H FLORETTA NEWBURY CRAWFORD Class. "' 357) $ Book '7?37%r Copyright N°_ ^^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Dreamin = Back= BY Floretta Newbury Crawford BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 835 Broadway, New York £0^ \J1 Copyright, 1 909, BY Floretta Newbury Crawford. 35 6 Co the dear memory of my sister IT inscribe this book NOTE. The poems presented in this volume in- clude some hitherto unpublished work of the author, with selections from that which has previously appeared in print. Of the latter, a few of the earlier poems were published originally under a pen- name. After the poem "A Song of Home" had been long written and submitted for publication, its author chanced to come across some magazine verses on the same theme, although under a different title and with an entirely varying treatment of the subject. CONTENTS. PAGE A Hillside Garden 7 Two Boys 11 A Song of Home 12 One of Many 14 A Prophet of the Corn Land . .19 Harry 20 Unforgotten 22 Wishes 25 Looking to the Sunrise . ... 27 A Heritage 29 A Memory 31 "Alice and I" 32 A Mountain Stream 34 A Guiding Hand 2>7 "Jack" 38 The Old Home 40 War and Peace. 42 The Cottonwood . . . . . . g.3 In Retrospect 45 My Christmas Child 50 Spring o' the Year . . . . . 52 Errant Thoughts - ' » .„ . -55 Three in a Row «* « K • • 58 "Baby" ..-,,- - h s . . 60 DREAMING BACK. A HILLSIDE GARDEN. Above, a steeply rising hill ; A silent pool, low lying ; Across the road, the mill-race swift, Down to the great wheels flying. Over this picture mountains tower Like sentinels unsleeping, That through the misty centuries A lofty watch are keeping. They look upon the little town Low gleaming in the valley; And seem to note each bird and bee That round the flowerets rally. And say: "Your life is but a day, While we are of the ages ; The Book of Time has countless leaves, The cycles are its pages." Z DREAMING BACK High in the giant beech tree's top In swinging cradle flutters The golden oriole's restless brood When loud the storm king mutters. But as their home-nest slowly rocks, With gentler airs soft blowing, They preen their ruffled plumage bright, Alarm no longer knowing. The children, loitering home from school, Up the steep hill-road patter; And wake the slumbering echoes there, With noisy shout and chatter. But when they reach the hill's gray crest, They climb the low wall quickly ; — The wild strawberry blossoms where The lettered stones stand thickly. They know it as the pleasant place Where buttercups bloom brightest; Where grows the blue forget-me-not, And daisies are the whitest. The song of birds rings sweetly there ; There fall the softest showers; 8 DREAMING BACK The velvet bee, with low-toned hum, Flits through the happy hours. And all the buzz of insect life Drones on — now low, now deeper ; Crooning a drowsy slumber song To every quiet sleeper. The children climb the grassy slope With joyous calls, and laughter ; And hide behind the gravestones tall From those who follow after. But when they find some well-known name Of one who left them lately, They linger there a little space, Then walk on, more sedately. They stand upon the topmost knoll To watch the sunlight fading ; And see the changeful, golden beams To pink and gray soft shading. And think that they, whose names they read, Must tired be of sleeping, Away from all the fair, bright things That make life worth the keeping. 9 DREAMING BACK When on life's sunny days I wake No more for those who love me; Oh, happy children ! Come and make Your daisy chains above me. Bright be the flowers to lure you, when Your light feet tire of roaming; And soft the waving grass to nod A welcome to your coming. Laugh out with all the heart of youth, As merry fancies cheer you; And though below I lie asleep, It may be I shall hear you. IQ DREAMING BACK TWO BOYS. Between two bonny boys I stand ; On each fair head I rest a hand. Two faces bright are raised to mine, And both with boyish mischief shine. Two eyes of gray — two eyes of blue, — Where childhood's happy heart looks through. A hand on each dear head I lay; "God keep my bonny boys!" I pray. Dream children! Visions of the night! You vanish with the morning light. Between two baby graves I kneel ; Too tired for tears, I only feel. Babes ever ! Never older grown ! So young, they could not walk alone. On each short mound a hand I lay; "God keep my bonny boys !" I pray. IX DREAMING BACK A SONG OF HOME. (Good comrades of the Golden