Class J2.^^5j^, 
 Book .>(Dn^(L^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 
 
SONGS OF MANY DAYS 
 
 By 
 FLORENCE EVELYN PRATT 
 
 {Mrs. Clarence Herbert Yomgs) 
 
 ^yT^-rvia^ 
 
 Boston 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 The Gorham Press 
 
 1907 
 
Copyright 1907, by Mrs. C. H. Youags 
 All rights reserved 
 
 LIBRARY tf CONGRESS 
 Two CoflM ReCQived 
 
 DEC 27 1907 
 
 Oooyrifiii tfltry 
 
 OUS8 4 XXC No. 
 
 ( <^S 3 5 « 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 .07 S 4 
 
 The author and publisher wish to thank 
 the editors of Life, Judge, Puck, Lippin- 
 cott's Magazine, The Youth's Compan- 
 ion, Harper's IVeekly and Harper's 
 Bazar for courteous permission to re- 
 print many of the poems in this volume 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
My Daughter 
 Ethel Bidwell Youngs 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Chosen Valentine 9 
 
 The Reefs of St. Desire II 
 
 Christmas Song 15 
 
 The Dance of the Christmas Trees 15 
 
 The Gifts 17 
 
 The Three Waits 18 
 
 Watching the 01 J Tear Die 19 
 
 Memorial Day 21 
 
 A SoUier's Valentine 22 
 
 The Tattered Flags 24 
 
 Abraham Lincoln 25 
 
 The Flowers of Decoration Day 26 
 
 An Ecstasy in Yellow 27 
 
 Goodbye, Childhood 28 
 
 Youth 29 
 
 Fireflies 30 
 
 The Witch Maiden 3 1 
 
 The Dreamers 33 
 
 Robin Good fellow 33 
 
 Okatillas 35 
 
 Tito and I 36 
 
 The Swan Maiden 37 
 
 A Morning Canter 38 
 
 Dethroned 40 
 
 The Kobold 41 
 
 The Way in the Wood 42 
 
The Line Rider 43 
 
 The Swinging Gate 44 
 
 The Trail on the Mesa . 45 
 
 The Rock Columbine 46 
 
 In the Canon 46 
 
 The End of the Story 47 
 
 The Love Angel 48 
 
 Two Turnings 5° 
 
 King, Queen and Jester 50 
 
 The Last Covenant 51 
 
 To M. B.G 53 
 
 Heartsease 5+ 
 
 The Old Dress 55 
 
 A Lover to Death 56 
 
 Edelweiss 5^ 
 
 From a Wave Crest 57 
 
 The Necromancer 58 
 
 The Singing Wind 59 
 
 A Game of Tag 60 
 
 Soldiers 61 
 
 His Bicycle Light 62 
 
 The Quest 63 
 
 The Contest 64 
 
 The King and the Koo-Too 66 
 
 Kerrected 68 
 
 Up Berkshire Way 70 
 
 Mother Remembers "J I 
 
A Family Heirloom 72 
 
 The Old Melodeon 74 
 
 The Best of the Bargain 76 
 
 Esek's Baby 78 
 
 When I was Wise 79 
 
 The Last Turning 80 
 
SONGS OF MANY DAYS 
 
THE CHOSEN VALENTINE 
 
 Fair Bella had a string of beaux, 
 
 Too many for her loving, 
 So like a canny maiden chose 
 
 Their homage to be proving. 
 
 Said she, "The man who sends to me 
 The valentine most pleasing, 
 
 My chosen lover he shall be; 
 So there's an end of teasing." 
 
 The beaux began their eager quest, 
 Each powdered head excited, 
 
 To serve fair Bella's gay behest 
 When such a prize requited. 
 
 Upon the morn of valentines 
 Came letters pining, burning, 
 
 And offering jewels of the mines 
 For love of her returning; 
 
 And offering ruffled hands, and hearts 
 That waited on her pleasures; 
 
 And talked of Cupid's fiery darts 
 In all poetic measures. 
 
 Amid the pleading, pining sheets 
 One struck a stronger keynote. 
 
 "I do not talk to you of sweets, 
 And love — you are the queen o't. 
 
"But now or never must you choose 
 'Twixt me and swains a-sighing. 
 
 Tonight I'll wait you 'neath the yews. 
 Will you with me be flying?" 
 
 The moonlight shone through oak and yew 
 Where, cloaked and spurred, he waited; 
 
 And far across the snow it threw 
 Their shadows, black, serrated. 
 
 The moonlight shone through oak and yew 
 
 And in the snowy garden. 
 Where swift and light a little shoe 
 
 Upbore a merry burden. 
 
 To right, to left, down snowy ways 
 Her watchful eyes were glancing. 
 
 And spite of lace, brocade and stays. 
 Her girlish heart was dancing. 
 
 A kiss, a hurried word or so. 
 And steeds and coach went flying 
 
 Across the night, across the snow, 
 And left the swains a-sighing. 
 
 This to the swains — "Well may you rue 
 My flight; no doubt you chid it. 
 
 But while you dreamed of what you'd do. 
 Like a bold man he did it! " 
 
 10 
 
THE REEFS OF ST. DESIRE 
 
 Wild was the night and stormy, 
 And black wings flickered past; 
 
 Our great grey sail was caught in the gale 
 And stripped from the cracking mast. 
 
 The wind was mad behind us, 
 
 And a dreadful sound drew near; 
 And cold we grew, for each man knew, 
 As on like a frightened bird we flew, 
 'Twas the reef of St. Desire. 
 
 A crash, and the broken foremast 
 
 Toppled with all its gear. 
 And out on the bowsprit crouching low 
 
 I was chopping it free and clear. 
 
 Lashed to the jarring bowsprit. 
 Drenched with the ghastly foam, 
 
 I thought of my wife, and my reckless life, 
 And the little ones at home. 
 
 Deep we dove in the water, 
 And when we rose once more, 
 
 Something there sat on the sprit by me 
 That had not been there before. 
 
 iz 
 
Puffed were its lips and streaming, 
 And purple as drowned men's be; 
 
 My brain grew dim as I looked at him 
 And knew he had come for me. 
 
 He stood erect on the bowsprit, 
 
 And was shapeless and sodden and tall. 
 
 "Look," he said, "at the iris dead. 
 And washed from its rotting ball! 
 
 "Look at my hair! 'tis slimy 
 
 With all the ooze of the sea; 
 And like this tonight, for my delight, 
 
 Shalt thou and thy comrades be!" 
 
 "Thou fiend! how have I wronged thee 
 That thou shouldst haunt me so.**" 
 
 "I sailed like thee on the faithless sea 
 In a time that is long ago. 
 
 "I left in the port behind me 
 My wife and her children three; 
 
 When I came again from the Spanish Main 
 I found she was wed to thee. 
 
 "I drowned in the sea soon after. 
 And this was my hope of bliss, — 
 
 To see thee drown and thy hopes go down, 
 And God has given me this!" 
 
 12 
 
"We thought thee dead," I answered; 
 
 "Thy children wanted bread. 
 That I was kind in deed and mind 
 
 The neighbors have always said. 
 
 "But why should my blameless comrades 
 
 Lie in the dreadful sea ? 
 I stole thy kin, though I meant no sin; 
 
 Let thy vengeance fall on me! 
 
 I cut me free from my lashings 
 
 And stood on the shaking spar. 
 "Fling me," I cried, "to the hungry tide, 
 
 But my comrades blameless are. 
 
 "Darest thou steal from their children 
 
 Their morsel of daily bread ?" 
 "So would mine own, if thou wert gone. 
 
 Hunger and thirst," he said. 
 
 He wailed, and wrung his bloated hands. 
 
 With his awful eyes on me; 
 "I came from my grave in the soundless wave 
 
 To gloat and to feast on thee! 
 
 ?3 
 
"Am I to lose the rapture 
 
 I craved in my jealous woe r 
 For the sake of my children's hungry mouths — 
 
 Yes — I will let thee — go!" 
 
 My heart was ice within me, 
 
 For I stood alone on the pole; 
 And I heard a shout from heaven ring out, 
 
 As I am a living soul. 
 
 And then in the eastern distance, 
 Where the waves were tossing high. 
 
 Midst their mounting valleys and sinking heights 
 I saw the dawn in the sky. 
 
 Softly its spectral fingers 
 
 Loosened the storm away, 
 And one by one smoothed the billows down 
 
 To the level floor of the bay. 
 
 And then in awe and trembling 
 
 I stole to the slippery deck. 
 And heard the voice of the captain cry 
 
 In joy o'er the drifting wreck. 
 
 Softly the light came stealing 
 
 As we swung there free and clear, 
 And murmuring low in the morning glow 
 
 Were the reefs of St. Desire. 
 
 14 
 
CHRISTMAS SONG 
 
 Oh, Christmas is a jolly time 
 When forests hang with snow, 
 
 And other forests bend with toys 
 And lordly Yule-logs glow. 
 
 And Christmas is a solemn time, 
 
 Because beneath the Star 
 The first great Christmas Gift was given 
 
 To all men near and far. 
 
 But not alone at Christmas time 
 
 Come holiday and cheer. 
 For he who loves a little child 
 
 Has Christmas all the year. 
 
 THE DANCE OF THE CHRISTMAS 
 TREES 
 
 In the land where Santa Claus keeps house, 
 Where Jack Frost creeps as still as a mouse. 
 There is a whispering and a rushing 
 Like small rain falling, like full streams gushing. 
 To the horn of the wind, to the flute of the 
 
 breeze; 
 'Tis the dance, the dance of the Christmas trees 
 
 In the far-ofF Christmas Tree Country. 
 
