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 MARY VIRGINIA HARRISS 
 He LAT PX 
 
Blue Beads and Amber 
 
 cA (hild’'s Book of Verses 
 
 &) 3 
 MARY VIRGINIA HARRISS 
 
 With an introduction by 
 
 WILLIAM KavaNauGH DorTty 
 
 BALTIMORE 
 
 Tue NormMan, REMINGTON Co. 
 
 MCMXXIII 
 
Copyright, 1923, by 
 
 Tue Norman, REMINGTON Co. 
 
 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. 
 
1956 “Celu-Gr_, 
 
 SEP 4 
 
 3 | 
 a4 
 
 To 
 : MY MOTHER 
 This Book is Affectionately Dedicated 
 

 
 (gee | 
 Ae 
 
 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 ite 
 
 During the last five years a considerable in- 
 terest has attached to those unusual and in- 
 teresting children whom the public prints 
 have been pleased to style child prodigies. 
 Many of these have been noticed in both 
 Europe and America—some as authors, some 
 as musicians, and others as precocious stu- 
 dents, athletes, mathematicians, and experts 
 in games of skill. Almost invariably they 
 have been dismissed with a brief word as a 
 tendency of the times—symptoms of a mod- 
 ern age that is no less productive of paradoxes 
 than eager to end the old order. This atti- 
 tude, however, is a mistaken one. These 
 clever children may be symptoms, expres- 
 sions, departures, arrivals, or whatever else 
 the superficially minded may choose to call 
 them: indeed, they are an expression of the 
 modern attitude; but the responsibility for 
 their coming upon the stage has, strangely 
 enough, been misplaced by the critics. The 
 
 [ xi] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 source of the change, so called, this shifting 
 of the shoe in this peculiarly upsetting age, 
 is not to be sought in the children themselves, 
 but rather in the grown-up people responsible 
 for them. 
 
 Modern psychology has rendered no service 
 more significant than its investigation and in- 
 terpretation of the child, his mind, body, and 
 spirit. It has recognised and demonstrated 
 that the child is, in truth, the father of the 
 man. It has shown that child psychology is a 
 valuable study, not alone for the light that is 
 shed upon man at maturity, but also for the 
 possibilities that have been revealed for the 
 shaping and directing of the human life, while 
 yet in its plastic state, for a wider future ac- 
 tivity. By suppression and inhibition on the 
 one hand, and by stimulation and encourage- 
 ment on the other, it has been found possible 
 to shape character not only, but also to de- 
 velop personality and to increase the efficacy 
 and quality of the natural tendencies by 
 means of training and environment, which 
 count for much as auxiliaries in the unfolding 
 of heredity. 
 
 [ xii | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 Thus the child of to-day has had a more 
 
 encouraging environment than the child of 
 yesterday. He may now be heard as well as 
 seen; and even though he has in some instances 
 made too much of his new freedom, he may be 
 excused, in some measure, for overstepping 
 the bounds that have hedged him during so 
 long a period of repression. 
 
 Childhood is not the happy, care-free time 
 that poets and other romanticists have pictured 
 it. There are problems, longings, hopes, and 
 disappointments then no whit less poignant 
 than those of the after years. Perhaps they 
 are yet more keen than the subsequent sensa- 
 tions. Certainly the childish ability to com- 
 pensate losses and to realise desires is less. 
 Experience has not yet given that intellectual 
 training that serves as a balance wheel for the 
 instincts and emotions; and, as a result, they 
 hold dominion untempered and unrestrained. 
 This truth older people are beginning to real- 
 ise, and children now, probably more than 
 ever before, are being allowed an outlet 
 through a varied expression of the teeming 
 sensations of their mental and spiritual life. 
 There is a sympathy, an understanding, in 
 
 [ xiii ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 these days that allows and even encourages 
 such expression; and through it a flood of light 
 has been thrown directly upon the psychology 
 of children and indirectly upon that of the 
 race. 
 