Days! — Rovers o'er land or sea! I bid you to the hills of home, There keep you tryst with me. The hills of home — the dear home hills! The hills our light feet knew, When hope was bright, and life was young, And every heart was true. Far from the hills those feet have strayed, Out to the Everywhere ; Playmates when each new morn was joy, And all the eves were fair. The hills of home — the rose-hued hills! The morning hills we knew, When hope was bright, and life was young, And every heart was true. Parted so long! Then dare I call Each old, familiar name? Unchanged, the rock-ledged hills still rise, 12 DREAMING BACK But we — are we the same? The hills of home — the sunlit hills ! The noonday hills we knew, When hope was bright, and life was young, And every heart was true. Men — bowed with all the years between, Women — with whitened hair, Thus come we to the hills of home, So must we gather there. The hills of home — the purple hills ! The twilight hills we knew, When hope was bright, and life was young, And every heart was true. Oh, there be some of us who sleep ! But wakened these to-day, To climb with us the hills of home, We were more ghosts than they. The hills of home — the shadowed hills! The evening hills we knew, When hope was bright, and life was young, And every heart was true. 13 DREAMING BACK ONE OF MANY. Here he stands, Straight and tall; Sixteen years — That is all. See his look, Full of pride; Gun at rest By his side. Pictures fade, Hearts are true; Hair of brown, Eyes of blue. So they went — Boys and men; So they came Not again. Musket shot, Screaming shell, Do their work All too well. 14 DREAMING BACK Battle charge, Prison dread; Hunger, cold, Rows of dead. Sickness, wounds, Hurried prayer ; Burial — Dear Lord! Where? Scattered graves Heroes keep; As they fell So they sleep. So these staid, Lying low; Faces turned To the foe. Weary, pale, Shattered, marred; Prison-starved, Battle-scarred. Fever-worn — Boys and men; i5 DREAMING BACK They who came Home again. Sons of ours, Old as they, Still at school, Shout and play. Sterner days — Sterner deeds; In each heart, Glory's seeds Dormant lie; At the ring Of the steel, Up they spring. So grim war Called them then; Found them — boys, Made them — men. If the same Need arose, These would be Brave as those. 16 DREAMING BACK Principle ! Glorious thought! With the Land's Honor fraught. Shout that word! Peal it forth ! Clang it, bells, South and North! For the Flag — Freedom's sign, — Roll the drum Down the line. Sound the wild Bugle call; Let its clear Echoes fall. Ere its notes Die away, These would rush To the fray. Marches long, Scanty fare, DREAMING BACK Stout of heart, They would bear. Heeding not Wounds and pain; Counting loss But as gain. Young hearts brave For the right, As men fought, These would fight. Young eyes raised To the sky; As men died, These would die. ii 8 DREAMING BACK A PROPHET OF THE CORN LAND. The farmer proudly sees his tasseled sol- diers By warm, sweet breezes tossed ; Along the whispering ranks his quick eye glancing, Reviews his mighty host. He notes each milk-green ear, and gives his order: "Grow fast — or you are lost! Last night the earliest katydid scraped shrilly : 'Look out ! Six weeks to frost !' " 19 DREAMING BACK HARRY. He cut it from the printed page, — A pictured boy, of winsome age. Then walked across the room to me, And laid it down, quite silently. Gray-haired and grim; — and yet — why not? His heart still kept that tender spot. For our two babes had sailed away, To find the Happy Isles, one day. A laughing, roguish, baby face, Brimful of sunny, childish grace. I tucked it in the mirror frame; And — "Harry," — is his only name. And ever, as that face I see, I smile at him — he smiles at me. I think his eyes, so clear, and true, Say: "I am good, and so are you." 20 DREAMING BACK Sweet trust of babyhood ! So fair And pure a faith is like a prayer. I say: — and smile, though half, I sigh, — "Not good, Sweet Heart, e'en though I try." A picture, looking from the wall; A baby face, and that is all. And yet — I meet that look of joy, With : "All good angels bless the boy !" 