 15 
 
In that far land, where the snow lies deep, 
 Men go stamping, with teams that creep. 
 With creaking sleds, and with axes keen 
 They go to gather the Christmas green. 
 Little green babes and sturdy trees, 
 Down they rush like a wild young breeze. 
 "Good-by, my Christmas Tree Country!" 
 
 At night, when the silence is profound, 
 
 The others foot their solemn round 
 
 With many a sparkling wreath of ice 
 
 And flaunting snow-plume point device. 
 
 And the little stars in their nightgowns white 
 
 Sit up late to stare at the sight 
 
 In the far-off Christmas Tree Country. 
 
 The Northern Lights on the hills so bare 
 Tiptoe eagerly here and there, 
 Over tree-shoulders trying to see 
 The Christmas trees dance solemnly; 
 The trees which did not go to town 
 Keeping the feast among woods so brown 
 In the far-oflF Christmas Tree Country. 
 
 i6 
 
THE GIFTS 
 
 There is a night which children love, 
 
 A time of fadeless youth, 
 A time when tenderest legendry 
 
 Entwines with hohest truth. 
 O happy night! O holy night! 
 
 Still shines thy radiant star 
 On shepherds watching in the fields, 
 
 On wise men journeying far. 
 
 There is a tree the children love 
 
 Whose flowers are all of light, 
 Whose fruitage is a shower of gifts 
 
 Of wonder and delight. 
 Beneath the branches of that tree 
 
 Care flies and pain is mute. 
 And hands long sundered meet again 
 
 When gathering its fruit. 
 
 There is a Child the children love. 
 
 Couched on His mother's knee. 
 On Him the happy star doth shine, 
 
 And on the Christmas Tree. 
 Out from those baby hands of His, 
 
 Like rose leaves softly curled. 
 Hath come that happy, holy thing. 
 
 The Christmas of the world. 
 
 17 
 
THE THREE WAITS 
 
 Trudging along through the Christmas snow 
 
 The waits were laughing together; 
 Hood and jerkin and cloak closedravvn, 
 
 They cared no jot for the weather. 
 The lights of the great hall shone afar. 
 
 "What, ho!" said Dickon the treble; 
 "Think of the ale that Nan will bring, 
 
 And her teasing — the little rebel!" 
 
 ''Think of the silver pennies, lads!" 
 
 Dan chuckled, "and what they're bringing!" 
 But Roger had never a word to say, — 
 
 He was dreaminfr of the sino-inri:- 
 So under the great old walls they came 
 
 Where the ivy clambered and clung. 
 And somebody threw the casement wide — 
 
 The chatelaine, gentle and young. 
 
 Oh! sweet the carols the waits sang out, 
 
 Lusty of heart and voice! 
 And the little maid in the window framed 
 
 Felt her heart sing, too, "Rejoice!" 
 For the stars and the night and the crisp new 
 snow 
 
 And the wintry, tingling air, 
 For the carols dear and the fair-haired lad 
 
 Singing so joyously there. 
 
 i8 
 
Dickon the treble, he had his ale, 
 
 And a kiss from his buxom Nan; 
 And the Squire came down and with high good- 
 will 
 
 Gave silver and praise to Dan. 
 But Roger the singer had naught, had naught. 
 
 As he fared by the starry gleam, 
 But a Christmas rose from the casement cast, 
 
 And, warm in his heart, a dream! 
 
 WATCHING THE OLD YEAR DIE 
 
 Last New Year's Eve we gathered round 
 
 In the firelight's glorious blaze, 
 To watch the passing of the year. 
 
 And the dawn of other days. 
 
 There was no light but the red firelight 
 In the old Squire's ancient hall. 
 
 Quaint with its memories of old days 
 And manners colonial. 
 
 And we of the modern time and ways 
 
 Laughed in the firelight there; 
 Madge, with her mischievous, glancing eyes, 
 
 Edith, with saint-like hair; 
 
 19 
 
Elinor, with her air of pride 
 
 And her charming hostess-ways; 
 Two or three other men and I 
 
 Drew round in the chimney-blaze. 
 
 Jest and story, laughter and song, 
 
 Hurried the moments by. 
 As, young and happy, we clustered there 
 
 Watching the Old Year die. 
 
 Fun and frolic were at their height, 
 
 When far and keen and low 
 We heard the Old Year's passing-bell 
 
 Toll out across the snow. 
 
 We rose, and silently we stood 
 
 Hearing the solemn swell, 
 And hand sought hand, as over us all 
 
 Some dim foreboding fell. 
 
 Did Madge, in that strange and breathless space, 
 
 See her coming bridal veil ? 
 Did Edith dream of the strait white bed 
 
 Wherein she should lie, so pale ? 
 
 Did Elinor, in her girlish pride. 
 
 Dream of her altered lot ? 
 Had Roger word of a broken tie, 
 
 And troth and trust forgot ? 
 
 20 
 
Humphrey, saw you a heaving sea, 
 
 With its endless waves of gray ? 
 And heard you the song of the arrow, Fred, 
 
 Already upon its way ? 
 
 Our hands clung together, we could not speak 
 Till the mournful bells were done. 
 
 And the chimes outclamored a jubilant peal 
 To welcome the New Year sun. 
 
 The strain was broken. We moved and laughed, 
 
 And frolic and mirth grew high. 
 Yet tonight I am sitting here alone, 
 
 Watching the Old Year die. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 Old, old men in carriages, trundling along so 
 
 slow; 
 Old, old men a-marching, with the spirit of long 
 
 ago; 
 Old, old flags furled straitly, dreaming of shot 
 
 and shell; 
 All that is left of the old war, save the tale the 
 
 histories tell. 
 
 21 
 
Young men marching briskly, all in their khaki 
 
 brown, 
 Heroes of Santiago or far Manila town. 
 Wounded, they never weakened. They suffered 
 
 and yet they sang. 
 And over the land long shackled the hymns of 
 
 Freedom rang! 
 
 O white heads bowed and feeble! O brown 
 
 heads high and proud! 
 We love you and pray God bless you! we who 
 
 stand in the crowd. 
 And we thank the merciful Father that, all our 
 
 history through. 
 He has given us such a memory and such a hope 
 
 as you! 
 
 A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE 
 
 It was only a square of paper lace. 
 Where roses and hearts entwine, 
 
 And beneath them a loving word or two: 
 Only a valentine. 
 
 A frivolous thing, in an envelope 
 All covered with cooing doves, 
 
 Forget-me-nots, and hearts, and darts, 
 And little ecstatic loves. 
 
 22 
 
'Twas sent by a girl who kissed it once, 
 As she stood in the whirling snow, 
 
 Where the lights from the corner store through 
 the storm 
 Sent out a hazy glow. 
 
 But our Uncle Samuel must have guessed, 
 
 No matter what else might wait, 
 That letter must go, post-haste! post-haste! 
 
 From here to the Golden Gate. 
 
 Far across the river and over the hills 
 
 And the prairies, on it flew; > j 
 
 It dodged a wreck and it entered storms, : ' 
 And once 'twas the last train through. 
 
 Then forth it put to the western sea. 
 Where the speeding waves upcurled; 
 
 And the Cupids and love-birds sailed away 
 To the other side of the world. 
 
 O wonderful scrap of paper lace! 
 
 It went to a hospital bed 
 Where a homesick soldier tossed and turned 
 
 And would not be comforted; 
 
 And somehow the soldier felt that day 
 Soft arms, whose pressure he knew. 
 
 And home and loev and health and hope 
 Thrilled him through and through. 
 
 23 
 
And he felt new love for our Uncle Sam 
 Who had lent his trains and men 
 
 And ships, that the whole wide world apart, 
 Two hearts might meet again. 
 
 THE TATTERED FLAGS 
 
 I saw the soldiers march today 
 
 Through eager crowds, and heard 
 The olden wartime music play 
 
 Till every pulse was stirred. 
 And cheers went down the avenue 
 
 As gallantly they came, 
 For everyone knew some one there. 
 
 And joyed to shriek his name. 
 They cheered them well; yet like a flood 
 
 Outrushed the glorious cry 
 When, borne by gray-haired veterans. 
 
 The tattered flags went by. 
 
 Oh, what a rush of memories 
 
 Went down the shaken throng! 
 And olden sorrows stirred again 
 
 Where they had slumbered long; 
 And faithful hearts remembered still 
 
 The sad yet shining day 
 When flaunting in the stirring breeze, 
 
 Those flags went down Broadway; 
 
 24 
 
And sobbing women followed on 
 
 And not a cheek was dry, 
 As, newly consecrate to war. 
 
 The flags went proudly by. 
 
 But for those flags the flags today 
 
 Had not so brave an air. 
 And newer stars ne'er come from heaven 
 
 To shine in glory there. 
 Not yet, oh flags, your mission ends, 
 
 While hearts there are to swell 
 With pride and love at all the tale 
 
 Your tatters mutely tell. 
 Oh, glorious sight, each year to stir 
 
 Our souls to visions high! 
 Cheer on, oh, friends! although through tears 
 
 The tattered flags go by. 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 Lincoln, the woodsman, in the clearing stood, 
 
 Hemmed by the solemn forest stretching round: 
 Stalwart, ungainly, honest-eyed and rude. 
 
 The genius of that solitude profound. 
 He clove the way that future millions trod. 
 
 He passed, unmoved by worldly fear or pelf; 
 In all his lusty toil he found not God, 
 
 Though in the wilderness he found himself. 
 
