Clotho's Thread 
 
 * 
 
 By 
 Gurth A. Whipple 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1909 
 BY G. A. WHIPPLE 
 
 ALBANY, N. Y. 
 
 J. B. LYON COMPANY 
 
 1909 
 
 \.\!inn\ii ol CO.NG«tiSf 
 
 JUN f7.]&09 
 
To mark a cherished friendship begun in the 
 old-young days, which will last through to 
 the young-old days, I dedicate this book to you, 
 " Hickory Hopkins." 
 
 The Author. 
 
This book pretends to satisfy no long felt want, assumes 
 to exploit no sociological problem, aspires to nothing tran- 
 scendent in philosophic ideals, nor will it entice the kind 
 reader from his or her beaten path of rectitude. And con- 
 trary to all principles of publicity and advertisement I aver 
 that this is just a book of verses written solely in response 
 to the moving spirit, with no other objective and no other 
 justification. 
 
 G. A. W. 
 
MEMORIES OF SALAMANCA. 
 
 Across the Eastern sea, near old Castile, 
 
 Far, far away on River Tormes bank. 
 There rests a city famed in ancient weal, 
 
 A seat of learning once of foremost rank. 
 
 Within its tumbled and embattled walls, 
 
 Old Spanish Salamanca stands today, 
 Memorial of decadence which befalls, 
 
 The nation governed by despotic sway. 
 
 Mere mention of this place will quite suffice. 
 For History's bards have long since sung its fame; 
 
 Dismiss this realm of chivalrous device. 
 And bid adieu to tottering, sunny Spain. 
 
 Athwart the wastes that brave Columbus sailed 
 To soil where burns the lamp of Freedom's light, 
 
 Where tyrant's blood-stained hand completely failed, 
 I follow there, the wing of thought's swift flight. 
 
 And high from On-on-de-eya* is descried 
 The mottled, rolling threshold of the west. 
 
 Where runs the Allegany's winding tide 
 Of mirrored hills reflected on its breast. 
 
 To eastward stretch green interlapping crests. 
 Where out of darkness peeps the morning sun. 
 
 And fills the valley fresh with new assets 
 Like glorious creation just begun. 
 
 * North Mountain near Allegany River. 
 
To north and south, around on every side, 
 Behold a sea of earthen billows tossed, 
 
 A town, deep anchored in their trough, I pride 
 Like all who residence there have found or lost. 
 
 Here Nature worked and left her masterpiece. 
 Supreme in grace and richly colored scheme, 
 
 A pledge to hope that time can ne'er erase, 
 A promise from across the Stygian stream. 
 
 Between these hill walls, " ancient as the sun," 
 Where dwelt the redman in his pristine fame 
 
 Came marching Progress, solid foothold won, 
 And gave it Salamanca's honored name. 
 
 Oh, fairest village under Heaven's skies, 
 Loved place where first I saw the light of day. 
 
 You hold that memory man most sanctifies. 
 Life's few untroubled hours at reckless play. 
 
 I summon from across the years a scene: 
 Your humble homes where honest lives prevail. 
 
 Your shops and churches, sloping lawns of green. 
 All resting in the lap of Beauty's vale. 
 
 Respected women, learned and honored men, 
 Bright laughing girls adorned with youth's first blush 
 
 And boys — but Oh! what tongue or facile pen 
 Could ere describe the boys — what artist's brush 
 
 Could paint the sturdy, fearless, barefoot boy. 
 Who's lured away from school by June day's sun. 
 
 To " bounce a freight " or, better still, employ 
 The vernal day with fishing-rod and gun. 
 
The long line winding from the school house door, 
 The rush and shout when liberty is gained, 
 
 And straight the village streets are running o'er, 
 With young life's animation unrestrained. 
 
 Where'er these boys and girls are seen at play, 
 Strange power, it seems, each heart with rapture fills, 
 
 Some whispering zephyr softly seems to say, 
 " It is the Spirit of the old round hills." 
 
 I look into those happy homes where thrive. 
 
 An unpretentious country populace, 
 God's leaven which must alv/ays keep alive 
 
 The vitiated blood of Adam's race. 
 
 I see decrepit age and cheerful youth. 
 
 Rub elbows 'round the hearth-side's glowing flame. 
 Concordant, jealous of the simple truth. 
 
 And diligent in seeking lofty aim. 
 
 Courageous, loyal, patriotic blood; 
 
 Because the hills undaunted, courage teach. 
 The river, loyalty, in its broad flood, 
 
 And that's the world's most patriotic speech. 
 
 At night, I see the teeming, bustling streets, 
 The lights, the open doors and busy marts, 
 
 The sincere joy of friends who chance to meet. 
 With happy greetings from their honest hearts. 
 
 Slow plodding teams that came from mill and field. 
 Full burdened by their loads, now homeward bound. 
 
 The happy teamster's face is joy revealed. 
 For all his wares a goodly profit found. 
 
In late September, when the moon is young, 
 When woods are seared with ruddy tints and dry. 
 
 Great forest fires — none know from whence they sprung 
 Nor where their devastating path may lie — 
 
 Will sometimes o'er the hills their mantle cast, 
 Consuming everything with with'ring blight. 
 
 Till crest and ridge is wreathed in Vulcan's blast, 
 Enchanting darkness with His lurid light. 
 
 In limpid brook or where the cascade leaps, 
 Where whinnjang colts bound in the meadow lot. 
 
 Hushed woodlands, mossy dell, majestic steeps, 
 Or halls where politicians weave their plot; 
 
 Where'er the foot may tread, the eye may reach, 
 Where'er the eager wing of Fancy goes. 
 
 The voice of Poetry one's ears beseech, 
 Else Harmony is there in calm repose. 
 
 And many are the scenes I might recjdl, 
 Familiar to the sight of those v/hom fate 
 
 Has kindly led to an aesthetic thrall, 
 A home past Salamanca's inner gate. 
 
 Amid these scenes of mute salubrity, 
 Is where I spent the morning hours of life, 
 
 Where friendships grew with staunch simplicity. 
 Outlasting every phase of human strife. 
 
 Oh, Salamanca, of the new world power, 
 
 I linger on the euph'ny of your name, 
 No foreign clime, no height, no ill-fraught hour, 
 
 No inspiration, thought or unthought fame, 
 
Could half replace this theme I've dwelt upon, 
 O'er all this great, round earth, there's naught which means 
 
 So much to me as when I'm doting on 
 These old familiar reservation scenes. 
 
 And when the Power that fashions all things right, 
 
 In His good time and wise discretion, calls 
 My entrance to the long mysterious night, 
 
 I have one wish and that, desire, enthralls; 
 
 To sleep there in the valley's greenest spot 
 Where many friends and comrades now abide 
 
 And dream again the dreams in youth begot, 
 To take life's paradise across the Great Divide. 
 
 UBIQUITY OF VERSE. 
 
 "A book of verses " and a boat, 
 A cushioned seat, a summer's sea. 
 Before a cooling breeze 
 To float and float and float, 
 A weed of solace from the Sunny 
 South to puff and puff and puff, 
 And "Thou" and "Wine" and "Wilderness" 
 Are Naught to me. 
 
 AN HEIRESS. 
 
 Anna's gesture is so gently fraught with graceful meaning. 
 One would scarce expect to find except in pleasant dreaming, 
 Anna's equal. In a lifetime of artistic gleaning 
 Through choicest masterpieces deft in touch and tinted 
 
 No form, no face, no subtle grace, [scheming. 
 