21 DREAMING BACK UNFORGOTTEN. I was a child — ah, years ago; And we were friends. How strange it seems To think that she, whom well I loved — Who comes to me in waking dreams — Has solved the mysteries of death, While I — this side the portal, — The things of time and sense yet know; But she is now immortal. Dear Frank! We were but care-free children then, We joined in sport, and laughter gay; And one day — scarce but children still — She went from me a little way. Short was the voyage, near the Port, For narrow flowed the River; But sad the haunting thought to me, That she would come back never. Lost Frank! Cost — for a space! As one who steps With quiet footfall through a door Which gently shuts — so passed my friend. 22 DREAMING BACK Lost? Life has taught a dearer lore. This is not all. And time is short, — Day fast on day comes pressing; And just beyond my earth-dimmed sight She waits, with smiles caressing. My Frank! Many the yesterdays that lie Between our parting time — and this; But when in memory's glass I see Her face, no look of old I miss. The striving years bring chance and change, Gray hairs and wrinkles blended; But she is evermore the same, For time with her is ended. Happy Frank ! For aye the same ! And yet — who knows ? Who reads the all-wise Father heart? And who can tell what plan of growth May be of Heaven's life a part? I've turned the page of childhood's years, I've read my girlhood's story; Life's later tale unfolds — and she, Mayhap, grows on in Glory. Angel Frank! 23 DREAMING BACK Serene — to muse ! When pale clouds drift As mist-boats to a shining strand, To fancy mortal eyes may see The flutter of a beckoning hand. My playmate! Hearts remember long; And death is absence, merely; With smiling faith, where once were tears, I answer you so cheerily: "Coming, Frank!" 24 DREAMING BACK WISHES. Bess and Kate and Fan and Nell Wandered o'er the meadow; Tired at last, they sat them down 'Neath an old oak's shadow. Kate said, in a laughing tone : "Girls, let's tell our wishes For a husband, and we'll hope Fate may be propitious." "I," said Bess, the sensible, "Marry a man of labor; One who earns his daily bread Toiling for his neighbor." Fannie, with the dreamy eyes, Speaks: "I wed a poet; Such a man of genius, he, All the world shall know it." Kittie, pretty nose a-tilt, Scorns Fan's wish as funny. Says she : "You may have the rhymes; For me, give me money." 25 DREAMING BACK "Well/' said Nellie, last of all, "I expect to tarry. Till I meet a demi-god, I shall never marry." Truth to tell, 'twas Nell who stood First at Hymen's altar. Cupid strings his bow — and maids Wait not oft to palter. Bess, who chose the lowly lot, Queens it in a palace ; Every sweet of place and state Brims, for her, life's chalice. Kate, a millionaire would wed, Fannie, a versemaker ; Kittie's husband's but a clerk, Fan's, an honest baker. 26 DREAMING BACK LOOKING TO THE SUNRISE. With many tears we lay them low, Under the clover, or the snow. Out to the East their calm eyes turn, Where sunrise glories glow and burn. Fair babes, whose white feet weary grow, Ere yet Life's dusty paths they know. Light-hearted children, from their play ; Tall youths, and bright-faced maidens gay. Pale mothers, from small arms that cling ; Strong men, whose steps with vigor ring. Wayfarers, gray and old and worn, Scarred with Life's many conflicts borne. Blindly our souls, through lonely days, Grope, doubt-disturbed, down shadowed ways. Great Master ! Open to Thy ken Are heights and depths unspanned of men. 27 DREAMING BACK Easy to read, the mystery * Of Immortality — to Thee. So in our hearts, as breath of balm, Pour consolation, sweet and calm. Bright Hope — to smile away our fears ; And Faith — to look beyond the years, To where, as o'er a narrow sea, Clear breaks thy morn — Eternity. 28 DREAMING BACK A HERITAGE. The babe lay calm across my knee, So dear, so sweet, so fair! The tall lad on my shoulder leaned, To see his brother there. As thoughtfully the boy looked down, He said: — and, speaking, smiled, — "Why, mother ! I shall be a man While he is but child." They were but two. A third should be, But none had come between; And each a second name I gave That once my own had been. And sturdy men had borne it well, And worn it worthily, Since brothers John and Jonathan* Came sailing o'er the sea. *John and Jonathan Newbury, English brothers, were early corners to the Colonies. From the latter of these the family of which the author of "A Heritage" is a member claims descent. 