 25 
 
Lincoln, the President, in bitter strife, 
 
 Best-loved, worst-hated of all living men, 
 Oft single-handed, for the nation's life 
 
 Fought on, nor rested ere he fought again. 
 With one unerring purpose armed, he clove 
 
 Through selfish sin; then, overw^helmed with 
 care. 
 His great heart sank beneath its load of love: 
 
 Crushed to his knees, he found his God in 
 prayer. 
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DECORATION DAY 
 
 Blossoms there are for days of troth 
 
 And blushing bride-array; 
 Blossoms to make for trembling feet 
 
 A rosy marriage-way; 
 
 Daisies that star the early fields 
 
 For chubby hands to hold. 
 And buttercups, which God has sent 
 
 To be the babies' gold. 
 
 But we, a higher fate is ours. 
 Ordained from bud to bloom 
 
 To lie amid the green young grass 
 Above a soldier's tomb; 
 
 26 
 
And when upon the quiet graves 
 With love and tears we're laid, 
 
 And music swells from martial bands 
 They heard when on parade; 
 
 And when the tattered flags are raised 
 They fought and died to keep, 
 
 We feel astir through tangled growths 
 A thrill from hearts that sleep. 
 
 Then when the dew falls silently, 
 With throbbing drums gone by. 
 
 We are on guard, we flowers, and proud 
 Upon such graves to die! 
 
 AN ECSTASY IN YELLOW 
 
 To and fro, high and low. 
 Dicky-bird swings away; 
 Poises and sings with folded wings 
 
 To the golden close of the day. 
 What tho' the skies with storm-clouds lower, 
 
 All dappled with drifting rain ? 
 He sings and sings thro' the passing shower 
 
 Till the heavens are blue again. 
 Naught cares he for the gloomy weather; 
 There's never a droop of a yellow feather. 
 As for fluff" little heart and throat together 
 
 They nearly burst as he sings. 
 Like a gay little flute gone mad with glee 
 That the fairies have played with stealthily 
 
 And gifted with golden wings. 
 27 
 
GOODBYE, CHILDHOOD 
 
 Goodbye, Childhood! here's the gate 
 Where we two must separate. 
 Ah, how sweet were other years! 
 Laughter shining down the tears; 
 Not a thorn beneath the rose, 
 Not a raindrop in the cloud; 
 Joy in every wind that blows, 
 Rapture bubbling into song. 
 Till the way grew rough — and long. 
 
 little shining curls! O face 
 Of sweetest innocence and grace! 
 Never again to walk with thee, 
 Without thy kiss alone to be! 
 Give me the little budding rose 
 Thy small moist fingers soft enclose, 
 And kiss me sweet for memory, 
 Then, little faithful heart, goodbye! 
 
 1 see her, all reluctant, stray 
 Along the golden-vista'd way. 
 And watching me with wistful eyes 
 As she goes back to Paradise. 
 
 28 
 
YOUTH 
 
 O youth, kind Heaven's most glorious gift, 
 
 Why is thy course so swift, so swift ? 
 Why do thy tints so early pale. 
 
 And the under-note creep into the tune ? 
 O what a thing it is to be young! 
 To venture with thought, with foot, with tongue; 
 
 To hold belief in the Holy Grail; 
 
 To bear the frost like the heat of June; 
 To trust, to love, to know things pure, 
 To dream that happiness may endure. 
 The light of the eye, the flush of the cheek. 
 
 And the hot blood thrilling us through and 
 through; 
 The depth of feeling we cannot speak; 
 
 The learning of truths forever new; 
 These, O youth, are thine to know! 
 Wherefor so swiftly go ? 
 
 29 
 
FIREFLIES 
 
 The night is dark, and the hammock swings, 
 
 Lazily stirring the scented air, 
 As I watch those anxious lamps on wings 
 
 Hurrying breathlessly everywhere. 
 
 Where do you go with such frantic speed ? 
 
 Never a moment you stop or stay. 
 What distresses you ? Where is the need 
 
 Of scurrying so on your unknown way ? 
 
 After you anxiously goes my thought; 
 
 Like you goes blundering over things 
 No sober keeping in lines as taught. 
 
 Patient in folly as you on wings. 
 
 But see! my hammock has snared you fast! 
 
 Now you are captured, what can you do ? 
 And my aimless thought comes stumbling past. 
 
 Caught — in the meshes of Wisdom — too! 
 
 Friend, if I set you free as before 
 
 (Send out no signals of wild distress!), 
 
 To go on your purposeless chase once more. 
 Surely Wisdom can do no less! 
 
THE WITCH MAIDEN 
 
 The hearth is cold and the ashes white; 
 
 My heart it is numb and chill. 
 The red moon leers with an evil light 
 
 Over the shouldered hill, 
 Wild witch-laughter is in the air, 
 
 Dim flickerings fill the sky; 
 But oh, for their mischief I would not care 
 
 Had they passed my goodman by! 
 They have left this strange white babbling thin^ 
 
 In the shape that my goodman wore, 
 And he maunders on in a dreadful voice 
 
 I never have heard before. 
 
 ''Her locks — are white as — the weaver s flax, 
 
 Her smile — is the stroke — of death; 
 She lures a man's soul — out of his eyes, 
 
 And sucks his laboring breath. 
 But oh, her eyes — her terrible eyes, 
 
 That smoulder — and blaze — and gleam — 
 Slow — as a snake's — benumbing gaze. 
 
 Deep — as the miller's — stream! 
 
 I have heard the tales of the gossip folk 
 
 Whispered in chimney nooks, 
 Of the wild witch-maiden that stealeth souls 
 
 Whither-away she looks. 
 
 31 
 
How she gathers them, crowding, chained, 
 And drives them on through the air. 
 
 And scourges them on their dolorous road 
 With whips of her whirling hair. 
 
 I thought 'twas a tale for chimney nooks. 
 
 To be whispered and told anew 
 When the chestnuts roast and the apples turn, 
 
 But oh, it is true — 'tis true! 
 She hath looked and gazed in his dazzled eyes 
 
 Till he knows my face no more; 
 She hath breathed strange sayings into his ears, 
 
 And he hears my voice no more. 
 She hath stolen his smile — it may come no more 
 
 The sign of his soul to be; 
 She hath kissed his lips, and he maunders on 
 
 With never a word of me. 
 
 'Her locks — are white — as the weaver's flax — 
 
 Her smile — is the stroke — of death; 
 She lures a man's soul — out of his eyes — 
 And sucks his laboring breath!" — 
 
 The elder blossoms are sweet and white, 
 
 But they could not stop nor stay. 
 She came in the red moon's cursed light, 
 
 Over the leaden bay; 
 She came with eager and savage hands, 
 
 And hath carried his soul away! 
 
 32 
 
THE DREAMERS 
 
 Low sinks the westering sun. The apple-trees 
 Nestle the drowsy birds. The air is still 
 
 Save where a little vagrant of a breeze 
 
 Runs through the seeded grasses on the hill. 
 
 The shadows lengthen from the western wood. 
 
 The gray old gravestones stoop beneath the 
 trees 
 Like weary mothers, nodding while they brood 
 
 Their sleeping children, cradled on their knees. 
 
 ROBIN GOODFELLOW 
 
 My grandam sat and spun and crooned 
 
 When the eventide was slow, 
 And the strange gray shadows crept from the ash 
 
 Of the red fire, smouldering low. 
 I leaned my arm on the window ledge, 
 
 And looked out into the gray; 
 And the road grew dim, and the singing brook 
 
 Stole out of sight with the day. 
 
 "Margery," quoth my grandam then, 
 
 "Set ye the curds, my maid. 
 And a pan of cream for the little folk. 
 
 Where the even cloth is laid. 
 
 33 
 
If Robin Goodfellow come this night 
 
 He must not go wroth away, 
 And the brew will work and the tasks be done 
 
 Before the break of the day." 
 
 The curds were set and the pan of cream, 
 
 And the great moon peeped to see. 
 I wtached for him in the shadowed room, 
 
 And the cricket watched with me. 
 Then in the still of the scented night 
 
 A footstep came at the door. 
 And a lightsome, gladsome, comely youth 
 
 Stepped in on the moonlit floor. 
 
 His eyes were merry, his smile was gay 
 
 As the very soul of mirth, 
 He pursed his lips at the clotted cream, 
 
 And called gray Puss from the hearth. 
 He went about with a dancing step, 
 I And the tasks sped merrily, 
 And all had been well but for old gray Puss 
 
 That purringly slipped to me. 
 
 He saw me and stopped, as my frightened eyes 
 
 Peered out at him through the gloom, 
 And he bowed with a mischievous smile, and 
 passed 
 
 Like a shadow forth from the room; 
 But he stopped at the door and kissed a rose 
 
 That bloomed at the threshold's rim, 
 Then passed from sight. But oh, my heart 
 
 Like a lost child cried for him! 
 34 
 
I steal by night to the shadowed room 
 
 To watch if he come again, 
 And a stir in the thicket stains my cheek; 
 
 But it reddens all in vain; 
 And lovers come and my heart grows kind, 
 
 And once it was almost won; 
 But the threshold rose peeped in at the door, 
 
 And I dreamed, and my hope was done. 
 
 OKATILLAS 
 
 They spring erect and cleave the radiance bright 
 
 In stiff, gray shafts, thick set with many a 
 spine. 
 
 Bayonet-sharp, half hidden by the fine 
 Close-growing leaves; the arid land's delight. 
 A plume of flame, a flash of scarlet light. 
 
 The tufted flowers run lightly down the line, 
 
 Like tongues prophetic, that in days divine 
 Descended on apostles in men's sight. 
 But most like hoary ranks of Indian seers. 
 
