Breathed softly in contented sighs. 
 And all our fondest plans agreeing, 
 
 Brought peace to us, and in the skies 
 A fadeless light and fragrant breeze 
 
 Made earth a very paradise. 
 
 O'erhead in high majestic trees 
 
 The cricket's tiny sounding bell 
 Announced a sacrifice supreme: 
 
 A heart the offering, and fell 
 Thy own, at Love's adoring knees, 
 
 Upon thy altar. Favor well 
 The gift, oh, light of love's esteem, 
 
 Nor break the elevating spell. 
 
 SWEET MARY AND ME 
 
 Sweet Mary came over the meadows, 
 
 The mystical meadows alone, 
 Meadow larks flew over the fresh dewy clover, 
 
 And my heart beat " Mary, my own." 
 
 I slipped to her side in a jiffy, 
 
 And I whispered a word in her ear. 
 
 And oh, weren't her blushes like red in the 
 rushes 
 As I kissed her, — Mary, my dear. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 139 
 
 It was brave, don't you think? I do, very, 
 And I warrant you would, if you knew, 
 
 For she's so contrary, this same lovely Mary, 
 With never a moment for you. 
 
 But this all occurred in the meadows, 
 
 Where none but a poet may walk, 
 Where winds never hurtle the curl of the myrtle 
 
 And frosts never light on the stalk. 
 
 For when I did meet with sweet Mary, 
 My heart made a leap for my mouth, 
 
 And fond, dreaming love grew limpsy all over 
 Like a lilac bush caught in a drouth. 
 
 For she passed like a ship in fair weather, 
 With a smile that you barely could see; 
 
 While I went creeping away nearly weeping. 
 Was there ever a lover like me? 
 
 LAUGH WHEN YOUR HEART IS 
 LIGHTEST 
 
 Laugh when your heart is lightest, love, 
 
 Dance the gay hours away. 
 Shine out the fairest and brightest, love, 
 
 Star of the ev'ning's array. 
 
 May I then harbor your sorrow, love, 
 
 E'en though forgotten I be? 
 This from your life I would borrow, love, 
 
 Care that your wyrd may decree. 
 
 When^to sweet music you listen, love, 
 
 Bearing its message in rhyme; 
 And at your coming glisten, love, 
 
 Eyes with their bliss at its prime. 
 
i 4 o ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Though I may long for a token, love, 
 Yet should your heart so entwine, 
 
 Causing my own to be broken, love, 
 Break it to honor your shrine. 
 
 JOHN DEAN'S PHILOSOPHY 
 
 John Dean was a rich old bachelor, 
 As all of the world must know, 
 
 And the workings of sixty Winters 
 
 Had whitened his head like the snow. 
 
 But he'd friends, had this happy old fellow, 
 Yes, friends a good thousand if one; 
 
 For friends, you know, follow money 
 As sure as the day does the sun. 
 
 He was king of valleys and forests, 
 And sleek horses fed in his stalls, 
 
 And servants he owned by the hundreds, 
 And parasites swarmed in his halls. 
 
 And yet on this mellow evening, 
 As he sat with his silk slippers on, 
 
 And listened to the amorous ditties 
 Of birds as they played on his lawn, 
 
 Like a serpent a brooding crept o'er him, 
 And he railed in a way so absurd, 
 
 That the slave at the door stared in wonder, 
 And could scarcely believe that she heard: 
 
 'A curse on these hell given riches, 
 
 They have beggared my life of its best, 
 
 All nothing but bubbles and tinsel, 
 With a conscience that never can rest. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 141 
 
 " No man has amassed such a fortune, 
 IVe all that one's heart could enthrall. 
 
 And yet I am sick and disgusted, 
 Disgusted and tired of it all. 
 
 " I've made wealth, but the means, were they 
 open? 
 
 IVe wrung it from hands that were poor, 
 IVe ruined many lives that were hopeful, 
 
 IVe turned the half -starved from my door. 
 
 " And there's none who for Dean will be pray- 
 ing, 
 
 When he kneels at the judgment seat, 
 But hundreds will clamor for justice, 
 
 For the justice that surely is meet. 
 
 " The doctor may grieve for a moment, 
 That his wages have come to an end. 
 
 But friends — poor Dean, you have never, 
 In all of your life had a friend. 
 
 " Tush ! dry up your silly old prattle, 
 Better friend a man never knew; — 
 
 Can't it buy you a place up in heaven, 
 If it buy you the church's best pew? 
 
 " Ugh! my nerves are playing the devil, 
 
 I'll call for a friend and a drink. 
 On a quest of new fun I must hie me, 
 
 I am getting too ancient to think." 
 
142 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 META 
 
 There were flowers and thorns in the path we 
 came, 
 
 It was happy and dreary at times, 
 For it led through the castle, the cottage and hut 
 
 And ruin where close ivy climbs. 
 
 We have trudged through the dust with the sun 
 burning hot, 
 
 We have trodden the grass when its beams 
 With the softest of light warmed a glow in the west, 
 
 Like the city rose-stained of our dreams. 
 
 Sometimes we have smiled and again we have sighed, 
 Sometimes we have wept as we toiled, 
 
 When our spirits too weary their burdens to bear, 
 Felt the pain of a dear purpose foiled. 
 
 Sometimes too our hearts beat happy with love, 
 And for love we have wasted away, 
 
 For the castles of beauty we dreamed in the clouds, 
 That were built and destroyed in a day. 
 
 And lo! in the eve we have come to this end, 
 In the shade of the tall marble stone, 
 
 Where the breeze is the rustle of ghostly wings 
 And the sleeper lies cold and alone. 
 
 AN ANSWER TO A REQUEST FOR A POEM 
 
 Go ask the mocking-bird to sing, 
 His notes are always pure and true, 
 
 Unmatched his happy rhythmic swing, 
 And heard for e'er 'tis always new. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 143 
 
 Go read in ev'ry fragrant flower 
 The poem that is written there; 
 
 You'll find more beauty in an hour 
 Than I could ever hope or dare. 
 
 Just teach your heart to beat in time 
 To Nature's song on ev'ry breeze. 
 
 True rhythm then you'll find and rhyme, 
 Man cannot equal works like these. 
 
 But tempt me not on sacred grounds — 
 
 A fool can at an altar kneel; 
 Its understanding tops his bounds, 
 
 I'm ignorant and only free. 
 
 THE SEPARATION 
 
 The day has gone and all its sun and flowers, 
 Ah, fair they were the while we held them ours. 
 
 The little while, but is it worth the fine 
 
 That I still pay to claim those dreams for mine? 
 
 I had the blossom, now the pricking thorn, 
 While to each sorrow sorrows new are born, 
 
 For ev'ry thought that rushes back to thee 
 Gets from its sweet an added misery. 
 
 Oh, idle dreams that have no gift nor gain, 
 Whose cofEn sweets contain such bitter pain, 
 
 Why is it, pray, that I would never give 
 Thy poor dead day for all the days that live? 
 
144 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 I. K. S. 
 
 She comes from the dreams of the sweet sacred past, 
 From the gold of her youth as we pictured her last; 
 With a smile on her lips and a light in her eyes, 
 And a bloom in her cheeks that the lily white dyes. 
 
 She comes with the breath of the honey-suckle bloom, 
 She comes and she lightens my life of its gloom, — 
 With the love that she bore in the days that are gone, 
 With the love she bore then and I know she bears on. 
 
 Though tears we may shed that she's with us no more, 
 And our torn hearts may ache for the sweet days of # 
 
 yore, 
 Yet we know that our darling is happy somewhere, 
 And we live in fond hopes of meeting her there. 
 
 AUTUMN DREAMINGS 
 
 In a sun-woofed Southern homestead 
 Sits a grandam thin and gray, 
 
 And sweet faded smiles of mem'ry 
 O'er her withered features play. 
 
 Sits she on the cool veranda, 
 
 Where the sunbeams come and go 
 
 Through the morning glory's mazes, 
 And the South winds softly blow. 
 
 Through her specks she sees but dimly, 
 
 Gently vacant is her gaze, 
 As she feebly dreams and fancies, 
 
 Dreams of youth and bygone days. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 145 
 
 Lie neglected on her apron 
 
 Threads and needles all forgot, 
 While she draws the thread of mem'ry 
 
 Rav'ling out the tangled knot. 
 
 Comes the song of cotton pickers, 
 
 Muffled in the dreamy haze 
 Of the mellow Indian summer, 
 
 Like an evening hymn of praise. 
 
 Turns the mill-wheel in the meadow, 
 
 Rousing with its rhythmic creak 
 Other fond forgotten mem'ries, 
 
 And their short existence eke. 
 
 Sigh the pine trees on the hillside 
 
 But so faint, so soft and low, 
 That they seem to her as echoes 
 
 From the days of long ago. 
 
 Snap! the thread is gently broken 
 
 And she slumbers in her chair; 
 And the mocking-birds are singing 
 
 In the myrtles ev'rywhere. 
 
 AFTER SUMMER 
 
 'Tis the home of the violets* bloom 
 Where the wild pea blossoms now, 
 
 And the fields are brown with the waving 
 broom, 
 Or white with the cotton bough. 
 
 The winds that the violet kissed 
 
 Are sweet to the wild pea now, 
 But the voices are sighing for something missed 
 
 On the bristling hillock's brow. 
 
i 4 6 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 For the blood tide ebbs from the wood, 
 From the wild flowers yellow and red, 
 
 And the hopes for which the violets stood, 
 In the pea and the sage are dead. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 'Twas yester-day, a little day, a space, 
 As short as April's moods, when vengeful ire 
 Swept hosts of injured hearts like forest fire, 
 And marked this man with scorn and with dis- 
 grace ; 
 To-day he stands before them, face to face, 
 And where their wrath? O'er spangled roof and 
 
 spire 
 Ring out their cheers, as if their hearts' desire 
 Had come victorious their happy hearths to grace. 
 Fooled puppets in a vaunting trickster's hands, 
 Oh, weakling natures, pliable as clay, 
 You take the buffet like a cringing cur, 
 And when one rises in his right and stands 
 More than yourself a man, you slink away 
 To fawn and lick the hand that gave the slur! 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN OLD CHURCHYARD 
 
 From silver to gold, from gold to gray, 
 In gorgeous tints and rich array; 
 From glory to gloom at close of day, 
 So change, so pass, our lives away. 
 
 We fold our shroud about our breast, 
 And pensive seek our silent rest, 
 To break the web of mystery, 
 And meet a dread eternity. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 147 
 
 And even while uncertain light 
 Of other worlds directs our sight, 
 We turn from realms of woe or bliss 
 To take and give the farewell kiss. 
 
 And fondly dream that in those eyes, 
 We strongly love and dearly prize, 
 The tears will start in bitter woe 
 And wet our graves with ceaseless flow. 
 
 Oh, treasured hopes so falsely placed, 
 Oh, pleading eyes so soon effaced! 
 Thy passing is a dream, in truth, 
 Forgotten as the days of youth. 
 
 A tear was shed above thy grave, 
 A stone was made thy mem'ry's slave; 
 And then the time went swiftly by, 
 And those who wept give not a sigh. 
 
 The stones have fallen from their toil, 
 The cattle graze about the soil, 
 And one lone heart that knew thee not 
 Bemoans this sad neglected spot. 
 
 To brood and learn the truth a while, 
 With fancies bitter that revile 
 Man's shallow nature in the dust, 
 His failure of a sacred trust. 
 
 For time must come when I shall sleep 
 Like thee, while shady brambles creep 
 About my head with matted vines 
 And hide the coffin's grassy lines. 
 
 And soon no stone will stand at all, 
 And soon the trees will rot and fall; 
 The farmer here will turn his plow, 
 And none will weep as I do now. 
 
