mes Ik. fIDofDtt 
 
 
 PAULINE FORE MOFFITT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 GENERAL LIBRARY, BERKELEY 
 

 C->^ , 
 
MEMORIES AND OTHER VERSES 
 
Photographed by William Keith. 
 
MEMORIES 
 
 AND OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 
 
 " Forenoon and afternoon and night, Forenoon, 
 And afternoon, and night, Forenoon, and what! 
 The empty song repeats itself. No more ? 
 Yea, that is Life : make this forenoon sublime, 
 This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, 
 And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won. ' ' 
 
 Life. EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. 
 
 "I praise Thee, Father, though Thou thrust 
 Me crying in the common dust, 
 Not as I will but as I must." 
 
 A Canticle of Common Things. ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON. 
 
 ONE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED FOR PRIVATE 
 CIRCULATION AT SAN FRANCISCO IN THE MONTH 
 OF DECEMBER AND YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED. 
 
Copyright, 7000, 
 
 */ 
 
 EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 
 
 Printed by The Stanley- Taylor Company 
 San Francisco 
 
TO MY SONS 
 EDWARD DuWITT TAYLOR 
 
 AND 
 HENRY HUNTLY TAYLOR 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 MEMORIES: V*' ",... . i 
 
 The Master ... . f , : ; . . _ f , , t . 3 
 
 Memory's Bells ....... 4 
 
 Visions . . . . . .,.,.. 5 
 
 Memories . . . . . . , . 6 
 
 In Time of May . . . , ; ,. t - ; 7 
 
 With Memory as Steersman ..... 8 
 
 A Summer Day ..... ^ 9 
 
 On a Walk 10 
 
 In the Autumn Woods . . . ,. v ; n 
 
 A Winter Day . . . . . . .12 
 
 To the Missouri . . . . /,,' .. : 13 
 
 The Dreams of Long Ago . . , ... ^. .. . 14 
 
 HELICONIAN ECHOES: j . V i, \ 15 
 
 Theseus and Ariadne . . . . ;* . . 17 
 
 Icarus . . . . . ^ . ^ . i 8 
 
 Iphigenia . . . . , . . 19 
 
 Orestes . . . . .. . ',.*'" . 20 
 
 Circe . . . -**f . ', v . 21 
 
 Ulysses and Calypso .... "*'..** \ ' 22 
 
 Antigone ...... .', . 23 
 
 Orpheus and Eurydice ..... 24 
 
 Narcissus . . . . */ ; . .25 
 
 IN MEMORIAM: ~. . , . * *'?' . 27 
 
 In Memory of Helen Stanford Taylor . . . 29 
 
 In Memory of Bruno Lane Putzker . ' .- ^ ' . . 47 
 
 In Memory of George Bonny . . , *" *. * J . 48 
 
IN MEDITATION: 51 
 
 Scorn Not the Singer . . . '" . . -53 
 
 My Sonnet Prison . . . . . . 54 
 
 Edelweiss . . . . . . 55 
 
 Unaccomplished . . . . . 56 
 
 Dante and Beatrice . . . . . 57 
 
 To the Owl that alighted above the Picture of Athens . 5 8 
 
 Man's Heritage . . . . . . 59 
 
 Mystery . . . .... 60 
 
 Near Midnight of December 3 1 , 1899 . . .61 
 
 Invocation . . . . . . . 62 
 
 Compensation . . . . . . 63 
 
 Concord ....... 64 
 
 Work and Service . . . . . -65 
 
 Consummation . . . . . . 65 
 
 J. w ' . 6 5 
 
 Spring ........ 66 
 
 On the Rubicon . . . . . . .66 
 
 The Axe '.;* 67 
 
 The Brook 68 
 
 To William Keith on his Painting, on his Sixtieth Birthday, 
 
 a Picture entitled "The Last Gleam" . . 70 
 
 Suggested by Looking at a Picture Painted by William Keith 
 
 entitled The Mountain" . . . . 71 
 
 Suggested by Looking at a Picture Painted by William Keith 
 
 entitled "Into the Mystery " . . . . 72 
 
 On a Picture Painted by the Poet, Lloyd Mifflin, entitled "A 
 
 Quiet Hour" . . . . ' . . 73 
 
 Vowels . . . . . . .74 
 
 Artemis . . . . . . . 75 
 
 Golden Verses . . . . .''.'' 76 
 
 To Shelley .77 
 
 Rudyard Kipling . . . . . . 77 
 
 At Edwin Markham's Private Recital . . . -78 
 
 To Professor Mace wen . . . . . 79 
 
 One of a Kind . . *. " T *, / - , . , . . 84 
 
IN MEDITATION CONTINUED: 
 
 On Reading the Life of Henry George Written by his Son 
 
 Henry George, Jr. . . . . -85 
 
 Faith . . . . ' . ' * </.,.* 85 
 
 Passion-Flower . . . . . .86 
 
 Her Resting Place . . . v i ' . 87 
 
 The Voyage ,. .; . . r ' . 88 
 
 Despair Not . . .' . . ' ' . 88 
 
 Voices . . . * . .89 
 
 Whither . . . ; . , . . 90 
 
Memories 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 FREDERICK THOMAS KEMPER 
 
"I cannot but remember such things were, 
 That were most precious to me. ' ' 
 
 Macbeth, Act iv, Scene 3. 
 
 < 
 
 "The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns 
 In my soul's sanctuary." 
 
 Love in Exile. MATHILDE BLIND. 
 
 What strength of years those blossoms had 
 Which made my spring of life so glad, 
 For in the dusty ways of men 
 Their perfume fills my heart again. 
 
THE MASTER 
 
 From out his noble face there looked an eye 
 Bespeaking mastery; ah, I see him now 
 With gathered thunders on his clouded brow 
 Whence lightnings leaped that none would dare defy. 
 
 Yet kind and patient he, nor ceased to try 
 
 The veriest dunce with learning to endow ; 
 But half-done work he never would allow, 
 Nor could he compromise with any lie. 
 
 And he drank deep of joyance of the play 
 
 That sent the blood all tingling through the veins, 
 To drive the harassment of tasks away ; 
 
 And now his years are done, there still remains 
 Such love for what he gave me of my gains, 
 It warms my heart as though new-born to-day. 
 
MEMORY'S BELLS 
 
 The Past's memorial troop insistent ring 
 
 Within my heart their deeply-sounding bells, 
 Whose mournful tone in every throbbing tells 
 Of joys that evermore have taken wing. 
 
 Yet 'tis not sadness which alone they bring; 
 For as I list, once more my bosom swells 
 With boyhood's bounding sport in woods and dells, 
 Where rapture's voices unrestrained sing. 
 
 Ah, where are they who filled the long-drawn hours 
 Of every season's wonderments with me 
 As though life had but happiness for sign ? . . . . 
 
 The bells have ceased ; the sky of evening lowers ; 
 The fruitful summer can no longer be, 
 And barren winter now alone is mine. 
 
VISIONS 
 
 Hope drew me on to peaks that glittered bright 
 With lovelier tints than rainbows ever knew, 
 While round my loitering feet rare blossoms grew, 
 Steeped in the glories of immatchless light. 
 
 In golden opulence the days were dight, 
 
 With every sky cloud-free, save when there flew 
 Great flocks of dreams that veiled the pulsing blue 
 Only to thrill me with a new delight. 
 
 Ah, this was in the days so long ago, 
 I marvel much if it be truly so 
 Those immemorial, passion-hearted years. 
 