 Waiting release from life's encircling bars, 
 Full of the garnered wisdom of their years, 
 
 With long remembrance of old strifes and 
 scars; 
 While on their venerable heads appears 
 
 The flame that marks their heirship to the 
 stars. 
 
 35 
 
TITO AND I 
 
 Tito and I for the old padrone 
 
 Sang in the streets together. 
 Under the carven flowers of stone, 
 
 Merry or sad the weather. 
 
 Every day was a golden day 
 
 If Tito were there beside me, 
 Under his torn and faded coat 
 
 From trouble and storm to hide me. 
 
 Tito could laugh on a crust a day, 
 
 Feeling no sting of sorrow, 
 Though he knew we were hungry yesterday 
 
 With nothing to hope tomorrow. 
 
 Just a rose to stick in his coat, 
 
 Or the sound of a wayside fountain, 
 
 Or just to follow a foaming brook 
 
 That rushed from the pine-hung mountain, 
 
 Made him as glad as thefgay marchese 
 Who stared at my amber tresses 
 
 And angered Tito one summer day 
 With his words like bland caresses, 
 
 Tito sang and the world was gay 
 
 Under the open heaven. 
 The people heard, and their flowers and gold 
 
 Were lightly and gladly given. 
 
 36 
 
Oh, my brother! to see thy face 
 With its tender meanings glowing, 
 
 I would give my glory of gold and place 
 That they envy me, unknowing. 
 
 To go again through the stony streets 
 With never a thought to grieve me, 
 
 If thou couldst rise from thy early grave, 
 Never again to leave me! 
 
 THE SWAN MAIDEN 
 
 How have I chanced to grieve thee. 
 
 Oh, dearest love of my life. 
 That thou shouldst be cold, or wound me 
 
 With a glance as keen as a knife ? 
 
 Since I found thee in the spring-time. 
 In the time when the wild swans come. 
 
 Thou hast warmed my lonely spirit 
 With dreams of love and home. 
 
 At the edge of the marsh I found thee, 
 'Mid moss-bogs crouched away, 
 
 A glimmer of flesh and tangled locks 
 And strange keen eyes of gray. 
 
 And many a weird foreboding 
 
 Has swelled and ceased in my breast, 
 
 Thou wife with the strange unhomely ways, 
 And the wayward and wild unrest! 
 
 37 
 
There thou standest, and watching 
 The pale green evening sky, 
 
 Thou seest the wild swans southward 
 Over the black marsh fly. 
 
 I would that my heart would lighten! 
 
 Yet far away and harsh, 
 With a wild, compelling cadence. 
 
 The swans call o'er the marsh. 
 
 Wistful, I watch thee, darkening 
 The threshold, still and lone. 
 
 Sudden a blank of twilight! 
 
 Freya! — she's gone! she's gone! 
 
 A MORNING CANTER 
 
 Come, my Nelly, and let's together 
 
 Down the lane where the cattle stray, 
 Ho! for the perfect autumn weather 
 
 In silver bloom on the world today! 
 Morning light that is pale and saintly, 
 
 Morning air that is chill and sweet. 
 Arches of maple frosted faintly, 
 
 Tinkle of Nelly's flying feet. 
 Eloquent eye that is backward turning, 
 
 Ear that waits for the word I say. 
 Trembling limbs with impatience burning, 
 
 Eager to gallop the world away, — 
 
 38 
 
That is Nelly. O farewell, sorrow! 
 
 Care and trouble will lifted be; 
 Naught but joy from the hour we borrow 
 
 When Nelly and I and the morn agree 
 Glimmer of birches down in the hollow, 
 
 Woods where a late, sweet songster sings; 
 Noise of a brook we always follow. 
 
 Yet never find in its wanderings; 
 Hill and dale and the wide white river, 
 
 Decked with plumes of the curling mist 
 That glow like the rose and fade forever. 
 
 By the whirling sun too warmly kissed; 
 Thunder of hoofs on the wooden bridges, 
 
 Off again to the grass and dew. 
 Rattle of leaves in the naked hedges — 
 
 Hold! for Nelly has cast a shoe. 
 Tuneful clangor of iron and anvil, 
 
 Gleam and glow of the vassal flame. 
 Chink, chink, chink of the busy hammer, 
 
 And off we canter the way we came. 
 Glory of sun through the bare black branches, 
 
 Melting the frost in the woodland ways; 
 Passing glimpses of distant mountains. 
 
 Lulled in a fairy azure haze; 
 Brown home-fields that are sharp with stubble, 
 
 Glimpse of a gilded weather-vane; 
 Up the road with its crunching gravel. 
 
 And Nelly and I are at home again! 
 
 39 
 
DETHRONED 
 
 She stood dethroned, a weak child-queen, 
 
 Amidst a rebel court, 
 Her scepter tossed from hand to hand, 
 
 Of every serf the sport. 
 Fierce Passion, dark and strong and wild, 
 
 First seized the glittering thing; 
 Then haughty Pride the jewel caught, 
 
 Himself proclaiming king. 
 Pale Sorrow mocked her next, until 
 
 With heavy mailed hand 
 Suspicion struck it from his grasp 
 
 And shook the slender wand. 
 
 And then the court-fool. Self-contempt, 
 
 Ran shrieking down the room. 
 The bauble flaming in the sun 
 
 And darkling in the gloom. 
 Till fair-haired Love passed through the throng 
 
 That fell to north and south, 
 And took her in his tender arms 
 
 And kissed her quivering mouth. 
 He turned his stern commanding eyes 
 
 Upon the shrinking throng; 
 "Down, down!" he cried, "ye traitor knaves, 
 
 Ye have usurped too long! " 
 Then taking both her slender hands, 
 
 He led her to the throne; 
 " What say you, dearest .? " whispered he, 
 
 " I come to claim my own! " 
 
 40 
 
THE KOBOLD 
 
 The white moon steals through the cobbled street 
 
 With trailing garments and milk-white feet, 
 
 And the shadows hurry away and hide 
 
 Under the stone bridge in the tide. 
 
 The streets are silent, the casements close, 
 
 And the nightcapped people doze and doze. 
 
 In a mellow nook of the city walls 
 
 A red-capped Kobold calls and calls; 
 
 He croons and mutters a mystic rune, 
 
 And quavers a quaint old loving-tune. 
 
 And by-and-by down the charmed street 
 
 Comes a snow-white maiden, calm and sweet. 
 
 Her face like a lily-flower is set 
 
 With hair that gleams like a golden net. 
 
 The moon spins strands that she stumble and fall. 
 
 But unharmed she follows the Kobold's call: 
 
 For once a year, at the first cock-crow. 
 
 The Kobolds may come from the earth below. 
 
 And if they can win her with temptings three, 
 
 A fair earth-maid shall their ruler be. 
 
 "Oh, what wilt thou ask, Earth-maid," said he, 
 
 "To come to our castle, our queen to be? 
 
 Gold and jewels thy love shall pay;" 
 
 But the sleep-charmed maiden answered "Nay." 
 
 "Power shall be thine, that all shall quail; " 
 
 But calm was the maiden sweet and pale. 
 
 The Kobold pondered; then down he slipped. 
 
 41 
 
And into the shadows he hopt and skipped. 
 
 In a moment he came with his final charm 
 
 With a sleepy baby under his arm. 
 
 "This shall be thine if thou be our queen." 
 
 The maiden smiled, and the golden sheen 
 
 Of her hair fell round her; one step she made, — 
 
 "Give it to me in my arms," she said. 
 
 She laid its soft head on her breast, 
 
 Its warm round limbs to her heart she pressed. 
 
 Then down the steps of the ancient wall, 
 
 Where the soft waves plash and rise and fall, 
 
 The Kobold led them to where a boat 
 
 In the gleam and the shadow swung afloat 
 
 Then over the moonbeam's silver track 
 
 They drifted with never a thought turned back; 
 
 The baby veiled with the maiden's hair, 
 
 And the cold Kobold with his grin and stare. 
 
 THE WAY IN THE WOOD 
 
 The woodland path is deep in leaves 
 
 That mark a golden way 
 Wherein, last happy summertide. 
 
 We two were wont to stray. 
 
 All golden lies the way, to trace 
 Where happy love hath been. 
 
 That hearts unblest might see and mark 
 And learn to walk therein. 
 
 42 
 
THE LINE RIDER 
 
 Over the mesa, 'neath the milk-white moon, 
 Leisurely riding through the wonder-night, 
 Went Sanderson, line-rider, full of dreams 
 Of young Dolores, sweetest of brown maids. 
 (Something lies hidden in the coyote grass.) 
 
 Only a month ago those canon walls 
 Moon-white, beheld a shadowy train wind down, 
 Contrabandista, laden with mescal; 
 Pepe, their chief, exultant, almost home. 
 (Something lies sullen in the coyote grass.) 
 
 Apache rumors had preceded them, 
 Herding white settlers homeward. Sanderson, 
 Frontier-wise, watched the canny Mexicans, 
 Saw them untroubled, couched, and got his prey. 
 (Something lies vengeful in the coyote grass.) 
 
 Musing, his firm mouth smiling now and then 
 With reminiscent tenderness, he rode, 
 Unheeding how that Pepe had fled unscathed, 
 Until his horse, snorting and trembling, shied. 
 (A sudden spring from out the coyote grass!) 
 
 O brown Dolores! musing 'neath the moon 
 That floods the homely old adobe walls, 
 Ask Pepe, when he comes to you tonight. 
 Whose horse he rides ? What makes his dagger 
 
 dark ? 
 (Something lies silent in the coyote grass!) 
 
 43i^ 
 
THE SWINGING GATE 
 
 The twilight is full of sadness. 
 And the wind in its coat of gray 
 
 Skulks like a wolf through the shadows, 
 And will not be scared away. 
 