 No art's expositor, 
 Can show the cunning how to trace 
 Her likeness; for, 
 
10 
 
 Anna's eyes are like the opal's soul light lightly glancing, 
 Anna's smiles are like wood nymphs in happy woodlands 
 
 dancing, 
 Anna's laugh is like an old cathedral bell's sweet greeting. 
 And Anna's hair is soft as air 
 
 At evening's quiet hush, 
 But Anna's cheek is softer, where 
 The 
 rose 
 
 tints 
 blush. 
 
 MY HEART. 
 
 Upon the empyrean heights 
 
 Some hundred million heart beats back, 
 
 Thou once flung all, 
 
 And got but sorrows crown; 
 
 Then, with thy diadem of pain, 
 
 I bore thee through the blight 
 
 Of sleepless shadows. 
 
 Like a drunkard drags his faithful dog 
 
 Down starving ways. 
 
 And loudly protesting didst thou call 
 
 Against these prison walls 
 
 To deaf debauchery — 
 
 When wine flows fast all ears are deaf — 
 
 And yet to-night how confidently thou'rt 
 
 Dispensing Life's warm, precious flood. 
 
 A decade, or perchance an hour, 
 
 When Time's sharp blade 
 
 Will cull thy unknown Spirit's might. 
 
 When that long martyrdom will end. 
 
 And thy swift wing be set on its mysterious flight. 
 
Thou poor blind pilot of this human craft, 
 Death's nuptials always finds thee true; 
 The last to leave thy charge. 
 
 Thou lever of fate! 
 
 Thou mainspring of mankind! 
 
 Thou living stilus ever w^riting moods 
 
 Upon the soul! 
 
 Thou minion of dissimulation! 
 
 Wise counsel of conscience! 
 
 Thou gleaner for Youth's lost content! 
 
 Thou tireless pilgrim of the narrow lane 
 
 Between this ever fitful tumult 
 
 And that inscrutable beyond! 
 
 Thou pendulum of life 
 
 Ticking away each breath! 
 
 Wild realm of passion and remorse! 
 
 Thou venomous pit of hate! 
 
 Affection's sentinel! 
 
 Thou universe of human impulse! 
 
 Enduring monument of fortitude! 
 
 My most abused yet truest friend and indispensable! 
 
 Thou all of everything! 
 
 Thy mission is to serve; 
 
 The noblest and most unthanked. 
 
 Withall, Oh Heart, thou leavest an estate 
 
 Surpassing far thy richest owner's wealth: 
 
 A lasting character 
 
 That spells out loyalty. 
 
 Had mankind half thy inner truth 
 
 And womankind one-half of that, 
 
 Thou wouldst not be so quick 
 
 For midnight and The Long Adjournment. 
 
12 
 
 THE ESSENTIAL. 
 
 Now what is man's inheritance? 
 
 Life is a game and death a chance, 
 
 Strange hands are dealt, some strangely played 
 
 And most are in the end dismayed. 
 
 Yet why this gamble? None can tell. 
 
 We take the hazard then — farewell — 
 
 Beyond we may find more than fame, 
 
 Or love, or honor of a name. 
 
 We might find less but — trust to time. 
 
 It will be naught without a rhyme. 
 
 CLOTHO. 
 
 Fair Mistress of the marvelous strand! 
 
 Maid Mother of the clue to LifeJ 
 When, why, and where, none understand, 
 
 But sometime in the urge of strife. 
 And unrecorded things there crept 
 
 The tremulous thread from Clotho's hand 
 
 And round the earth she spun her band 
 Of generations lost and wept. 
 
 Relentless as the surge of thought. 
 Or ceaseless ply of Sharon's oar. 
 
 Her unjewelled fingers. Godly wrought. 
 Unwearied, neither less nor more, 
 
 Still eke from off her sentient staff 
 
 The pilgrim hoards of Here and There, 
 Still ply the thread of Fate how'er 
 
 The writhing ages sigh or laugh. 
 
 And years will pass and change will come. 
 
 And Age will wrinkle down fair Youth, 
 But Clotho views the great show dumb. 
 
u 
 
 Her empire is the realm of Truth, — 
 That strange transmissible thing called life — 
 
 She sees and hears and knov/s it not; 
 
 But that is like a woman's lot 
 To serve unpaid as Duty's wife. 
 
 No joy will e'er elate thy soul. 
 
 No carking pain depress thy heart, 
 No smile will find its dimpled goal, 
 
 No lips will press thy lips apart, 
 Disfranchised, yet a deathless state: 
 
 I'd rather be the meanest fleck 
 
 That falls from thy soft palm a wreck 
 Than bear the thrall of Clotho's fate. 
 
 AFTER MEETING MISS R. 
 
 When music falls inanimate 
 And her sweet strain cannot elate 
 My listening ear; When wine will fail 
 O'er my cloyed spirit to prevail; 
 When nature shall reverse her way 
 And fashion hum^an hearts of clay; 
 Then, only then, could I behold 
 Thy loveliness with pulses cold. 
 
 I've but succumbed to Nature's law. 
 
 For when thy beauty I once saw 
 
 Exquisite, yea incomparable, 
 
 This rhyme was inevitable. 
 
 Then cold decorous etiquette 
 
 Was chased away, by truth beset, 
 
 That salient truth of living grace 
 
 Soft featured in thy lovely face. 
 
 Thy soul's own light looked through those eyes 
 
 Like twilight seen on sunset skies. 
 
 Long leaving in the mind's employ 
 
 A source of everlasting joy. 
 
14 
 
 Thy cheek is Uke the damask rose 
 In June's warm month, and I propose 
 Thy smile is like a summer's day 
 Just broke from morn in bright array. 
 Those lips — but hold! Enough I've said 
 To bring dire curses on my head. 
 Ignore, condemn me if you will 
 My humble pen would praise thee still. 
 
 I cannot help like Plato could 
 Just what I shouldn't what I should; 
 If some must live then some must see 
 And sure 'twas life to look on thee, 
 'Twas Life transcendent, life sublime; 
 Oh, how I lived in that short time! 
 Yet, one sad thought returns to me, 
 Thy face again I may not see. 
 Thy voice again I may not hear 
 And any man such loss would fear. 
 Forgive, forgive, this monstrous act 
 This breach of privilege want of tact; 
 Forgive my Muse in her bold art 
 And then, pray thou, forgive my heart. 
 
 "WHEN A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY." 
 
 Soft, gentle Spring days, juvenescent season of the year; 
 The vernal mellowing, the stirring, sprouting time is here. 
 Again the blue sky smiles propitious welcome overhead. 
 Intrepid buds shoot out green folds from winter's prison bed, 
 A tonic poured from softening earth lies fragrant on the 
 
 breeze, 
 Sweet ichored sap is rising, birds are piping from the trees. 
 The brook unbound sings softly through the glade its new 
 
 delight, 
 
!.■; 
 
 Pale trembling moonbeams sift their silver through the haze 
 
 of night; 
 And all this mystic charm is conjured up by Father Time 
 To make a festal day, we're often told, for Love and Rhyme. 
 
 TO LAURA. 
 
 A fairer word my lips ne'er muttered, 
 A sweeter name my tongue ne'er stuttered, 
 My ear ne'er knew a softer sound, 
 My heart has yet to feel the bound 
 It felt when hearing Laura uttered. 
 
 AT PARTING. 
 
 Our jaunt is o'er, 
 
 And summer days have left 
 
 The field and shore. 
 
 Goodbye, sweetheart, 
 
 At last the time has come 
 
 When we must part. 
 
 Farewell, my flower, 
 
 Sad love is weeping burning tears 
 
 O'er this ill hour; 
 
 That I must stay, 
 
 That you, perhaps forever, shall 
 
 Remain away. 
 
 Forever! No. 
 
 'Twould be too great a sorrow, dear, 
 
 If that were so. 
 