148 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 THE DANCE OF THE ZEPHYRS 
 
 Over hill and over valley, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Through the wood and fields we sally, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 Dancing in the early morning, 
 When the day is faintly dawning, 
 And the world with sleep is yawning, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Dancing in the early morning, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 
 Dancing where the fireflies glisten, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 You can hear us if you listen, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 For we never stop nor tarry, 
 Lovers love and lovers marry, 
 Neither we so light and airy 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Never stay we, never tarry, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 
 Dancing where a host of roses, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 On the dewy briar reposes, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 Light we trip on glist'ning heather, 
 O'er the pastures green together, 
 Breaking buds from viny tether, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Whisp'ring folk-songs o'er the heather, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 149 
 
 Dancing through the mid-day hours, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Fanning fond exhausted flowers, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 By the brae and brook and river, 
 Where the aspens shake and shiver 
 And the leaves of tulip quiver, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 By the winding brook and river, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 
 Through the sunbeams bright and cherry, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Through the moonbeams cold and merry, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 Never wearied, never saddened, 
 Never rested, never gladdened, 
 Never pleased and never maddened, 
 
 Yo ho-ho, yo ho-ho! 
 Never saddened, never gladdened, 
 
 Yo ho-ho! 
 
 ROBIN FLYING SOUTHWARD 
 
 Robin, robin flying southward, 
 Tarry, pray you, hear my plea, 
 
 IVe a message for you, robin, 
 Will you bear it home for me? 
 
 When across the wide Potomac, 
 Far beyond the sleet and snow, 
 
 First your eyes espy the woodland 
 Where the sweet magnolias grow. 
 
 Speeding onward, never tarry, 
 Weary winged until you hear 
 
ISO ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Mississippi's winding waters 
 Murmur faintly in your ear. 
 
 Near it stands a home, you'll know it, 
 Oak and myrtle twine their leaves 
 
 Round the porch and moss hangs thickly 
 From the old brow-beaten eaves. 
 
 Had you passed in happier hours, 
 All its echoes then were gay, 
 
 Rippling like the sparkling waters, 
 Laughing, singing all the day. 
 
 On its roof no shadows rested, 
 
 Brightly gleamed the warm sunbeams, 
 
 For our hearts were young then, robin, 
 Scarred not yet with sorrow's seams. 
 
 Childhood's joys are gone forever, 
 
 Just a mem'ry, that is all, 
 Ling'ring round the dear old home place, 
 
 In the grove and in the hall. 
 
 All a mem'ry fondly cherished, 
 And a mother watching now, 
 
 Sees the change and feels the burden, 
 Shows its weight in silvered brow. 
 
 Only three of all that gathered 
 
 'Round that hearth you'll see to-night. 
 
 Only three, and they are silent, 
 Gazing in the warm fire-light. 
 
 Of the rest some few are scattered, 
 Many answer now no more 
 
 When their names are called or spoken, 
 They have passed life's riddle o'er. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 151 
 
 Only three, give them this message, 
 
 Tell them that my eyes are wet, 
 Thinking of them, and the sorrow 
 
 Of our parting chills me yet. 
 
 They are waiting for you, robin, 
 
 List'ning for you in the wood, 
 In your song a friend they'll welcome 
 
 That will do their kind hearts good. 
 
 They will say, "Ah! there's the robin, " 
 And their thoughts will backward stray, 
 
 Backward seeking for some solace 
 From the sweets of yester-day. 
 
 And our hearts will meet together 
 
 By the brook and bend and brae, 
 And we all will bless you, robin, 
 
 Bless you for your cheerful lay. 
 
 When they gather 'round the fire-side, 
 
 Sighing for a missing face, 
 Bid them cheer and comfort borrow 
 
 From a bygone ev'ning's grace, 
 
 Lighting with the past the present, 
 
 And rememb'ring that the years 
 Bud-like op'ning to our vision, 
 
 Hold some recompense for tears. 
 
 Robin, robin, pray you, tarry! 
 
 Onward, onward from my sight, 
 But my lonely heart will follow 
 
 In your steady southward flight. 
 
152 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 WITHERED VIOLETS 
 
 Violets, dear, dead violets, 
 
 Kisses that came in our dreams, 
 Were spirits of violets dying, 
 Leaving the message they bore 
 With life's last beams 
 From lips we adore, 
 While unknowing for love we were 
 sighing. 
 
 Violets, dear, dead violets, 
 
 Relics we kiss with our hearts 
 
 Wrung for the days that have perished, 
 Dead, but sweet with the breath 
 That mem'ry imparts, 
 Like flowers in death, 
 With fondest fidelity cherished. 
 
 Violets, dear, dead violets, 
 
 Fate brings you no second spring, 
 Nor to us, life, a returning 
 
 Hope for the past we review, 
 For the wakening 
 
 Of a thrill we knew, 
 For which in our souls we are yearning. 
 
 MAIDEN OF PUERTO BARRIOS 
 
 Oh, bright-eyed maid of Puerto Barrios, 
 
 Daughter of a planet that heavenward burns. 
 
 Far o'er the rollicking, frolicking sea, 
 That rocks and seethes and writhes and turns, 
 And whips the hungry foam in our lea, 
 I am looking thy way to Puerto Barrios. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 153 
 
 What news dost thou know from Puerto Barrios? 
 Where hangs the moon? O'er the silver bay? 
 O'er the reeling plaza or mountain heights? 
 While old Don Miguel thunders away 
 
 With his band of two and scrapes out delights, 
 For the heaving, dancing Puerto Barrios. 
 
 Sweet maiden Mignon, heaven never was nearer, 
 For none had a foot or an ankle like thine. 
 
 And I, oh I was the sea at high tide 
 That kissed a land of pearl and wine: 
 By the sunlight of love, a sea deep dyed, 
 Of passion for the pearl of Puerto Barrios. 
 
 I am drunk yet, exceedingly so, with the mem'ry, 
 My head still bends to thy sweet laced breast, 
 Where the jealous bodice, how I envied its 
 thread, 
 Hugged closer the conscious buds in unrest, 
 Turbulent with love and a palpitant dread. 
 And here am I leaving old Puerto Barrios. 
 
 And what's the world but Puerto Barrios? 
 Its sands, its waters, and its snatches of song, 
 Its purple crowned peaks and cahoon palm 
 shade, 
 And a bark on the bay just gliding along, 
 
 And all on thy breast forgotten, fond maid, 
 The eternal summer of Puerto Barrios. 
 
 Oh, the good old world at Puerto Barrios! 
 
 That loved the sun like a bride doth her ring, 
 How he smiled in the wave at the shadow he 
 cast 
 Or gazed at the flight of the gulls' hollowed wing. 
 Oh, girl ! are they sold to Time, are they past ? 
 Those good old days at Puerto Barrios? 
 
154 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 A ROSE, A LILAC, AND A LADY 
 
 If you were a hummingbird, where would you light? 
 
 If you were a butterfly, which would you woo? 
 If you were a honey-bee passing in flight, 
 
 And seeing these flowers, say, what would you do? 
 
 There's fresh honey'd dew on the lips of the rose 
 The weary-winged bee in his flight rarely meets, 
 
 The lilac full crammed with perfume o'erflows, 
 Is it there you would settle and surfeit with sweets? 
 
 The third is a treasure as dear as 'tis rare, 
 Flowers and gems in confusion combined, 
 
 I know of no bloom which would aptly compare, 
 A rosebud as sweet never blushed or repined. 
 
 If you were a hummingbird, where would you light? 
 
 If you were a butterfly, which w^ould you woo? 
 If you were a honey-bee passing in flight, 
 
 And seeing these flowers, say, what would you do? 
 
 TO LEONORE 
 
 When with threads of tangled hours 
 Time has woven in his task 
 
 Many figures, thorns, and flowers, 
 Shall remembrance be my task? 
 
 Will these pleasant days neglected, 
 From thy bosom fade away, 
 
 Soon forgotten, soon rejected, 
 For the joys of another day? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 155 
 
 When that comes may this remind thee, 
 Old friends dear are sometimes best. 
 
 And some one forgot behind thee 
 May be truer than the rest. 
 
 FARE-THEE-WELL! 
 
 Fare-thee-well! and may the fairies 
 Follow thee with presents rare, 
 
 Bring thee love and smiles and sunshine, 
 Bring thee joy unmixed with care. 
 
 Could my hand adorn thy pathway, 
 Heaven's brightest light should bind 
 
 All thy walks and ev'ry shadow, 
 Falling, should be cast behind. 
 
 Fare-thee-well! and when some other's 
 Eyes reflect the love in thine, 
 
 Those same eyes divinely beaming, 
 That would never answer mine. 
 
 Let thy heart a moment pity, 
 Where it could not sympathize, 
 
 Let thy thoughts with sadness picture 
 Scenes like these 'neath Southern skies. 
 
 Where one heart shall fondly linger, 
 
 Counting sacred ev'ry spot, 
 That thy spirit still may visit, 
 
 Even though I be forgot. 
 
156 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 MY LOVE, ARE YOU TRUE? 
 
 The moonbeams have found the white rose's bower, 
 And the red rose is blushing with thoughts of the hour. 
 
 My love, are you true? My love, are you true? 
 
 Oh, the red rose is I and the white rose is you. 
 
 The red rose with passion divinely is burning, 
 But the white no kindred spark is returning. 
 
 My love, are you true? My love, are you true? 
 
 Oh, the red rose is I and the white rose is you. 
 
 Alas! for the hopes, for the dreams that are shattered. 
 With the sweet-scented leaves ere the morn they'll be 
 scattered. 
 
 My love, are you true? My love, are you true? 
 
 Oh, the red rose is I and the white rose is you. 
 
 And the white rose will live in the sweets of its bower, 
 And the red die forgotten a lorn wasted flower. 
 
 My love, are you true? My love, are you true? 
 
 Oh, the red rose is I and the white rose is you. 
 
 SHOW ME HOW TO FIND YOU 
 
 Come, my own, for I adore you, 
 Come, my love, I'm waiting for you. 
 Life has had of dreams enough, 
 Fancies burned are worthless snuff. 
 Show me how to find you. 
 
 Love, I've tried so long and often, 
 Break, hard heart, oh, break or soften. 
 Little sterling, I'm your man, 
 Love you less I never can. 
 Show me how to find you. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 157 
 
 Sweeting, grant me from your rosy 
 Pouting lips a precious poesy. 
 Oh, be kind, for Heaven knows, 
 Naught like you or blooms or grows. 
 Show me how to find you. 
 
 FORGOTTEN 
 
 I am forgotten, 
 No more, just that. 
 The round gold rim 
 Of morning's brim — 
 No more, — the bat 
 Is flying there, is flying there. 
 
 I am forgotten, 
 No more, just that; 
 And heart and brain 
 Have parted twain: 
 Oh, curse the bat, 
 The leathern bat, that's flying there! 
 
 When I remember 
 It makes me mad; 
 I cannot think, 
 Some witch's drink 
 My blood has fed 
 And makes a hell of thought for me. 
 
 Oh, I had fancied 
 And hoped such things! 
 For earth and sea 
 Had promised me 
 A swallow's wings 
 To bear my pleasure loving heart. 
 
158 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 To skim and follow 
 The southern sun 
 From east to west 
 On flow'ry quest, 
 Till life had run 
 Its golden sands and slept, and slept. 
 
 And now forgotten, 
 Fair dreams, good-bye. 
 For love is all 
 And holds my pall. 
 Or live or die, 
 Dear love is all in life or death. 
 
 OUR DREAMS 
 
 Now the crowd has gone; I have stood with them, 
 Found them entertaining, blew 
 Up the fire of comradeship, and it warmed, 
 Served my want. Had I forgotten you? 
 
 Thus I stood with them, laughed with them, 
 Valued them in the dim half light 
 Of fancy; but now I pass out, cross over 
 To myself and can judge things aright. 
 
