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 THE QUEST 
 
 Edward Salisbury Field
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. Charles t.. Aiken 
 
 I
 
 CHARLES SEDGWICK AIKEN 
 EDNAH AIKEN
 
 The Quest 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 EDWARD SALISBURY FIELD 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
 1904
 
 Aik 
 
 Copyright, 1903, by Edward Salisbury Field 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Printed at 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 Boston, U. S. A.
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 I've gone about for years I find 
 
 With eyes half blind, 
 
 Squandering golden hours 
 
 In search of flow'rs 
 
 That do not grow, it seems, 
 
 Except in dreams ; 
 
 But in my wanderings 
 
 From place to place 
 
 I've found no face more fair 
 
 No eyes more true than thine, 
 
 Oh mother mine.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Quest 7 
 
 Eyes of my Life 15 
 
 Song 16 
 
 I Think the Garden Misses You 17 
 
 Bitter Sweet 18 
 
 Why Do I Love Thee ? 19 
 
 But Love Can Hear 20 
 
 How Did I Know? 21 
 
 You Smiled 22 
 
 When You Are Away 23 
 
 Moon Song 24 
 
 I Love Thee and I Will Not Go .25 
 
 To Forget 26 
 
 Now Thou Art Gone 27 
 
 The Shadow 28 
 
 Lest My Soul Should Stray 29 
 
 And The Seasons Go 30 
 
 The Little Things 31 
 
 The Portrait of a Gentleman 32 
 
 Along The Stream 33 
 
 The Wind Seems Kind Today 34 
 
 A Rose or Two 35 
 
 Jealously 36 
 
 The Time for Mating 37 
 
 And We Were Alone 38 
 
 The Dragon-Fly 39 
 
 The First Prelude Chopin 40 
 
 For Her Majesty The Queen 41 
 
 Nesting Times 42 
 
 Quatrain 43
 
 PAGE 
 
 Friendship 44 
 
 I Know a Place Where a River Weaves 45 
 
 Was It The Sea? 46 
 
 Song of a Lonely Soul 47 
 
 Until a Master Passion Shall Arise 48 
 
 Have You Ever Been To Fairy Land? 49 
 
 I Would Be Great 50 
 
 What Do You Say? 51 
 
 Then Came Twilight 52 
 
 Longings 53 
 
 Sir Insolence 54 
 
 The Water Lilies 55 
 
 An Old Fashioned Garden 56 
 
 But The Living Fade 57 
 
 When Sunbeams Stray 58
 
 THE QUEST 
 
 With windows open towards Futurity 
 I sit and wait, and watch the eastern sky. 
 'Tis weary waiting for the days that lie 
 Somewhere beyond. The clouds go winging by 
 
 As I have sometimes seen belated birds 
 Go winging nestward, fearful in their flight 
 Thro' the uncertain and fast-fading light 
 Lest they be overtaken by the Night. 
 
 In dreams alone have I found Happiness. 
 Last night I dreamed of freedom ; of release 
 From sorrow; of a strange, sweet song of 
 
 peace. 
 Alas, that such a dream should ever cease ! 
 
 But as I drifted thro' the Shoals of Sleep, 
 Out from the Isle of Dreams where all things 
 
 are, 
 
 I saw what seemed to be a peerless Star, 
 And longed to grasp it, but it was too far. 
 
 So many of us are but restless birds 
 Of passage, constantly upon the wing; 
 Who never think to look within the ring 
 Of Self and Soul, to find the Hidden Spring. 
 
 And few possess a vessel large enough 
 To hold the countless tears that overflow. 
 The Christian has his God ; we Pagans know 
 No God to comfort us, and we must go.
 
 And lay our heads on some dear, faithful 
 
 breast, 
 
 And breathe the sorrows that the Seasons send 
 To one who, in our life's uneven trend, 
 Has merited the sacred name of Friend. 
 
 Within my garden many flow'rs have bloomed 
 And withered, and its pathways all are strown 
 With petals '.hat the willful winds have blown 
 With little hopes that once I called my own. 
 