 E'en now the heart's 
 
 Frail fibre trembles at the thought 
 
 And wildly starts 
 
 As if 'twould be 
 
i6 
 
 Released and fly with you to find — 
 
 Eternity. 
 
 So I will think 
 
 And let the sweet delusion deep 
 
 Within me sink, 
 
 That you have gone 
 
 A little way to rest, a while 
 
 From me withdrawn, 
 
 That some fair day 
 
 Returning, you'll restore the joy 
 
 You take away. 
 
 Adieu! Adieu! 
 
 Sweetheart I send my smiles and kisses 
 
 All with you. 
 
 A PICTURE'S SPIRIT. 
 
 Again today I've been communing v/ith your photograph, 
 
 Tracing each detail o'er and o'er, 
 
 Feeling as few e'er had to feel, 
 
 Trying as few e'er tried to keep those clouds 
 
 Of sadness back that sometimes and for 
 
 Certain reasons gather deep and rise from out 
 
 The heart to dim one's eyes. 
 
 When'er I see your picture. 
 
 And I choose to see it often, 
 
 How the vestiges of that soul tempest 
 
 Still run into life's essence. 
 
 It seems an endless age since the bright day 
 
 You stood for that likeness 
 
 In your full strength and glorious health, 
 
 Yet Spring's first v/ild-flower perfume 
 
 Had just begun to blow across the land 
 
 And Her last melliiluous breath still lingers. 
 
17 
 
 In one of her strange vagsries 
 
 Fate drew that dark immensity between us, 
 
 Heartless, heedless. 
 
 Slowing old and joyous days into eons of sadness, 
 
 Transmuting darkness, of the now 
 
 Interminable midnights to Sorrow's sleepless fire. 
 
 All things thenceforth have seemed 
 
 Hideously unending, cruelly painful. 
 
 Oh that the boundless soul where once 
 
 The tides of happiness ran full 
 
 Could yet sustain itself upon the drip of solace 
 
 In a picture! 
 
 But life is not that way. 
 
 And God is not that way. 
 
 Poor girl, who would not harm a living thing, 
 
 Who could not know an unkind thought. 
 
 Struck down with worse than deathly blight. 
 
 There's no artificer can bridge the chasm 
 
 Where happiness is sunk. 
 
 The little only thing we had, 
 
 Dearer because it was our all. 
 
 Is gone forever, 
 
 And when sorrow bears away her plunder 
 
 Naught remains save Lethe's small tithe. 
 
 Those roses: They were sweet. 
 
 They are attar! 
 
 They were most .becoming in the wealth 
 
 Of your soft ebon hair. 
 
 Well I remember 
 
 How you fancied their luxuriant red. 
 
 So like the color of those richer roses 
 
 Blooming deep in the complexion of your cheeks: 
 
 Roses that have drooped and faded. 
 
 2 
 
i8 
 
 There was a woman 
 
 Like the Greeks made live in marble, 
 
 O Sir Photographer! you've well preserved 
 
 Her graceful lineaments, 
 
 Especially the witch'ry of those lips; 
 
 How fondly I recall their sweet good-night; 
 
 But art can ne'er bring back their warmth. 
 
 Those eyes, too; beauty's perfection. 
 
 Again to-day I've tried to fathom 
 
 Their bright, sparkling, wondrous depths 
 
 That spoke to me alone. 
 
 Spoke? 
 
 They speak! 
 
 Wide and free and open as the starbeams of Heaven, 
 
 They speak a kindness, a companionship. 
 
 They speak a hell-sadness through the old love 
 
 Which struggles and strangles and is helpless. 
 
 There are volumes in some pictures. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 She poetized and vowed her heart at last was won 
 Entirely by the bran new tog that I had on. 
 
 To-day, but not until today. 
 Did luck in her good kindness deign 
 
 To bring me your smooth rhyming lay 
 On my frock coat, silk hat, and cane. 
 
 I read short poems now and then, 
 
 Bucolics, epics, amor'us ones 
 From Inspiration's nimble pen 
 
 Wherein great genius strongly runs; 
 
10 
 
 But pardon fair one when I say 
 
 Of all productions up to date 
 Sure yours is of the purest ray 
 
 To you belongs the frosted cake. 
 
 'Tis consolation to the heart 
 When after failing many times 
 
 And hope preparing to depart 
 Glor'ous realization finds. 
 
 It matters not what be the cause 
 Good looks or wit or fine apparel, 
 
 Success succeeds in all our laws 
 E'en winning of a pretty girl. 
 
 In ecstasy my fancy flies 
 
 My gratitude can know no bounds, 
 Mary! I shouted it to the skies 
 
 From earth to heaven it resounds. 
 
 And just to think I owe so much 
 
 Unto a shining silken tile. 
 Oh where is there another such 
 
 On which to spend my hard earned pile. 
 
 But do not misconstrue this pet 
 
 For words may sometimes lead one wrong. 
 The thing I have not paid for yet 
 
 I only gave a promise song. 
 
 In fact I fear that some foul day 
 Will see me walk with cautious tread 
 
 And count'nance fraught with sad dismay 
 To where three balls hang overhead. 
 
But now the question comes to hand, 
 
 Can anyone with reason judge, 
 Can any sage in all this land 
 
 Explain to us and never budge; 
 
 Why some blue eyes are always caught 
 By flash and glare and wealth of dress? 
 
 Or why so much affection wrought 
 O'er tinsel and vain gaudiness? 
 
 O! does the head that wears the hat 
 Or does the hat make up the man? 
 
 Now we shall see when gone's the hat 
 If there will still remain the man. 
 
 TO BARRY STONEMAN. 
 
 Oh Stoneman, what a hard name you have got! 
 
 And yet how soft it falls upon my ear, 
 How quick it touches one delicious spot. 
 
 And brings forth mellow sympathies most dear — 
 Ah, there is naught this side the river Styx 
 
 So pleasant as those cocktails you can mix. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 I saw you, Julia, walking as we walked a year ago, 
 
 Down through the woodbine arbor where cool shadows 
 
 come and go. 
 You, leaning on another's arm beneath the green woodbine! 
 I saw you, Julia, take his arm the way you once took mine. 
 
 At first I did not know you for your face had grown so thin. 
 So wan, so troubled, and I thought there faintly gleamed 
 
 within 
 The depths of those soft eyes, secret unfathomable pain, 
 Some sorrow had upon your heart impressed its burning 
 
 stain. 
 
But still I knew the old-time grace that breathed around your 
 
 form, 
 Such gentle art endures divine beyond all temp'ral harm. 
 I recognized the easy way in which you poised your head, 
 Your perfect gesture unimpaired lived on though joy was 
 
 dead. 
 
 For sorrow is not everyv<?here even with those distraught. 
 Some beauty lasts beyond the havoc bitter pain has wrought, 
 Some graces live despite remorse and vitiating fate. 
 Vicissitudes may oft refine and nobly elevate. 
 
 The features of a lovely face may wear dumb sorrow^s guise. 
 But sorrow never came to one it did not spiritualize; 
 And so with you, fair Julia, strolling down the arbored way, 
 A year had changed, saddened and beautified unerringly. 
 
 THE CONFLICT. 
 
 Som.e smiles are a mask made bitter as gall 
 By the story they seek to conceal. 
 But feigning has never been able to steal 
 Away from the face what the heart would reveal. 
 
 Some words will betray pale sorrow's sad note 
 No matter how much they would hide. 
 No matter how well dissembled, denied. 
 Some misfit inflection will prove they have lied. 
 
 Some actions are planned with careful intent 
 To cover a grievous trail. 
 But truth v/ill out, for that's an old tale. 
 So pretence perforce must naturally fail. 
 