 Here I stand again with you, after all, 
 In the white, sure light of unfailing truth 
 See them pass like shadows where I stood, and for 
 Their passing have not any ruth. 
 
 Oh, the radiant halls of mem'ry I now walk 
 
 through — 
 See you here midst the flowers — 
 A dream, yet more than real as I see you 
 In the far budding summer that was ours. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 159 
 
 THE SUMMONS 
 
 Sweet, sweet are the fields, 
 And soft the sunset's lines, 
 
 And beyond are the purple hills 
 And the mystic gloom of the pines. 
 
 Sky-line that bends above 
 
 As far as the eye can see, 
 Far away, far away, dim, 
 
 Will it ever be known to me? 
 
 Sky-line and pines and light 
 
 As dim as the far away, 
 There's a secret you hide beyond you 
 
 That I can not read to-day. 
 
 Faint, faint is the light 
 
 And my eyes are straining sore 
 For the day that has passed beyond 
 
 The pines to come no more. 
 
 While I wait and wonder and listen 
 And ache with the mystery 
 
 Of the summons that soon will come 
 From over the pines for me. 
 
 FOR YOU 
 
 There's a new moon pin 
 In a scarf of blue, 
 And a dandelion catch 
 On an emerald shoe. 
 Come, love, in the twilight, 
 Come, my love's eyes 
 
160 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 With lips of sweet sighs 
 
 And soft replies, 
 
 While the red rose falls on its thorn and 
 
 dies 
 With love its heart consuming. 
 
 In hedge-rows of silver are blooming 
 All fanciful flowers of purple and blue, 
 That are sighing for you 
 Or dying for you ; 
 Come, my sweet true, 
 Ev'ry-thing in this valley 
 Is of heart shape and size, 
 Throbbing, stripped bare 
 To bask in your eyes. 
 
 LOVE'S POWER 
 
 The night flower has opened its petals 
 And the star dust is damp with the dew, 
 
 The moon leaf, a lily leaf crescent, 
 Is Cupid's summer canoe. 
 
 Love, come out from the blossom, 
 Love, come out from the skies, 
 
 Love, come out from the soul depths 
 Of my love's sunny eyes. 
 
 And the flower may fold and wither, 
 And the moon leaf blacken and fall, 
 
 And the star dust fade in the heavens, 
 But I'll miss them not at all. 
 
 For my love is the world and its blossom, 
 The stars, the moon — and it's plain 
 
 That never a bit would I miss them, 
 Since my love could give them again. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 161 
 
 SPRING SONG 
 
 The sun went out and swept the snow 
 
 And beat his broom across the pole, 
 The red bird sat and sang " Heigh ho! " 
 The coal man sold not a bucket of coal — 
 Ho ho, ding ding! 
 In the grapevine swing, 
 Your robin no longer's a rover. 
 
 The titmouse pipes " Tra-la, tra-la! " 
 
 And love is busy as a bee, 
 The merman sights for a summer star, 
 Light note, bright note, Mary and me, 
 Ho ho, ding ding! 
 Hear the milkmaid sing, 
 Four leaves have found her a lover. 
 
 Sweet Bess is shy, with downcast eye, 
 
 And poor loon Tom is timid too, 
 But the trundles are coming bye and bye, 
 
 For the green boughs swing in the sunny blue ■ 
 Though a kiss in spring 
 Is a little thing 
 As you'll find the green world over. 
 
 ALL THE WAY 
 
 The roses that twine by Tuscalamita 
 
 Are stripped of their blooms, but the sunbeams' caress 
 Is as fond as it was when the roses were sweeter, 
 ,In the bloom of their summer-day's gorgeousness. 
 
 Then, believe me, true love can never know treason ; 
 Though youth when it ripens is bound to decay. 
 
1 62 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 As the sun shines on regardless of season, 
 So true love will go with us all the way. 
 
 The heart that loves thee so fondly this hour, 
 
 When thy hair is like gold and thy lips are like wine, 
 
 Shall hold thee but closer when Time shall shower 
 His snows on the charms that to-day are divine. 
 
 QUEEN OF THE CARNIVAL 
 
 Rossetti comes with his colors and brush, 
 Catches the rose ere it falls from the bush, 
 
 Paints love in the eye ; 
 
 So they hang there and cannot die, 
 Though they look sad. Then you come to gush. 
 
 I am only the voice and bring no more 
 Than an echo. I saw the ribbon she wore, 
 
 Saw the smile run along 
 
 Her lips, heard her heart's song, 
 And recall it thus — Have you heard it before? 
 
 I shall tell you the tale in my humble manner — 
 Say the crowd has gone and near one banner, 
 
 Some fond spirit remains 
 
 To the death of the blatant strains, 
 To get the lesson of sadness plainer. 
 
 And while the banners are drooping like hearse plumes, 
 That waved to the joyous brass and drums, 
 
 And the candles burn, 
 
 Reminiscent at every turn, 
 And the gorgeous flowers are heavy in the rooms : 
 
 The insistent pleading of a minor key, 
 Asking " Why, why? " eternally, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 163 
 
 With the hidden hint 
 Of a half-told throbbing heart complaint, 
 That the pedant base turned to mockery, 
 
 Will clamor still in its troublesome treble, 
 Like the round tide wave about a pebble, 
 
 When the foolish base, 
 
 With Comus and full-cheek'd face 
 Has followed on the heels of the noisy rabble. 
 
 So this story — And I shall tell it to you — 
 What if the eyes are no longer blue 
 
 Like the bottle flower, 
 
 On the lips no longer the shower 
 Of fragrance the laughing lips pursue? 
 
 Here is the tale : that once in a city 
 As quaint as a grandmother's grandmother's ditty, 
 
 Where the people w T ere gay 
 
 The livelong living day, 
 And the night ; for mirth they had not any pity — 
 
 On a carnival eve, at a window in a square, 
 Where the banners waved below and the blare 
 
 Of music swept by, 
 
 And the parade that dazzled the eye 
 Swept by like a sunburst without a care; 
 
 Two soldiers leaned out from the window frame 
 Where the queen of the carnival rode like a flame, 
 
 With the king by her side, 
 
 And thousands were cramped in the wide 
 Old streets, and cheered as the maskers came. 
 
 Then one of the soldiers swung out and threw 
 A single rose as might I or you. 
 
1 64 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Like blood was its red, 
 It fell on the queen's pretty head, 
 And a shy little glance she upwards threw. 
 
 The king scowled down on the gaping crowd. 
 He scowled again at the rose in his proud, 
 
 Cold way. But the queen, 
 
 Her even eyebrows serene, 
 Pinned the rose in her belt where it bloomed and 
 glowed. 
 
 The crowd looked up at the window. A maid 
 Was heard to remark, — and a score or more said, — 
 
 " Does he love the queen? 
 
 What a pretty, pretty scene! " 
 And sighing they turned to watch the parade. 
 
 An hour later by the city clock, 
 
 Up the blazing stairs, catching her frock 
 
 Through her dainty glove, 
 
 With the music pleading, " Love, love/' 
 Stepped the queen and the royal dance hall shook. 
 
 " Long live the queen! Long live the king! " 
 Till the music died in the gladsome ring 
 
 Of the welcoming shout, 
 
 And to the waltz tune swung out 
 The couples like peach blossoms scattered in spring. 
 
 Hands clasped, riotous breast to breast, 
 
 Eyes glancing and meeting, shy at the test — 
 
 A touch too near; 
 
 Perhaps a word dropped in the ear — 
 A blush, something more, a soul in unrest. 
 
 Then straight through the hall as the music ceased, 
 And the dancers fell back a little released, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 165 
 
 To toy with a fan 
 Or kerchief, and gloating Pan 
 Leered out from the palms, his mood well pleased, 
 
 Straight through the billows of revelry- 
 Like a ship dividing a summer sea, 
 
 Careless and fine, 
 
 Even to the queen's own shrine, 
 Strode a masterly man in a masterly way. 
 
 " You have worn my rose, Genevieve/' he said ; 
 " Now choose you and wear my love instead. 
 
 Can you leave 
 
 This make-believe, Genevieve? 
 Be a queen when these flowers and masks are dead ? " 
 
 You have seen the mantling color rush 
 
 At the voice of the spring and bloom in the bush, 
 
 Then pale to a ghost 
 
 In the fingers of April's first frost. 
 So bloomed and faded the maiden's blush. 
 
 And many a little ripple ran, 
 
 Arch smiles and curious glances began, 
 
 With perhaps here and there 
 
 A stormy weather stare 
 Of jealous desire from woman or man. 
 
 " Genevieve, a soldier can't make his stay, 
 To-day he is here and to-morrow away, 
 
 Perhaps to live 
 
 For a song or die, Genevieve, 
 For a woman's love in some safer day. 
 
 "Am I abrupt? A soldier, Genevieve, 
 Cannot learn soft words nor stoop to deceive. 
 
1 66 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Would you have me deny, 
 Hide my love from a prying eye? 
 Dance in waiting outside, till your friends give me 
 leave ? 
 
 " No. See, let them know it for what it is, 
 No hiding in whispers nor stolen kiss. 
 
 No faint love is mine. 
 
 Here I stand on the battle line 
 As a soldier should. Do you take it amiss? 
 
 " Genevieve! " There his pleading faltered and broke. 
 For the queen was plainly vexed, and spoke 
 
 To some one, the king 
 
 Perhaps, on some trivial thing. 
 But her temples were poppies and her fingers shook. 
 
 " Genevieve! " Once more he said it, in a way — 
 I know not just how — as a man might pray. 
 
 But the queen was vexed 
 
 Still more, and on some pretext, 
 Moved haughtily. Some man laughed, they say. 
 
 Some giggled, some pitied, and gossiped all. 
 Some spoke of love with a sneer. Then the call 
 
 Of the dance complained — 
 
 And ever the morning gained 
 On the night, and the dance still held its thrall. 
 
 Ten thousand men on a dusty road 
 
 Kept pace to the drums, saw the daylight broad 
 
 Flame up and burn 
 
 Like a candle over an urn; 
 And along with them hopped the swart war toad. 
 
 One of them never came back again. 
 
 A hero he'd 'a' been, had he not been slain, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 167 
 
 Who took his death leave 
 Whispering " Genevieve." 
 They buried him, praised him, forgot him in the main. 
 
 But the one-time queen of the carnival, 
 In the quiet watches grew tragical — 
 
 Shed tears, wrote his name 
 
 On paper; before a frame 
 With his likeness burned incense, grew pale. 
 
 And so for five years, to her god of clay, 
 
 She was true. Then she failed, and one fine day 
 
 In the budding Spring, 
 
 'Neath the flowers she married the king — 
 Made a splendid match, the people say. 
 
 SHADOWS 
 
 You are there by your hearth-fire, 
 
 And I am here quite alone. 
 Up the flue of my chimney 
 
 Go my dreams as the smoke is blown. 
 
 And the winds that are roaring 
 
 Through the twigs of your cold roof-tree. 
 Bring the smoke from your chimney 
 
 With your after dark dreams to me. 
 
 Through the pine trees beating, 
 
 Merrily for all the bare walks, 
 Comes the smoke from your chimney 
 
 Over comatose briars and stalks. 
 
 The cricket is singing 
 
 Over there, but over here 
 By my fire it is silent 
 
 And a lean shadow creeps near. 
 
168 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 There are the bare branches, 
 
 They feel and reach so far 
 In the past, in the summer 
 
 Where the ghosts of our best days are. 
 
 We have woven together 
 
 A wreath, have we not? And the flowers 
 They were sweet in the gathering 
 
 And woven through blessed hours. 
 
 We were friends, we were children, 
 
 We played in the broad light of the sun ; 
 
 The green leaves were a million, 
 And the birds were spirits of fun. 
 