29 DREAMING BACK This hand lay on a young, dark head, And that on one of gold, As musingly I said: "Of which Shall braver deeds be told?" The babe lay calm across my knee, So still, so pale, so pure! Angel of Peace ! Limn deep that look While memory shall endure. The tall lad on my shoulder leaned; He said : — and sadly smiled, "I soon shall be a man — but he Will ever be a child." Cold blew the stormy winds of March ; The early shadows fell. I said: "The name is yours alone, And you must wear it well." 30 DREAMING BACK A MEMORY. Far down in the west the sun redly sinks, O'er the hilltops its last lances quiver; And the sigh of the wind in the branches o'erhead, Mingles soft with the rush of the river. Still and quiet the road stretches dustily out, As if it might reach on unending; And far in the distance the streamlet and trees, In the haze of the twilight are blending. Now slow up the road come the loitering cows, Stopping oft for a snatch at the clover ; And slow follows after the tired farmer boy, Shouting shrilly to call back a rover. Over vale and woodland and whispering stream, The evening its mantle is throwing; While lone in the blue, through a fleecy cloud seen, A pale star is mistily showing. 3* DREAMING BACK ALICE AND I. They stood upon their feet of twigs, — A queer, unsteady row; The birds we made of milkweed pods, — ■ But that was long ago. My faded bonnet down my back Hung by its gingham strings ; Your eager eyes looked out beneath Your wind-blown hair's dark rings. Fast sped the years; again we met; — I from a distant town. Serene you walked; a wide-eyed child Clung to your silken gown. My one tall lad stood by my side ; — You gravely bowed — and I As calmly smiled. Each said: "Good day!" And passed the other by. You know the way of milkweed pods: — Their silken, silvery fluff Floats wide on Indian Summer airs, With every soft wind's puff. 32 DREAMING BACK I wonder if the birds we made Had found their wings, and flown; And carried far the memories Of days that we had known. Or — when you sat at home that night, It may be that you smiled; And told your little daughter tales Of: "When I was a'child." 33 DREAMING BACK A MOUNTAIN STREAM. A tiny rill, it trickles forth High in the ledge-set mountain; Its small beginnings overflow From out a woodland fountain. Born of that bubbling, cup-like spring, — Down lonely ways to ramble, — It races over stony slopes, Or creeps through brake and bramble. Deep in its cold and rock-bound pools Lurk speckled brook-trout, wary; Wider it grows, with volume fed By streamlets tributary. Out in the open now it speeds, With waters fast increasing; Until past mountain villages It sweeps, with rush unceasing. And here an old bridge spans its flow, With timbers gray, age-eaten; Its log piers lift up battered rounds, Storm-scarred, and flood-drift beaten. I gaze down o'er its low-hung rail, And many faces meet me; 34 DREAMING BACK Voices I have not heard for years With song and laughter greet me. Blue eyes and brown, and eyes of gray, Look up, as from a mirror ; If these should stand before me now, I could not see them clearer. Light were the feet that gayly tripped Along the shaded highway, To linger on the bridge that joined Worn pike and grass-grown byway. Inconsequential was the talk That filled the idle hour; — Down winds of twilight drifted scent Of leaf and dew-drenched flower. We dreamed brave dreams of things to be— Of loving, having, giving; In rhythm lapped the waves — and oh! 'Twas joy to just be living. Soon from beyond the purple hills, Where evening shades were falling, Our souls should hear the echoing Of voices calling — calling. 35 DREAMING BACK And some would answer; faring forth As youth is faring ever; — Eager of heart, and undismayed — To fields of new endeavor. For men must be in cities pent To toil with striving brothers ; And men must plant the wilderness To feed the hungry others. Happy, it may be, is the man Content to dwell unchanging; But he who knows the wanderlust Must o'er the earth go ranging. Dear vanished of life's care-free morn, Though we have long been parted, Your faces look at me to-day, And make me stronger hearted. Glide on below, oh, murmuring stream, Visions of youthtime bringing; Your whispering sound has softly set The Bells of Memory ringing. 