 The living must die, the dying must live. 
 For the heart in man is what dies, 
 The heart is what lives and boldly defies 
 This world v/e are chained to by merciless ties. 
 
Some live without love, some live without hope, 
 Some live with dead hearts who are dead. 
 Still, no man shall die till feeling has sped 
 Tho' hope for a life and a love may be fled. 
 
 (ENCLOSED WITH A BOX OF FLOWERS TO — ) 
 
 Here's the fruit the honey bee seeks. 
 Here's the fragrance of all the flowers. 
 
 Here's to the sweetest of all the sweets, 
 Here's to that lona: true love of ours. 
 
 THE HOMEWARD TRACK. 
 
 I'm going home tonight, 
 
 The old place of young days, 
 The single pure delight 
 
 Of all Life's vagrant ways. 
 Oh how each heart throb yearns 
 
 For home, and how my thought 
 In fervent rapture turns 
 
 To heights before unsought, 
 When'er I journey back 
 The old sweet homeward track. 
 
 How green those playgrounds are 
 
 At Mem'ry's beck and call. 
 Although so very far 
 
 Withdrawn. Beneath the mall 
 Of Fate, their natural charm 
 
 Has been expelled, and fast 
 On down the endless storm 
 
 Of Time until at last — 
 And that is no far year — 
 All's gone that makes them dear. 
 
2^ 
 
 No glory is so deep 
 
 As meeting some old friend. 
 No thought so sad to keep 
 
 As knowledge of his end. 
 Ah, there's the pathos sure 
 
 That tenders and endears 
 The fragile trembling lure 
 
 To Life's fast changing years: 
 The home friends who are fled, 
 Companions lost and dead. 
 
 So changed and altered all — 
 
 And yet I burn to be 
 There dreaming back that all; 
 
 The urge of liberty 
 In those clear days of youth; 
 
 To trace the great forest; 
 Reweave the heart's one truth. 
 
 That sad, essential best, 
 The glintings that coalesce 
 About one girlish face. 
 
 It's all a part of me 
 
 Diffused in every vein 
 Like salt is in the sea. 
 
 Increasing grain by grain. 
 Capricious Time may change 
 
 Us in all ways save one, 
 Its schemes cannot estrange 
 
 The joy in youth begun 
 That's felt when we go back 
 The old sweet homeward track. 
 
24 
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 Should Fate in some unguarded moment grant 
 
 And consummate the utmost I could name, 
 And just that once but nevermore implant 
 
 Within my grasp the cherished power to gain 
 An only wish, then I'd have Her imbue 
 
 Me with that ample heart of human hearts, 
 The heart of Burns; so I might write to you — 
 
 Revealing all his lucid art imparts — 
 Of my deep welling gratitude which else 
 
 Must suffer in this crude and crumpled guise. 
 Sir, nothing short of his precise impulse 
 
 Could make these verses worthy of your eyes. 
 
 THE SWEETEST SADDEST PLACE. 
 
 I went to sleep upon the pillow where your cheek had left 
 its mould; 
 That was the softest, sweetest place I'd ever known. 
 Your breath had left its incense and your lovely hair a tress 
 of gold. 
 Abandoned vestments of an angel earthward flown. 
 
 Upon that pillow, sad and sacred, just a little hour ago, 
 You voiced rich notes in trancing melodies to me. 
 
 Your smiles played and your blue eyes sparkled like some 
 ceaseless fountain's flow, 
 Which lures the heart into a flood of ecstacy. 
 
 And there sleep's balm'd restorer wooed me as it never had 
 before, 
 So gently and so still my soul it did impel, 
 So tenderly to that unconscious world of dreams it did 
 implore 
 I sank a willing victim in its fairy spell. 
 
2.=; 
 
 Almost impatiently I yielded to that wondr'us morphic 
 power 
 Which flies with us through realms of sleep's supernal night 
 For there I hoped dream's miracle would bring you back in 
 dream's blessed hour 
 Close nestled in the softness of my pillow white. 
 
 O! that some charm might then have bound our hearts in 
 twain for aye and aye, 
 No other heaven could I know with you alone — 
 But, dear, you graced my pillow briefly, then continued on 
 your way. 
 Now that's the sweetest, saddest place I've ever known. 
 
 THE RETURN OF JOHN PAUL JONES. 
 
 Is Time subserved by Destiny 
 To wait upon the crucial hour, 
 Does some omniscient, kindly power. 
 
 Control the trend of history? 
 
 And was it planned he should fulfill 
 Post-mortem mission here on earth. 
 And that his unexampled worth 
 
 By grace of providential will. 
 
 Received a second emphasis? 
 By being lost in obscure mold 
 The secret kept a century old. 
 
 By being found? From tomb's abyss 
 
 To Heaven's light, from loam of Paris 
 Borne by swifter decks than he 
 Had dared to dream could ever be, 
 
 'Cross ocean to Annapolis? 
 
2^ 
 
 Was it ordained that in this age 
 Of money-lust and bicker's greed, 
 When patriotism is our need. 
 
 That he should make this pilgrimage 
 
 Persuading Mammon's dissolutes 
 Adown the old flag's trodden track? 
 To call an errant country back 
 
 About its father's fit pursuits? 
 
 'Tis not thyself, alone, Paul Jones, 
 But reverent memory of thy deeds 
 And nobly patriotic creeds 
 
 That casts a halo 'round thy bones. 
 
 MY STAR-QUEEN. 
 
 On nights when Dian's sphere sheds dov/n her silvery beam, 
 
 When all this sliunbering world is locked in realms of dream 
 
 And just before the clock high up the old church tower 
 
 So faithf'Uy speaks the twelfth, that last, long laggard hour, 
 
 A spell comes o'er me which I cannot quite explain. 
 
 It is a strange, unearthly yearning, sweet with pain 
 
 That gently lures me from my room at dead of night 
 
 Adovm the river path beside the old mill-site. 
 
 Whereat I wait immured in sad, unbound delight. 
 
 To keep a nightly tryst agreed on long ago 
 
 With one — except myself — no mortal man can Icnow. 
 
 Up through the hazy clouds that spread their mists on high. 
 My thoughts ascend beyond the range of human eye 
 And past the Sky's dim edge of blue ether'al waste. 
 Across the fringe of timor'us stars with mystic haste 
 My fancy soars and reaching upward meets some thing 
 
27 
 
 Of kindred spirit, pinioned on mere gentle wing 
 
 Than ever cleaved this lowly orb's polluted air. 
 
 Then melting down the slope of moonlight's golden stair 
 
 Vibrating softly breathes a sound upon my ear, 
 
 A greeting, tender, like the warm south winds impart 
 
 Comes down from night communing with my lonely heart. 
 
 And faintly, far away at first, but quickly near 
 
 From airy nothingness a vision doth appear; 
 
 A spirit in humanity's resemblance 
 
 Possessing woman's form with angel semblance. 
 
 There ne'er evolved a lovelier feast for mortal sight 
 
 Than this bewitching, silent wanderer of night. 
 
 From out a whisp of cloud which drops from fathomless space, 
 
 Alighting airily, with smooth, seraphic grace. 
 
 She comes to meet me in our old accustomed place. 
 
 And I to woo her in a tongue that has no word — 
 
 The sweetest voice is silent when the soul has heard. 
 
 All silence is more golden when the moon is up, 
 
 When redolence lies heavy in its flowery cup. 
 
 Yes, thrice more golden when old earth is fast asleep 
 
 And hearts in tete-a-tete against each other leap; 
 
 Unheard, yet understood, the lips of Love no sound 
 
 Need ever shape to speak their meaning so profound, 
 
 For all the tender mercies of our lives that thrill 
 
 And have the power to fathom out the soul must fill 
 
 The depths and reach exquisite heights where Life sits still. 
 