 Now the wings have vanished, 
 
 I saw a sparrow at dusk 
 Scratching with his blue legs 
 
 For a cold and hungry husk. 
 
 But there was no color 
 
 In his wings, no song in his throat. 
 
 The dead leaves were frosted 
 And not one single note 
 
 Of felicity sounded; 
 
 And the shadow closer came 
 By my side and grew 
 
 In the light of the dying flame. 
 
 I feel like a prophet, 
 
 I can not say how soon; 
 To-day or to-morrow 
 
 With the change of the sun or moon, 
 
 We shall change forever, 
 
 And our wreath shall lie in the cold 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 169 
 
 Outside of the summer 
 
 In the wet winter and the mold. 
 
 Could we sit here together 
 
 Do you think, night after night? 
 
 And neither grow weary 
 
 Shut between four walls so tight? 
 
 The world out beyond us, 
 
 We two the whole winter long 
 Hear the swift clock ticking 
 
 And miss no summer's song? 
 
 The little more, so little, 
 
 And what is it, that must burn 
 
 That must weld, must change us — 
 Put our ashes in one urn? 
 
 I cannot solve it. 
 
 Only this I know. I sit here 
 And dream of evenings 
 
 And long — you know how — for you, 
 near. 
 
 Here you come with your grace, 
 
 Your daintiness like lace, 
 Make my heart beat happy, 
 
 Teach me to know truth from your face. 
 
 Teach me God is a woman 
 
 In heart; mend my doubts, make me true, 
 Show me to look upwards 
 
 To climb hand in hand with you. 
 
 And yet, sweet, 'tis Winter 
 
 Outside, here, everywhere, 
 But where you are dreaming; 
 
 It is only Summer there. 
 
170 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Ah, the dreams you are dreaming 
 
 Heaven hear, I would give you those, 
 
 Dear eyes wide-dreaming, 
 
 Hope warm you while the Winter blows. 
 
 My heart's leaves have fallen 
 
 To-night and the winds that strain 
 
 At my window casement 
 
 Have swept them away with the rain. 
 
 LAST NIGHT 
 
 Last night Lorenzo 'woke again, 
 
 Jessica by his side. 
 He heard the mocking-bird complain, 
 
 And bantered with his bride. 
 
 Last night Nerissa shrived her lord, 
 And gave him back her ring, 
 
 Smiling that he had broke his word 
 About so grave a thing. 
 
 Last night sweet Juliet told her love 
 When not a breath did stir, — 
 
 So softly shone the moon above, — 
 And Romeo answered her. 
 
 Last night the queen of all the Nile 
 
 Saw Anthony afar, 
 And he much marveling the while 
 
 Mistook her for a star. 
 
 Last night my love's hand lay in mine, 
 Stars shone in eyes and hair, 
 
 Around the moonlit lover's shrine 
 We were the happiest there. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 171 
 
 A LULLABY 
 
 The sun is in the golden west, 
 
 Rest, baby, rest; 
 Cuddle up your little head 
 
 Close to mother's breast. 
 
 The chimney swallows lower sweep, 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep; 
 Slumber in your nest of love, 
 
 Mother's baby sleep. 
 
 The stars are blinking in the sky, 
 
 Bye, baby, bye, 
 God is watching over all, 
 
 Baby, don't you cry. 
 
 All night the cricket chirps unto the moon, 
 
 Where slants her white light o'er the sleeping grove. 
 
 So, cricket like, my heart both late and soon, 
 Looks up to thee and chants, " I love, I love." 
 
 LITTLE HANDS 
 
 Dear little hands, two twin and fragrant flowers, 
 Blown from God's garden whence the Spring doth 
 
 come, 
 I have but one grave fear for all the hours, 
 That God may come some day and take you home. 
 
 YOU 
 
 The day is long that brings no sight of you, 
 
 And void the night whose dreams you run not through. 
 
172 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Oh, I had rather glimpse of your dear eyes 
 Than bask always in sight of heaven's skies. 
 
 For you are love, my life's eternal morn, 
 
 In whose fair light my second soul was born. 
 
 IDLE SIGHS 
 
 Sometimes he comes when the music is sweet, 
 Sometimes when the flowers bloom, 
 
 Sometimes with the rhythm of dancing feet, 
 When laughter is soft in the room. 
 
 This little old voice of idle sighs, 
 
 Whispering God knows what, 
 That troubles and starts the tears in my eyes 
 
 For the things that are and are not. 
 
 MA AND PA 
 
 While ma sits on the porch at noon 
 
 An' knits a raveled stockin' 
 Pa sits close by an' hums a tune, 
 
 His big ol' arm cheer rockin'. 
 They git to lookin' far away. 
 
 An' ma she talks of Benny, 
 Of school, of youth, of work, of play, 
 
 An' pa he talks of Jenny, — 
 Of things that happened long ago; 
 For pa is goin' on eighty years 
 
 An' ma is seventy-two. 
 
 Ma laughs a while an' then she sighs: 
 For Tom he went to Texas, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 173 
 
 An' Jenny in the graveyard lies 
 
 Where care no more perplexes. 
 Then pa he wipes his dim old eyes 
 
 An' talks about the weather, 
 An' when no clouds are in the skies 
 
 They walk an' talk together 
 Of things that happened long ago, 
 Tore pa was goin' on eighty years 
 
 An' ma was seventy-two. 
 
 Pa brings her flowers from the wood, 
 
 Or weeds the pinks an' roses, 
 While ma she talks a steady flood 
 
 An' plans of things proposes. 
 Ah, many a rose has lost its bloom 
 
 That glowed in gardens sunny, 
 Many a dear heart holds the tomb, 
 
 One time so gay and bonny. 
 Their friends are gray and very few, 
 Since pa is goin' on eighty years 
 
 An' ma is seventy-two. 
 
 IVe heard pa tell some stories quaint, 
 
 An* friends he spoke of many, 
 But never yet have heard complaint 
 
 Of one who wronged him any. 
 An* oftentimes, vexed with assaults 
 
 Of things, I sit and wonder 
 If in those days fond friends were false 
 
 Or tongues had learned to slander, 
 Or if they all were good an* true 
 Tore pa was goin' on eighty years 
 
 An* ma was seventy-two. 
 
 They trod the way that we must go : 
 They had their joy an' sorrow. 
 
174 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Our steps will be unsure an' slow 
 
 Like pa's and ma's to-morrow. 
 But should we gain the soul of peace 
 
 As they have done, by givin' 
 The best they had, by God's good grace 
 
 We shall not tire of livin' 
 But mellowed be in heart an' true, 
 When I am goin' on eighty years 
 
 An' you are seventy-two. 
 
 AUNT JANE'S CHAIR 
 
 Uncle John don't seem to keer 
 
 For nothin' any more. 
 He sets aroun' an' smokes his pipe, 
 
 Or stands up in the door 
 An' looks off down the Natchez road 
 
 With eyes grown mighty sad, 
 An' mutters to himself a while 
 
 An' shakes his gray ol' head. 
 
 An' ev'ry day at milkin' time 
 
 When dark is gittin' near, 
 He goes an' sets there by himself 
 
 An' looks at Aunt Jane's cheer. 
 An' when the whippoorwills begin 
 
 To holler in the woods, 
 He takes her cheer inside as if 
 
 'Twas all his earthly goods. 
 
 When folks have lived for forty years, 
 
 Like her an' Uncle John, 
 I reckon life ain't so much fun 
 
 When one of 'em is gone. 
 I reckon it's that he's thinkin' of, 
 
 An' her that's dead a year, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 175 
 
 When settin' there all by himself 
 Lookin' at Aunt Jane's cheer. 
 
 There's mighty few who notice him, 
 
 The children all provoke, 
 The very puppy at his heels 
 
 Think's Uncle John's a joke. 
 An' yet he never speaks them cross, 
 
 But does the best he may, 
 Doin' the chores about the house, 
 
 An' puttin' things away. 
 
 Sometimes he tries to work again, 
 
 But finds he's in the way, 
 An' gives it up to feed the pigs, 
 
 Or throw the cow some hay, 
 Then back he goes, his shoulders bent, 
 
 In lonesomeness severe, 
 To watch another long day through, 
 
 An' Aunt Jane's empty cheer. 
 
 THE WORLD'S STANDARD 
 
 No matter what you are, lad, 
 
 Though brave and kind and bonny, 
 
 The world won't love you much, lad, 
 Unless you hold its money. 
 
 The kindly deeds you do, lad, 
 Although it takes to do them, 
 
 Your precious blood and life, lad, 
 
 This world may make you rue them. 
 
 Success means silver slugs, lad, 
 You'll find that men affect you 
 
 In wealth, and in distress, lad, 
 They cannot e'en respect you. 
 
176 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Your heart is good as gold, lad, 
 Your smile so bright and sunny 
 
 Is gift enough for me, lad, 
 
 But this cold world wants your money. 
 
 HELP ME TO DO THE BEST I CAN 
 
 God of this wonderful world and the stars, 
 Thou who didst teach with Thy own hand 
 
 The beauty of toil, its dignity, 
 
 And didst place Thy tools at our command, 
 
 Guide me to fashion along Thy plan, 
 To better, as Thou, my fellow-man, 
 
 Show me the work Thou meanest for me, 
 And help me to do the best I can. 
 
 THE DREAMS THAT COUNT 
 
 It isn't the dreams you dream, boy, 
 It's the dreams you make come true, 
 
 That counts in the hands of women and men 
 That are reaching out to you. 
 
 The dreamer who lives forever, boy, 
 Was the weariest man on this earth, 
 
 For he toiled 'til he'd worked his soul in his 
 dreams. 
 And we took it for what it was worth. 
 
 No, it isn't the dreams you dream, boy, 
 They are guides that urge you to do — 
 
 It's the labor, the waiting, the will of a god, 
 That makes those dreams come true. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 177 
 
 THE MOCKING-BIRD SAID 
 
 The mocking-bird said unto the rose, 
 " It is Spring, it is Spring, it is Spring, 
 
 And Love is knocking at my little heart, 
 While I sing, while I sing, while I sing." 
 
 The mocking-bird said unto the stem, 
 " It is June, it is June, it is June. 
 
 My babies have found their wings and flown 
 Too soon, too soon, too soon." 
 
 The mocking-bird said unto the thorn, 
 " You are bold, you are bold, you are bold, 
 
 But my little heart is frightened and lone, 
 It is cold, it is cold, it is cold." 
 
 AND ONCE HE DIES 
 
 I laughed, for Love had come, and then 
 With more of pain and less delight — 
 
 His ways hurt sore — with angry mien 
 I drove him from my sight. 
 
 But Love is such a tender sprite, 
 An unkind word his death may be, 
 
 And once he dies, in day or night, 
 There's naught so dead as he. 
 
 Spider like o'er sulking sea 
 
 The day crawled up with evil eye, 
 
 And all my life he spits at me, 
 Because I let Love die. 
 
178 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 THE PYRES OF THE ETERNAL 
 
 Who would guess that here in this musty old 
 
 room, 
 With its office chairs and its need of a broom, 
 By a dim old alley, half lit above 
 From a skylight — Who would guess that love 
 Had found a way and come in with a trace 
 Of Spring and the sketch of a woman's face? 
 
 I smell the flowers on bush and vine; 
 
 I name them and all delights are mine. 
 
 Your lips have touched them; they are yours, 
 
 and I 
 Surely can never let them die. 
 
 Could a light step break the quiet of these halls — 
 Again, would you guess that these bare walls 
 Could fall away and these dusty rooms 
 And this alley — that the rarest blooms 
 Of the rarest days had the naive art 
 To come here with their perfume and challenge 
 my heart? 
 