 When Twilight with her pale, gray fingers 
 
 sweeps 
 
 The last rose-tinted glory from the west, 
 I sometimes feel my aching brow caress'd 
 By the cool hands of her whom I love best. 
 
 There is a Voice that I shall always hear 
 (If that strange thing be true that shadowv 
 Predicted someting called Eternity) 
 It has become so much a part of me. 
 
 Across sad sens, within the Vale of Sleep, 
 Two silent cities lie ; and of the pair. 
 One is so cold, and dark and sinister, 
 That I would pray to never enter there. 
 
 For all night long there roams within its walls 
 A Restlessness. Without, from dusk till dawn, 
 The Night Wind moans and mutters till the 
 
 wan, 
 Pale face of Morning bids them both begone.
 
 Oh, pity him who longs and yearns for rest 
 The tortured one whom Sleep will not obey ! 
 The head that on a sleepless pillow lay 
 Must rise at morn to face another day. 
 
 I am a captive caught within the web 
 Of Circumstance. I trust the weight of years 
 To free me. Why, then, importune the ears 
 Of One who never answers if He hears ? 
 
 Some day the threads will snap beneath the 
 
 strain, 
 
 And give me liberty. When I can go 
 And come at will, and reap where now I sow, 
 And pay the paltry pennies that I owe, 
 
 Life will be rid of petty tyrannies. 
 
 Then shall I have more time to sing my songs, 
 
 More time to satisfy a Soul that longs 
 
 To solve the mystery of Rights and Wrongs. 
 
 The sweetest singer that has ever sung 
 Thro' all the ages, from a Vintner's Sign 
 Fashioned a harp, with tendrils of the Vine 
 For strings, and sang a wondrous Song of 
 Wine. 
 
 For one brief moment it was given me 
 To lie within the arms of Happiness ; 
 And I remember every tenderness 
 Each smile, each sigh, each heart-throb, each 
 caress.
 
 Last night I listened to a mocking-bird 
 That sang to me somewhere out in the rain. 
 There was a note within its lovely strain 
 That told of heart-break and a world of pain. 
 
 I love the music of the Night ; and yet 
 In all the songs the Night has sung to me 
 I have not found one single melody 
 That was not written in a minor key. 
 
 And when I listen to a violin 
 That seems almost to suffer as the bow 
 Within the Master's hand glides to and fro 
 Across its strings (and it is often so) 
 
 I feel the bow upon my own heart strings. 
 And every sob, and sigh, and psalm of praise, 
 And every curse and cadence that obeys 
 Is mine ; and I the violin he plays. 
 
 I seem to feel each veering of the wind. 
 
 Above the petty clouds of Loss and Gain 
 
 I sit, and watch Earth's children strive and 
 
 strain, 
 And search" for sunbeams in a blinding rain. 
 
 Death came to me one night within a dream, 
 And stood beside me for a while ; then laid 
 His hand upon my head and gently bade 
 Me follow him. And I was not afraid. 
 
 10
 
 I rose and followed him. But as I asked 
 Of him that question which the Living must 
 Forever ask, into my hands was thrust 
 An alabaster box half-filled with dust. 
 
 There is a Heaven in this world somewhere ; 
 And if I could but find it I would give 
 Up all I have, throw down the sorry sieve 
 Thro' which I sift the sands of Life, and 
 LIVE! 
 
 Of Life's Illusions, this is not the least : 
 The Pleasures of the Morrow magnify 
 Themselves ; and thus deceived, too oft we sigh, 
 And pass the Pleasures of the Present by. 
 
 In some things I am nothing but a child : 
 I make believe the cloudy days are fair, 
 And when the pain seems more than I can bear, 
 I smile and make believe I do not care. 
 
 Ah, yes ! but there is one of me (the child 
 Or man, I know not which it is) who fears 
 That should the game be played thro' many 
 
 years 
 I shall go blind with holding back the tears. 
 
 I am a plaything in the hands of Fate. 
 Sometimes I seem to please, as playthings will ; 
 And then again, my Master treats me ill, 
 And tosses me aside His plaything still. 
 
 ii
 
 Life is a journey ; days are distances. 
 Each morn we rise where we so safely stowed 
 Our packs the night before, and with the load 
 Once more upon our backs, we take the road 
 
 That leads NO ONE KNOWS WHERE. 
 