 My life's once blazing fires are burning low, 
 
 And in my cheeks regret's unfathomed tears 
 Have worn the channels age alone can know. 
 
MEMORIES 
 
 Here let me put my daily burden by, 
 
 To live one radiant, consecrated hour, 
 While sceptred Memory with divinest power 
 Commands obedient visions for mine eye : 
 
 Ah, what procession floats beneath my sky, 
 
 Of long-evanished joys in spring-time flower, 
 When boundless realms were youth's demanded 
 
 dower, 
 And all its troubles but a tear or sigh ! 
 
 And she the fairest of the ghostly throng, 
 Who so entreats me with celestial gaze, 
 Leaps in my heart and trembles in my song ; 
 
 O purple-gloried, more than hallowed days, 
 
 When she and I walked Love's enrapturing ways 
 She that in Death's cold arms has lain so long ! 
 
IN TIME OF MAY 
 
 Within thy silvern bars, oh, hold me fast, 
 
 My Sonnet; hold me safely, that my dream 
 Of immemorial blooms on men may beam 
 In all thy artistry of splendor cast. 
 
 To murmurous music of the far-off Past 
 Again I loiter by the woodland stream, 
 Till on its memory-haunted banks I deem 
 Myself with joys in fairy legion massed. 
 
 Once more I seek the walnut's easeful shade 
 
 To eat the mandrake's gold-hued apple there, 
 As all the ravishments of May are mine ; 
 
 Once more with her that in the grave was laid 
 Long, long ago, I breathe the fragrant air, 
 And pluck at her fond wish the columbine. 
 
 ;& 
 
WITH MEMORY AS STEERSMAN 
 
 'Tis memory steers me as my boat drifts by 
 
 The banks with violets and sweet-williams gay, 
 While far and near with many a carolling lay 
 The mating songsters fill the earth and sky. 
 
 Here let me stop, and 'neath the elm-tree lie, 
 
 Where boyhood's moments passed like dreams away, 
 And once more watch the sun's expiring ray 
 Light the cows homeward from the pasture nigh. 
 
 Their tinkling bells die out along the lane ; 
 The gloaming slowly deepens into night, 
 And mid the darkness Memory flies from me. 
 
 Would she had longer stayed ; but her delight 
 
 Has sweetly soothed the Present's piercing pain, 
 And bade me hope for worthier days to be. 
 
A SUMMER DAY 
 
 What treasure trove the languorous summer hours 
 When all their golden moments were our own ; 
 Beneath some tree's soft shade to drowseful drone, 
 And build in Dreamland fairy-peopled towers ! 
 
 The birds are dozing in their leafy bowers, 
 Save the woodpecker that is tapping lone 
 Where dauntless bumble-bees make murmurous 
 
 moan 
 Among the blossoms of the drooping flowers. 
 
 The sun sinks down in clouds that seem his pyre ; 
 And as the dusk is edging into dark, 
 And Hesperus faintly trembles into fire, 
 
 The lightning-bug floats by, a glowing spark, 
 
 While then we hear ah, now I hear it still 
 The plaintive calling of the whippoorwill. 
 
 i I 
 
 
ON A WALK 
 
 O gentle Dream, thou art full kind to me, 
 For at the close of this all-wearying day 
 Within thine arms thou bearest me away 
 To Memory waiting 'neath the mulberry-tree ; 
 
 Where close beside her let me sit while she 
 
 Recalls the boyhood feet that here did stray, 
 
 The cardinal's scarlet glory and his lay 
 
 That shook the blossoms plundered by the bee. 
 
 And then with her I'll wander o'er the hills, 
 And once again essay below the milPs 
 Great wheel to lure the silvery perch in vain ; 
 
 And as with heartening step we stroll along, 
 
 What troops of stories will around us throng, 
 What golden sunshine, what delightful rain ! 
 
 IO 
 
IN THE AUTUMN WOODS 
 
 I do remember in the long ago 
 
 How flamed the maple 'gainst the clouded sky, 
 While oak and hickory as with human sigh 
 Saw all the ground their dying leaves bestrow. 
 
 Ah, then the violets could no longer blow, 
 
 And all their shrivelled stems the brook passed by 
 In requiem as the quail's staccato cry 
 Blent with the raucous cawing of the crow. 
 
 But though the blooms were dead, the songsters mute, 
 Ours the papaw and persimmon fruit 
 When ripening frost had kissed them o'er and o'er ; 
 
 While walnuts from their lofty place fell down, 
 On winter eves the jocund feast to crown, 
 With jennetings all mellow to the core. 
 
 ii 
 
A WINTER DAY 
 
 The great Missouri, that when spring was young 
 Rolled by in still increasing, widening flow, 
 Now shrinks beneath the ice where skaters go 
 Swifter than arrow by an Indian sprung ; 
 
 And all the branches of the trees are hung 
 
 With crystals sparkling in the sunshine's glow, 
 While on the carpet of the fresh-laid snow 
 Play's riot leaps the shouting youths among. 
 
 Then down the hills the loaded coasters fly, 
 
 The air is thick with balls, and wrestlers try 
 For victory's palm contending breast to breast. 
 
 O marvellous time, when as the winter stormed 
 He boyhood's bosom with his ices warmed, 
 And reared great palaces for bateless zest. 
 
TO THE MISSOURI 
 
 Imperial river, never would I dare 
 
 To offer thee my insufficient rhyme, 
 But that I do bethink me of the time 
 So long ago, so crystallinely fair, 
 
 When on thy banks I sported free as air, 
 
 Plunged in thy tawny flood at summer's prime, 
 And when the bells of spring rang sweet in chime 
 Strolled on thy bluffs for blooms enclustered there. 
 
 I see thee now when snow and ice are gone 
 In grand, majestic might roll swiftly on 
 By city, bluff and bottom to the sea ; 
 
 And I remember well that swirl of thine 
 
 Wherein black death would quickly have been mine 
 Had not the Master sprang to rescue me. 
 
THE DREAMS OF LONG AGO 
 
 These dreams of mine refuse to let me go, 
 
 And hold me close with such entreating face, 
 With such insistent fondness of embrace, 
 That once again I range the Long Ago ; 
 
 Nor at this moment would I care to know 
 The Present's most rememberable grace ; 
 My feet are bounding in the woodland race, 
 And everywhere Hope's ringing trumpets blow. 
 
 The boundless forest and its streams are ours, 
 
 Its luscious fruits and nuts, its beauteous flowers, 
 With trees that lift their splendors to the sky ; 
 
 While rare, melodious birds such strains prolong 
 That all the universe is filled with song, 
 And nought that breathes seems ever born to die. 
 
Heliconian Echoes 
 
"And he had spoken with dead chiefs, a boy, 
 Who, in their boyhood long ago, had touch* d 
 The armed hands of heroes, that had warred 
 Beneath Troy wall, and saw the temples fall. 
 And trod among the dust of Ilion ; 
 And in the courts of Hecatompylos ; 
 And heard the whispers of the oracles." 
 
 Sappho and Alcaus. FREDERICK TENNYSON. 
 
THESEUS AND ARIADNE 
 
 Within the labyrinth's depths the Minotaur, 
 Slain by the sword she gave, lay dead, 
 And with his finger following her thread 
 He issued forth to see the heavens once more. 
 
 Then Theseus swiftly from the hated shore 
 With Ariadne on his bosom fled, 
 Still hearing as toward Naxos on they sped 
 King Minos' cries above the ocean's roar. 
 