 You and I, when yesterday was to-day, 
 And the wonder of light and color lay 
 On the pastures, we linked hands and seemed 
 To live forever in the dreams we dreamed. 
 
 The birds are singing again — I know 
 
 They are, but I hear them not, for the low 
 
 Soft music of a woman's words 
 
 From a woman's throat and lips make the birds 
 
 Seem like a dream, and the fields and all 
 
 Like a dream, and the voice is the only thing real. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 179 
 
 The dear, dear days that fall from the bush 
 Of the wind-blown year and lose their blush 
 Are around me, on my lips the desire 
 Of a kiss. In my heart love's delicious fire. 
 
 Oh, the cramming thus of the infinite 
 
 In a limited body that is not fit 
 
 To contain the passions of a worm! 
 
 I hold you in spirit and lovely form 
 
 As close as life — Yet distance and the breath 
 
 Of Fate has removed you far as death. 
 
 I hold you, Love, I pray to you, 
 I worship you as the fathers do 
 Their saints. I kiss your garments, do your feet 
 Feel my arms? Are you there, my love, my 
 sweet ? 
 
 The smoke and setting sun and red fires 
 
 Are in the west, burning time, the pyres 
 
 Of an eternal. Do you smell the rare 
 
 Fine flavor of things that burn there? 
 
 How the saturated air and the smokes 
 
 From the fire interweave through the druid oaks? 
 
 Give me your hand and let us say, 
 
 We do not care, so we live to-day, 
 
 If all we borrowed from time goes up 
 
 In the flames, they have burned an empty cup. 
 
 We drank it dry and cast it aside, 
 
 We will not let our hearts abide 
 
 A single pang. We sit here rapt, 
 
 Wondering, but greatly handicapped, 
 
 For our bodies creep while our spirits fly — 
 
 Yet this of yours I would not have to die. 
 
180 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 It is more than human, it is divine, 
 
 This body of yours, and woven as fine 
 
 As the veins of the flowers, as rare as the blue 
 
 Of the sky with the stars running through. 
 
 But the shape of your soul is the shape of you, 
 By eternal hands carved perfect and true. 
 And we shall come together at last; 
 Burned one through love by the mighty blast 
 Of the pyres eternal blazing through space 
 To show us the soul of each face to face. 
 
 THE LOVE OF THE BROOK 
 
 " The birds are gone," said the brook. 
 And she ran away to follow 
 The sun and sky and swallow, 
 
 Past many a pleading look. 
 
 The great pines begged her to stay, 
 On the hilltops silently sighing, 
 But a thousand bright things were dying, 
 
 So the brook kept on her way. 
 
 To the south all day she ran, 
 Conversing in anxious whispers 
 With the showers and clouds her sisters 
 
 By wild haunts and the homes of man. 
 
 And man, his grain all stored, 
 
 Toil worn, at hard-earned leisure, 
 Saw the stream and took its measure, 
 
 Built a dam where the swift brook flowed. 
 
 The brook recoiled from the wall, 
 So hasty she'd been and a-quiver 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 181 
 
 To be off to a southern river, 
 She had used not her eyes at all. 
 
 How she eddied around and around, 
 Ran back, but no hope behind her, 
 And forward, but the wall didn't mind her; 
 
 It was hard, and firm as the ground. 
 
 So the sun went off with all song, 
 And she and a card'nal together, 
 And a thrush that cared for no weather, 
 
 Remained the whole winter long. 
 
 Then the limbs grew bare as the wind, 
 And wailed for their summer cover, 
 And the wild geese flying over 
 
 Called out to the phalanx behind. 
 
 The farmer with his swinging light, 
 Made haste to his fire and pillow, 
 But the little brook under the willow 
 
 Froze hard and fast that night. 
 
 One day a cardinal bold 
 
 Flew up on the branch of a cherry, 
 His song was so blithe and merry 
 
 That a blue-eye dared out in the cold. 
 
 And some daffodils doffed their hoods 
 
 And held up their sunny faces 
 
 In a hundred hidden places; 
 And a violet bloomed in the woods. 
 
 And the mill pond, — the brook was now one, 
 Wore a dazzling sparkle of dimples 
 Reflecting the willow's wimples, 
 
 For the snow clouds had dropped in the sun. 
 
1 82 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Said the brook, " I hear notes of spring, 
 And last night, if I am not mistaken, 
 A musk of apple was shaken 
 
 From the boughs by the whippoorwill's wing. ,, 
 
 So saying, she peeped o'er the wall 
 And saw the deep meadows below her 
 Beginning to leaf and to flower. 
 
 Said her children, " We hear the sea call." 
 
 So a drop slipped over quite well, 
 And dozens of others came after, 
 'Til the chimes of their happy laughter 
 
 Rang back from each flower bell. 
 
 So the mill pond chattered all day 
 With never a thought to grow lonely, 
 And she found that she had not only 
 
 To laugh as before and be gay. 
 
 The wheel must be turned and the trout 
 Must eat, in the meadows the flowers 
 Would have died with only the showers; 
 
 So she'd plenty to think about. 
 
 But the sweetest blossom that grew 
 By the pond in sun or leaf bower, 
 Was a fragrant red and white flower 
 
 In a graceful birch canoe. 
 
 Adele was the name of the flower, 
 
 The mill's light and miller's daughter, 
 Each assiduous season had brought her 
 
 Some token, some eloquent dower. 
 
 Were hers the winter's pure snows, 
 
 Eyes of spring with their early beaming, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 183 
 
 In her hair old autumn tints gleaming, 
 And all through her the blood of the rose. 
 
 Her the brook reflected with pride, 
 And the waters were always brightest 
 And danced and carroled lightest 
 
 When Adele roamed the brook beside. 
 
 Said the brook, " Sweet maid, I am thine, 
 Thou art more than the rose or the lily; 
 Their red and white would show illy 
 
 By the cheek of you, maiden mine." 
 
 Said the brook, " Take my trout where they 
 shine, 
 
 Row thy boat about on my bosom 
 
 All day, all night and blossom 
 In the sun and moon, I am thine. ,, 
 
 And the maiden looked down with a blush 
 That glowed in the water descending, 
 And the blue with the cardinal blending 
 
 Would have beggared an artist's brush. 
 
 " Be mine," said the brook. " Be mine," 
 But the maiden breathlessly listened 
 While her eyes grew bright and glistened 
 
 Till the picture was painting divine. 
 
 For out where the woodland began, 
 
 Where wrestled the daisy and clover, 
 She heard the voice of her lover, 
 
 Bold Rowland who cared for no man. 
 
 She smiled a mischievous smile 
 
 As she sent the small boat spinning 
 Where the lilies to bloom were beginning, 
 
 Said she, " He can search for a while." 
 
1 84 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Then the pond grew black as its perch 
 
 And scowled at the gallant young stranger, 
 But the maid unconscious of danger 
 
 Kept whispering, " Search, Mister, search. 
 
 " He loves me, he loves me not, 
 If he do, he will find me wherever 
 I be, though drowned in the river, 
 
 His heart would show him the spot. ,, 
 
 She saw his gay eyes cloud, 
 
 His hopefulness change to worry 
 
 As he turned from the mill in a hurry 
 
 His head held not so proud. 
 
 " How stupid!'' she said to the stream; 
 Her smile in a thought cloud fading 
 That spread with the softest shading 
 
 To her eyes and colored their beam. 
 
 She saw his broad shoulders dip 
 
 Where the cedars in sunset were burning, 
 And the maid in the birch boat yearning 
 
 Felt a tremulous droop in her lip. 
 
 And then she straightened and bent 
 
 Her paddle, the water scarce skimming, 
 Yet the birch bark gracefully swimming, 
 
 Swiftly with a swan's poise went. 
 
 Then turbulent grew the breast 
 
 Of the water, the birch bark shuddered, 
 As if sudd'nly in sand imbedded, 
 
 And sank to the water's crest. 
 
 Then up from the trembling prow, 
 Ere the maid had space to wonder, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 185 
 
 Cleaving the water asunder 
 From top to the very slough, 
 
 A mist form cold as a cloud 
 
 While the sun is yet in China, 
 
 Arose and began to entwine her 
 With arms that were like a shroud. 
 
 " Rose red as a ruby, and sky blue 
 
 And snow white, my lily sister," 
 
 Belllike it murmured and kissed her, 
 " My spirit is lonely for you." 
 
 Swift the red flew back to the heart 
 
 Of the maid; like the moon in May-time 
 When her light is a dim pearly day-time, 
 
 The height and perfection of art. 
 
 So a moment she 'rose and shone, 
 
 Then down in the blue of the billow, 
 Deep under the shade of the willow, 
 
 She passed to her sister's throne. 
 
 And now, any night when the rats 
 
 At the rotten mill planks are cutting, 
 And out from under the jutting 
 
 Old eves fly the sleepy bats — 
 
 When the buds with the night dew are wet, 
 You can hear the maiden call " Rowland " 
 So sweetly over the lowland, 
 
 To the love that has not found her yet. 
 
1 86 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM 
 
 Egypt is dark, the palms are asleep. 
 
 There is no light, and deep 
 
 Is unknown to deep. 
 
 A voice is whispering, " Whither " and 
 "why?" 
 
 Will the darkness answer or some deep reply? 
 
 Men are there with their candles wondering, 
 
 Seeing a little way: 
 
 Patriarchs and prophets, looking for a day. 
 
 "The river Styx is around us," men cry; 
 
 So they drink, and drunken they die. 
 
 And men pray and they die. 
 
 And the deeps rock and thunder and are rest- 
 less. 
 
 " Let us live," men cry and drink, 
 
 And drink the cup and turn it down. 
 
 And lo! the hall is silent, for the guest is gone. 
 
 The dust is on the table and the cup 
 
 Is down and none to turn it up, 
 
 Or fill again with wine. 
 
 A skull is with the earth-worm for a sign. 
 
 Why does man beget man to suffer? 
 
 The life is not worth the death. 
 
 Has pain ever been in its sheath? 
 
 Even pleasure when it makes its little round 
 
 And comes back like a boomerang, 
 
 Has a point and leaves a wound. 
 
 We were around the table 
 
 Eating and drinking, and one by one 
 
 The eyes of the feasters closed, 
 
 And they were feasted upon. 
 
 We burned some and others we buried. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 187 
 
 And the feast was a great fun'ral feast; 
 
 While the acrid rust 
 
 Bit in the hinges, the sleepers were dust. 
 
 And so you remember 
 
 It was in December, 
 
 You propounding the riddle — 
 
 Where a million stars were shining and had 
 
 been — 
 On the backs of our sleeping sheep the sheen 
 Of the moon. We fell in a waste of silence. 
 So we sat. Of a sudden upsprang, 
 Gazing up, clutching hands, scarce breathing, 
 In our tortured souls the pang 
 Of the unaccountable. 
 We huddled together, 
 Seeing the unseen, 
 Fearing to feel the snap 
 Of understanding, fearing the clap 
 Of a thund'rous bolt projected from the sky 
 Disturbed with too much light. 
 So mistrusting our sight 
 We bent, huddled together, reading the sky 
 Each in his way. 
 Still the sheep w r ere lying 
 Undisturbed, plain as day; 
 Still asleep, but for the crying 
 Of a baby lamb for its mother. 
 
 Taking breath from our first surprise, 
 You ventured, " This is not as it should be." 
 In a whisper you said it — 
 How alone we were, we three — 
 Afraid to live or die, 
 Body and soul contending to hide. 
 Then, between a half heart beat, the sky 
 Rang like a harp string drawn and released, 
 
188 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 And the circling heavens from east 
 To west clamored with melody. 
 Like brothers of Jacob we stood — 
 With our eyes saw the glory of God, 
 Like light bursting out of chaos, 
 Or song from the tree boughs. 
 Angel forms and music divine 
 Charmed our fear into peace — 
 We had asked for a sign, 
 And the angels were at the place 
 Of our elbows, singing " Hosannas! " 
 And the star there at Bethlehem. 
 