 It has thrown light upon the psychology of 
 the race because the study of childhood in its 
 spiritual, mental, and physical aspects has an 
 illuminating bearing upon the general prob- 
 lems of the human mind and its development. 
 The principle of recapitulation—the theory 
 that each individual retraces, though it be 
 never so crudely, the steps in the evolution 
 of the species—has its chief evidence in the 
 carefully scrutinised development of the child. 
 This development, as observation would seem 
 to prove, is influenced more largely by he- 
 redity than by environment. Special excel- 
 lencies, particularly those highly specialised 
 forms of mental activity which seek expres- 
 sion in such activities as literature, music, 
 and mathematics, are hereditary, and there- 
 fore innate. They are nothing other than in- 
 herited peculiarities, and are the result of 
 inherited mental structures. The develop- 
 ment of the child is, for that reason, but an 
 
 [ xiv ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 evolutionary unfolding of the latent potenti- 
 alities, possibilities, innate in the child himself 
 from his inheritance; and the problem of 
 training, education in its wider sense, is the 
 problem of recognising the native tendencies 
 of the mind, and of perfecting and refining 
 them by stimulation, direction, and restraint, 
 exercised in a scientific and sympathetic man- 
 ner. Environment thus may play its part— 
 an important and indispensable part—but it 
 is not the fundamental thing that inheritance 
 is. It may colour and temper and strengthen, 
 and so is worthy of the deepest consideration; 
 but, in any case, it is but an auxiliary in the 
 evolutionary process, whereby the actual in- 
 dividual is discovered and matured. 
 
 The purpose of education, its true function, 
 then, is here introduced. It is important to 
 discover just what the natural, the innate, 
 tendencies are, what their normal course of 
 development should be, and then by wise and 
 patient direction and control to encourage the 
 process of their spontaneous development by 
 drawing out whatever excellences may be 
 present from the long heritage of the years. 
 It is important also to augment inherited 
 
 [xv ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 tendencies in order to secure a maximum of 
 growth that will insure a breadth along with a 
 depth. And it is equally important in this 
 connection to remember (as the new pedagogy 
 does not) that a wholesome mental discipline, 
 not too mildly exercised, is indispensable to 
 good training. Encouraging natural tenden- 
 cies is not to be confused with taking the path 
 of least resistance, if a well-rounded person- 
 ality, capable of the necessary conformity 
 amidst the complexities of modern society, is 
 to be achieved. 
 
 There would seem to be scarcely any limits 
 to the possibilities attaching to a mentality 
 and a personality such as those of Mary 
 Harriss. The study of childhood is yet but a 
 child itself, however, just at the dawning of 
 the scientific understanding of child training; 
 and the subtle touch, whereby the nice dis- 
 tinction in determining just where and when | 
 the stress for or against tendencies is to be 
 laid, has not yet been acquired. 
 
 The new attitude has revealed many young 
 persons who have been listed as marvels for 
 reason of some peculiar excellence. Amongst 
 juvenile authors has the movement been espe- 
 
 [ xvi | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 cially pronounced. Since 1918 a dozen vol- 
 umes, at least, have appeared from the pens 
 of child authors. Perhaps there are many 
 more, if a complete record were had. 
 
 Literary expression by children is by no 
 means new, but it may well be doubted that 
 any period has witnessed. the publication of 
 half so many books by these precocious 
 artists as that between 1918 and 1923. Of all 
 juvenile authors, Marjorie Fleming, born on 
 the Firth of Forth in 1803, is the classic ex- 
 ample. If others since her day had been 
 favoured by the good fortune of a biographer 
 with the sympathetic soul of Dr. John Brown, 
 it is more than possible that this branch of 
 literature would possess many more excel- 
 lent specimens of the perfervid genius of — 
 childhood. 
 
 Now appears this little book of verse by 
 Mary Virginia Harriss. It is made up of 
 verses written when she was four, nine, ten, 
 and eleven years of age, and is an interesting 
 contribution by a child to American litera- 
 ture, besides being a valuable psychological 
 contribution to the study of child life. 
 
 [ xvui | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IL. 
 
 Mary Virginia Harriss is undoubtedly an 
 interesting person, despite the brief toll of 
 her years, and something by way of recount- 
 ing her activities and describing per person- 
 ality can not be considered as coming amiss in 
 this connection. 
 