 Deep-nested in love's softest down they lay 
 
 When she to him : " Through me alone thy way 
 To century-sounding fame has now been won ; 
 
 And yet I fear ; Oh, swear we shall not part ! " 
 " By Aphrodite do I swear, sweetheart !".... 
 Then rose portentous cloud and hid the sun. 
 
 '7 
 
 f" '"" -' 
 
ICARUS 
 
 At last the waxen wings were all complete. 
 Then spake wise Daedalus unto his son, 
 Who, hot with pride that now escape seemed won, 
 Longed for his pinions to supremely beat 
 
 In loftiest waves of air: " My boy, most sweet 
 Of everything the Gods for me have done, 
 Bridle thy mad desires, lest they outrun 
 Discretion's course and dash thee to defeat." 
 
 On them King Minos gazed with wondering eye 
 As swift they sailed through morn's auroral sky 
 From him and Crete ; then smote his breast with 
 glee, 
 
 As upward soared vain Icarus to the sun, 
 
 To downward, headlong plunge, a wingless one, 
 Into the jaws of the devouring sea. 
 
 18 
 
IPHIGENIA 
 
 King Agamemnon's fleet at Aulis lay 
 
 In deadly calm ; no breath of wind would blow ; 
 For Artemis had changed from friend to foe 
 When her most sacred stag she saw him slay. 
 
 Then Calchas spake : " The Gods have bade me say, 
 That to this angered one we must bestow 
 The virgin child of him who wrought our woe, 
 Or death shall seize us and these ships decay." 
 
 From home and friends they brought the lovely maid 
 To smoking altar where the brands were laid 
 A sight so piteous as to stay the knife ; 
 
 For Artemis to Tauris with her sped, 
 
 Where she as priestess gave Orestes life 
 When Troy and Agamemnon both were dead. 
 
ORESTES 
 
 When Agamemnon on the wings of Fame 
 
 From conquered Troy to Clytemnestra flew, 
 She kissed his lips as him jEgisthus slew 
 A pair of devils in immortal shame ! 
 
 Orestes heard, and all his quivering frame 
 
 Surged with a wrath the Pythoness so blew, 
 That with his mother's blood he did imbrue 
 The hand till then snow-white of any blame. 
 
 Whereat the snakes of torture round his head 
 Still closelier clung as on and on he fled 
 Before the vengeful, fierce Eumenides ; 
 
 But when the Tauric Artemis he bore 
 
 To Argos* land, Athene's self did seize 
 
 The raging Furies, and they scourged no more. 
 
CIRCE 
 
 In sunless vale the Circean palace stood 
 
 A marble wonder, where, mid luring song 
 
 And drowseful, fragrant sweets men lingered long, 
 
 To drain their hearts and souls of every good. 
 
 As wrought she at her web in singing mood, 
 All unsuspicious came Ulysses* throng, 
 Whom, like the rest, though bearded men and 
 
 strong, 
 She changed to beasts with bestial form endued. 
 
 Then rose Troy's hero in tremendous ire, 
 
 And scourged foul Circe with such words of fire 
 She helpless crouched within her poisonous den ; 
 
 And forth from out the wallow of their sty 
 
 His rescued fellows came with sparkling eye, 
 In shape and soul once more erect as men. 
 
 21 
 
ULYSSES AND CALYPSO 
 
 For that they slew the cattle of the Sun 
 
 Ulysses 1 comrades sank to death while he, 
 Borne on the billows of the friendly sea, 
 Calypso's lovely isle in safety won ; 
 
 Where filled with soothing rest his days did run 
 To murmurous music's luring notes as she 
 Bound him in coils of such captivity, 
 That but for Zeus his soul had been undone. 
 
 The God's command the enamored nymph obeyed, 
 And helped the hero as his raft he made, 
 The while her heart o'erflowed with parting's tears. 
 
 His glimmering sail she watched till in the sea's 
 
 Great void 'twas lost, then moaned because her 
 
 years 
 Were not as mortal as Penelope's. 
 
 22 
 
ANTIGONE 
 
 Most wretched of all wretched mortals he 
 Self-blinded CEdipus his kingdom fled, 
 And wandered on and on uncomforted 
 Save by his faithful, fond Antigone. 
 
 And when the Gods had set his spirit free, 
 
 And she the sacred rites had paid, she sped 
 Again to Thebes, and to her brethren said : 
 " My love is now for you and e'er shall be ;" 
 
 Devotion vain ; for each the other slew, 
 And Polynices lay, still unentombed, 
 For birds and dogs. Then did Antigone 
 
 Give his poor, outcast body burial due, 
 
 To be herself by devilish hands inhumed 
 And 'neath the clods to die in agony. 
 
ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE 
 
 When from his arms Death snatched Eurydice, 
 
 On earth fell mute great Orpheus' matchless lyre, 
 For he to Hades with his soul on fire 
 Pursued his long-loved one to set her free. 
 
 At every pause of his entreaties he 
 
 So moved the Shades with music's deep desire, 
 That Pluto, yielding, oped the portals dire, 
 And gave her back to him and liberty. 
 
 As from that dreadful place his steps did wind, 
 With blissful heart she followed close behind, 
 While he, as was enjoined, gazed still ahead ; 
 
 At last he turned, with love's forgetful sense, 
 
 For just one look, to find her vanished thence 
 Again companioned with the hopeless dead. 
 
NARCISSUS 
 
 Away from Echo's plaint Narcissus led 
 
 His steps where lay a moss-engirdled pool, 
 And wearied stooped to taste its waters cool; 
 Then fell astonished as he were struck dead. 
 
 At last he gazed ; then tried to clasp the head 
 And kiss the face so strangely beautiful ; 
 Yet he but marred the mirror's waveless lull, 
 And wept to find his radiant vision fled. 
 
 No food he sought nor sleep ; to gaze and sue, 
 
 Burned by the noonday sun and drenched with 
 
 dew, 
 Were his alone until his parting breath. 
 
 The nymph he scorned with kindly hand did strew 
 Sweet grass and bloom upon his bed of death, 
 And on the spot a flower immortal grew. 
 

In Memoriam 
 
' ' Thou hadst not slept an hour of that last sleep 
 When my soul woke to know what it had lost, 
 And met the shining face of what thou wast, 
 Whom time can touch no more, nor earth can keep.'* 
 
 The Inverted Torch. EDITH M. THOMAS. 
 
 "Shadows upon the wall, 
 
 Wavering shadows and gray ; 
 Lonely, heartsick, I reach my hand in the dark 
 For the hand that has gone away." 
 
 The Dead. ELLA HIGGINSON. 
 
IN MEMORY OF HELEN STANFORD 
 TAYLOR 
 
 June 3, 1900 
 
 Oh, give me words all steeped in tears, 
 And heated in the hottest fire 
 
 My heart has known in all its years, 
 To body forth my griePs desire ; 
 
 To speak of her who was to me 
 A vision of celestial light, 
 
 But whom I can no longer see 
 
 No matter where I strain my sight. 
 
 I 
 
 Can this be day ? The stars have fled ; 
 Dawn's banners brighten overhead; 
 The wagons roll along the street, 
 And men go by with hastening feet ; 
 Ah, yes, it must be day. 
 
 But come and see where cold she lies, 
 Death's fingers on her once-bright eyes ; 
 With pallid lips that cannot stir; 
 The aching mother bent o'er her; 
 Ah, no, it is not day. 
 
II 
 
 I cannot deem that she is dead ; 
 I cannot think that she has fled 
 
 Forevermore from me ; 
 For in the midst of nightly things 
 There is a something subtile brings 
 
 Her form again to me. 
 