 Altho' 'tis plain 
 
 That we could gather from the Least Profound 
 The most concerning whither we are bound, 
 Were Silence less intelligent than Sound. 
 
 And tho' I know that I should never turn 
 My little lamp upon another's sin 
 Until I have first turned its rays within, 
 And scanned the miles to where I might have 
 been; 
 
 We know so many things that are not true. 
 That dreams are sweetest in the month of May, 
 And your eyes bluest when the skies are gray. 
 Were worth a thousand truths of Yesterday. 
 
 My eyes so often seek the Evening Star. 
 
 I sometimes fancy it a sentinel 
 
 Before the walls of Night ; placed there to tell 
 
 The world when Day is dead, and all is well. 
 
 Ah, 'tis a noble sight to watch the stars 
 As cap-a-pie, with every shining lance 
 Aloft, and every armored side a-glance 
 With gleaming light, they silently advance. 
 
 12
 
 Dear Heart, oft times when Night is marshall- 
 ing 
 
 Her regiments, I wonder where you are ; 
 If your dear eyes are watching from afar 
 The self-same heavens, and the self-same star. 
 
 Ah, see yon meteor that westward wings 
 Across the firmament and disappears 
 In nothingness beyond ! As days in years 
 Are lost, or hours of happiness in tears. 
 
 If I could envy, I would envy him 
 
 Who has the power to make the Present pay 
 
 For all the joylessness of yesterday, 
 
 And all the sorrow which the morrow may 
 
 Hold out to him. I would that I could say : 
 "To-morrow is, at best, an idle boast ; 
 And Yesterday what is it but a ghost? 
 The Great Today is mine ; the least, the most." 
 
 We rail at Life ; and yet if gold could buy 
 Us years to live, I venture to foretell 
 That we should never find the ones who dwell 
 At length upon Life's woe, with years to sell. 
 
 Life is a sad sweet song of wonderment. 
 
 The dead leaves wonder why the west wind 
 
 blows ; 
 
 The willows wonder where the river flows ; 
 And I I wonder if the river knows.
 
 Sometimes the hopes we build our very Lives 
 Upon are razed ; and then, altho' we start 
 A thousand times to play the little part 
 Assigned to us, we play with half a heart. 
 
 I love the spirit that can smile in pain. 
 It is the spirit in the Human Race 
 That has the power to glorify to trace 
 Nobility upon the Human Face. 
 
 The pictures of the past by mellow tints 
 Are glorified. The flow'rs that used to grow 
 Were somehow sweeter than the flow'rs we 
 
 know 
 Today. Dear Heart, it will be always so. 
 
 The best that Life can offer is the best 
 Within us. Down our little Road of Years 
 We hurry thro' a mist of smiles and tears 
 Pursuing Hope ; pursued by Doubts and Fears. 
 
 Like butterflies we sip now here now there. 
 Like thistledown we drift, and rise and fall 
 At every careless zephyr's beck and call. 
 Like flow'rs we bloom and wither ; that is all.
 
 EYES OF MY LIFE 
 
 Eyes of my Life! 
 If thou should'st go 
 What of the night ? 
 Dost thou not know 
 Heart of my Heart! 
 Hast thou forgot 
 There is no light 
 Where thou art not ?
 
 S.ONG 
 
 Last night I saw you in a dream ; 
 
 I called you did not hear me. 
 
 And then there came another dream 
 
 And you were very near me. 
 
 We roamed the meadows, hand in hand, 
 
 Whilst all the world was sleeping; 
 
 And then at dawn we parted, dear, 
 
 And I awakened, weeping! 
 
 16
 
 I THINK THE GARDEN MISSES YOU 
 
 I think the garden misses you ; 
 The roses, if they did not care, 
 Would never droop the whole day thro', 
 Nor look as wistful as they do.
 
 BITTER-SWEET 
 
 It is sweet to be missed 
 So the old saying goes, 
 And I doubt it not, Dearest 
 Yet every one knows 
 That dark shadows lurk 
 In the converse of this, 
 That the bitter remains 
 For the many who miss. 
 