 Then we went, we three, heads hung low, 
 Saw the Child. And again on the bough 
 With the thorns, and the spear in His Heart 
 Rending His body and soul apart, 
 And His Mother holding the foot of the bloody 
 
 cross, 
 Holding the nails while the thousands cursed 
 
 Him! 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 When the cock begins to crow 
 Ev'ry hour of the night, 
 
 "Cock-a-doo-dle-do!" 
 With all his lusty might: 
 
 We know what he's trying to say 
 While in the blankets we lie, 
 
 " Christmas, Christmas day 
 Is getting very nigh." 
 
 " Apple pies, apple pies, apple pies! 
 Old goose a-browning too, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 189 
 
 And gobbler closing his eyes, 
 Cock-a-doo-dle-do ! " 
 
 " My fat hen for a salad has gone, 
 
 And I am feeling mighty blue 
 On this cold old roost alone, 
 
 Cock-a-doo-dle-do ! " 
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS 
 
 Merry Christmas! joy and laughter 
 
 Now be yours and all hereafter; 
 
 Sorrow come not near you, 
 
 Want need never fear you, 
 But a plenteous board and a merry word 
 
 Be ever near to cheer you. 
 
 Heart as strong and hope as plenty, 
 
 Make your ninety years like twenty, 
 
 Let your last December 
 
 Not one care remember, 
 Till the lone clear call on your ear shall fall, 
 
 Till life dies to an ember. 
 
 CHRISTMAS TIME 
 
 Pa says I goes to bed with the chickens. 
 
 Speck I do; can't do nothin' no-how. 
 If I pinches Bess, she'll holler, 
 
 An' then pa he'll kick up a row. 
 
 Can't do nothin' ; can't stand on my head even. 
 
 If I kicks over a stick of wood 
 Or a cheer, ma c'mences tellin' how Santy 
 
 Don't bring things to boys what ain't good. 
 
igo ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 So I goes to bed as soon as dark an', jimminy! 
 
 I jest haves the bestest dreams 
 'Bout Santy Clause an* his sled an' reindeers, 
 
 But sometimes I wakes up an' mos' screams. 
 
 'Cause I knows I hears him come down the chim- 
 j ney, 
 
 An' I wrops up my head an* years 
 Tell he's gone, but I wouldn't call ma for nuthin' 
 
 'Cause I might skeer his reindeers. 
 
 An' then he couldn't never come at Christmas. 
 
 I reckon he'll bring me a gun 
 This time ; anyhow, I sho' do want one ; 
 
 Jimminy, wouldn't I have fun! 
 
 Bet you can't guess what I did last Christmas — 
 
 Pa said Santy was gittin' old 
 An' needed stimulating he reckoned, 
 
 So's he wouldn't ketch cold. 
 
 So I got pa to give me a half dollar, 
 An' I buyed, — bet you can't guess, — 
 
 I buyed me a great big bottle of whisky, 
 An' wrote on it Santy's address, 
 
 An' tied it up by a string in the chimney, 
 
 An' he drinked it every bit; 
 Sho' did, an' he brought me mo' things than 
 ever — 
 
 A cross-bow an' tools an', — I fergit 
 
 What else he brought me; an' yes, some fire- 
 crackers 
 
 An' sump'n else, an' pa said 
 He specked Santy sho' did lak that whisky. 
 
 He drinked it, so I speck he did. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 191 
 
 I wish Christmas would come ev'ry Sunday, 
 
 Instid of onct ev'ry year. 
 Pa says we wouldn't have no school time 
 
 If it did, but I wouldn't keer. 
 
 Tom Tucker said he'd be sorry, 
 
 I know he's a story, though. 
 He jest said that 'cause he's stuck on the 
 teacher, — 
 
 He sho' is, 'cause he told me so. 
 
 I ain't got no girl but ma. I had measles 
 
 Thanksgivin', an' couldn't eat 
 No turkey; couldn't eat nothin', 'cause I frowd 
 up, 
 
 An' ma made cake an' mince-meat. 
 
 Us got twelve cakes icened fer Christmas. 
 
 Ma sho' kin make good cakes. 
 Can't nobody make cake better'n ma, I reckon. 
 
 I kin eat 'em till I jest aches. 
 
 I'ms goin' to hang up my stockin' to-morrow 
 'Fore dark, 'cause it's Christmas night 
 
 An' I'm goin' to put out the fire an' cover 
 Up an' shut my eyes tight, 
 
 So's he kin come down the chimney early. 
 
 Us gits up an 'zamines our toys 
 'Bout two o'clock on Christmas mornin' — 
 
 Has mo' fun an' makes mo' noise. 
 
 Pa calls us owls an' bats, but ma hollers 
 Jest lak us, an' laughs. Us don't keer 
 
 What pa says, though, 'cause us does nearly 
 Anything when Christmas is here. 
 
i 9 2 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 This year I bet I ketch Aunt Susan. 
 
 She caught me last year; sho' did, 
 An' I had to give her an apple an' orange, 
 
 She wus down in the kitchen hid. 
 
 Aunt Susan's our cook, her chilluns gits peanuts 
 An' stick candy. They's lack a smoke stack — 
 
 That's 'cause; an' Santy Clause don't lack nig- 
 gers, 
 I'ms sho' glad that I ain't black. 
 
 I don't want no teddy bear, lak Bee Bobbins, 
 
 'Cause I ain't no Yankee, me, 
 An' pa says teddy bears are fer Yankees, 
 
 I'ms a rebel, I can whoop Bee. 
 
 THE FALLEN ROSE 
 
 Ah, rose, what a throne hadst thou! 
 
 Glinting gold; it was thine. 
 So red thou wast and proud, 
 
 There was no rose so fine! 
 
 Fair fingers enthroned thee one eve; 
 
 In thy pride thou didst rise 
 Like a bright star that comes from the east 
 
 Into daffodil skies. 
 
 So the garden envied thee, yes; 
 
 Thou didst scorn the whole bed, — 
 Thou didst shed all thy beauty 
 
 On this glorious head, 
 
 Thy throne. Men came on tiptoe 
 
 To worship and bare 
 Thy thorns in their hearts when they went 
 
 From fairest to less fair. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 193 
 
 Thou wast pitiless, a plumed peacock. 
 
 Thou didst rustle with scorn, 
 And prick through the quick of their hearts 
 
 Ruthlessly with a thorn. 
 
 So much for thy pride thou art here, 
 
 A faded old rose. 
 If the garden could see thee now, 
 
 It would turn up its nose. 
 
 Now feel what others have felt. 
 
 Is there reason why I 
 Should not spurn thee and cast thee out 
 
 In the gutter to die? 
 
 Is this comfort? To-morrow at dawn 
 
 The same lady who threw 
 Thee aside shall come like the sun 
 
 Scattering the dew 
 
 In the garden, thy old sweet home, 
 
 And some bud there as fair 
 Eager as thou she shall pluck 
 
 And arrange in her hair. 
 
 See, here is her picture, fallen one. 
 
 Would a dead rose like thee 
 Sit well on that golden throne? 
 
 It were rank heresy 
 
 To say so. I'd not wear thee myself. 
 
 But for pity's sake 
 I shall hide thee away from the laughter 
 
 Thy sad plight would make. 
 
 And thou my teacher shalt be, 
 Lest as thine my dreams 
 
194 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Go flying away in the twilight 
 Like departing sunbeams. 
 
 She made thee her god for a while, 
 Thou wast king one whole day, 
 
 But now thou art down in the dirt; 
 That's a woman's way. 
 
 PEONIES 
 
 You will not come to me again, 
 I know you will not, the flowers 
 Are dead. I saw them die as the hours 
 
 Took them. Think you I did not complain ? 
 
 It hurt me that you let them die so soon. 
 
 I tried to tell you, but pride 
 
 Said " Hush! she does not care." So I lied 
 And made my lips sing some false tune. 
 
 But now to-day when the peonies bloom, 
 And say, " Ah, she does not care." 
 My heart is dead, there is nothing there 
 
 But the dreams and dead flowers and empty 
 room. 
 
 I did not ask for any thing; 
 
 You hurt me — I did not ask, 
 
 Yet I sent the flowers, I made it their task 
 To speak while I was worshiping. 
 
 Do not deny ; you knew what they said — 
 What else could the peonies say 
 When nursed by love and taught all day 
 
 The language of love, till their petals blushed 
 red? 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 195 
 
 When the days are full of idleness 
 
 And the unseen wood-nymphs with sips 
 Of last year's wines from buds at our lips 
 
 Make us sad; and some remembered caress 
 
 Of eyes or hands is dreamt of and cast 
 
 In the deep wells of our souls and burned 
 Like phosphorus, remember I have turned 
 
 To thee always, to thee first and last. 
 
 THE FLOWER THAT TURNS TO GOLD 
 
 You kin talk of purple vi'lets, 
 
 An' sing about yo' rose, 
 But de cream cup flower of cotton 
 
 Am de purties' thing dat grows. 
 
 When de boss is fig'rin Vancements, 
 
 An' 'lowin' on de crap, 
 I loves to see it bloomm' 
 
 An* see de blossoms drap. 
 
 Ef Fd 'a' been King Solomon 
 Wid de wimmins he had to hoe, 
 
 Fd V made a record breaker, 
 An' never worked no mo'. 
 
 Kase cotton am de flower 
 
 Dat's sho' to turn to goP 
 When de vi'lets an' de roses 
 
 Am rotten wid de col\ 
 
196 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 HUMANITARIANISM 
 
 Whar you g'win' wid dat mule, Salvation? 
 
 'Lowed 'twas one o'clock, you say? 
 Look here, nigger, I's told you, ain't I, 
 
 Dat de trouts was bitin' to-day? 
 
 Turn dat mule out dar in de cow-pen, 
 An' fotch me dat hook an' line. 
 
 Dem dogwoods looks lak cotton, 
 An' dat's a mighty good sign. 
 
 Dat mule's been plowin' since seben, 
 An' he's got to have some res'. 
 
 Ain't nothin' g'win' to work etern'ly 
 An' do his lebel bes\ 
 
 De boss ain't ver' likely 
 
 To be comin' out dis here late, 
 
 But ef he do, you tell him 
 I's patchin' de pastur' gate. 
 
 TRYSTING SONG 
 
 Dat pusillanimous raskil 
 
 Is on de highes' lim\ 
 I reckon he thinks no nigger 
 
 Ain't half as smart as him. 
 
 You kin squat on dar, or rooster, 
 
 But maybe bye-m-bye, 
 'Twont make a bit of difr'rence 
 
 Wheder you's low or high. 
 
 You don't 'pear to be oneasy, 
 
 While you's settin' up dar so snug; 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 197 
 
 Dat some day I mout be flym* 
 'Roun' dat tree lak a juny bug. 
 
 When I gits me one of dem airy-plins 
 An' comes sailin' through de sky, 
 
 You'll think I's a great big black hawk, 
 An' dat you's a chicken pie. 
 
 THE NIGGER THAT BUSTED THE LEVEE 
 
 Ah went down to Lou'siana, by de river, Ah did, 
 With a dime 'n er ol' pair of dice; 
 
 We was settin' dar, watchin' de steamboats pass 
 Whar de logs was warm an' nice. 
 
 An' lot of us niggers was settin' dar, 
 When Ah took out my bones to play. 
 
 " Dem dices is wuff a railroaid to me," 
 Ah said, jes' dat ver' way. 
 
 Den Richard he retch in his pocket, he did, 
 
 An' he pulled out a dollar bill, 
 An' de money what come from dem niggers' 
 jeans 
 
 Could of bought a whisky still. 
 