 T 
 
Ill 
 
 A bird of strange and brilliant hue 
 
 With powerless wing was fain to fly ; 
 
 But as my heart its fate did rue, 
 
 A sudden wind from out the sky 
 
 Swept it far up until it seemed 
 
 The strength had come its soul had dreamed. 
 
IV 
 
 How bloomed round her the flowers of nurturing care, 
 How breathed on her Home's kindliest summer-air, 
 How softly smooth her daily paths were made, 
 From that sweet moment Life first gave her breath 
 Until that bitter time her dear head laid 
 Its lilied loveliness in lap of Death ! 
 
My heart was kept with fear astir 
 Lest lightest harm might come to her ; 
 My lips could not have dared to speak 
 One word to pale her bloomy cheek. 
 
 But now my fears are gathered up 
 In griefs exhaustless wormwood-cup, 
 And though I spoke in loudest tone, 
 Her cheek no paler hue could own. 
 
 
 *' ' . 
 
 **, * 
 
 .''""'. * 
 
 33 
 

 VI 
 
 In mystery's face I did but peer 
 When she my heart with love did fill. 
 And yet her pulseless beauty here 
 Breeds mystery which is greater still. 
 
 34 
 
VII 
 
 Those dainty fingers, how they swept 
 The keys until the music leapt 
 
 With bounding, heartsome thrill; 
 But now as on her breast they lie, 
 They from Death's organ wring a cry 
 
 Than polar ice more chill. 
 
 /-> f 
 
 
 n 
 
 m A 
 .A 
 A- 
 
 35 
 
 *,' 
 
 
v; 
 
 -m 
 
 VIII 
 
 From out a wood where waters ran 
 
 As only joyful waters can, 
 
 Where flower and tree with rapture heard 
 
 The ecstasy of many a bird, 
 
 And in the air was such a lull 
 
 That everything of peace seemed full, 
 
 I sudden came upon a cave 
 
 With brooding gloom as of the grave, 
 
 And peering in the darksome nave, 
 
 Awe-struck I saw upon a stone 
 
 A mother bowed in grief alone. 
 
 36 
 
IX 
 
 Oh, mournful joy to call to mind 
 What often comes at memory's beck : 
 To see around each other's neck, 
 Like honeysuckles intertwined, 
 The arms of mother and of her 
 Whom Death forbids dear Love to stir. 
 
 37 
 
A music fell upon mine ear 
 As though from some celestial sphere, 
 Then sudden ceased, and discord's clang 
 Throughout my heart remorseless rang. 
 Alas ! what awful woe 
 In human heart may grow ! 
 What dreadful thought to stab a man, 
 That Heaven from Hell is but a span ! 
 
 
XI 
 
 Alone I lay on desert sands, 
 No water near my palsied hands, 
 Above me vultures* ravening bills, 
 And in my heart the grief that kills. 
 
 'Twas but a dream, as well you say, 
 And as a dream, has passed away ; 
 Then let us kneel beside her bier 
 And beg the faith that casts out fear. 
 
 39 
 
XII 
 
 ' ..-".. 
 
 How far I've come since I was born 
 To be thus stricken and forlorn ; 
 To halt beside Life's rugged road 
 And pray for strength to bear my load. 
 
 40 
 
 
XIII 
 
 An angel met me in the wood 
 And led me where her sister stood ; 
 Then each one kissed me on the cheek, 
 But not a word did either speak. 
 They vanished, but I knew that they 
 Had brought me flower of peace that day. 
 
 
XIV 
 
 The fog rolls in as it has rolled 
 For years that never can be told, 
 And all the sky is dull and gray 
 As in the far-off, olden day ; 
 
 And hearts still ache 
 
 Until they break, 
 As it has been since Death held sway, 
 
 But though the fog be deeper rolled 
 The sun's above it as of old ; 
 No sky can be so dull and gray 
 But that the blue will have its way ; 
 
 And hearts will wake 
 
 For love's dear sake, 
 As it has been since Life held sway. 
 
XV 
 
 A woman, great of form and face, 
 Who seemed to be of Sorrow's race, 
 Led me away from sun-bright air, 
 And from the trees and blossoms fair, 
 To lonely depth of solemn wood 
 Where but the sombre cypress stood. 
 
 She gently breathed a wordless prayer, 
 Then left me strangely dreaming there ; 
 And when I waked, a newer grace 
 Was round me as with love's embrace, 
 And forth I went in heartened mood 
 Beneath the spell of chastening' s good. 
 
 43 
 
XVI 
 
 What note is this which sweeps 
 Along the mountain steeps, 
 Where neither flower nor tree 
 Nor verdured thing can be ? 
 
 ' Tis Life's great trumpet blown 
 By lips that heroes own : 
 "The death-strewn Past is gone 
 The Present's yours; march on!" 
 
 44 
 
XVII 
 
 The world overflows its cup of woe, 
 Each heart has felt the knife of pain ; 
 But I would have my soul to know 
 That all is best, that God doth reign. 
 
 45 
 
O Grief that is darker than night ! 
 O Sympathy brighter than light ! 
 Mysterious twins, I have heard 
 Your awfullest, kindliest word. 
 
TO PROFESSOR AND MRS. PUTZKER ON 
 THE DEATH AT MANILA OF THEIR 
 SON BRUNO LANE PUTZKER 
 
 ' -5 
 
 \ 
 
 February 12, 1899 
 
 Beneath Manila's far, relentless skies 
 
 Your lovely, hero-hearted boy lies dead, 
 Who from your nurturing arms so lately sped 
 To serve his country's flag in great emprise ; 
 
 And as mine ear is saddened with your cries 
 
 Which spring from hearts as yet uncomforted, 
 With freshened pain I hear death's trumpet dread 
 Bid sorrow's legions troop before mine eyes. 
 
 For my dear one was lost in battle, too 
 
 Not where great War decrees tremendous doom, 
 But where he strove beyond his strength to bear ; 
 
 And may these twain, to duty here so true, 
 
 Roam free the asphodelian fields of bloom, 
 No more to taste the marah of despair. 
 
 47 
 
IN MEMORY OF GEORGE BONNY 
 
 January 4, 1900 
 
 You that loved him, gather here 
 Round his bier. 
 
 Let the roses heaping rest 
 On his breast. 
 
 In his heart their sweets were hived 
 While he lived, 
 
 And he might unquiet be 
 If that we 
 
 Did not give his bed of death 
 Their dear breath. 
 
 Mid their fragrance let us say, 
 As we pray, 
 
 How he nursed a patient mood 
 Filled with good 
 
 Good that flowed without an end 
 To his friend ; 
 
 How, whatever stress might be, 
 Equal he ; 
 
 48 
 
How with every breath he drew 
 He was true ; 
 
 How he charmed us with his word, 
 As we heard 
 
 Stingless wit and ready sense 
 
 Flowing: thence ; 
 
 . . : V-:^ 
 How he walked affection's ways 
 
 All his days ; 
 
 And how Beauty's conquering art 
 Held his heart, 
 
 Till he seemed her very child 
 Undefiled. 
 
 Gather then with roses here 
 Round his bier, 
 
 And in heaps upon his breast 
 Let them rest. 
 
 49 
 
*"" ' ' 2 H ***"* 
 
 
In Meditation 
 
 
"The soul, 
 
 Forever and forever longer than soil is brown and solid longer than 
 water ebbs and flows.'* WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 "What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal." 
 
 BYRON'S CHILDE HAROLD. 
 