 18
 
 WHY DO I LOVE THEE? 
 
 Why do I love thee? Why dost thou believe 
 That there is vision greater than thy sight ? 
 Why do the swallows circle in their flight ? 
 Why can he give most, who can most receive? 
 Why does the bosom of the ocean heave? 
 Why are the lilies of the valley white? 
 Why do the morning-glories close at night? 
 And why does Autumn wear one scarlet sleeve ? 
 
 Thou would'st not ask a reason for the rose, 
 Nor of the wind know more than that it blows ; 
 And yet thou askest me to tell thee why 
 I love thee. Still, to please thee, I will try 
 (And who shall call my answer incomplete?) 
 I love thee, just because I love thee, Sweet 1
 
 BUT LOVE CAN HEAR 
 
 Love is blind, but Love can hear. 
 The faintest footfall tell the lover's ear 
 That she is near. 
 
 And blind tho' lovers be ; still can they see 
 A thousand graces, hidden all the while 
 From you and me.
 
 HOW DID I KNOW? 
 
 How did I know that we should meet? 
 I think it was my own heart's beat 
 That told me you were coming, Sweet ! 
 
 How did I know which way you'd pass? 
 I saw a daisy in the grass 
 Consult its dewdrop looking-glass !
 
 YOU SMILED 
 
 You smiled, and then the whole world seemed 
 
 to thrill; 
 
 A pulsing, throbbing joy ran thro' my veins 
 As rills run down a mountain when it rains. 
 
 And straightway all my thoughts deserted me ; 
 Attracted by the f^bry of your eyes, 
 As golden-rod attracts the butterflies.
 
 WHEN YOU ARE AWAY 
 
 When you are away 
 The hours lag so, 
 And the days declare 
 That they will not go. 
 But how they can care, 
 Or bear to stay 
 W r hen you are away, 
 I do not know.
 
 MOON SONG 
 
 The night is clear, and the moon sails high. 
 
 Come nearer my Beloved, nearer still ! 
 The winds are crooning a lullaby. 
 
 ajCome nearer my Beloved, nearer still ! 
 There are none in the world but Thou and I ; 
 And Thou art mine to caress until 
 The stars grow pale in the eastern sky, 
 And the moon sails over the hill. 
 But oh, how swiftly the moments fly ! 
 
 Come nearer my Beloved, nearer still !
 
 I LOVE THEE, AND I WILL NOT GO 
 
 I love thee, and 
 I will not go. 
 Dost understand? 
 I love thee, and 
 Should'st thou command 
 I must say: "No; 
 I love thee, and 
 I will not go !"
 
 TO FORGET 
 
 Spirit of song within my glass, 
 Sparkling wine, soul of the vine, 
 Stray sunbeams, golden gleams, 
 Ripples of laughter, daring dreams 
 In this glass of mine 
 Thou shalt pass my lips, and let 
 Thy sweet madness teach my sadness 
 To forget.
 
 NOW THOU ART GONE 
 
 God knows I miss thee thro' the day, 
 And thro' the evening hours. But when 
 I kiss the pillow where thy dear head lay 
 God ! how I miss thee then ! 
 
 I love thee so ! I even dare 
 To hope yes, know that thou wilt be 
 Mine as thou wert before. Sometime, some- 
 where, 
 Thou wilt return to me! 
 
 The law of Life that made me thine, 
 Gave thee to me. Were it not so, 
 Then had I learned to curse this heart of mine 
 That will not let thee go !
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 Since thou hast turned thy face from me, 
 
 The winds blow neither good nor ill. 
 
 Thou art as yonder straying cloud, 
 
 And I the shadow on the hill ; 
 
 For thou dost go where e'er the winds decree, 
 
 And I I can but choose to follow thee.
 
 LEST MY SOUL SHOULD STRAY 
 
 Lethe, lest my soul should stray 
 
 Again into the mortal clay, 
 
 Lend it (to warn it how it was betrayed before) 
 
 One little, haunting memory, that it may be 
 
 Content to enter some fair tree 
 
 A poplar, or a sycamore.
 