 She was born 20 October, 1911, at Saint 
 Louis, Missouri, the younger of two children 
 of John William and Virginia (Powell) Harriss. 
 In her veins is a mingled strain of blood; but 
 she is sprung, for the most part, from British 
 ancestry, chiefly English and Scottish. Her 
 father’s ancestors, of English and Scotch- 
 Irish origin, were early colonists of Virginia 
 and Carolina, and were among the first set- 
 tlers of Western Tennessee. On the part of 
 her mother, her ancestors were English, with 
 a strain of Scotch-Irish, who came to America 
 from the northern part of England, settled in 
 Virginia, and thence removed to Kentucky. 
 
 Although born at Saint Louis, where she 
 spent the first five years of her life, and al- 
 though she has resided since at Chicago, 
 Saint Louis, and Baltimore, Mary Harriss has 
 been reared amid the influences of the South- 
 
 [ xvii | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ern tradition of cultivation and idealism. 
 The customs, manners, and ideals of the South 
 have been the dominant forces of her environ- 
 ment. Among her antecedents have been 
 those who were gifted in music, oratory, and 
 authorship—people with a facile touch, with 
 imagination, and with magnetic qualities. 
 This inheritance explains sufficiently her strik- 
 ing gift of expression, just as her environment 
 explains her gentle bearing and sweet tem- 
 pered attitudes. 
 
 Mary Harriss is a sweet looking child, not 
 less than an interesting and intelligent one. 
 If she is less than beautiful, she is more than 
 pretty. Her slim graceful body is almost 
 boyish in its slender strength and straightness. 
 She has a mass of thick .bobbed golden hair, 
 fine dreamy blue eyes, and a large, well- 
 ~shaped mouth. With her white skin, her pale - 
 pointed fingers, and her fragile strength, she 
 presents a picture that is rarely excelled. 
 Marjorie Fleming might have written of her, 
 and not of her own “dear Love Isabella’, 
 
 Her skin ts soft, her face ts fatr, 
 
 And she has very pretty hair... 
 Her nails are neat, her teeth are white, 
 Her eyes are very, very bright; 
 
 In a conspicuous town she lives, 
 And to the poor her money gives. 
 
 [ xix | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 In manner she is almost timid, giving at 
 first the impression of shyness; but this is 
 soon dissipated upon better acquaintance. 
 She is vibrant with feeling, enthusiastic, and 
 sentient with young life. Her curiosity ex- 
 tends to all things of interest to an acquisi- 
 tive mind, and an enquiring activity leads 
 her far afield in the waking hours of each day. 
 
 The interests and undertakings of her life 
 have been many, but she has not allowed 
 anything to interfere with an excellent record 
 at school. Her first experiences in the school- 
 room were had at Saint Louis, where she en- 
 tered kindergarten at the age of five. She 
 attended school at Chicago also, and later at 
 Baltimore, where she has completed the sixth 
 grade. Her reports are always above re- 
 proach, usually admirable. In addition, she 
 has studied French under a private tutor and 
 has taken a course in eurythmics at the 
 Peabody Institute, of Baltimore. 
 
 Her poetic turn manifested itself at an 
 early age. The first of her: verses, com- 
 posed at the age of four years, became a 
 part of the family tradition, and so were pre- 
 served. Unfortunately no effort was made 
 
 [ xx | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 to remember and record others, doubtless of 
 equal worth. It was not until the young poet 
 was nine years old and could write her own 
 compositions that the process of verse crea- 
 tion was renewed. She cared little for the 
 study of music, and promised her mother 
 that, if not compelled to take lessons in music, 
 she would write instead. The offer was ac- 
 cepted and the contract made. Shortly after- 
 wards at school her teacher assigned as an 
 exercise in English the composition of a poem, 
 to be written in fifteen minutes, and gave a 
 choice of two subjects, Sunrise and Sunset. 
 Mary Harriss chose the second and wrote the 
 verses by that title. The teacher asked if 
 she had written them, called in the principal 
 for his approval, and told Mary Virginia that 
 she should take them home to her mother. © 
 Thus a career was definitely launched. It 
 has continued without interruption up to 
 now; but as the young lady has resolved to 
 be a naturalist, in order to write of the won- 
 ders and beauties of the natural sphere, it is 
 possible that the world will lose an Elizabeth 
 Barrett to gain a Mme. Curie. 
 