SCORN NOT THE SINGER 
 
 Scorn not the singer though his tremulous lay 
 Ring not along the arches of the sky. 
 Content the daisy's lowly sweets to try 
 As o'er the mead it wings its modest way ; 
 
 For nectar-laden it may chance to stray 
 
 Near some lone heart that beats to hopeless cry, 
 And yielding sweetness as it passes by 
 Bid Promise point to new, rewardful day. 
 
 O Poesy, thou mightiest of the Nine, 
 
 Now more than ever do we need the aid 
 Of e'en the humblest votary of thine ; 
 
 Now when, as old ideals begin to fade, 
 
 In stress of doubt we question the divine 
 And mid its splendors dare to be afraid. 
 
 53 
 
MY SONNET PRISON 
 
 Full oftentimes my friends have said to me : 
 
 " Give o'er the sonnet, since thou dost but lie 
 At leaden length beneath its narrow sky 
 A slave imprisoned when thou mightst be free. 
 
 Though true it is the masters loved by thee 
 
 Have in that cage sung strains that cannot die, 
 Yet they were those who could all bonds defy, 
 And soar at will in Art's immensity. " 
 
 Then I to them : " No eagle's wings are mine, 
 That tempt the vastness of immortal song, 
 To rest at last on fame-encrowned years. 
 
 Leave me my prison bars, to me divine, 
 
 Where with the Muse I have communed so long, 
 And on her breast have shed memorial tears/' 
 
 54 
 
EDELWEISS 
 
 " To-morrow from Zermatt we'll see the grand, 
 Far Theodule and soaring Matterhorn ; 
 And then, O joy ! as though for us just born, 
 In luring nook the Edelweiss will stand." 
 
 The morrow's breeze the peak and glacier fanned, 
 
 And fanned the form of her that crushed and torn 
 Lay like uprooted lily pale and lorn, 
 The fatal Edelweiss within her hand. 
 
 Her body fouled with stains they bore far up 
 From precipice's foot to church's arms, 
 And would have earthed it 'neath memorial stone ; 
 
 But vain the offer of this final cup : 
 
 For she who fled the city's roars and harms 
 Now found that even in death it claimed its own. 
 
 55 
 
UNACCOM PUSHED 
 
 
 He parcelled off from Beauty's vast demesne 
 One little spot that seemed so very fair, 
 He thought his soul might rest securely there, 
 Triumphant in a spring of fadeless green ; 
 
 And in the distance looming clear were seen 
 
 Great towers that wooed such empyreal air, 
 They mocked alike man's ravage and his care, 
 Beaming like stars eternally serene. 
 
 Then came the Muse and whispered in his ear 
 Seductive sweetnesses that so beguiled, 
 He dared a tower of his own to rear ; 
 
 But scarce one dawn beheld it, when a wild 
 
 Wind smote it, and in night that knew no gleam 
 It crashed to fragments as a shattered dream. 
 
DANTE AND BEATRICE 
 
 TO A. S. T. 
 
 O world-compelling Dante, who the sea 
 
 Of Poesy so stirred from shore to shore, 
 That even as yet its surging thunders roar 
 In tones undying as eternity ; 
 
 With master spirit so supremely free 
 
 It scorned all bonds and swept through every lore, 
 On wisdom's pinions at the last to soar 
 To empyreal world of ecstasy ! 
 
 The crown of sorrows with its thorns was thine ; 
 But in thy bosom blazed the fire divine 
 That lit thy track to Paradise from Hell ; 
 
 And she who gendered its immortal light 
 
 Has starred forevermore the matchless might 
 Disputeless miracle of woman's spell. 
 
 57 
 
TO THE OWL THAT ALIGHTED ABOVE 
 THE PICTURE OF ATHENS HUNG IN 
 ONE OF THE LECTURE HALLS OF 
 RUTGERS COLLEGE 
 
 TO PROFESSOR JACOB COOPER 
 
 O thou, wise bird Athene made her own, 
 
 Did instinct's pulses beat within thy breast 
 When in this college hall thy wings found rest 
 Above the picture of her matchless throne ? 
 
 Or wast thou here at favoring moment blown 
 By breeze favonian, to remind us lest 
 Our faith in old ideals, so long professed, 
 Be like the Parthenon's columns overthrown? 
 
 It matters not ; we take thee as thou art, 
 
 And house thee safe and warm in every heart, 
 For ne'er before was spectacle like this ; 
 
 And now we feel the centuries backward rolled, 
 While in supernal splendor as of old 
 Upsoars the temple-crowned Acropolis. 
 
 Published in The Indtftndtnt (N. Y.) May 26, 1900. 
 
MAN'S HERITAGE 
 
 TO REV. HORATIO STEBBINS 
 
 Immortal Man, what treasure falls to thee! 
 
 The ages million-yeared whose life-blood still 
 Flows through the channels of thy good and ill 
 As will thine own through those that are to be ; 
 
 The prisoned secrets yearning to be free ; 
 
 The infinite-sounding harmonies that fill 
 
 All space and being ; and that supremest Will 
 
 Which weaves the web of life's great mystery. 
 
 Dig where thou wilt and thou shalt jewels find, 
 As will thy brother in no less degree 
 Who searches centuries hence with deeper mind ; 
 
 For thou art ruled by such divine decree, 
 
 And in the Eternal's breast art so enshrined, 
 Thy wealth can feel no bound's extremity. 
 
 59 
 
MYSTERY 
 
 What notes of mystery in our being sound ! 
 The unimaginable depths of space; 
 The multitudinous worlds in pauseless race 
 Toward far-off goals beyond all dreaming' s bound; 
 
 This orb of ours whereon man sits encrowned 
 A God and Devil void of any place 
 Where Life and Death meet not in fierce embrace 
 To what deep purpose thought has never found. 
 
 There is no great or small : this grain of sand 
 Its secret holds, as does the shaping hand 
 Which fast cements it in the building's wall ; 
 
 And this vain butterfly, that only can 
 In winged rapture hasten to its fall, 
 Mysterious is as thy great soul, O Man ! 
 
 60 
 
., / i ' 
 
 NEAR MIDNIGHT OF DECEMBER 
 THIRTY-FIRST, 1899 
 
 In retrospective dream I watch my fire, 
 
 Erst bright with flame, to embers now decline, 
 As thee, once young and lusty Ninety-nine, 
 Within the arms of Time I see expire. 
 
 And as thou sink'st to death, War's clamorings dire 
 
 More horrent scream than when life first was thine, 
 While man now drinks his brother's blood for wine 
 With bestial, unappeasable desire. 
 
 Thou seem'st of evil wrought, but so did they 
 
 Thy vanished kin ; yet man still holds his way 
 Through all the maze and tangle of despair ; 
 
 Still Love uprears her palaces divine ; 
 
 No deed's to do but finds some arm to dare, 
 And God still lets His stars in glory shine. 
 
 61 
 
INVOCATION 
 
 As kind as thou hast been to me, O Sleep, 
 
 Since first as friends we met, be kinder now: 
 Lay thy most velvet touch upon my brow, 
 And in thy syrups all my being steep ; 
 
 If there be hushful chamber far and deep 
 Where thou alone oblivion dost allow, 
 Bear me to it, sweet one, and then do thou 
 Still in thine arms my wearied senses keep. 
 
 Let not one dream thy watchful guard break through, 
 To mar the blessedness of such repose, 
 Or tempt me forth to mingle more with men. 
 