 And did not Venus rise from out the silent deep? 
 
 Hence all her votaries a mutual muteness keep. 
 
 Upon a mossy bank we sit embowered with flowers, 
 Enrapt in mellow balm of summer's midnight hours. 
 Imbibing deeply honeyed drafts fond hearts require 
 Of mutual presence consecrating one desire, 
 
28 
 
 And that desire — to be alone — yet we were not. 
 Although secluded from stern earth's tumultuous lot 
 We have some spirit guests emerging from the East 
 In strange attendance at our supernatural feast. 
 Appearing blithely out of fairy-land released, 
 A retinue of snow-white nymphs in rythmic dance 
 With graceful motion down the glittering ripples prance. 
 
 The mill wheel long infirm and burdened down v/ith moss 
 
 Once more revolves ss rushing waters o'er it toss. 
 
 The mill itself, grave prisoner in the wild vine's grasp. 
 
 Deep scarred by age and time-worn rents which look aghast. 
 
 Begins to scintillate with iridescent light. 
 
 That seems anon to fade and then again wax bright, 
 
 While from the echo depths of night comes Music's strain 
 
 In sweet delir'um of symphonious refrain. 
 
 Or, breathing tender melodies of love's old name, 
 
 Intoning languid cadence with the spirit's dance 
 
 To suit the changing forms as they advance. 
 
 Terpsichore vnth magic step and grace replete 
 
 Leads on her pageant of the " many twinkling feet." 
 
 Advancing with fantastic motion, row on row. 
 
 In charmed, bewildering, harmony the fairies go. 
 
 Bedecked in filmy robes of saffron hue. 
 
 Revealing all the grace which highest art deems true, 
 
 Concealing all that's not, and nothing that is fair. 
 
 These supple bodied creatures with a flood of streaming hair 
 
 Go swaying, nodding, beckoning through the lambent air, 
 
 Thus undulating down the river's moonlit breast. 
 
 This gleaming horde of beauty fades into the west. 
 
 Ah! this is blissful solace to a world- worn heart, 
 Its inspiration mundane things could ne'er impart. 
 Its youth's full throb of new life leaping in my veins 
 Dispelling dull phlegmatic care's distressing pains. 
 
20 i 
 
 As bright aurora chases darkness to the west, 
 
 So run away all sullen spirits from my breast; 
 
 As morning sunshine glorifies the vales and hills. 
 
 So comes contentment's peacefulness my soul it fills; 
 
 Yet, every sweet emotion which the heart's cord thrills 
 
 With joy, must have the bitter prospect of an end. 
 
 Must soon or late into its origin descend. 
 
 And so the mill wheel stops, the lights wane dim and die. 
 
 The music fades into a passing zephyr's sigh, 
 
 My Star Queen, spirit of my soul, withdraws sad-eyed 
 
 As up the treacle light her cloud-like chariots glide. 
 
 She disappears, the charm is off, the hour is o'er; 
 
 Of this strange phantasy, my masters hear no more, 
 
 Nor she who of imagination was begot. 
 
 I have not spoke her name, nor yet disclosed the spot 
 
 And why? Because I couldn't, yet could I, would not, 
 
 For straight some curious mortal with more desire than sense 
 
 Would be most sure to go and fright my spirit hence. 
 
 T-lVz 
 
 A BEGGAR'S SONG. 
 
 Give my life a purpose. 
 Give my love design, 
 Give my hope a rejilization ; 
 Paradise is mine. 
 
 Give my heart a solace, 
 
 Give my sorrow time. 
 
 Give my struggle full conclusion; 
 
 Death, Oh Thou Sublime! 
 
 Give my beauty sweetheart 
 All I'd have her be, 
 Let her neutralize my passion; 
 There's eternity. 
 
Cruel love and passion 
 Both environ me, 
 Seek their paths of inspiration. 
 Gain obscurity. 
 
 Find in man's existence 
 
 All his life contains, 
 
 Rob him then of love and passion. 
 
 Naught but dross remains. 
 
 Seek the mystic riddle, 
 
 Seek the reason why, 
 
 Ask of Life and Life will answer, 
 
 Only, " Live and die." 
 
 Inconsistent humans. 
 
 Progeny of Sin, 
 
 Take thy transient breath and spend it, 
 
 Death will always win. 
 
 V/HY? 
 
 Dear heart you know we part too soon, 
 
 Why leave those happy days with all 
 Their golden hours and hopes in gloom? 
 
 Why has young love so oft a pall? 
 Why must the bleeding heart be shorn? 
 
 Why have w^e met if this is all? 
 Why from a heav'n on earth be torn? 
 
 Can nothing now that love recall? 
 Those vows we spoke and sealed in kiss 
 
 Some caprice now their secret steals — 
 Hope builded castles all amiss, 
 
 And that once happy time now yields 
 A scene I gladly would could fade. 
 
 The brightest hues show sad regret, 
 I fugitive from shade to shade, 
 
 A soul unfed, love's sun is set. 
 
.?I 
 
 WHEN TIME LINGERS. 
 
 We parted at the old gate. May and I, 
 It was our first fond leaving after meeting, 
 
 Smiles were on her lips, a light shone in her eye 
 Half concealing, half revealing all she meant, 
 
 And so we tarried long about the word " goodbye." 
 
 A year, again the old gate, May and I. 
 
 It was the last outbreathing of a feeling 
 Which began in smiles and ended in a sigh; 
 
 Half misguided, half decided, sad predicament; 
 And so we tarried long about the word " goodbye." 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Spring, sweet mother of a newborn earth 
 Bends o'er her budding child. 
 
 Smiling warmth upon her verdant birth. 
 Singing of woodlands wild. 
 
 Joyously she clothes her infant 'round 
 With swaddling wraps of green. 
 
 And in just a little while is found 
 A grown up summer's scene. 
 
 LOVE'S) SPAN. 
 
 A time worn envelope, 
 
 A curl of golden hair, 
 A ribbon blue tied neatly 
 
 Around the strands so fair; 
 Fond token of the past — 
 
 Forever lost is she — 
 Strange your tints of gold 
 
 Outlast love's memory. 
 
X2 
 
 DETAIL. 
 
 Particulars form important clauses, 
 Greatness proceeds from slightest causes, 
 
 Trifles make you always respected, 
 But always despised if once neglected. 
 
 THE OLD ENIGMA. 
 
 Sharp winds blow 'cross yon river 
 Laden with a chill tonight, 
 
 Each star of paling silver. 
 Fainter set on farther height. 
 
 Seared leaves are all atremble 
 O'er departing Summer days. 
 
 And sweethearts cease to amble 
 Through sequestered, silent ways; 
 
 The fragrant balm has vanished 
 From night's dreamy atmosphere 
 
 And every flower is banished. 
 Every sound and sight is drear; 
 
 Sad harbingers of winter. 
 Plain's the tale each signifies. 
 
 But I have yet to render 
 Clear the signs in Flora's eyes. 
 
 DARKNESS. 
 
 Plod on, nor care, nor wonder why. 
 Tomorrow you must say goodbye — 
 Perhaps tonight this prop will snap 
 And lay you deep in earth's cold lap. 
 
.^.^ 
 
 What then? Oh, v^reary feet plod on, 
 
 For he who cannot look beyond 
 
 One moment surely cannot see 
 
 What that mysterious " THEN " will be. 
 
 THE CAFE CAR AHEAD. 
 
 Speeding away o'er the iron shod track, 
 
 Thoughtless of places and faces we've left, 
 Thoughtless of turning back; 
 
 Careless of Time and the woes of men; 
 Forgetful of all that ever has been, 
 All of the living and all of the dead, 
 When there's merry good cheer 
 And some Pilsener beer — 
 In the cafe car ahead. 
 