 Down at the foot of the garden 
 
 The gate is swinging slow, 
 As if invisible footsteps 
 
 Were passing to and fro. 
 
 And it seems to me in my musing 
 They are feet of my coming fate. 
 
 That will find their way to my threshold 
 And pass it like the gate. 
 
 say, do ye bring good tidings, 
 Ye unseen messengers ? 
 
 Or is it sorrow and boding 
 Of future griefs and cares ? 
 
 The gate swings slowly, slowly. 
 And the shutters creak and start; 
 
 1 sit in the glowing lamp-light. 
 But a shadow fills my heart. 
 
 44 
 
THE TRAIL ON THE MESA 
 
 Over the mesa, bare and brown, 
 
 Under the blazing southern sun, 
 A worn old trail leads forth from the town 
 
 To the dwelling of those whose toil is done. 
 
 A little cluster of graves, forlorn. 
 
 Forgotten, lonely, unkempt, and still; 
 
 While round the cactus and through the thorn 
 The narrow trail creeps over the hill. 
 
 Somebody's lover, somebody's friend, 
 Under each wooden head-board lies; 
 
 Somebody's drama played to the end, 
 To praising mortals or weeping skies. 
 
 Sin and sorrow and love, now past. 
 Strength to conquer and fault to fail; 
 
 These they have known; and then, at last, 
 The slow sad journey over the trail. 
 
 The sun is riding home to his rest, 
 
 The gates of the Great Corral swing wide. 
 
 The trail leads on to the heart of the west, 
 Over the crest of the great divide. 
 
 45 
 
THE ROCK COLUMBINE 
 
 'Tis a little fairy dancer, 
 
 Clad in red and gold, 
 Dancing while the breeze is fluting 
 
 Music faint and old. 
 
 Vis-a-vis a butterfly 
 
 Balances and bows; 
 Dainty little courtier, 
 
 Come to pay his vows. 
 
 In a little brown arroyo 
 
 Many miles away, 
 Dance, my lady Columbine! 
 
 Dance, my lover gay! 
 
 IN THE CANON 
 
 A song of thee, O heart of me! 
 A song of the golden west. 
 
 to ride with the sun thro' the fields of air, 
 And deep in thy hills to rest! 
 
 1 know a canon deep and still, 
 Where the swift sweet water flows; 
 
 It whispers a secret, it croons a song, 
 Such as the world's heart knows. 
 
 46 
 
Ohe qtierido! how long wilt thou remember me? 
 
 Till the bird's song is over, till the night grows 
 chill. 
 A little while, beloved, and I shall be forgotten. 
 
 And the heart that worships thee he still. 
 
 The moonlight falls on the scarred cliff walls, 
 
 A faint little breeze comes sighing; 
 The stream that sings of its mountain springs 
 
 To its wooing is replying. 
 A girl's light touch on a sweet guitar, 
 
 A lightsome jest and laughter. 
 Two vows of love to the stars above, 
 
 A dream of two hearts, — and after ? 
 
 Ohe querido! how long wilt thou remember me? 
 
 Till the bird's song is over, till the night grows 
 chill. 
 A little while, beloved, and I shall be forgotten. 
 
 And the heart that worships thee be still. 
 
 THE END OF THE STORY 
 
 It was the end of the story. 
 
 The dream was over and done, 
 
 As the fairy mists of morning 
 Fade in the flaming sun. 
 
 47 
 
It was only the old delusion 
 That speeds so fast to its end; 
 
 She dreamed of him as a lover, 
 He thought of her as a friend, 
 
 And the long hand-clasp at parting, 
 The soft caress and the sigh ? 
 
 To her it had meant, "I love you"; 
 To him it had said, "Goodby!" 
 
 And that is why the spring-times 
 Have found her growing gray, 
 
 With lips where his kiss still lingers, — 
 Pure lips that have learned to pray- 
 
 While the gentle heart still echoes 
 The tones she will hear no more. 
 
 And the wistful eyes see visions 
 
 That will dawn on the other shore. 
 
 THE LOVE ANGEL 
 
 Once in our lives is an angel with us, — 
 We, the children of sinful men! 
 
 And whether his tarrying ban or bless us, 
 Never we look on his face again. 
 
 48 
 
Then is the time of our soul's unfolding. 
 
 Sweets undreamt of are ours to taste, 
 foy unknown in the fair earth's holding, 
 
 All life's glory to hoard or waste. 
 
 Then is the time of our greatest beauty. 
 
 Even to common eyes we shine. 
 And life is passion and love is duty. 
 
 And the blood within us is golden wine. 
 
 But O the pity! and O the wonder! 
 
 The angel's clasp, being loosed, will fall, 
 Helpless and hopeless we shrink asunder. 
 
 And life's gray sameness is over all. 
 
 But because of the time that the angel's finger 
 Clasped our own in a loving hold, 
 
 Something lofty around us lingers, 
 
 Though life grow sordid and hearts grow old. 
 
 Some of the altar fire still burning 
 
 Lights us on through the weary maze, 
 
 Though the heart within us is longing, yearning, 
 For the broken trust and the ended days. 
 
 49 
 
TWO TURNINGS 
 
 I came to a turn in my fate, 
 
 And my love stood by; 
 I went to his side with a heart elate, 
 
 And "Little I care," said I, 
 " Little care I how rough the weather. 
 While thou and I are safe together!" 
 
 I came to a turn in my fate. 
 
 But my love was gone: 
 There came no word through the silent gate, 
 
 Though I watched and prayed till dawn; 
 And "Little care I how fair the weather 
 Since love and I are no more together! " 
 
 KING, QUEEN AND JESTER 
 
 Dead in the palace, the selfsame day. 
 The king and the royal jester lay. 
 One lay robed in his regal pride. 
 And one with his bauble by his side. 
 The queen drew near as the sun went down, 
 First to the king and then to the clown, 
 And mused, as the solemn shadows fell, 
 On the two dead men who had loved her well. 
 All the kingdom had heard and known 
 That the great king loved her more than his 
 throne. 
 
 50 
 
He had warred and intrigued for honors meet 
 
 To lay at his lovely lady's feet; 
 
 And now, from his last fight, sore bested. 
 
 They had brought him home to the palace, dead. 
 
 The jester, nothing at all had he 
 
 But a gentle smile from his liege lady; 
 
 Yet, for her sake, in the turbulent court. 
 
 He had turned the steel-edged sneer to sport. 
 
 Many a youth had gone astray 
 
 But that the jester looked that way. 
 
 And then he had saved from the river side 
 
 A desperate girl, and to save her, died. 
 
 And so the queen, in the quiet room, 
 
 Gazed in the garden, dim with gloom, 
 
 And knowing the heart in each man's breast, 
 
 Wondered which one had loved her best. 
 
 She gazed in the dim green garden close 
 
 As the scented flood of evening rose; 
 
 And not for the king, in his guarded state, 
 
 Was it that she bewept her fate. 
 
 But for all the sweetness that might have been 
 
 Had fate but missed to crown her queen. 
 
 THE LAST COVENANT 
 
 Many a promise thou and I together 
 
 Have made, O Life! 
 Many a covenant of old time, when tempting 
 
 And pain were rife. 
 
 51 
 
Many a rugged lesson hast thou taught me 
 
 From end to end, 
 Nor scorned me that I shrank from thy strict 
 teaching, 
 
 O faithful friend! 
 
 Many a time thy mighty hand has held me, 
 
 When from the field 
 Like a mad coward I had fled, not daring 
 
 To fight nor yield. 
 
 Many a time hast thou upheld my spirit. 
 
 When with tense breath 
 Through the wide door have we beheld him 
 leering — 
 
 Our foeman. Death. 
 
 Some day, O friend, he will have passed the 
 portal. 
 
 And from the light 
 Will bear me, longing for the flooding sunshine. 
 
 To darkest night. 
 
 Oh, promise me that when my sifted spirit 
 
 Shall know release. 
 Freed from its clods of earth and all their 
 weakness 
 
 To rest in peace, 
 
 Oh, promise me that first upon the border 
 
 Of my new way, 
 Thou wilt embrace and as of old time lead me 
 
 To risen day! 
 
 52 
 
TO M. B. G. 
 
 An Angel passed through Heaven one day 
 
 Where the souls of the children ran at play; 
 
 And "Which of you little ones," said he, 
 
 "The messenger of the Lord will be, 
 
 To carry a lamp of love aglow 
 
 To a home on the summer earth below ? 
 
 For they say there has come a tender prayer. 
 
 Tremulously, from the lower air. 
 
 For a baby's clinging lips and hands 
 
 Full of love from heavenly lands." 
 
 The souls of the children crowded near. 
 
 Eagerly crying, "We are here, 
 
 Ready to carry the joyous news. 
 
 Since the Lord hath sent thee among us, choose." 
 
 The Angel smiled, and gently said. 
 
 Laying his hand on a little head, 
 
 "Thou, wilt thou go? Then, children, come 
 
 And make her fair for her earthly home." 
 
 The children ran, and the golden whirls 
 
 Of the sunbeams wove in a crown of curls. 
 
 They caught wee stars from the glistering skies 
 
 To hide in the shadows of her eyes; 
 
 And around the sweet white soul was drawn 
 
 The pinky bloom of the early dawn. 
 
 The Angel, guarding her all the while, 
 
 Kissed her mouth to a lovely smile. 
 
 Then round her they gathered, one by one. 
 
 To bless her and love her ere she was gone. 
 