 AND THE SEASONS GO 
 
 The seasons come, and the seasons go; 
 Alas that the days should hurry so! 
 Spring floats by like a butterfly, 
 And summer is gone before we know. 
 
 The seasons come, and the seasons go; 
 Alas, that the days should loiter so! 
 My poor heart grieves for the dear, dead leaves, 
 And the long, long time till the roses blow.
 
 THE LITTLE THINGS 
 
 The happiness of life doth so depend 
 
 Upon the little things, 
 
 That any word of kindness may portend 
 
 The thought which brings 
 
 The deed ; which, in the end, 
 
 Doth make the friend.
 
 THE PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Helpful and hopeful, doing what he can 
 To make the lives about him more serene ; 
 Upright and fearless, sober, steadfast, clean, 
 Quick to discern the great All Father's plan ; 
 Eager to learn, and not afraid to scan, 
 The future ; kindly, gracious, tender, keen, 
 The very soul of honor, never mean 
 That is the portrait of a gentleman. 
 
 Some seek for fortune in the busy marts, 
 Some for mere selfish pleasure, some for fame ; 
 And some would sell their souls and rob their 
 
 hearts 
 
 Would barter all for riches or a name. 
 But still we are reminded, now and then, 
 That there are some who would be gentlemen.
 
 ALONG THE STREAM 
 
 For miles the drooping willows shade the 
 
 stream ; 
 For hours the violets dream, and nod, and 
 
 dream, 
 While sunbeams stab the shadows with their 
 
 gleam. 
 
 And lanquid butterflies float idly where 
 
 The wild flow'rs breathe the sweetest, and 'tis 
 
 there 
 That zephyrs comb the tangled maiden-hair. 
 
 33
 
 THE WIND SEEMS KIND TODAY 
 
 The trees nod east, the trees nod west; 
 
 The wind seems kind today, most kind ; 
 
 It lulls the little leaves to rest. 
 
 The trees nod east, the trees nod west ; 
 
 Do you suppose it has a quest ? 
 
 Has something definite to find ? 
 
 The trees nod east, the trees nod west ; 
 
 The wind seems kind today, most kind. 
 
 34
 
 A ROSE OR TWO 
 
 A Rose or two 
 For ma dnchesse. 
 Not many true, 
 A rose or two. 
 Who sent them? You 
 Could never guess. 
 A rose or two 
 For ma duchesse. 
 
 35
 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 The shadows seem to love the stream, 
 The willows bend above it; 
 And while I cannot say I deem 
 It strange that they should love it, 
 
 I must confess that when I see 
 The willows bending o'er it, 
 I feel a twinge of jealousy 
 For I, myself, adore it!
 
 THE TIME FOR MATING 
 
 What is the use of waiting? 
 Tell her your love today. 
 The Spring 's the time for" mating ; 
 There is no month like May. 
 The lilies are renewing 
 Their promise to the lake; 
 Intent upon his wooing, 
 A dove is softly cooing 
 Somewhere within the brake. 
 
 Why be content with sighing 
 As if it were too late? 
 The mocking bird is flying 
 This moment to his mate. 
 Enough of contemplating 
 Spring will depart with May ! 
 And Spring 's the time for mating) 
 Too long you have been waiting ; 
 Tell her your love today. 
 
 37
 
 AND WE WERE ALONE 
 
 The moon rose 
 
 The night was wistful ; 
 
 And the thistle stalks shimmered. 
 
 Adown the slope, southerly, 
 
 Shone the lights of the city 
 
 The wind moaned 
 
 Moaned as a wounded woman might- 
 
 And the stars blinked wonderingly 
 
 In their blue-green meadow. 
 
 Then all was still. 
 
 And my soul entered into the silence 
 
 As into a sanctuary ; 
 
 And we were alone.
 
 THE DRAGON-FLY 
 
 Unless you are keener by far than I, 
 
 You would never guess 
 
 That the water-cress 
 
 Is madly in love with the dragon-fly. 
 
 Poor water-cress ! 
 
 For the dragon-fly darts here and there 
 
 All unconcerned. He does not care. 
 