 At dat Ah pulled out mah rusty dime 
 
 An' hilt it jes' dat ver' way, 
 An' dem niggers hollered fit to kill, 
 
 Lak I was too po' to play. 
 
 Well den Ah laid lak a copper bellied snake; 
 
 Ef a cullud gent wants to git ahaid 
 Of Mose Lacey Ebenezer Johnston, 
 
 He's got to take a mouty good lead. 
 
ig8 ALONG THE HIGHWAY A 
 
 11 Ah's got a hoss up in de hills," Ah said, 
 " An* ef you gentlemens wants to throw, 
 
 (You know dat hoss of mine, Richard Veal), 
 Ah's willin' to let 'im go." 
 
 Yas, Richard Veal sho' did know dat hoss, 
 All dese niggers knows him up here, 
 
 Got a haid lak a cow, an' sparse in de ribs, 
 But he kin run lak a bob tailed deer. 
 
 Well, sur, Ah throw'd dem dices, Ah did, 
 
 Ah don't keer how Ah throws; 
 Ah's been throwin' so long dat seben comes 
 
 When Ah whistles jes' lak hit knows. 
 
 A'ter dat dem gemmens jes' throwed an* throwed, 
 
 An' dey luck kep' gittin' wuss, 
 An' mah jeans was loaded wid nickels an* dimes 
 
 Tell Ah feared dey was g'win' to bus'. 
 
 A'ter while ol' Sandy Clause he lowed, — 
 
 Ah never did lak dat coon, 
 He's one of dese psalm-singin' niggers, he is, 
 
 An' allers howlin' out of chune — 
 
 He 'lowed, " Ol' Mose is cheatin' us boys, 
 He's got a bone hid up his sleeve." 
 
 An' dem niggers got so powerful hot, 
 Dat Ah thought hit was time to leave. 
 
 An' Sandy Clause went in his house, he did, — 
 His house right dar by de riv'r — 
 
 An' he come out ag'in wid his shotgun an' 'lowed 
 He was g'win' to punctur' mah liv'r. 
 
 At dat Ah moved up de roaid, Ah did, 
 Runnin' jes' dat ver' way; 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 199 
 
 OF Sandy Clause was mad, an* all dem coons, 
 An' Ah wasn't g'win' to stay. 
 
 An' lordy, dat nigger jes' shot inter me, 
 Lak Mose Lacy warn't more'n a squir'l; 
 
 Well folks, Ah sho' did move a'ter dat, 
 Ah jes' passed away in a whirl. 
 
 Case dem shots kivered me all over, dey did. 
 
 Dey was rale number fo' size lead, 
 Ah heerd dem things comin' lak bees, 
 
 An' hittin' me all over de haid. 
 
 Ah ain't g'win' back to dat river no mo' 
 'Case Ah heerd how oY Sandy Clause, 
 
 Done 'lowed he'd kill me sho's Ah did, 
 In spite of all de laws. 
 
 Don't think 'kase Ah lives up here in de hills, 
 
 Dem dices can't drap on sev'n; 
 Ef de preacher knowd, lak dis nigger do, 
 
 He could throw dem dices for heav'n. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Young massa's dead up in Virginny, 
 
 Buried by de riv'r side. 
 Yassir, boss, an' dis ver' nigger, 
 
 'Twas hilt him when he died. 
 
 Dat man wasn't skeered of de devil, no sah. 
 
 He'd laugh jes' lak hit was fun, 
 When he hyeard dem bullits flyin' aroun' 
 
 An' mos' of de mens wanted to run. 
 
 Dar wasn't a gin'ral in all of de war 
 What could stand longside of de boss 
 
200 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 When he rid at dem Yanks in front of his men 
 Settin' straight on his big roan hoss. 
 
 'Twas at what dey calls de Wilderness fight, 
 
 Dem bullits 'menced zoonin' by, 
 Drappin' all aroun', kerpop in de dus', 
 
 Lak rain from out of de sky. 
 
 Well, Ah was hid lak in dese bushes here, 
 An* prayin'. Lord, didn't Ah pray? 
 
 Over yonder was de Yanks, a big black snake; 
 An' Mars John over dis here way. 
 
 When a cannon-ball d rapped in de bresh close by 
 
 Wid a roar lak jedgmen' day, 
 An' Ah riz from dat place lak a wilderness hog 
 
 An' fairly zooned away. 
 
 But Ah thought of young Missus away back home 
 
 Cryin' all day for Mars John, 
 An' of how she done begged me dat day when us lef ' 
 
 To take keer of him when us was gone. 
 
 Ah ain't g'win' to lie, Ah was skeered, boss, 
 De skeer was in all of mah bones; 
 
 Dar was bullits flyin' as thick as bees, 
 An' de air full of dead folks' groans. 
 
 When Ah crawled up close to whar de calv'ry fit, 
 
 Dey was comin' down de line 
 Trot! trot! Mars John ridin' in front, 
 
 Ah tell you hit looked mouty fine. 
 
 Hit 'peared to light'n an' thunder in front, 
 An' de peoples jes' drapped all aroun' 
 
 Lak robins; an' hosses an' mens stretched out, 
 'Peared to kiver de hull of de groun'. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 201 
 
 But de oders rid on, an' Mars John rid too. 
 
 Den anoder roar wuss 'n de fus', 
 Hit 'pears to me lak de whole of de worl' 
 
 Was loaded 'n g'win' to bus'. 
 
 But Ah kep' watchin' Mars John, Ah did, 
 
 An' Ah seed de big roan rare, 
 Wid his head throw'd back to de saddle-horn 
 
 An' his front feet pawin' de air. 
 
 Den he fell kerflop! straight back on his back; 
 
 But de sojers jes' rid right on; 
 Anoder big man got out in front, 
 
 An' dey rid away from Mars John. 
 
 Ah ain't never know'd how Ah done hit, boss; 
 
 But Ah forgot all about dat war — 
 All Ah know'd was Massa was dyin' 
 
 An' one of his niggers was dar. 
 
 Ah histed him in mah arms an' run 
 Tell de worl' was all turnin' 'roun'; 
 
 Hit 'peared lak mah laigs would break at de knees 
 An' Ah drapped lak a log to de groun'. 
 
 Ah prayed a while an' den called Mars John, 
 Ah was plum gone wil' from de jar. 
 
 A'ter while Mars John kinder opened his eyes, 
 Den he looked an' seed Ah was dar. 
 
 He was weak as a baby den, he was, 
 An' Ah seed dat he wanted to speak, 
 
 So Ah up an' hilt mah black woolly haid 
 Down close to his high born cheek. 
 
 " Ah'm dyin', Alf," he jes' whispered hard. 
 "Tell de Missus, Alf, how Ah died; 
 
202 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Take keer of her, Alf, won't you — Oh, God " 
 
 But Ah ain't said nothin', jes' cried. 
 
 Den he put one his arms roun' mah neck, he did, 
 An' hugged me jes' lak Ah was white. 
 
 " You's a good boy, Alf. Tell de Missus Ah said — 
 You'll be free," he whispered, " to-night." 
 
 Lawdy, boss, dat speech went plum to mah heart; 
 
 God knows Ah didn't want to be free; 
 Ah jes' wanted Mars John to be well ag'in, 
 
 An' back in Miss'ippi wid me. 
 
 Den his arm got limber. " Tell de Missus, Alf — 
 He ain't never finished dat speech; 
 
 'Case de angels done come an' took Mars John 
 Over yonder whar de prophets preach. 
 
 Dat's de las' of de war dat Ah was in, boss. 
 
 An' now Missus is ol' an' gray. 
 An' Ah's a-humpin' along on a stick jes' now, 
 
 Mouty close to jedgmen' day. 
 
 An' hit won't be long 'fo' Ah'm over dar, 
 
 An' waitin' on Massa once mo', 
 An' hustlin' aroun' for a good warm dram 
 
 In de mornin' when he opens de do'. 
 
 A'TER DE HARVES' 
 
 Whoa, gee, Riley! 
 
 Come on dar, cow, you's a-g'win' down hill, 
 
 Dar ain't no mo' cotton for to pick; 
 Dar ain't no mo' totin' for you's oxen to do; 
 
 Ah's done give dat ar crap mah las' lick. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 203 
 
 Come on, come on, Riley! 
 
 Come on dar, cow, you's got fodder to burn. 
 
 Ain't no Jew g'win' to git you, you bet; 
 So you needn't be trabblin' wid yo' haid hilt down 
 
 Lak dis nigger was swimmin' in debt. 
 
 Whoa, haw, Riley! 
 
 Dar ain't no mo' work, dar ain't no mo' work, 
 
 Tell de plantin' time to come nex' Spring; 
 Dar ain't nothin' on earth for a nigger to do 
 
 But court de gals an' cut de pigeon wing. 
 
 Whoa, gee, Riley! 
 
 Dat ar sun's a-settin' pleasin' lak to-day 
 
 'Pears to be smilin', for a fac', 
 Mos' lakly he's a-thinkin' of cotton rows in June, 
 
 He sho' got familiar wid mah back. 
 
 Whoa, dar, Riley! 
 
 Dar ain't no mo' work, dar ain't no mo' work, 
 
 For de Winter is sholy mos' here. 
 Ah kin loaf an' chaw an' nod by de fiah, 
 
 An' set in de bes' bottom cheer. 
 
 Git out of dat, Riley! 
 
 Dar's a hog in de pen, hit's a pyore razor back; 
 
 'Pears lak 't would weigh a right smaht. 
 Ah 'spec's Ah'll spatch him dis time Christmas eve 
 
 Fo' he ceasts from fat'nin' of de heart. 
 
 Git on, git on, Riley! 
 
 All de days is Saddys now for sho'; 
 
 Wid a wagon load of 'taters in de stack 
 An' a big turkey gobbler loafin' at de door, 
 
 An' Trailer barkin' roun' de shack. 
 
 Back, back, Riley! 
 
 Dar ain't no mo' work, dar ain't no mo' work, 
 
20 4 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Ah's happy as a turkey in clover; 
 Ah feels lak a pig wid his belly full of corn. 
 Ah's happy from mah heart all over. 
 
 Come on, come on, Riley! 
 
 Dar's a light burnin' in de winder, ol' cow, 
 
 Us is done got to home at las', 
 Ah's sho' g'win' to res', for mah laigs is tired, 
 
 An' Ah's hongry as a crow on a fas'. 
 
 Whoa, whoa, Riley! 
 
 Ah' spec' de ol' 'oman has baked dat possum, 
 
 An' all dem kids is yellin' for a bite. 
 Ah's been eatin' Lot's wife tell mah stummic 'pears 
 cooked, 
 
 But hit's possumi an' 'taters for to-night. 
 
 RICHARD ON POSSUM HUNTING 
 
 Some folks is ver' parshal 
 To de fructful Summer-time, 
 
 Jes' eatin' an' grinnin' an' sweatin' 
 Wid a million for a dime. 
 
 But Ah's here to tell you, honey, 
 When dem 'air craps is done, 
 
 An' de boss done lef off 'spectin' 
 Dat's dis nigger's time for fun. 
 
 When de owl is estimatin' 
 
 De missus' guinea crap, 
 An' er-feelin' of dey gizzards, 
 
 So's not to 'sturb dey nap; 
 
 When dat moon gits lookin' col' lak, 
 An' de top of a nigger's nose 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 205 
 
 Is 'flicted wid de sniffles, 
 
 An* his feet is mos' nigh froze; 
 
 You whoops an' de smoke goes puffin* 
 
 Lak yo' mouf was a cotton gin, 
 An' de win* makes de pine trees shiver, 
 
 A nigger can sholy move den. 
 
 Den Ah takes mah horn from de stable, 
 Whar Ah hangs it when Winter's gone, 
 
 An' gee, de missus' pianny 
 Ain't never totch dat horn. 
 