36 DREAMING BACK A GUIDING HAND. One standing near me says: "God's mighty forces Heed not life's common things. He guides uncounted worlds through in- finite spaces, But not one bird's free wings. "For what are we ? Less than a dead leaf drifting. And what is life? No more. A fleeting, flitting, flying, fairy bubble Driven to a misty shore." The one who speaks stood by his sleeping children. — Untroubled by life's fears, They early stepped from out Time's limi- tations Into Eternal years. Oh, was it then — with skeptic vision clear- ing* And eyes upraised to Thee, — He said, with tears : "In Thy wide Some- where, Father, Give back these boys to me!" 37 DREAMING BACK JACK. I had not even known the spot Where he was lying low; And so the long-unthought-of name Struck sharply as a blow. "Why, surely, this is Jack!" I cried; And with a sudden shock The name came as a magic key, To fit in memory's lock. Chance led me to this long-made grave; I read upon the stone: — "Aged twenty years," — and thought : "So young To launch on seas unknown!" Then idly glancing up the lines, The name above to see, As in a dream, old memories Of childhood came to me. I thought of camps; of marches long; Of battles; wounded men. I thought of how this lad went forth, And how he came again. 38 DREA MING BACK Before me passed life's gracious gifts, Its happiness and cheer ; For joy, for love, mens souls had reached — And grasped; while Jack— slept here. Across the misty meadow land A bell rang, clear and sweet. A fading sunbeam touched the stone;— His grave was at my feet. 39 DREAMING BACK THE OLD HOME. It stands' back from the village street, — The house I knew of old; And in the yard the evergreens Droop with their burden cold. Beneath their bending boughs I wait, — A laugh, a shout, a blow, — And all about me and around, Soft falls a drift of snow. The maple trees along the front Reach skyward, as of old; The hill across the street looms up, With outlines just as bold. The sweet syringa by the porch Bends gently to and fro; And still the locust showers its blooms When late Spring breezes blow. The bees hum through the drowsy noon, Low droning, as of old; The Summer sunshine gilds the trees With wavering flecks of gold. It fades behind the western hills, And, as the twilight falls, 40 DREAMING BACK From out the shadows, soft and dim, The sweet wood-robin calls.* The frost has touched the maple's green With glory, never old; And on the hill the beech trees tall Aloft gay banners hold. The bright leaves rustle at my step, — I am a child once more, — As up the path my bounding feet Run to the well-known door. Dear home ! Where happy children dwell, As children did of old; Fair girls, with sunny smiles as bright, Brave boys, with hearts as bold. The snow falls soft, Spring flowers bloom, Sweet airs of Summer blow; Forever changing, still unchanged, Life's seasons come and 2:0. .--. *As a child, the author knew the hermit-thrush by the name of "wood-robin." '0 DREAMING BACK WAR AND PEACE. Speak not to us of war! — we saw them go — Sons, husbands, brothers, lovers — row on row. Speak not to us of war! — in grief and pain, We saw the shattered remnant come again. Speak not to us of peace! — dishonor crowned ; Cry, then, oh, blood of kindred, from the ground ! Thou, Who dost rule the land, in praise or blame, — Give war! — if war be honor, peace be shame. '42 DREAMING BACK THE COTTONWOOD. Lift high each straggling branch, guard of the lonely ranch, And sluggish stream; O'er thee white cloud fleets drift, 'neath thee slow, still waves shift, While thou dost dream. Stirs now thy airy band, as with an elfin hand, — Vague winds ablow ; Murmurs each leaflet then, like whisper- ing voice of men, Or brook's soft flow. Bend low each tossing bough, o'er thee black storm clouds now, Like war ships sail; Hark, to the thunder's din ! Crash ! Now some brittle limb Scuds with the gale. 'Neath thee the maddened stream, shown by the lightning's gleam, Sweeps through the night ; — Fed by the rushing rain, over the bound- less plain, Speeds from the sight. 43 DREAMING BACK Shake, now, each silver leaf, far has the tempest brief Passed on its way ; Up from earth's cloudless brim, swift springs a dazzling rim, Gilding the day. m DREAMING BACK IN RETROSPECT. To E. S. F. And in remembrance of the youthtime together that was ours. O'er miles of space a gift I send; — This little gift of verse, old friend. To you — where rock-ledged heights lift high Green-wooded summits to the sky. From me — where stretches on each hand The wide sweep of the prairie land. From far-off Mississippi's flow To where the Catskill breezes blow. Swing wide before us, Memory's door, That we may children be once more. Speak, rills we knew, and whisper low Tales of the past — the Long Ago. Blow, mountain winds, adown the way Where lies the Land of Yesterday. 