 39
 
 THE FIRST PRELUDE: CHOPIN 
 
 The Morning of Creation heard 
 Such music, when the first wind stirred ; 
 A World was born with every bar 
 With every sixteenth note, a star. 
 
 40
 
 FOR HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN 
 
 A fleet of fairy sunbeams 
 
 Is sailing the cloud-seas o'er; 
 
 The flagship is "The Forget-me-not," 
 
 And I am the commodore. 
 
 Yes, I am the commodore of the fleet ; 
 And I sail o'er seas of a silver sheen 
 With my cargo a thousand kisses 
 For her majesty, the Queen.
 
 NESTING TIME 
 
 The oriole flies to his mate; 
 The linnet has already flown ; 
 And e'en the flicker on the gate 
 Is not alone. 
 
 O happiness of flying home! 
 One lonely heart thou hast forgot; 
 For such as I may stay or roam 
 It matters not.
 
 QUATRAIN 
 
 My life is a curious, threadbare thing 
 A garment, clean in the main, I trust ; 
 But worn, and patched with the songs I sing, 
 And I wear it because I must. 
 
 43
 
 FRIENDSHIP 
 
 You ask me what is Friendship. And I say : 
 The beacon light that throws the brightest ray 
 On Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Today 
 That is Friendship. 
 
 You ask me what is Friendship. I reply : 
 The smile for smile, the sigh for sigh, 
 Unchanged and changeless as the years go by 
 That is Friendship. 
 
 44
 
 I KNOW A PLACE WHERE A RIVER 
 WEAVES 
 
 I know a place where a river weaves 
 Thro' fields that are wide, and cool, and green ; 
 I know where they gather the red rose-leaves 
 For the bed of the Fairy Queen. 
 
 And I have seen at the twilight hour 
 A star gaze sadly thro' the trees; 
 Sad with loving some earth-born flow'r 
 That sighed for the evening breeze. 
 
 45
 
 WAS IT THE SEA? 
 
 The song of the sea is in my ears 
 
 The song of the sea, the song of the sea ! 
 
 Souls that have lived in the bygone years, 
 
 Singing to me, singing to me ! 
 
 Off to the west the dark sky clears ; 
 
 A sea-gull circles, and wheels, and peers. 
 
 The cloud fleets sail to the southward Hist ! 
 
 Was it a voice that called to me 
 
 A voice that I have not heard in years 
 
 Or was it the sea ? 
 
 My cheek is wet with a dash of spray 
 A dash of spray, a dash of spray ! 
 And into my heart come, creeping, fears ; 
 And I look away, I look away ! 
 And into my eyes there comes a mist, 
 A mist of spray or is it tears ?
 
 SONG OF A LONELY SOUL 
 
 Have you ever thought of the uselessness 
 
 Of the lives we lead? 
 
 Have you ever sounded the emptiness 
 
 Of the word "succeed?" 
 
 Have you ever trudged for many an hour 
 
 O'er many a mile, 
 
 To find that you sought but a withered flow'i 
 
 That was not worth while? 
 
 47
 
 Until a master passion shall arise, 
 
 Absorbing all his little likes and loves 
 
 As the first morning sun absorbs the dew, 
 
 Man is inconstant as a weather vane 
 
 In March. When looking south, he loves the 
 
 south ; 
 
 Yet loves no point upon the compass less 
 Because he thinks he loves the south the best. 
 
 48
 
 HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO 
 FAIRYLAND ? 
 
 Have you ever been to Fairyland ? 
 Did you go by way of the Rainbow Road ? 
 Did the tiny chief of the outlaw band 
 Of elves demand that you pay a toll? 
 And did you give him a feather from 
 The wing of a golden oriole? 
 
 49
 
 I WOULD BE GREAT 
 
 I would be great ; 
 
 Not great in strength, nor mastery of art ; 
 
 But great of heart ! 
 
 I would be true ; 
 
 That I might seem to be more worthy of 
 
 A woman's love ! 
 
 And I would look 
 
 Upon my fellow men with trustful eyes. 
 
 I would be wise !
 