 At times such horrors rise before the view 
 That life seems raging in a hell of woes, 
 With earth scarce better than a slaughter-pen. 
 ,<,M, viaitt n; ttrtc *iH efcr! Hit* boO 
 
 62 
 
COMPENSATION 
 
 TO P. C. L. 
 
 inimitably vast the ocean rolls 
 
 Before me as its wreck-strewn shore I tread, 
 And in its depths I view the unnumbered dead 
 That stare for aye at unaccomplished goals. 
 
 So, round the world my sorrowing sight controls 
 The sea of life, with waves from slaughter red, 
 That heave forevermore above the bed 
 Where lie the hopes and aims of myriad souls. 
 
 Yet in that ocean's breast the pulses beat, 
 
 To send rich blood through every country's veins, 
 Bespeaking services of mutual good ; 
 
 And in this sea Joy still the heart constrains ; 
 
 Here Duty's jewels are ; and here Love's seat, 
 Divine as that which over all doth brood. 
 
CONCORD 
 
 c 
 
 TO E. D. T. AND H. H. T. 
 
 This graceful blade of springing grass behold, 
 
 And this poor, stolid weed that droops near by, 
 
 H 
 
 Then range once more with wonder-ravished eye 
 O'er worlds on worlds through space's vastness 
 rolled ; 
 
 Look on this marvellous tree whose years untold 
 Still mock at death, where, as we dreaming lie, 
 Dear Memory breathes her softly-saddened sigh 
 On past-gone days of purple and of gold. 
 
 O grass and weed ! O rolling suns and tree ! 
 O immemorial dreams so bitter-sweet ! 
 Kin each to all in God's immensity ; 
 
 In tiniest speck the world-force is complete, 
 And e'en the Universe itself doth beat 
 In tune to one eternal harmony. 
 

 I 
 
 WORK AND SERVICE 
 
 Through work and service thou mayst see 
 The inmost heart of liberty. 
 And make thy sum of days to be 
 One fused organic harmony. 
 
 CONSUMMATION 
 
 Strength to resist temptation's subtlest bait, 
 Unquailing fortitude mid every fate, 
 Laborious zeal to do the task at hand, 
 With Love and Faith in unrestrained command; 
 If thou hast them, through all the seas of stress 
 Thy soul shall reach the port of blessedness. 
 
 J. w. 
 
 His cottage looks in quiet down 
 Upon the far, outspreading town, 
 Whose joys and woes with spirit art 
 Sing in the palace of his heart. 
 
SPRING 
 
 '.' ' *,c> * " ' J v / 
 
 TO HELEN 
 
 "'"'... v - '. j < 
 
 Balm-breathing Spring trips o'er the hills 
 To music of the gladsome rills, 
 And every bud is stirred, 
 As now the mating bird 
 The fragrant air with throated rapture fills. 
 
 And as we walked, sweet daughter mine, 
 This morn beneath Spring's dewy sign, 
 I heard thy budding heart 
 Perform its joyful part 
 Harmonious in that symphony divine. 
 
 ON THE RUBICON 
 
 July 24, 1900 
 
 v . 
 
 The merry songsters' minstrelsy, 
 The river singing ceaselessly, 
 My two boys tramping by my side, 
 While round us rose the summer's tide. 
 
 66 
 
THE AXE 
 
 After Henri de Re*gnier 
 
 Listen. The icy wind on roadway's pebbles here 
 Makes slowly, surely sharp workman no eye can see 
 Its norther's bills and scythes as keen as steel can be. 
 Listen. Time's footfall sounds upon the cross-road drear. 
 
 Listen. Afar e'en now the flowers are stripped and sere ; 
 The neighboring mead's a-cold; and this majestic tree 
 At breath so murderous shakes and shudders fearsomely ; 
 While trickles drop by drop its Dryad's life-blood dear. 
 
 The woodmen, binding bark and fagots, wend their way 
 Alas ! thy towering stature and thy strength to slay ; 
 Thy shade has marked the hour for thee to be laid low ; 
 
 But when some autumn eve is proud to see thee die, 
 Amid thy golden limbs that all dismembered lie, 
 Then calmly, grandly fall beneath the axe's blow. 
 
 67 
 
 
;*: ;; 
 
 : \V . . . ' . . .. < '. \ f V-- r 
 
 THE BROOK 
 * 
 
 After Theophile Gautier 
 
 , . >. ' i / -\ % - .' . . 
 
 ~ ' * . ' 
 
 Between two stones, in shady nook, 
 From spring that oozes near a lake, 
 In merriest humor runs a brook 
 As though some far-off goal to make. 
 
 *' ,* ' s f ' "'''."' ' <" f ~ v j 
 
 It murmurs: Oh, what joy is mine! 
 Below the ground what night to see ! 
 And now my banks with verdure shine, 
 
 While skies admire themselves in me. 
 
 ^ * *' 
 
 The azure myosotis cries 
 
 To me, Forget me not, I pray ! 
 
 I feel the tails of dragon-flies 
 
 My bosom scratch in sportive play; 
 
 From out my cup the bird drinks free; ^ M^y* 
 And after winding far, who knows 
 But that the vales, rocks, towers will be 
 Bathed by my wave that grandly flows ? 
 
 , I , t , -' I * * ''*,* . 'r , * . * 
 
 I shall embroider with my spume 
 Stone bridge and quay's granitic wall, 
 And bear great steamers as they fume 
 Toward boundless ocean, end of all. 
 
 68 
 
Thus talks the brook in chattering craze ; 
 
 In it a hundred projects grow ; 
 
 Like water boiling in a vase 
 
 No self-restraint its soul can know. 
 
 But tomb and cradle stand anear ; 
 The giant dies a pygmy small : 
 To trouble born, the brook falls sheer 
 Into the lake that drinks it all. 
 
 
 . \ 
 
 \ 
 
 .' s . 
 
TO WILLIAM KEITH ON THE OCCASION 
 OF HIS PAINTING, ON HIS SIXTIETH 
 BIRTHDAY, A PICTURE ENTITLED 
 "THE LAST GLEAM" 
 
 Suffused with golden hue thy landscape lies 
 
 Where restful oaks forbid their leaves to stir, 
 
 And where, mid thoughts of days no time can blur, 
 
 I see thy fruitful art still upward rise. 
 
 For many a year, indomitably wise, 
 
 Thou hast of nature been interpreter, 
 
 Nor hast thou needed but thy soul's own spur 
 
 To paint such day as on this canvas dies 
 
 Not dies, but lives : for its last gleaming ray 
 
 Shall light these sheep upon their homeward way 
 Long after thy great heart can beat no more; 
 
 And while the living shepherds pass away, 
 This one of thine in all his radiant store 
 Shall help to wreathe thee with undying bay. 
 
 70 
 

 SUGGESTED BY LOOKING AT A PICTURE 
 PAINTED BY WILLIAM KEITH EN- 
 TITLED "THE MOUNTAIN" 
 
 
 TO J. W, 
 
 What wrecks of Time and Storm are crumbling here ! 
 The rocks that seemed eternal shattered lie, 
 And pines that sang their glorias to the sky 
 In mute dismemberment stretch prone and drear. 
 
 Beneath this gloomful shade, wide-spreading near. 
 What hidden things in loneliness may sigh, 
 What spirits of the Past may wander by, 
 Their cheeks bedewed with immemorial tear ! 
 
 But look beyond : the towering summits glow 
 With grand magnificence of dazzling light, 
 That tints with rainbow hues their bosomed snow ; 
 
 And as I gaze, with secret, magic might 
 
 My soul seems lifted from the glooms below 
 To faiths that blaze immaculately bright. 
 