45 DREAMING BACK And loitering there by sun-flecked streams, We'll think old thoughts and dream old dreams. Fleet-footed, o'er the hills we'll stray; In vales where wild-flowers bloom we'll play. And in the haunts of childhood we Will be as brooks and breezes free. Again our young eyes, from afar, Shall see arise the cloud of war. That cloud whose blackness hid the light, And veiled the mourning land in night. They passed — those sorrow-laden years — Burdened with grief, with pain, with tears ; — And even as the Nation wept, We into girlhood lightly stepped. Oh, glorious youthtime! Nevermore Our feet may press your radiant shore. 46 DREAMING BACK Unless— as falls the eventide— We lay our years — with life— aside. Time swiftly sped; new homes we made; And round our hearths young children played. Now two to manhood's height have grown ; And two to Fairer Lands have flown. Life's morning sunshine backward sweeps ; Life's evening shadow nearer creeps. The flowers of Spring, and Summer's prime, Behind us lie; the Autumn time Of life is ours ; and as we go, Not distant lies the Winter snow. Together we, with hearts of hope And light feet, climbed life's morning slope. With pearls of joy each hour was strung ; — But would we— if we could— be young.' 47 DREAMING BACK I^ife to begin anew — to rest As babes upon a mother's breast? To live again the changing years ; — Their gain, their loss — the smiles, the tears, The pause of idleness, the stress, The storm, the calm, the restlessness, The faiths, the doubts, the sorrows old, When hands we held — dear hands — grew cold, And all the myriad things forgot That made, for us, the common lot ? We would not. Fleeting though its span — One life of earth enough for man. But it is worth the living. Yes. Know not we still life's loveliness? Younger nor older would we be Than each day finds us ; we may see 48 DREAMING BACK To-morrows, many yet, unfold In beauty, ere our years be told. But sure as life is this: Its end. To it — with ours — all footsteps tend. Accept we what will be; and yet — Muse we not with a vague regret Of foretold marvels due to come As dawns the earth's millennium? For wondrous things the world will bless ; — Not Heaven's alone the promises. And we — shall we be deaf and blind ? Dead to all joys of humankind? Fathom we not the mighty plan That He who rules designed for man. But this is ours to know : Somewhere The "eternal years of God" we share. 49 DREAMING BACK MY CHRISTMAS CHILD. Blue eyes a-shine, rose lips a-smile, — Babe-ghost, come home to-day ! Your stocking hangs beside the fire, Your toys are spread for play. The frost-rime glitters on the bough; — Christ's birthdays come and go; I see your feet — such white, wee feet, — In all the falling snow. Your voice threads through each wind that blows ; — Weird winds of Christmas time! You murmur with the storm-swept leaf, Laugh in the bells' gay chime. When, all alight, the gift-tree glows, A gleeful sprite, you come, To sit upon this empty knee, And reach for top, or drum. A phantom sprite ! For not again Will you return to me ; The evergreen, with snow-wreaths hung, Your lonely Christmas tree. 5o DREAMING BACK Life of my life ! What precious gift That mother-love could bring, Would please the wondering, baby eyes That look upon The King? White lily in His garden set — The Christ-Child's garden fair; — Is there a gem of earth so bright, That it would sparkle there? I cannot see how far away, I may not know how near It lies — the Happy Country, where You keep this Christmas, dear. I smile — the day of tears long past ; Safe sheltered, undented, Where wee ones play about the Throne, You live — my long-dead child. 5i DREAMING BACK SPRING O' THE YEAR. Tears with the dark ; wind-blown the rain ; The drops ran, slanting, down the pane. Two young, young faces, brave and bright, Looked out into the grieving night. Lo, in the east now breaks the morn; Cloudless and clear the day is born. Bank-full, the red stream roars below, As down the hillside path we go. Under the spanning bridge we see Flotsam of log, and branch, and tree Race whirling past, with grind and shock; Or splintered on some rearing rock. The slender willows, flood-drowned, stand, And reach out tossing boughs to land. While fast the hurrying waters slip, Into their rush the catkins dip. 52 DREAMING BACK Borne, echoing, from the village street, Sounds the dull tramp of marching feet. Near — nearer now the long line comes ; We hear the deep, low roll of drums. Above the rhythmic rise and fall, A bugler shrills the rally call. Rich man and toiler, these reply; — Hovel and palace born go by Beneath our floating ensign's fold ; — Schoolboy and graybeard, young and old. They go! — their prison graves to fill. They go! — to die on plain and hill. The bloody trench, where some must sleep, Its secret through the years shall keep. "Missing!" While they who love them wait ; — And hear their footsteps at the gate. Strong souls of men, such fate to face ! — You pass, boy soldier, to your place. 