 The Angel guarded her as she went 
 
 53 
 
In peace from the glowing firmament, 
 
 Into a world of light and song, 
 
 Where June ran blithely the fields along, 
 
 And laid her happily down to rest, 
 
 In her mother's arms, on her mother's breast. 
 
 The years have passed, and the love she brought 
 
 Still blooms in whisper and deed and thought; 
 
 And ever and ever through good and ill, 
 
 The love of the Angel guards her still! 
 
 HEARTSEASE 
 
 Heart's ease! 
 
 What sweeter hansel could I give to thee. 
 
 Oh, dearest one, from heart to heart. 
 
 For days of hope, and days of pain. 
 
 For scorching sun and sudden rain; 
 
 For weary days of jar and fret, 
 
 And vain regret; 
 
 What sweeter hansel could I give to thee. 
 
 Oh, dearest one, from heart to heart, 
 
 Than this — than these ? 
 
 54 
 
THE OLD DRESS 
 
 What shall we do with the poor old dress, 
 
 Fit to be cast aside 
 Long ere out of life's storm and stress 
 
 Its busy owner died ? 
 
 Not worth remaking, and room is scarce, 
 And to leave it hung in its place 
 
 Means sudden pangs of a scarce-healed woe 
 And a lost beloved face. 
 
 Yet that dress was shabby that close beside 
 
 Another of silk might hang, 
 And it brushed its neighbor nestling there 
 
 With never a grudging pang. 
 
 For the heart that beat in the shabby gown 
 Loved the heart in the silken dress. 
 
 And left it a lesson of life-long love 
 And patient unselfishness. 
 
 O silent witness of mother-love 
 Till the warm heart fell asleep! 
 
 Good enough for the mother's wear, — 
 Then good enough to keep! 
 
 Fold it away with reverent hands 
 
 And quiet and loving tears. 
 Then pray for the heart in the silken dress 
 
 Through the motherless coming years! 
 
 55 
 
A LOVER TO DEATH 
 
 I heard my sweet one singing in the garden 
 A song of love and thee, O grisly Death! 
 
 Better to be with thee, her song's sad burden, 
 Than watch a blossomed love that withereth. 
 
 What hath a joyous maid to do with singing 
 Of thee, thou refuge of the weary soul! 
 
 Hast coveted, and sent these fancies winging 
 To sting her musings from their happy goal ? 
 
 She hath no smile for thee, no tendernesses 
 Of look and cadence; thy unhallowed kiss 
 
 Would freeze her love to silence; thy caresses 
 V/ould never cheer her like our human bliss. 
 
 E'en shouldst thou steal her, cold and un- 
 responding. 
 At thy disastrous touch her charm would fade. 
 E'en though thou steal her. Death, beyond thy 
 bonding 
 Her soul and mine would revel, unafraid. 
 
 I hear my sweet one singing down the alleys 
 
 Of roses red enameling the green. 
 She hath forgot thee, Death! Thy cruel sallies 
 
 Slip from her guarded soul, unfelt, unseen! 
 
 5^' 
 
EDELWEISS 
 
 White in the silence of some heavenward Alp, 
 
 Like sacred crystals of a lover's tears, 
 They seem the ghost of blossoms v?hich have 
 paled, 
 Pressed between leaves of long-remembered 
 years. 
 
 FROM A WAVE CREST 
 
 "O swallow, fair swallow, 
 
 Say, whence art thou winging ? " 
 
 " I come from a clime 
 
 Where the wild wind is singing; 
 Where the long shoreward rollers 
 
 Are green as your grasses, 
 And white foam-flowers blossom 
 
 In umber crevasses. 
 Then over a wild 
 
 Where the blue waters darken, 
 And the wind shrieks a slogan 
 
 To which the ships hearken. 
 While deep in their darkness 
 
 The mermaids awaken 
 And rise through the deep 
 
 Whose fierce heart is shaken. 
 There's a smother of foam 
 
 And a tangle of waters, 
 And a mocking and luring 
 
 Of ocean's wild daughters." 
 
 57 
 
"Oh swallow, dear swallow. 
 Say, what of the sailors ?" 
 
 " Be still, idle maid, 
 
 Let their widows be wailers. 
 I must on to my vision. 
 
 Untiring, unresting, 
 The sea's for its own, 
 
 But a swallow's for nesting." 
 
 THE NECROMANCER 
 
 Out of the quiet every-day 
 
 Where no vain longings be. 
 With an idle wave of his powerful hand 
 
 He, smiling, calleth me. 
 
 Then all the world falleth away, 
 
 Till, out of all the rest, 
 These only — his dear arms round me. 
 
 My head upon his breast. 
 
 Always the spell is just the same: 
 
 The fleeting time of bliss. 
 And then, the loosing of his arms, 
 
 The longing for his kiss. 
 
 Bright and hard doth the world return: 
 
 Under my cross I bow. 
 Alas! that what was once so sweet 
 
 Should be but semblance now! 
 58 
 
THE SINGING WIND 
 
 The wind sang in the cloud-swept sky 
 
 And over the dim earth-breast, 
 The wind's song is the lonely cry 
 
 Of one who knows no rest. 
 
 Long ago when the earth was young, 
 
 With witcheries manifold, 
 The sun loved her beautiful face 
 
 With a confident love and bold. 
 
 She was meant for the great sun's bride, 
 And the wedding-day was soon. 
 
 But she loved another who came at dusk, 
 And she ran away with the moon. 
 
 The sun was a wizard fierce and strong. 
 
 And his vengeance swiftly fell. 
 The moon grew cold and the earth grew old 
 
 Under his potent spell. 
 
 Bound together forevermore. 
 
 Yet far asunder, they; 
 Slaves of the great sun's fiery will 
 
 Forever and for aye. 
 
 So the wind sings in the cloud-swept sky 
 
 And over the white wave-crest. 
 The sad wind is the dear earth's soul, 
 
 And sings the grief of her breast. 
 
 59 
 
A GAME OF TAG 
 
 Little Jack Frost ran out one day 
 
 And called to the Brook to come and play. 
 
 " Let's play tag, and you must run, 
 
 And I'll be It, and won't we have fun ? 
 
 Old Father Winter will think I'm lost! 
 
 Hooray!" cried little Jack Frost. 
 
 So the Brook ran off with a merry shoutj 
 
 And Jack at her heels in a jolly rout. 
 
 Down through the plowed fields, sunny and 
 
 bare, 
 Into the woods and the piny air. 
 Past mighty boulders, gray and mossed, 
 The Brook led little Jack Frost. 
 
 Over the waterfall she sprang. 
 
 And the hills with her mocking laughter rang. 
 
 Down came the leaves in a gorgeous throng 
 
 To hide her away as she fled along. 
 
 Under the mill-wheel her hair she tossed, 
 
 And laughed at little Jack Frost. 
 
 But oh, and alas! how tired she grew! 
 Slower and slower hej- light feet flew. 
 Panting, under the bridge she ran. 
 And into the wide marsh, still and wan. 
 She faltered a moment, tired and lost: 
 "Tag!" cried little Jack Frost. 
 
 60 
 
SOLDIERS 
 
 If I were only a soldier 
 
 I would ride away to the wars, 
 And I'd wave my sword and lead the charge 
 
 Under the Stripes and Stars. 
 But mother says my little crutch 
 
 Is a mighty weapon, too. 
 And that many a foe is put to flight 
 
 When he hears its brisk tat-too. 
 
 Soldiers are sometimes wounded, 
 
 And come back home from war 
 With medals glittering on their breasts, 
 
 And many a glorious scar; 
 But mother says some soldiers 
 
 Have fights that no one knows, 
 And that aches well borne are just as fine 
 
 As wounds received from foes. 
 
 Then when the war is over 
 
 And all the fights are won, 
 How the people cheer when the men come home 
 
 And their splendid work is done! 
 But mother says my dear wheeled chair 
 
 Is a fine triumphal car, 
 And that many a voice will shout for joy 
 
 When her boy comes home from war. 
 
 6i 
 
HIS BICYCLE LIGHT 
 
 Each night I stand beside the gate 
 
 And listen down the street, 
 Whence dusky breezes bring the scent 
 
 Of locust-blossoms sweet. 
 On summer eves and autumn nights 
 
 I wait in peace to see 
 The lantern on his bicycle 
 
 Shine up the road to me. 
 
 All cheerily the other lights 
 
 Stream out across the dark, — 
 The lights of home, to which he rides, 
 
 The long day's happy mark. 
 And yet, for all their cozy glow, 
 
 Those lights are incomplete 
 Till the star upon his bicycle 
 
 Comes shining up the street. 
 
 Oh, light upon his bicycle. 
 
 Thou art my beacon star. 
 And, shining through and through my heart, 
 
 Sendst pain and grief afar, 
 I have no shadows on my face. 
 
 Nor worry any more. 
 To show within that light that comes 
 
 And lingers at our door! 
 
 62 
 
THE QUEST 
 
 The good knight set his lance in rest 
 
 (Ho for the knight of silver tongue!) 
 And sallied forth on his lady's quest 
 
 (Heigho! for the world was young). 
 The rats in the castle were driving them out 
 
 (Ho for the castle old and gray!) 
 So she thought it well to be looking about. 
 
 (Heigho! for the first of May!) 
 
 The knight rode many a weary mile 
 
 (Ho for the knight and the lagging steed!) 
 Then he sat him down by a rustic stile 
 
 (Heigho! for a cup of mead!) 
 Many a castle, in and out 
 
 (Ho for the persevering swain!) 
 He had searched and prodded and poked about- 
 
 (Heigho! it was all in vain). 
 