 Roaring and rushing, thus cleaving the night 
 Madly, like some wanton demon let loose, 
 Blind in its dev'lish delight; 
 
 Careless of life and the loves that have been; 
 
 Destined to stop, God only knows when; 
 
 Nobody cares, after all has been said; 
 
 For there's merry good cheer 
 
 And there's someone's dear — 
 
 In the cafe car ahead. 
 
 Moving along down the track of Ufe's way. 
 
 Always, we'll have many troublesome hours; 
 Some little hell to pay; 
 
 Therefore the lighter and faster we go, 
 Less of terrestrial sorrov/ we'll know; 
 All will be heavenly pleasure instead 
 If you will seek the good cheer 
 With some little dear — 
 In the cafe car ahead. 
 
M 
 
 LETITIA. 
 
 Great Nature made her Nature's child 
 
 And dyed her dimpled cheek with wild 
 
 Rosebloom, illumed her brilliant eyes 
 
 With high lights caught from azure skies. 
 
 The unflexed strength that breasts the storm 
 
 In sturdy oak, emboimds her form. 
 
 And lives there too, the willow's grace. 
 
 When willows bend their browsey face 
 
 To hear the tattle of the waves. 
 
 Letitia, recollection craves 
 
 And oft' recalls thy image self — 
 
 Lone daughter of the hermit Delf — 
 
 And that fair, picturesque retreat. 
 
 Where marge of woods and meadows meet, 
 
 Where romps the brook to its home sea 
 
 Spontaneous and joyfully. 
 
 Though Fate may keep us far apart, 
 There, tends the current of my heart, 
 Down sweet Elysian fields of hope. 
 And ever on to meet and cope 
 And mingle with the living tide 
 That gently lifts thy bosom's pride. 
 
 So mortals meet and love and part 
 And bear away a hard rung heart, 
 And keep the hue of memory bright 
 Enkindled by affection's light. 
 
^^ 
 
 MRS. C . 
 
 About her presence clings 
 
 That tender grace 
 
 With which our famcy 
 
 Has imbued the Angels. 
 
 Your fine imagination 
 
 Possibly, may entertain 
 
 Amongst associations of such tenderness 
 
 An imp incarnate, 
 
 Or, some beatitude without an innocence, 
 
 For thus was Mrs. C . 
 
 Magnificently daring, 
 
 Irresistibly enrapturing, 
 
 Hesitating not, 
 
 At all that's fair in love, 
 
 And loving not with hesitation. 
 
 Passionate as heart could be 
 
 To its last throbbing, 
 
 S5mipathetic and benign as 
 
 Raphael's madonna. 
 
 Human as was Eve; 
 
 A man's woman. 
 
 Therefore God's. 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 Don't sit on the ground 
 
 As children are found 
 
 A-playing with blocks and with cars. 
 
 But as soon's you can walk 
 
 And know how to talk 
 
 Look up, look up to the stars. 
 
^6 
 
 Aim high in life's race, 
 
 Keep a resolute face. 
 
 Don't partake of the pleasure that mars; 
 
 Hold fast to your aim, 
 
 Look to honor and fame, 
 
 They are found alone in the stars. 
 
 WHAT'S IN A KISS. 
 
 Thy young womanly charms were rare, 
 But I had known such charms before 
 And in a way I did not care 
 
 If I should never see them more; 
 But now I thank that benign fate 
 Which kindly led me to the gate 
 Of those luxuriant rose-red lips 
 Where Cupid's bow so pertly fits, 
 They taught me what I might have missed 
 For I began to love thee when we kissed. 
 
 ONE WONDERS. 
 
 One wonders as the years rush by 
 Why friendships grow and fade and die. 
 Why loved ones pass from out our ken 
 Leaving sadness where joy has been. 
 
 One wonders that if God's so great, 
 Why then so sad is life's estate, 
 Why don't we know beyond cavil 
 The truth about both God and Devil? 
 
 One wonders long and long he may 
 At love of Him who had full say 
 And then provided man with Hell 
 Where souls in lasting torment dwell. 
 
.17 
 
 One wonders that He failed to make 
 All Heaven just for mankind's sake. 
 If human souls ought to be saved 
 Why not all pure and none depraved? 
 
 Now Hell is with or 'gainst God's will. 
 If with, he loves His children ill, 
 If not, then here's acknowledgment 
 That God is not omnipotent. 
 
 If man is worth a HEAVEN'S grace 
 Why should there 'oe another place? 
 Injustice, Sorrow, Pain, Death, why? 
 One wonders as the years rush by. 
 
 HER REFUSAL. 
 
 And you denied a kiss to me! 
 That very unkind act you see, 
 Inspires my pen's activity. 
 To write is my proclivity, 
 Some say it's my infirmity, 
 And you'll regret before I'm through 
 That thing you ever dared to do. 
 Not often will the Muse entice 
 Me from my prosy mind's device, 
 And yet so good a theme as this 
 I really can't afford to miss; 
 Ungracious maid, of cold disdain, 
 Here's your denial, my heart's pain: 
 
 I did not even half suspect 
 
 While making my most fair request, 
 That you would in the least object 
 
 If such sweet overtures v/ere pressed. 
 And even though the faintest doubt 
 
 Had tinged my osculate desire 
 
.^8 
 
 Fond memory would have put to rout 
 
 The thought and made doubt out a liar. 
 Surprised! indeed, chagrined and hurt, 
 
 Denied admittance to a bower 
 Where once I'd been allowed to lurk, 
 
 Refused the merest shade or flower. 
 Did generosity forsake 
 
 The habitation of your heart, 
 And by her flight did she not take 
 
 From you the soul, the spirit part? 
 Yes, almost everything she took. 
 
 Except that cold, disdainful look. 
 Now mercy notes the gentler sex 
 
 And most girls don't deny one bliss 
 Because such joy back reflects. 
 
 Such as the heaven of a kiss. 
 If all young maids your course pursued 
 
 The human race would have expired, 
 Red lips with kiss were not imbued. 
 
 That they untouched might be admired. 
 Most damosels respect this gift 
 
 And in propitious time impart 
 The thrilling bliss which sets adrift 
 
 Upon the swiftly flooding heart, 
 A thousand fair emotions light. 
 
 Emotions strange and wildly tossed 
 In lip born storms of sweet delight. 
 
 Till life in ecstacy is lost. 
 
 No! No! It was the 
 Same old story, old yet new. 
 Same old haughty look-you-through. 
 Same old bluff to put me off, 
 
 Same old shyness deftly feigned, 
 Same old temper waxing wroth, 
 
 As if to kiss 3'ou'd be ashamed. 
 
.-^o 
 
 A stolen kiss is never cold 
 
 For there is plenty warmth in stealing. 
 Think such sweets I could behold 
 
 Without a covetous feeling? 
 So, therefore, he who knowledge seeks 
 
 Of pure compulsion has to taste 
 And nothing so instructive speaks 
 
 As meeting lips or arms about 
 
 the waist; 
 
 Unless it is to be refused, 
 
 And that is very pleasing, 
 You ought always to have infused 
 
 Just a little bit of teasing. 
 You ought always to be reserve 
 
 And not too quick in yielding, 
 Nor yet too slow, for I observe 
 
 One make you cheap, one too 
 
 fatiguing. 
 
 Oh I've been taken back before 
 
 The same as others have galore. 
 
 A pretty woman's fancy shifts 
 
 Like sunbeams streaming through the rifts 
 
 Of passing clouds to shine again. 
 
 But who could ever tell just when? 
 