SUGGESTED ON LOOKING AT A PICTURE 
 PAINTED BY WILLIAM KEITH EN- 
 TITLED "INTO THE MYSTERY" 
 
 The palpitating splendors of the West 
 
 In mystery tremble through the wood, as Day 
 With noiseless footfall slowly steals away 
 To Night's star-lighted palace and to rest. 
 
 Save where these cavaliers spur on with zest, 
 As if some fateful message to convey 
 For leagues beyond, all sounds of sad or gay 
 Lie stirless on the landscape's lovely breast. 
 
 And should we ask these horsemen in their pride 
 What word it is they carry on their ride, 
 And what dear heart to hear it breathed would break, 
 
 They sure would say : That word is ours alone ; 
 To Dreamland only is that loved one known, 
 Yet we shall ride forever for her sake. 
 
 72 
 
 s 
 
ON A PICTURE PAINTED BY THE POET, 
 LLOYD MIFFLIN, ENTITLED "A QUIET 
 HOUR" 
 
 With splendor's pageantry the lordly day 
 
 Is marching to its death: for now the sun 
 Has o'er the battling clouds such victory won, 
 He floods the west with glory-flaming ray. 
 
 His foes retire, while 'neath his regal sway 
 The placid river, all its day's frets done, 
 Dreams of the nearing stars, and joys to run 
 With vesper music on its radiant way. 
 
 Within the boat, that lightly glides along 
 
 As though 'twere leaf from neighboring islet blown, 
 An idle fisher plies an idle oar. 
 
 Here Quiet broods with all her lovely throng, 
 
 And here in them my torn heart finds its own, 
 And for a moment hopes to grieve no more. 
 
 73 
 
 J "/ / 
 
 :;>:: .::- 
 
VOWELS 
 
 After Arthur Rimbaud 
 
 Vowels, A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue, 
 Some day I'll tell your hidden births in cunning wise. 
 A, bodice black and shaggy formed of brilliant flies 
 Enclosing stench's foul, intolerable crew, 
 
 Gulfs darkness ; E, white tents, the fleecy mists of skies, 
 Proud glacier's lance, blonde kings, tremors that umbels 
 
 woo ; 
 
 I, purples, blood spat out, smile of dear lips that sue 
 When passion shakes the soul or sweet repentance sighs ; 
 
 U, cycles, emerald seas with tremulous waves divine ; 
 Peace of the meadow's breast, peace of each wrinkled line 
 That on great, studious faces magically lies ; 
 
 O, clarion's voice supreme, with stridors loud and strange, 
 Hushed silences the worlds and angels ever range ; 
 O, the Omega, ray of her deep violet eyes. 
 
 74 
 
ARTEMIS 
 
 After Gerard de Nerval 
 
 ' * " ' ''' Jt- ' ' f IT in ' '-J '^f '""** 
 
 The Thirteenth comes again . . . Yet still the first is here ; 
 
 Alway the sole dear one, or only hour for me : 
 For art thou, Queen, the first or last one to appear ? 
 Art thou, King, lover sole, or last that is to be ? 
 
 Love them who loved you well from cradle to the bier ; 
 She whom I loved alone still loves me tenderly ; 
 'Tis death or she that's dead . . . O joy! O agony ! 
 The rose she holds, ah, that's the hollyhock so dear. 
 
 St. Neapolitan, with hands whence flames arise ; 
 Flower of St. Gudule thou violet-hearted rose: 
 Hast thou now found thy cross in desert of the skies ? 
 
 White roses, fall ! You mock our Gods in foulest wise ; 
 Fall, ye white phantoms, down from out your heaven that 
 
 glows : 
 The Saint of the abyss is holier to mine eyes ! 
 
 75 
 
GOLDEN VERSES 
 
 After Gerard de Nerval 
 
 Free-thinking Man ! believest that thy thought alone 
 Pervades this world where life in everything streams 
 
 bright ? 
 
 The forces in thy hand are at thy freedom's might, 
 But of thy counsels nought the Universe has known. 
 
 A spirit stirring free the beast can call his own ; 
 Each flower's a soul by Nature brought to being's light ; 
 In Love's deep mystery e'en the metal is bedight ; 
 All feel, and in thy breast each rears puissant throne. 
 
 Fear thou, in darksome wall, an eye that watches thee ! 
 In matter's self a voice incorporate with it cries . . . 
 Oh, never be it raised to serve impiety ! 
 
 In some obscure one oft a God all hidden lies ; 
 And like the nascent eye which veiling lids enclose, 
 Beneath its shell of stone a pure, sweet spirit grows. 
 
 NOTE. The title of this sonnet is " Vers Dores," by which, I 
 venture to suggest, the poet intends to characterize the verse as gnomic 
 in contradistinction to his symbolic, imaginative verse. The difference 
 is plainly indicated by comparing his "Artemis" with this sonnet. In 
 Littre\ we find this : " Vers d'or ou vers dore's, vers gnomiques attri- 
 bues a Pythagore." The French text from which this version was 
 made, as well as that from which the versions were made of " Artemis " 
 and "Vowels," was taken from Mr. Arthur Symons' very interesting 
 volume entitled "The Symbolist Movement in Literature." 
 
 76 
 
TO SHELLEY 
 
 Bright seraph of the cloud and air, 
 
 Couldst thou have left thine eyry there, 
 
 And felt ,the earth beneath thy feet 
 
 Till life for thee was all complete ; 
 
 Or had the waves not swept thee down 
 
 Thou wouldst have worn still richer crown ; 
 
 But why regret ? thy lyric lay 
 
 Still wings its rapturing, skyey way, 
 
 While that brute world which gave thee blows 
 
 Now on thy tomb Love's roses throws. 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 'Tis not for beauty that to him we go, 
 
 Nor for the gilded dust of by-gone days ; 
 
 But for the forceful, unimpeded flow 
 
 Of hottest blood that fills unwonted ways ; 
 
 For strifes and loves, for pleasures and for pains, 
 
 That roll tumultuous in the Present's veins. 
 
 77 
 
AT EDWIN MARKHAM'S PRIVATE 
 RECITAL 
 
 May 5, 1899 
 
 Of old, when wassail held its roisterous way 
 
 Amid the warriors fresh from lust and gore, 
 
 For them the Minstrel swept his harp-strings o'er, 
 
 And loudly sang his rudely-fashioned lay ; 
 
 But now, in pauses of the violin's play, 
 
 The Poet reads from out his harvest store, 
 To those who thirst for spirit-wakening lore, 
 His moving numbers till with him they pray 
 
 Pray to be " kind and patient as a tree;" 
 
 Pray for a spirit which, while cc propt with power," 
 Shall ever be " as simple as a flower ; " 
 
 Pray that the Christ in all men's hearts may be, 
 So that their cruelties and greeds shall fall 
 Before dear Love triumphant over all. 
 
 7 
 
 W 
 
TO PROFESSOR WILLIAM MACEWEN OF 
 GLASGOW UNIVERSITY, SCOTLAND 
 
 (WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF HIS DELIVERY OF THE 
 FIRST COURSE OF LANE MEDICAL LECTURES AT 
 COOPER MEDICAL COLLEGE, SAN FRANCISCO, IN 
 SEPTEMBER, 1896) 
 
 Hail, and all hail, thou glorious soul 
 
 From over seas ! 
 Not often do our fates control 
 
 Such days as these 
 Days that are filled with stirring thought 
 From your overflowing treasure caught. 
 
 And all the more we press your hand 
 
 In welcome here, 
 For does not every heart expand 
 
 In Burns's year? 
 