 One their tapestries wouldn't fit 
 
 (Ho for the wondrous tapestry!) 
 And one had a ghost which haunted it 
 
 (Heigho! for the spooks gone by). 
 One was swept by winds of the air 
 
 (Ho for the boisterous, ramping breeze!) 
 And one had shelter enough and to spare 
 
 (Heigho! for the dripping trees). 
 
 63 
 
So home again from his bootless quest 
 
 (Ho for the eye that looked askance!) 
 The tired knight told at his dame's behest, 
 
 Heigho! his fruitless dance. 
 They discussed each castle as it might hap 
 
 (Ho for the rats that drove them away!) 
 Then they stayed where they were and bought 
 them a trap, 
 
 And the rats moved out on the first of May! 
 
 THE CONTEST 
 
 "The pen is mightier far than the bow," 
 
 Said Richard the clerk one day; 
 And Dickon the archer pulled his moustache 
 
 In a rough, irascible way. 
 
 "Mightier, far, for a musty scroll," 
 Quoth Dickon, "all men may know; 
 
 But for winning a fray or the heart of a maid, 
 Give me goosefeather and bow!" 
 
 "A proof!" cried they both; and said Richard 
 then, 
 
 "This shall our contest be: 
 Whichever wins to Maid Marian's bower, 
 
 His be the victory." 
 
 64 
 
Richard, with horn and brush and quill, 
 
 A beautiful missive wrought. 
 And with letters of scarlet and gold made bright 
 
 Each tender poetic thoujght. 
 
 He bound it fast with a silken string 
 
 To the stem of a rose in bloom. 
 And tossed it deftly, at evenfall, 
 
 Into Maid Marian's room. 
 
 She shrank alarmed from this strange white bird 
 Which flew with the waning light; 
 
 When sudden she heard the twang of a bow 
 And an arrow's singing flight. 
 
 Into the room, at her very feet. 
 
 It sank most skilfully, 
 And tied to the gray goosefeather shaft 
 
 Was a cluster of fleurs-de-lis. 
 
 Startled, out of her bower she peeped. 
 
 Then gazing and fixed she stood. 
 Watching the blue-eyed archer there 
 
 By the edge of the dim greenwood. 
 
 Close to her heart Maid Marian 
 
 Pressed arrow and lily-weed. 
 The letter lay at her feet forgot: 
 
 Maid Marian could not read! 
 
 65 
 
Moral 
 The pen is a mightier thing, no doubt, 
 
 Than even a bow of yew; 
 But 'tis weightier far to understand 
 
 The woman you seek to woo. 
 
 THE KING AND THE KOO-TOO 
 
 There was a king, you may have heard. 
 Who wished to own a Koo-too bird, 
 Because one day he chanced to look 
 Within the pages of a book. 
 And saw its strange description writ, 
 And immediately wanted it. 
 So in a great decree he said 
 That everyone should lose his head 
 Unless within a year and a day 
 The Koo-too bird had come to stay. 
 So all the people sailed away. 
 They left their cooking on the stoves. 
 They left their axes in the groves; 
 They left their ploughs stuck in the furrows. 
 They left their cities and their boroughs, 
 And desperately ran and spurred 
 To find the wondrous Koo-too bird. 
 The king within his palace sat 
 With no companion but his cat. 
 And no refreshment but his books. 
 The Koo-too hunt had called his cooks. 
 Yet were they home, was naught to eat, — 
 The farmers had not sowed their wheat! 
 66 
 
There was no butcher in the land, 
 
 No fisher on the blank sea-strand! 
 
 For in the land no man nor thing 
 
 Was left beside the cat and the king. 
 
 The king was very hungry, yet 
 
 He wished the Koo-too for a pet. 
 
 At last, however, he decided 
 
 He much preferred his house provided 
 
 With cooks and soup and bread and meat 
 
 Than Koo-toos, which one could not eat. 
 
 And so he made that very day 
 
 A proclamation put this way: 
 
 "On sober reconsideration 
 
 The king withdraws his proclamation, 
 
 And thus decrees, that, in a word, 
 
 He abolishes the Koo-too bird. 
 
 And (this to make his subjects bolder). 
 
 No head shall leave its native shoulder." 
 
 He had a dreadful task to think; 
 
 He got himself all over ink, 
 
 And had to walk to the next-door king's 
 
 Because he had no horse nor wings. 
 
 And had to stand upon a chair 
 
 And hammer up his edict there; 
 
 Then home again to sit and wait 
 
 Until the First Cook slammed the gate. 
 
 People came home, and there they stopped. 
 
 The king had soup. The subject dropped. 
 
 The moral is, don't lose your cooks 
 
 For any nonsense out of books. 
 
 Better the bird upon your hat 
 
 Than one which has no habitat. 
 
 67 
 
KERRECTED 
 
 When Mary Ann DoIIinger got the skule daown 
 
 thar on Injun Bay 
 I was glad, fer I like ter see a gal makin' her 
 
 honest way. 
 I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin' 
 
 high, 
 Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores ter 
 
 dew ter fly; 
 But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk 
 
 ontell 
 She come in her reg'lar boardin' raound ter 
 
 visit with us a spell. 
 My Jake an' her hed been cronies ever sence they 
 
 could walk, 
 An' it tuk me a-back ter hear her kerrectin' him 
 
 in his talk. 
 Jake aint no hand at grammar, though he haint 
 
 his beat fer work; 
 But I sez ter myself, "Look aout, my gal, yer 
 
 a-foolin' with a Turk!" 
 Jake bore it wonderful patient an' said in a 
 
 mournful way 
 He p'sumed he was behindhand with the doin's 
 
 at Injun Bay. 
 I remember once he was askin' fer some o' my 
 
 Injun buns 
 An' she said he should alius say "them air" stid 
 
 o' "them is" the ones. 
 
 68 
 
Wal, Mary Ann kep* at him stiddy, mornin 
 
 an' evenin' long, 
 Tell he dassent open his mouth fer fear o' 
 
 talkin' wrong. 
 One day I was pickin' currants daown by the 
 
 old quince tree 
 When I heerd Jake's voice a-sayin', "Be ye 
 
 willin' ter marry me?" 
 An' Mary Ann kerrectin' — "Air ye willin', you 
 
 sh'd say." 
 Aour Jake he put his foot daown in a plum 
 
 decided way. 
 "No women-folks is a-goin' ter re-arrangin' me: 
 Hereafter I say craps, them is, I calk'late an' / be. 
 Ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter 
 
 what I say, 
 But I aint a-goin' ter take no sass from folks from 
 
 Injun Bay. 
 I ask ye free an' final, Be ye goin' ter marry me ?" 
 An' Mary Ann sez tremblin' yet anxious like, 
 
 "I be!" 
 
 69 
 
UP BERKSHIRE WAY 
 
 Seems ter me it's dretful long 
 
 Sence I saw them shinin' hills! 
 Suthin's pullin' at my heart 
 
 Till my old eyes brims an' fills. 
 When I dream abaout 'em nights 
 
 Care an' sorrer pass away: 
 Nuthin' but old saounds an' sights 
 
 Useter be up Berkshire way. 
 
 Thar's the old haouse on the hill 
 
 Set araound with apple-trees; 
 Thar's Lake Garfield shinin' still, 
 
 Jest a-flutterin' in the breeze. 
 Seems ez ef I couldn't wait 
 
 Tell the winter's passed away, 
 Longin' so ter see the folks 
 
 'Mongst the hills up Berkshire way. 
 
 Never was such astrachans 
 
 Sech ez made the old trees red; 
 Never was sech skies ez laughed 
 
 Through the green leaves overhead. 
 Aint no place in all the airth 
 
 Cuddles in my heart ter stay 
 Like thet little humly taown 
 
 'Mongst the hills up Berkshire way! 
 
 70 
 
MOTHER REMEMBERS 
 
 When we wuz young we wuz cunnin', I s'pose; 
 'Least thet's what mother declares, an' she knows! 
 You'd laugh at the treasures she's hoarded 
 
 away — 
 Little scuffed shoes thet wuz wore out in play; 
 Little white ringlets from somebody's hair, 
 When we wuz little an' helpless an' fair — 
 
 An' mother remembers. 
 
 Now we are growed up an' headstrong an' sad; 
 
 Then we wuz little an' lovin' an' glad, 
 
 The tricks that we played, an the prizes we 
 
 won, 
 The smart things we said, an' the cute things 
 
 we done. 
 Are things we furgit in the worry of life; 
 But when she kin tell 'em to husband or wife. 
 W'y, mother remembers! 
 
 Up on the hill wher' the soft breezes pass, 
 Little mounds rise through the long wavin'grass. 
 The babies thet sleep ther were dust long ago, 
 Wher' the sweet-scented s'rub an' the rose-bushes 
 
 grow. 
 An' no one has thought on or mourned 'em for 
 
 years; 
 But she saw 'em last through her heart-breakin' 
 tears. 
 
 An' mother remembers! 
 
 71 
 
A FAMILY HEIRLOOM 
 
 He was married to Sophronisby a good many 
 
 year ago, 
 But she passed away from this mortal earth, 
 
 a-Ieavin' him here below. 
 And bein' a likely widderer, his decent mournin' 
 
 done. 
 He sarched about fer a number tew ter inherit 
 
 from number one. 
 His dead wife's sister Susan hed a kinder takin' 
 
 way, 
 But his investments in women folks didn't sorter 
 
 seem to pay, 
 Fer Susan she only lived a year, an' up an' died 
 
 in the fall, 
 An' Job he was sorter paralyzed at the cussedness 
 
 of it all. 
 His dead wives' sister Mary was wonderful good 
 
 an' kind 
 Ter the little wailin' babby thet Susan hed left 
 
 behind. 
 An' so one mornin' at breakfast we wan't sur- 
 prized ter see 
 An invitation in Mary's hand ter weddin' number 
 
 three. 
 Mary she sorter paid him, lasted three years or 
 
 more. 
 Till all of a sudden she petered out an' went ter 
 
 the shinin' shore. 
 