 Not I. 
 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 If you have a thought preserve it, 
 Give the mind's act full expression, 
 
 Don't neglect nor disregard it, 
 If you have some new impression, 
 Write it down. 
 
40 
 
 It may aid your fellow creatures, 
 Who are troubled and dejected, 
 
 Wreathe a smile about their features, 
 Your reward therein's reflected 
 Write it down. 
 
 If you have a notion, treat it 
 
 With a kind consideration. 
 Try elaboration on it, 
 
 If you feel an inspiration 
 Write it down. 
 
 It may mean a great discovery. 
 To some mind may bring a gladness, 
 
 From affliction quick recovery, 
 From some heart may lift a sadness; 
 Write it down. 
 
 All the world is but a history 
 In the guise of someone's writing, 
 
 What's beyond remains a mystery 
 Till a chronicle indicting 
 Writes it down. 
 
 And the past v/ould be forgotten, 
 So would die the good within you 
 
 If ideas you've begotten, 
 If in passing you neglect to 
 Write them down. 
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 Today my spirit yearns. 
 My heart is full for you 
 
 Today some strange flame burns 
 My soul, deep, strong and true. 
 
41 
 
 Today, Oh every day! 
 
 Thro' life's uncertain span 
 I'll love you just this way 
 
 Dear, deeply, all I can. 
 
 Today love me fond heart. 
 Love always and love true, 
 
 Then time will have no smart 
 And age and death no rue. 
 
 Today, Oh every day! 
 
 Grant Love his full requite 
 And I'll grant you Life's day 
 
 Will know no lonely night. 
 
 THE INN. 
 
 Come away my good friend to the inn, 
 Where the lights burning bright, 
 Shine a welcome at night 
 
 To the stranger who'd venture within. 
 
 Come away, come away to the inn. 
 For there's always good drink 
 In the glasses that clink, 
 
 Clink so merrily at the old inn. 
 
 Leave behind for an hour the world's din; 
 
 There's a zest ever rife 
 
 On the current of life 
 To be found nowhere else but the inn. 
 
 Come away, come away to the inn, 
 
 Every heart self confessed 
 
 Becomes kindred, when guest 
 Underneath the broad roof of the inn. 
 
42 
 
 So away, come away to the inn. 
 There is no such delight, 
 On a cold winter's night 
 
 As the joy that is found at the inn. 
 
 PARADOXES 
 
 Some must wake when night is deep, 
 Some must laugh when they would weep, 
 Some must give who've not received. 
 Some must trust yet unbelieved. 
 Some must love and not be loved. 
 
 THE PINNACLE. 
 
 It's a pretty conceit as you very well know, 
 The tradition that always there's room at the top. 
 
 But in actual life as asoaring you go, 
 This delusion dispels while approaching the top. 
 
 Yes, up at the top there is room — for just one. 
 
 It's a mighty uneven and close-crowded spot. 
 And before you have scrambled around very long 
 
 You will find all your friends trying hard for the top. 
 
 They have all been tipped off and believe like yourself. 
 That abundance of room and luxurious ease. 
 
 An abundance of fame and corporate pelf. 
 With a seat at society's exclusive pink teas, 
 
 Is awaiting for each and for every brave soul 
 So inspired by this proverb most easily said; 
 
 But alas and alack, the desirable goal 
 Is invariably held by John Doe up ahead. 
 
4.^ 
 
 By and by your experience will put you quite wise. 
 
 And the gist of this talk about room at the top, 
 When it's properly stripped of all pleasing disguise, 
 
 Means the higher you go so much harder the drop. 
 
 " HUD." 
 
 Hud, poor Hud! a true old chap, 
 Rough and ready for a scrap. 
 Specially if a game was crooked. 
 Double deals he never brooked, 
 Everything was on the square 
 You could bet if Hud was there. 
 Big and strong and rosy cheeked, 
 He was everything but streaked; 
 To a friend was always true. 
 Generous, honest through and through; 
 Everyone's good word he'd earn 
 Just by doing some good turn. 
 Like the rest, I can't forget. 
 Memory lives and loves him yet. 
 
 Never was he known to shirk; 
 His was oft the toughest work. 
 Went to scrap for Uncle Sam, 
 Fought there bravely like a man, 
 Midst the death and fire and shell 
 Which makes life on earth a hell. 
 Even then he took from sleep 
 Tim.e to write and think a heap 
 Of his friends and old-time pals; 
 Guess he thought, too, 'bout his gals. 
 When the smoke had cleared av/ay 
 Down at Guantanamo Bay, 
 When those Kikes were soundly licked, 
 
44 
 
 Fate already had him picked, 
 Sent him wandering way out west. 
 Never did he dream the quest; 
 Premonition would not say, 
 " Turn, man, life lies not this way." 
 On he went to grasp a hand 
 Having in its mean command 
 Cain's low, cowardly crime of blood. 
 So they murdered poor boy Hud; 
 Shot him in the back without 
 Warning. Thus his life went out. 
 Bastardy he most despised; 
 Therein death's strange irony lies. 
 
 THE DISSOLUTE. 
 
 A retribution sad for all to see, 
 
 Yet sadder still to feel comes o'er the heart. 
 Fierce raging like a cyclone on the lea. 
 
 Disrupting, sorely wrenching wide apart 
 Man's guilty conscience; leaving there a smart 
 
 Which stings the soul forever to the core 
 And tears his life from happiness apart, 
 
 To walk with indiscretion's ghost forevermore. 
 'Tis just, perhaps, yet we must all deplore. 
 
 But sadness has no name that's utt'rable 
 
 In vain the Muse craves deprecative phrase, 
 Gropes blindly through the inexpressible. 
 
 While indignation ends up in amaze. 
 When innocence, all unsuspecting, pays 
 
 Some awful penalty for escapades 
 Another perpetrated; then pain preys 
 
 On such a wretch, relentlessly pervades 
 Each hour until his life's last breathing fades. 
 
4=; 
 
 With quick unerring instinct Nemesis 
 
 Decrees her punishment for every crime 
 Against the heart's most hallowed happiness. 
 
 Without infirmity at any time, 
 Without regard to sect or caste or clime, 
 
 Her justice, unannounced, comes swift and still, 
 Like darkness sweeps around the earth sublime. 
 
 To either sadden, rankle, maim or kill. 
 This unrelenting god must have her will. 
 
 ECLIPTIC. 
 
 A sunbeam on my vision 
 
 Broke from murky night; 
 It warmed my soul and filled 
 
 My heart with love's delight. 
 Fate cruelly cast her mighty 
 
 Shadow in between 
 And stole away from us 
 
 The glory of that dream. 
 
 THE WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 Why all this festive joy tonight? 
 
 Why meet these old friends tried and true? 
 Wherefore, I pray, this glad delight? 
 
 Fond recollection answers through 
 
 That silent past so dear to two. 
 
 Look down the path of thirty years. 
 Where sprang the fount of love's first hope, 
 
 Which flows a joy no stranger hears; 
 On memory's pinion blithely float 
 And list the wedding bell's sv/eet note. 
 
46 
 
 Bring forth the semblance anew 
 Of rosy youth when at the shrine 
 
 Of Cupid's altar fortune threw; 
 When bride and groom began to climb 
 Those cloudless heights of future time. 
 
 Event of promise! Hour of hope! 
 Glad time of brimming happiness! 
 
 The heart turns fondly back to note 
 Acknowledgment, to happily bless 
 Your lavish gifts and nobleness. 
 
 Then all the merry v/orld was light 
 And glorious with promise fair, 
 
 Then hope loomed unutterably bright 
 And life seemed like ethereal air, 
 It was so purely free from care. 
 