 The hundredth since he laid him down 
 With Love's and Fame's immortal crown ; 
 
 Expand at least to him who brings 
 
 From Scotia's strand, 
 On Science's all-willing wings, 
 
 To this far land, 
 
 A message that shall strike its root, 
 To bear soul-satisfying fruit. 
 
 79 
 
 i 
 I 
 
What pulse does not the faster beat 
 
 At Scotia's name ? 
 In what world's garden shall we greet 
 
 More flowers of fame, 
 That watered with perpetual dews 
 Their freshness they can never lose ? 
 
 And midst them all see Hunter raise 
 
 His lofty head, 
 As he the world of life surveys, 
 
 That he might spread 
 Such splendor of achievement round, 
 He seemed to stand on magic ground. 
 
 By right divine he lives with those 
 
 Colossal few, 
 That on the centuries repose, 
 
 To there renew 
 
 From out the crystal fount of Truth 
 Their sempiternal, glorious youth. 
 
 He deemed that Law's great coil entwines 
 
 All forms and things 
 No more the star which deathless shines, 
 
 Than fly that wings 
 Its tiny self in summer's air, 
 
 To perish in a moment there. 
 
 -' ' . 
 
 80 
 
To him the universal course 
 
 One harmony was, 
 That knew no weakening of its force, 
 
 Nor lawless pause, 
 But ran to music's ordered play 
 Through nature's vast, unending day. 
 
 His comprehensive genius sought 
 
 All realms to see ; 
 In countless forms of life he wrought 
 
 Incessantly, 
 
 Pursuing with prodigious care 
 Each wonder to its secret lair. 
 
 No respite was for him, nor ease ; 
 
 Toil piled on toil ; 
 Labor was all his soul could please, 
 
 And heaping spoil 
 So rich mankind still ponders o'er 
 The varied richness of its store. 
 
 The Abbey took him to her breast, 
 
 r j ,'*_***' * 
 
 And this was well ; 
 For sure no more deserving guest 
 
 With her doth dwell ; 
 But when Westminster's walls are gone, 
 John Hunter's name shall still live on. 
 
 81 
 
Old Scotia's many deathless names 
 
 I may not sing, 
 But this great one so starlike flames, 
 
 I thought to bring 
 My meed at such a time as this 
 Might not be taken as amiss ; 
 
 For you are one of those who stand 
 
 In Hunter's line, 
 And serve to make your marvellous land 
 
 So radiant shine, 
 
 That Scotland's soil exhaustless seems 
 In all that Science hopes or dreams. 
 
 For you the very gates of life 
 
 Are opened wide, 
 Wherethrough the all unerring knife 
 
 May safely glide, 
 Bearing upon its glittering edge 
 The boundless bliss of healing's pledge. 
 
 Even cranial walls oppose in vain : 
 
 For breaking through, 
 You seize the demons of the brain, 
 
 By faultless clew, 
 
 And set their tortured victims free, 
 That life and joy again may be. 
 
 82 
 
And we who sit beneath your voice, 
 
 And at your feet, 
 With feeling's deepest note rejoice, 
 
 For here doth meet 
 All that can keep our hearts in tune 
 To this inestimable boon. 
 
 Hail and all hail, once more, all hail, 
 
 To you and yours ! 
 And when you bend your homing sail 
 
 For Scotia's shores, 
 Be sure you'll take across the blue 
 Remembrance dear as man e'er knew. 
 
ONE OF A KIND 
 
 One of the genial tribe of critics, who 
 
 Can run your volumed years of labor through 
 
 Quite at a glance, and then with lofty scorn 
 
 Wonder such verse should ever have been born, 
 
 Deemed that I gave my poor, applausive word 
 
 Too freely to the ones my heart preferred, 
 
 And for such promiscuity he banned 
 
 My rhymes forever from the Muses' land. 
 
 But who except the paltriest soul would stay 
 The humblest hand that holds one leaf of bay, 
 Or close the lips which tremble with the praise 
 Of any man that walks unworldly ways? 
 Most worthy critic, you are safe enough; 
 Next week will be forgot your wretched stuff, 
 While those you prick with your envenomed pen 
 Will roam delighted in the hearts of men. 
 
ON READING THE LIFE OF HENRY 
 GEORGE WRITTEN BY HIS SON HEN- 
 RY GEORGE, JR. 
 
 Again I hear his dauntless voice, 
 Again my heart with his is one, 
 Again I hear great souls rejoice 
 At deathless work supremely done, 
 And see once more the millions stirred 
 At his incomparable word. 
 
 FAITH 
 
 Though man be lost in maze of mystery's land, 
 'Tis his to feel if not to understand, 
 And hear the heartening voice that ever sings 
 Of all the deep divinity of things. 
 
PASSION-FLOWER 
 
 After Mme. la Comtesse de Chambrun 
 
 Behold the flower I choose, 
 Now that my years decline : 
 The Passion's flower some 
 Have called it, but the name 
 Of flower of Life I give as mine. 
 
 What matters it ? 'Tis all the same : 
 For see, it has the crown of thorns, 
 The ladder mounting to the sky, 
 And sponge where drops divine by turns 
 Of hyssop and of honey lie. 
 
 The green of hope within it glows, 
 Here sorrow spreads her violet hue, 
 'Tis joy, 'tis suffering, and it knows 
 The cradle and the coffin too. 
 
 'Tis then the flower I choose, 
 Now that my years decline ; 
 With tint like that which pales 
 The day that cannot last, 
 'Tis both the Future and the Past. 
 
 NOTE. The original of the exquisite lyric from which this version was made was drawn to 
 ijr attention by Professor E. B. Lamare. 
 
 86 
 
HER RESTING PLACE 
 
 She rests not where the bending flowers 
 Can spill their perfume over her, 
 But in the cells of loveliest flowers 
 Her body's atoms once more stir, 
 To give those blooms a brighter hue 
 Than e'er before their petals knew ; 
 While in the urn her ashes lie, 
 White as her soul that cannot die. 
 
THE VOYAGE 
 
 O Youth, when setting sail 
 
 For golden lands, 
 Careless what winds prevail, 
 
 What life demands, 
 
 Such gorgeous colors spread before thine eye, 
 Such rainbows span the far-uplifted sky, 
 
 When setting sail. 
 
 O Age, when furling sail 
 
 Rrom fruitless lands, 
 Whose soul has felt the bale 
 
 Of life's demands, 
 
 Such dark-hued colors spread before thine eye, 
 Such near-descending clouds hide all the sky, 
 
 When furling sail. 
 
 DESPAIR NOT 
 
 Despair not, for the infinite is thine 
 
 Thine which is part of an eternal whole 
 
 In all its good and evil so divine, 
 
 Thou scarce canst know how precious is thy soul, 
 
 88 
 
VOICES 
 
 From out the azure's depths serenely falling, 
 At times I hear celestial voices calling, 
 
 And then in spirit-flight 
 
 I soar from murky night, 
 To seek their presence in the fields of Light. 
 
 And by their marvellous tones the air is shaken, 
 Until I feel my fearsome soul awaken 
 
 To faiths that set it free ; 
 
 And calm as one might be, 
 I dare to ask what death can come to me. 
 
 89 
 

 WHITHER 
 
 Ah, my Songs beloved, 
 Whither do ye go ? 
 O beloved Poet, 
 That we cannot know. 
 
 Who can tell what roses 
 Will to-morrow bloom, 
 Or what wings be folded 
 In relentless gloom? 
 
 We abide the future, 
 As the greatest must 
 Sure to find the laurel 
 Or be less than dust. 
 
 90