 72 
 
He wouldn't put up no tombstone till he'd 
 
 buried number last, 
 Fer he found it pretty expensive, they kept a-dyin' 
 
 so fast; 
 So he put up decent headstuns, simple and 
 
 cheap an' plain. 
 An' he married his dead wives' cousin, she thet 
 
 was christened Jane. 
 So he has kept in the family from Sophronisby 
 
 down. 
 And them thet he hasn't married he's beau'd 
 
 about the town. 
 Ef anyone sought a husband he managed ter be 
 
 on hand. 
 An' he stood by the family noble as ever a man 
 
 could stand. 
 An' now thet Jane's a-failin', an' lookin' peaked 
 
 an' thin, 
 The younger generation is a-waitin' ter step in. 
 He's married most of the family from away back 
 
 in the past, 
 An' I reckon thet he'll be ready as long as the 
 
 women last. 
 And by-and-by when the graveyard is claimin' 
 
 his mortal clay. 
 They'll feel thet a family heirloom has suddenly 
 
 passed away. 
 
 73 
 
THE OLD MELODEON 
 
 When mother married father, thirty-five short 
 
 year ago, 
 'Twuz the days when dresses sorter sagged, they 
 
 cut 'em aout so low; 
 An' hair wuz parted mighty prim an' looped up 
 
 on each ear, 
 An' the men-folks wore long beauty-locks, so 
 
 thick they couldn't hear; 
 An' folks wuz mighty keerful then, as her weddin' 
 
 fixin's shows, — 
 Every thread wuz spaced an' caounted, an' the 
 
 stitches set in rows. 
 Wal, among her weddin' presents this old melo- 
 
 deon stood, 
 All gallus with its shinin' keys an' case o' bright 
 
 rosewood. 
 Ef ye worked the pedal stiddy an' still contrived 
 
 ter play, 
 Sech tunes ez these meandered, an' gently riz 
 
 away; 
 "Lord Lovel," an' "Long, long ago," an' "Roll 
 
 on, silver moon," 
 An' "Hours there were"; an' old Tom Moore, 
 
 his wuz the kind er tune! 
 Them wuz the days o' sentiment, an' "Rose o' 
 
 Lucerne." 
 "Old Mistletoe bough," an' "Buy a broom," an' 
 
 "Jamie's return." 
 But by-an'-by a sorter march come stealin' 
 
 daown the keys, 
 
 74 
 
Mixed up with sad heart-breakin' tunes thet 
 
 sorter went like these: 
 "Daown where the patriot army," wuz the 
 
 earliest tune thet grew, 
 " Oh Willie, we shall miss you ! " an' " The ragged 
 
 coat o' blue," 
 "When this cruel war is over," an' the "Tramp, 
 
 tramp, tramp," — 
 The songs o' lonesome women an' the shoutin's 
 
 o' the camp. 
 But the sobs an' groans grew fainter an' it wuzn't 
 
 very long 
 Before the old melodeon sorter hummed a cradle 
 
 song; 
 And the years wan't very many but ye'd hear 
 
 it go by chance. 
 Jest ter play old-fashioned lancers fer the little 
 
 feet ter dance. 
 By-an'-by — there's just one tune thet it's 
 
 a-longin' fer ter play. 
 An' then I guess its music-days is sorter passed 
 
 away; 
 It will brace fer one more effort, rich with many 
 
 memories, 
 When the weddin'-march '11 echo daown its 
 
 yeller wheezy keys, ^'t 
 
 75 
 
THE BEST OF THE BARGAIN 
 
 Sally an' me was courtin' an* like enough ter be 
 
 spliced, 
 When I heern' o' suthin' I calkilate needn't be 
 
 told me twicet; 
 Fer when we druv ter the village my fun was 
 
 alius spiled 
 By the folks a-nudgin* an' whisperin' till their 
 
 actin' made me riled. 
 So I clum right aout o' the wagon, fer Dobbin 
 
 wouldn't skeer. 
 An' I went straight up ter a gawky, an' sez I 
 
 "Naow look a-here, 
 What be ye laughin' at, darn ye! a-winkin' at 
 
 me an' Sal ?" 
 " W'y," sez he," yeou're drivin' an old white hoss 
 
 an' beauin' a red-haired gal. 
 Anybody'll tell ye, an' it needn't get ye cross, 
 Wharever thar's a red-haired gal yeou'll see an 
 
 old white hoss." 
 The crowd all sez, "W'y, sartin," so up ter my 
 
 seat I clum. 
 Shook up the lines on Dobbin an' thoughtful 
 
 meandered hum. 
 After a power o' thinkin' I traded the hoss next 
 
 day 
 Ter Jededier Hawkins thet lives daown village 
 
 way. 
 I had an oneasy feelin' thet I'd swopped him at 
 
 a loss. 
 But I vaowed I'd ruther stick ter the gal an' dew 
 
 withaout the hoss. 
 
 76 
 
Wal, I went one day ter Sally's whar I'd often 
 
 been afore, 
 An' it tuk me a-back, fer the old white boss was 
 
 a-standin' afore the door; 
 An' under the honeysuckles, as comferable as 
 
 yeou please, 
 Was Jededier with Sally, a-helpin' her shellin' 
 
 peas. 
 I went hum sayin' nuthin" fer 'twarnt no use ter 
 
 fuss. 
 An' I set daown aout in the woodshed, an' 
 
 ruminated thus: 
 "Things is agin ye, Hiram; daown in yeour 
 
 profit an' loss 
 Yeou aint got nuthin' ter put agin yer gal an' 
 
 a good strong boss. 
 Things is agin ye, Hiram: better ter be resigned; 
 Git used ter seein' thet good old boss with Sally 
 
 an' him behind." 
 It sorter seemed ter console me when I thought 
 
 what folks bed said, 
 Thet thar's alius a pesky temper inside of a 
 
 carrot head. 
 Naow they're up an' married, an' terday Jed 
 
 come ter me 
 An' begged me ter take back Dobbin — "I'll trade 
 
 him cheap," sez he. 
 But I shook my head an' answered, "I'm 
 
 afeered that wouldn't dew," 
 Fer Sally is dretful shrewish, an' I dreaded thet 
 
 she'd come tew! 
 
 LOFC. 77 
 
ESEK'S BABY 
 
 Esek wuz a n'atheist — 
 
 'Least he useter say so, cuz 
 Somehaow he could never see 
 
 What the plan o' nater wuz. 
 Useter say he'd prayed an' prayed; 
 
 Things went cross-wise jest the same! 
 Never had no sorter show. 
 
 Thet's before the baby came. 
 
 Useter say aour heaven's here; 
 
 Land o' love, I'd hope it ain't! 
 Also thet aour hell's on airth — 
 
 'Twuz enough ter try a saint. 
 But ther's nuthin' wuz too good 
 
 Fer thet baby, an' I faound. 
 Jest by accident, ez 'twere, 
 
 Esek sorter shiftin' raound. 
 
 Made a difFunce, don't ye see ? 
 
 Sorter needed God ter pray to. 
 'Spose ther's hell! thet ain't no place 
 
 Fer a babe ter go away to! 
 Got so thet we useter find him 
 
 Tellin' baby Bible stories; 
 Lookin' sorter guilty though: 
 
 Said he spoke in allegories. 
 
 78 
 
By-an-by' when she got big, 
 
 He jined the church fer an example 
 Got ter be a piller, too: 
 
 Useter kote him fer a sample! 
 Kinder habit, I p'sume. 
 
 But he sorter grew ter love it. 
 Call him atheist naow! Wal, sir, 
 
 Guess ye'd hev ter fight ter prove it! 
 
 WHEN I WAS WISE 
 
 I wisht that I was young agin, 'bout seventeen 
 
 year old; 
 Fer then the moon was silver an' the sun was 
 
 shinin' gold. 
 An' knowledge! Why, my goodness! if ye take 
 
 it anyways, 
 I'll never know as much agin as I knowed in 
 
 them days. 
 I seemed to come into the world like Minervy, 
 
 all complete; 
 I hed the biggest stack o' brains I'm ever like to 
 
 meet; 
 I was fine at readin' character in every sort o' 
 
 men; 
 An' I've been unlarnin' ever sence, the things 
 
 that I knowed then! 
 
 I hed all sorts o' theories how children ought to 
 
 grow, 
 But my young uns ain't no better than some other 
 
 folks I know. 
 
 79 
 
I used to lay the law down on all sortsan' kinds 
 
 o' things, 
 But I ain't no better off today, an' hevn't growed 
 
 no wings. 
 I ain't no better off than if I'd never knowed 
 
 it all. 
 An' I ain't alarmed the world one bit, ner made 
 
 the folks feel small. 
 Yet when I git discouraged, an' things goes 
 
 crooked-ways, 
 I wisht that I could know the half that I knowed 
 
 in them days! 
 
 THE LAST TURNING 
 
 As one who comes at evenfall 
 
 Near some still hamlet's lights, 
 Whose homely glimmering through the dusk 
 
 To dreamless rest invites; 
 
 Yet at the last turn stops to gaze 
 
 Shoulderward down the road, 
 Where in the singing, breezy morn 
 
 With wilful steps he strode; 
 
 So at the last short turn of life 
 
 One waits, a breath within, 
 To muse upon his day ; and so 
 
 Strides onward to his Inn. 
 
 80 
 
Wt^ "ll '*3