 To that supremely sacred time 
 
 We turn this night with reverent smiles. 
 
 Oh! hallowed wedding day sublime, 
 Your tender pathos thought beguiles. 
 Past joy with present reconciles. 
 
 The troth is proved; the faith was well 
 Deserved; their triumph now proclaim 
 
 That naught beneath the sun doth dwell 
 With more respect or fairer fame 
 Than that of honored parents' name. 
 
 Each wedding is a milestone set 
 Along the thoroughfare of life. 
 
 Recording manhood's onward step, 
 A guiding star through doubt and strife, 
 Personified in man and wife. 
 
47 
 
 Fraternal spirit! Welcome here, 
 
 Welcome to all thy joyous train, 
 Welcome to Mirth and merry Cheer, 
 
 Come, celebrate love's honored name. 
 
 Hence Woe! Hence hateful Care! Hence Pain! 
 
 THREE WISE MEN. 
 
 A millionaire, a sage of perspicuity, 
 
 With one philosopher of versatility. 
 
 Once sat devising some sure way to happiness. 
 
 They talked for more than forty weeks without recess, 
 
 Then disagreed, for they could not compound it. 
 
 But gleaners of the fields in ragged dress. 
 
 Through honest toil and plain desires soon found it. 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 We now meet here in best of cheer 
 A merry hour or two, 
 You're with me and I'm with you. 
 But if you leave before the time is up, 
 I'll still remain and deeply drain my cup. 
 
 If you depart 'twill show your heart 
 Tonight does not ring true; 
 You're with me and I'm with you, 
 Oh, do not go before the time is up. 
 For thin is friendship in a lonely cup. 
 
 IRMA. 
 
 What can I say to you? 
 What phrase or word will do? 
 When to the rest I've said 
 So much and meant it not — 
 Since all is now forgot. 
 
48 
 
 Irma, 'tis what is felt, 
 
 Not what in rhyme is spelt; 
 
 Not what some fancy's rambling 
 
 Pen may blithely trace 
 
 Which next events erase. 
 
 The deepest things in life 
 Like hardest, saddest strife, 
 Not in high sounding language, 
 Though it be devout. 
 But in some act comes out. 
 
 So I'll not weave in rhyme 
 My love, but trusting time 
 With actions faithful 
 Revelation to unroll 
 Truth's secret of the soul. 
 
 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 Who comes around in times of perfect peace 
 And says: "These quiet times have got to cease?" 
 
 The strikers. 
 
 Who terrifies the toiler at his work 
 And proffers him starvation or a dirk? 
 The strikers. 
 
 Who turns the wheel of progress backward and 
 Of everybody's business takes command? 
 The strikers. 
 
 Who break agreements with impunity 
 Because of some constructive sympathy? 
 The strikers. 
 
4Q 
 
 Who squander time and wealth and starve their kin, 
 
 For which naught could amend if they should win? 
 
 The strikers. 
 
 Who cast all law and order to the winds. 
 Committing blackmail, arson, murd'rous sins? 
 The strikers. 
 
 Who makes you brave the third rail's fire? 
 Who puts the price of coal and rent up higher? 
 The strikers. 
 
 Who stands the brunt of this wholesale excess? 
 Who has to pay for this damned recklessness? 
 Not the strikers. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S LAUREL. 
 
 If I could choose where I must die, 
 
 If I could say just when, 
 
 I'd seek the battle field. 
 
 Amid the cannon's thundrous dirge. 
 
 Where life is cheapest, honor highest, 
 
 Where rush the reddening tides of battle 
 
 Straight from valiant hearts; 
 
 Where all mean instincts are 
 
 Obliterated by that purest love, 
 
 That nobl'st passion, patriotism. 
 
 Victory or dark defeat, 
 
 Give me the crimson death 
 
 In the swift, grim, storm of iron and flame 
 
 Where the old flag beckons. 
 
"SO 
 
 DAD'S FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 Dear Dad: — A very close and true relation 
 
 Sends herewith inspired congratulation; 
 
 Fate decreed my worldly goods be few. 
 
 And so, I cannot send rare gifts to you. 
 
 But I do write and laugh and sometimes curse. 
 
 As you will when you read this awkward verse. 
 
 :!< ^ 4: 
 
 Within a vale, rare beauty to behold, 
 
 Where toils the winding river, clear and cold; 
 
 Where grew the sturdy oak and tall pine trees; 
 
 Where gaily sang the birds and humming bees; 
 
 Amidst this rapturous dale of sloping hills, 
 
 Of blooming flowers, of sweetly purling rills, 
 
 In this bright land, 'tis said by those who know, 
 
 October first just fifty years ago, 
 
 A fair faced child of destiny was born 
 
 And first piped out his protest against the morn. 
 
 S'A-ift years flew by and time ran on apace; 
 
 The child grew up a credit to his race. 
 
 He learned to saw, to chop, to drive the ox. 
 
 He also learned to shoot and trap the fox. 
 
 Plain, manly, honest and sincere of heart. 
 
 Fine health had come to him in goodly part. 
 
 Events occurred much talked of in the town, 
 
 A maid with raven locks and eyes of brown; 
 
 Surpassingly sweet she was the constant bane, 
 
 And Fair Ideal of every worthy swain. 
 
 Her presence so divine, her gifts so rare, 
 
 Not even legendary nymphs compare 
 
 With this young rustic Cattaraugus girl. 
 
 Whose powerful gaze staunch hearts of men imperiL 
 
 To be adored was only to be seen, 
 
 And thus the sunny spell of love's first dream 
 
SI 
 
 Completely charmed young Spence, his soul engaged; 
 Love's war was on and fiercely did it wage. 
 My hero clearly showed his talents here. 
 Their troth was plighted well within a year. 
 
 Life's struggle real and stern was then essayed; 
 Dame fortune frowned defiant, undismayed; 
 O'erpowered by foes, by friends almost forsaken, 
 And Hope by darkness seemed about o'ertaken. 
 When perseverance triumphed at the last. 
 Adversity withdrew, the trouble passed. 
 Inexorable Time has v/orked his magic change; 
 You seek to find his origin, his purpose strange, 
 His secret destination, and you fail. 
 Therefore, my Muse, we'd best resume our tale. 
 
 No more the quiet of the shady wood. 
 
 No more the flitting birds that billed and cooed. 
 
 The vandal's axe has felled the stately trees, 
 
 Industrialism's wafted on the breeze. 
 
 A town has sprung up in this Eden spot; 
 
 Our Dad now has three sons, a house and lot. 
 
 Dad's worth by all wise men was soon foreseen; 
 
 His word was good, his purpose strictly clean, 
 
 His counsel potent in affairs of state. 
 
 In legislative halls or in debate. 
 
 And thus from obscure, meagre situation. 
 
 Stood forth a factor in the nation. 
 
 Intense the light and brighter is the spark, 
 
 Because its firmament is blindly dark. 
 
 Half century mark he's now successfully gained. 
 You think him old, you think him bowed or maimed? 
 Then see his noble brow, divinely fair, 
 Observe the lustr'us eye, the untinged hair; 
 The clarion voice, the youthful, beaming face. 
 The form erect, the carriage perfect grace. 
 
'{2 
 
 Behold this manly man, this peerless sage, 
 Whose youthful prime shall " Melt the snows of age," 
 Whose virtue has belied the hand of Time, 
 Preserved his youth and made his life sublime. 
 
 Now, Dad, I wish you health and boundless joy. 
 May all the GODS their mystic power employ, 
 And with the Fates prolong your family's life, 
 So all your grandchildren, your sons, your wife. 
 May celebrate in most appropriate way 
 The anniversary of your hundredth natal day. 
 
 Finis. 
 
jyH X7 1909