 WHAT DO YOU SAY? 
 
 Some say : "Life is but a merry dance 
 Thro' endless mazes of Night and Day" 
 Or: "Life is at best but a game of chance; 
 And we are but pawns in a ceaseless play" 
 Or again : "The great moulder is Circum- 
 stance ; 
 And we mere pieces of plastic clay." 
 
 Ah, Life is a bundle of Hopes and Fears ! 
 Tis enough, that enough will be always more ; 
 Our lives do but echo the laughter and tears 
 Of thousands of souls who have gone before 
 They who have mounted that flight of years 
 Which leads to a closed or open door !
 
 THEN CAME TWILIGHT 
 
 Then came Twilight ; 
 
 And with her own pale hands let down the bars 
 
 That kept them from our sight, 
 
 And one by one the sleepy little stars 
 
 Arose and strayed into the night. 
 
 Then as a bride 
 
 In her white wedding-garments came the 
 
 Moon. 
 
 "They say her lover died 
 Long years ago," I whispered. "Yes, the 
 
 Moon 
 Is mad stark mad !" the Night Wind sighed.
 
 LONGINGS 
 
 The mocking 1 bird that fluttered half a-swoon, 
 And all but blinded by the glare of noon, 
 Was longing for (poor, little mocking -bird!) 
 That strange, white mystery some call the moon. 
 
 The night wind, when the western sky was 
 
 kiss'd 
 
 With saffron shaded into amethyst, 
 Was sighing for (poor, little lonely wind!) 
 The mountains dreaming in their purple mist. 
 
 53
 
 SIR INSOLENCE 
 
 Self-satisfied and jauntily at ease, 
 Well-groomed and rakish, daring debonair 
 (A veritable Lovelace, if you please) 
 The blackbird swaggers in the garden there. 
 Just hear him scold! 'Tis evident he sees 
 Me coming. Hear him clamor and declare 
 That they are his my lawn, and flow'rs, and 
 
 trees ; 
 And that 'twere best that I should have a care. 
 
 Altho' I should not wish to have him know, 
 I like his scoldings and his lordly ways ; 
 I like to see him strutting to and fro 
 Across my lawn. I miss him on the days 
 When he indulges me with a pretense 
 Of having made a change of residence. 
 
 54
 
 THE WATER-LILIES 
 
 Sometimes the water-lilies lay 
 
 Their cheeks to cool 
 
 Upon the bosom of the pool 
 
 Of a summer's day ; 
 
 And then the ripples kiss them when they dare. 
 
 I need not say 
 
 That there are many graceful ripples there. 
 
 Perhaps that 's why the lilies sometimes lay 
 
 Their cheeks to cool 
 
 Upon the bosom of the pool 
 
 Of a summer's day? 
 
 55
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN 
 
 Larkspur and eglantine, 
 Heartsease and heather, 
 Hollyhocks, four-o'clocks, 
 Poppies, mignonette and phlox 
 Growing wild together. 
 What a dear, old-fashioned nook, 
 And how few would heed it. 
 What a place to take a book 
 And never read it !
 
 BUT THE LIVING FADE 
 
 A mocking bird on the topmost spray 
 Of a distant tree 
 Is singing : 
 
 "The days are slipping away from me 
 Drifting into eternity. 
 Like the brook in the glade, 
 Life ripples on; 
 But the Living fade 
 Like the rose of dawn, 
 Which is scarce abloom 
 Before 'tis gone. 
 And I, who came 
 With a heart of name, 
 And a spirit as restless as the sea 
 /, too, must follow the drift of days 
 Into eternity." 
 
 Ah, the mocking bird is sad tonight ! 
 
 Sad with the thought that the days must bring 
 
 Another spray 
 
 Another spring 
 
 And another mocking bird to sing.
 
 WHEN SUNBEAMS STRAY 
 
 When sunbeams stray 
 Into my heart, 
 The shadows start 
 To run away. 
 
 "They start," I say ; 
 Too well I know 
 How shadows stay 
 And sunbeams go.
 
 Date Due 
 
 Library Bureau Cat. No. 1137 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 001 259 829 8 
 
 37 3 ,