 When Ah blows, you kin hear dem niggers 
 
 A-callin' on eVry hill; 
 An' Bell, she comes a-jumpin' 
 
 An' howlin' fit to kill; 
 
 An' Ruler barks an' scratches, 
 
 An' Dixie, a full-blood houn' 
 Dey's sholy sump'n comin' 
 
 When her smellers tetch de groun\ 
 
 Den us piles de straw an' lights hit, 
 
 An' makes a rousterin' fiah, 
 An' whoops when de trail gits warmer, 
 
 For us knows dey's gittin' nigher. 
 
 When de houn's c'mences whoopin' 
 
 Hit soun's lak kingdom come; 
 Jes' listen dem scoun'rels comin' 
 
 Say, boss, dey's movin' some. 
 
 Us hoi's us breaf an' listens, 
 
 Twell dey seems to strack de tree; 
 
 Den us raises up lak pat'iges, 
 
 An' Ah spec's dat possum's for me. 
 
2o6 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Over hills an' hollers us tumbles, 
 Wid dat music in us years ; 
 
 A-breakin' through de brambles, 
 Lak a dozen hustlin' steers. 
 
 Some 'spec's hit is a wiF-cat, 
 Some favors hit bein' a coon ; 
 
 Some 'lows dem dogs is 'mented 
 An' is barkin' at de moon. 
 
 Us finds 'em in a holler, 
 A-makin' things jes' hum, 
 
 An' doin' of dey mighties' 
 To clam' a crooked gum. 
 
 An' all us comes a-jumpin', 
 An' cussin' jes' for fun; 
 
 One buil's de fiah wid pine straw, 
 One's handy wid de gun. 
 
 But when dey's tired of lookin', 
 An' says ain't nothin' dar, 
 
 An' 'spec's dem dogs runs ghos's, 
 An's barkin' at de air; 
 
 Ah says, " You niggers is 'mented, 
 You ain't no 'count no wise, 
 
 Jes' shet up an' quit yo' fussin' 
 An' Ah'U shine dat possum's eyes. 
 
 So Ah puts de fiah out keerful, 
 An' hoi's mah torch up high, 
 
 An' shakes hit hin' mah shoulder, 
 Twell Ah gits dat rascal's eye. 
 
 Say, boss, dat's good as heaven, 
 To see dem big eyes shine, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 207 
 
 An' Ah yells lak a wil' commanchee, 
 'Case Ah knows dat possum's mine. 
 
 Us cuts de tree lak playin' 
 
 An* hit draps in a little while, 
 An' when hit 'gins a-poppin', 
 
 Dem dogs jes' goes plum wil\ 
 
 An' don' us have to tussle, 
 
 To git dat raskil free, 
 While he jes' goes on grinnin', 
 
 An' don't never disagree. 
 
 Us splits a pole in de middle, 
 
 An' puts his tail inside, 
 An' pulls hit twell hit fastens, 
 
 An' hoi's him hair an' hide. 
 
 Den us whoops up anoder, 
 
 Twell de night is mos' done gone; 
 
 When us blows dem dogs togeder, 
 Us sho' has had us fun. 
 
 RICHARD SELLS A CORD OF WOOD 
 
 Whut' Ah 'spises mos'ly, 
 
 Is havin' dealins wid 
 A man whut'll 'spect a gemman 
 
 Of somp'n whut he ain't did. 
 
 Las' week de Cap'n axed me 
 To fetch him a cord of wood; 
 
 " An' min'," says he, " now, Richard, 
 Ah wants hit hard an' good." 
 
208 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Of course Ah tells him yassir, 
 Ah darsen't tell him no, 
 
 Dat 'ud put him in a tantrum, 
 An' make him mad for sho\ 
 
 Now when Ah comes to 'liver 
 Dat wood — hit sho' war hard, 
 
 Ash an' oak an' hick'ry, 
 Jes' lak he specifard. 
 
 Ah estimates percisely, 
 
 Jes' how much wood Ah's got, 
 
 An' goes to stack hit 'cordin'ly; 
 An' den he comes out hot. 
 
 " You woolly-haided scoundrel," 
 Dat's jes' his ver' speech, 
 
 As red'n mad as a lobster 
 Dat's 'flicted wid de eetch; 
 
 " Call dat a cord of wood you 
 
 Now whut dat white man said, 
 
 Ain't fit for any preacher 
 To carry in his haid. 
 
 Ah bows, apologizin' 
 
 " Ah measures by de stack, 
 An' ef hit don't look proper, 
 
 Ah'll give his money back." 
 
 At dat he ain't said nothin' 
 But stahts to blow his nose, 
 
 A sign he's gittin' vi'lent, 
 An' calls his nigger Mose. 
 
 An' den dem two dey measures, 
 An' cords dat wood, an' Lord, 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 209 
 
 Hit mos' goes ag'inst believing 
 Dar warn't a half a cord. 
 
 At dat Ah got oneasy 
 
 An' druv mah team away, 
 But now Ah's out of hearin' 
 
 An's g'win' to have mah say. 
 
 Ah ain't g'win' to have no dealing 
 
 Wid sich a s'picious man, 
 A-fussin' lak dat wood was 
 
 A piece of timber Ian'. 
 
 OF Richard mout be poly, 
 
 An' need de money bad, 
 But 'fo' he'd be dat staingy, 
 
 He'd live off meat an' bread. 
 
 An' ef de Cap'n wants hit, 
 
 Dat wood is dar to stay; 
 Hit ain't for me to arguy, 
 
 When white folks gits dat way. 
 
 RICHARD ON THE NEW RELIGIOUS 
 SPIRIT 
 
 Ah's got to be a-movin', boss. 
 
 Hit mus' be g'win' on ten, 
 An' Ah's got to pull de church bell, 
 
 So's to let de niggers in. 
 
 No, sah, Ah's jes' a deacon, 
 
 Ah ain't no preacher, sah. 
 Ah's fear'd de Lord ain't pleasin', 
 
 Wid dey doin's over dar. 
 
aio ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 Dey ain't got no 'ligious sperit, 
 De preachers of dese days; 
 
 Dey's took to follerin' Mammof, 
 As de prophet Isaias says. 
 
 Dat big black Ambrose nigger, 
 From up in Tenly town, 
 
 He jes' same as said, las' Sunday 
 He warn't preachin' for no crown. 
 
 " Ten dollars' wuf of preachin'," 
 Says he, swishin' his red cravat, 
 
 " An' you niggers be conspicious, 
 When Ah sinds aroun' de hat." 
 
 Now, boss, dat ain't no 'ligion. 
 
 De evil sperit's about, 
 A-sowin' of dis harves' 
 
 Of scurreligious doubt. 
 
 Dar dat preacher's foolin' de niggers, 
 An' dc deacon has to stay, 
 
 An' open an' close de meeting 
 An' don't never git no pay. 
 
 Ah's tired of dat sort of 'ligion, 
 Whar he's got you up a tree, 
 
 An' barkin' to git yo' money, 
 Dat ain't de sperit for me. 
 
 But Ah's got to be a-movin', boss, 
 An' pull dat ol' church bell, 
 
 Or Ambrose'll be a-tellin' 
 
 How ol' Richard's gone to hell. 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 211 
 
 HARD TIMES 
 
 Now AW lak to know what's de use of workin' ! 
 
 Throw the disk to de devil an' lay down de plow. 
 De merchants all say dat dey won't Vance a nigger, 
 
 An' dar ain't no use in us workin' no-how, 
 
 For de weevils is ru'nin' de Ian'. 
 
 Dar's hard times comin' up de roaid somewhar. 
 
 Ah never seed de lak since Ah been born; 
 Dar's high water, no water, bugs in de taters, 
 
 Dar's worms in de cabbage an' mold in de corn f 
 
 An' de weevils is ru'nin' de Ian'. 
 
 Two chilluns is down in bed wid de fever, 
 An' our oF mule Jerry done broken his leg. 
 
 Hit looks lak de Lord's got down on a nigger, 
 
 'Cause he sholy took us livin' an' sont us out to beg; 
 An' de weevils is ru'nin' de Ian'. 
 
 De win' come aroun' and blow'd down us stable, 
 An' de Jew come aroun' an' levied us cow, 
 
 An' de mink come aroun' an' taken us chickens, 
 An' we ain't got nothin' but some rags an' a row, 
 For de weevils is ru'nin' de Ian'. 
 
 RICHARD'S PLEA FOR THE FOX 
 
 Yassir, boss, dat-ar fox am good to eat — 
 Jes' look at dat nigger, he knows 
 
 Ah's got cotton to pick, an' see how he pokes - 
 Come on wid dat knife, Ambrose! 
 
 Dar's folks in dis worl' dat fox am deceib 
 By treein' a hen lak a dog. 
 
212 ALONG THE HIGHWAY 
 
 But dat barkin' can't make him no mo' of a houn' 
 Dan mah gruntin' kin make me a hog. 
 
 De fox am close kin to de fambly of coon, 
 Which he 'sembles right smaht in his ways. 
 
 He ain't skercely no kin to de dog at all, 
 'Bout de sebenteens cousin, Ah says. 
 
 Yassir, boss, Ah sho' eats ev'ry fox Ah kin ketch, 
 'Kase he beats mos' all of de meats; 
 
 But den, you see, boss, Ah's keerful, Ah is, 
 'Bout the parts of de fox Ah eats. 
 
 Ah throws 'way de haid an' de two run' laigs, 
 'Case de dog hit am cent'red in dar, 
 
 But de res', hit b'longs to de fox an' de coon, 
 An' sweet as a possum hit are. 
 
 DINAH'S HAUNT 
 
 De win' hit cries in de middle of de night 
 
 Lak a baby an' de dog he moans, 
 An' de scritch owl hollers, Oh, Lord, oh, Lord! 
 
 'Cause Dinah is a bag of bones. 
 
 She's walkin' on de floor — list'n dem planks creek, 
 
 She's dar in dat corner by de bed. 
 See dat fiah, ain't hit skerry — whut's dat at de do'? 
 
 Dat's he hant, dat's Dinah whut's dead. 
 
 D'you see dat face at de winder, dar? 
 
 Bless Gawd, dat do' ain't shet. 
 Hit's op'nin', hit's op'nin', Hallelu/tfA/ 
 
 Lord, come git Dinah's sper't! 
 
ALONG THE HIGHWAY 213 
 
 DE TIMES IS MOUTY DRY 
 
 Oh, Marster, kin you give yo' 'tention 
 
 To dis lowly cullud man? 
 An' ef it's wrong, Ah ax you pardon ; 
 
 O Lord, you understan'. 
 
 You knows we isn't sinful minded, 
 
 We does our level bes', 
 We labors in de Marster's vineyard 
 
 Wid mouty little res'. 
 
 Ef 'twas de Fo'th or jes' Thangsgivin', 
 
 Ah wouldn't have no say, 
 Ah'd low, " O Lord, jes' use yo' judgmen',' 
 
 But dis is Christmas day. 
 
 You 'member, Lord, down dar in Cana, 
 When de State was g'win' dry, 
 
 You took an' made some wine from water, 
 In de twinklin' of an eye. 
 
 Now what us humble cullud pussons 
 
 Is axin you to do, 
 Ain't lak ef we'd 'a' come an' seeched you 
 
 To work a mack'rel too. 
 
 Lord, ef you see dat steamer Natchez 
 
 'Twixt here an' ol' Yazoo, 
 Ah'd take hit as a pusson'l favor, 
 
 Ef you'd fotch hit into view. 
 
 De table hit am sot an' ready, 
 
 Dat gobbler's full of fun, 
 But all de liquor's up de river ; 
 
 O Lord, thy will be done. 
 
 THE END 
 
SEP 4 1913 
 
ill 
 
 ■