53 DREAMING BACK Dim are our meeting eyes, as you Whisper your parting: "Love, be true!" Dream of a bygone day ! The rain Slanted, last night, across the pane. A face I knew was mirrored there ; — A care-lined face, with graying hair. Alone, I hear the wild Kill's flow, As down the hillside path I go. Now by the swollen stream I stand, A willow catkin in my hand. Back through long Springs I call to you: — "Patience, Dear Heart! I have been true." 54 DREAMING BACK ERRANT THOUGHTS. We women sit at home and sew, all quietly in seeming, Though wide as vagrant winds the thoughts may fly; And oft of some far distant one we're dreaming, The while our work we scan with busy eye. The fair young girl, o'er dainty trifle bending, Seems to be giving it her every thought ; But fancy bright to other scenes is wend- ing* And with the stitches tender looks are wrought. The matron, youthful still, and freshly blooming, With skill her needle plies, and patient care, W r hile musing of the little one, whose com- ing Gives her the look that mothers only wear. 55 DREAMING BACK She weaves in thoughts of "Baby" with her sewing, And smiles, as in her visions of his fate, She sees the boy to noble manhood grow- ing, And numbered with the honored and the great. Or — if a girl-child be the cradle treas- ure — In mother-dreams the fairy maiden brings To heart and home, of joy and love full measure, And through life's changing years all happy things. No matter what the garment we are mak- ing", Our thoughts are busy as the busy hand; One moment gay, then, erst-lulled griefs awaking, We sew in tears, with gusset, seam and band. 56 DREAMING BACK And so — although we sew at home, all quietly in seeming, No humdrum task the mind's free range may bound; Our work is woven in with checkered dreaming ; — Pent in four walls, we rove the wide world round. 57 DREAMING BACK THREE IN A ROW. Hippety! Hoppety! Three in a row! Round the green schoolhouse-yard, skip- ping they go. Nell in the middle, in pretty plaid gown; Blue for sweet Alice, and Edith in brown. Heads close together, one dark and two fair; See the wise look that the bright faces wear! Slow now, and slower — how lag the light feet! Gay voices dropping, strange tales to re- peat. Wonderful secrets they're whispering low; Secrets that only we country folk know. Where in some wood nook the first flowers bloom ; Or on a south slope, where velvet bees boom 58 DREAMING BACK How the wild strawberries, reddening, wait; Where calls the hermit-thrush sweet to his mate. Where the shy ground-bird has built its low nest, Shaded and hid by a weed's plumy crest. Swallows at housekeeping under the ledge; Four speckled eggs in a nest in the hedge. When all the marvelous stories are told, Flutter three bright heads, one brown and two gold. And three little lassies, with frolic and fun, 59 DREAMING BACK "BABY." What shall we name the baby? — Baby, so winsome and fair; Gift of the skies, that so lately Came, in our glad hearts to share. Shall we name her Alice or Edith or Bell ? Shall we call her Ethel or Grace or Nell? May, Florence or Mar jorie, Enid or Dell ? What name will we choose for "Baby" ? " 'Prudence/ or 'Primrose,' " says mam- ma. " 'Winifred!' " eager Bess cries. Papa says : " 'Dorothy, darling' ! With grandmamma Dorothy's eyes." "Oh, find something longer!" laughs tall brother Fred, Stooping low with a kiss for the wee, downy head. "Such a mite of a girl, but such big names instead ; We'll not let them frighten us, 'Baby.' " Fair in the Christ-Child's garden, Wonderful earth-flowers grow. Farther — that Land — than the star-shine, Nearer than mortals may know. 60 DREAMING BACK The messenger bent to the listening ear; Soft, soft came the whisper none other might hear: "He nameth thee, 'Angel'!" And then, sweet and clear : "The Master hath need of thee, 'Baby'!" THE END. 61 OCT 6 J 909 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 973 669 6 ■nHB ;■■■•■ -■. - ! ■■; ■ - :: '''.■ ■■'•'- ••■■■••-■■.■•.■* SB ■-•■• I •■■■ S ■■■■■, v. .':■.. .- ■ .