 Science, as yet, has not limited her atten- 
 
 [xxi | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 tion and sympathy. One of her most lasting 
 interests has been in dramatics. As a mem- 
 ber of The Little Players, of Baltimore, she 
 has taken prominent roles 1n various plays, as, 
 for instance, the part of Sir Mortimer in 
 Shadow Plays; that of Hans in The Pied 
 Piper; and the more ambitious réle of An- 
 drocles, the mock-heroic little tailor, in George 
 Bernard Shaw’s play, 4ndrocles and the Lion. 
 It seems to be her gift to interpret the char- 
 acter of her parts with more than childish 
 ability; to enter into the spirit, the humour, 
 of the particular part, bringing our subtle 
 touches of pathos, bathos, comedy, or tragedy, 
 as the need may be. Just now she is going 
 further into dramatic technique by construct- 
 ing and operating a little theatre of her own. 
 
 Strangely enough, she has never cared for 
 dolls, or for any of those petty trifles and 
 gewgaws that are supposed to be the especial 
 delight of the feminine mind and taste. “I 
 am afraid I do not care much for clothes,” 
 she once remarked, “‘and I do not believe 
 that I ever shall.”’ She likes much better the 
 sports, toys, and pastimes of boys than those 
 of girls; things that move and have being, 
 
 [ xxu | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 and games of action, please her most. Coun- 
 try is preferable to city in her way of thinking, 
 and the great out-of-doors with birds, flowers, 
 trees, animals, the ocean, boats, skating, fish- 
 ing, swimming,—these are the things that she 
 loves best. She once said that if she were 
 allowed to pick seven things of all others, 
 books excepted, that she would prefer for her 
 own amusement, she would choose a pony, a 
 dog, a bicycle, a boat, a scutter car, a kite, 
 and a goat. Strange companions these for a 
 child of such exquisite taste and refined feel- 
 ing, of such gift for the facile expression of the 
 influence of the beautiful. 
 
 A passion for freedom, however, would ex- 
 plain these tastes. Freedom with Mary 
 Harriss is almost a fetish—freedom of thought, 
 freedom of action, freedom of spirit. The 
 conventions of society she believes in many 
 instances to be senseless and superficial; and 
 many of the ills of modern life, not less than 
 many of the blessings, are, in her estimation, 
 traceable to civilisation: but with it all, she is 
 constructive in her criticism, always con- 
 scious of the rights of others in believing and 
 acting as they choose. 
 
 [xxi | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Books, as might not be supposed from the 
 preferences listed previously, are a special de- 
 light to Mary Harriss, probably her chief 
 delight. She is omnivorous in her reading. 
 Books of all sorts and sizes come in for her 
 critical estimate and enjoyment. Fairy tales, 
 poetry, and adventure stories would very 
 likely stand first in her lists, although she 
 reads many others. Kipling, Mark Twain, 
 Lewis Carroll, Lowell, Browning, Hans An- 
 dersen, the Brothers Grimm, Andrew Lang, 
 and Shakespeare come first in her choice. 
 The Fust So Stories and The Fungle Book, 
 one and two, she would select from Kipling; 
 of Mark Twain’s works, Tom Sawyer and 
 Huckleberry Finn, naturally enough, are fa- 
 vourites, but her liking for 4 Connecticut 
 Yankee at the Court of King Arthur is less to 
 be expected, and even less than that, The 
 Mysterious Stranger, which is one of her best 
 liked books. She would make little distinc- 
 tion between Lewis Carroll’s lice in Won- 
 derland, Through the Looking-glass, and The 
 Hunting of the Snark. She likes them all. 
 And she likes all poetry—the sentimental 
 love poetry less than any—and all fairy tales. 
 
 [ xxiv ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 All of the fairy tales of Andersen, of the 
 Brothers Grimm, and all of those in the 
 coloured fairy books of Andrew Lang, not to 
 mention several minor collections, have been 
 read once, and often reread. Lowell’s The 
 Vision of Sir Launfal, and Browning’s The 
 Pied Piper are first in favour among numerous 
 poems, and Romeo and ‘uliet is somewhat 
 liked, despite its romantic love scenes. Ste- 
 venson’s stories, in especial Treasure Island 
 and Kidnapped, form an indispensable part 
 of this critical young lady’s library. When 
 she is not roaming lawns, climbing trees, or 
 directing her tiny playhouse, it is safe to seek 
 her in some cosy chair or cuddled in some 
 pleasant corner, where, either as an interested 
 spectator or as an invisible participator, she 
 enters through her books the magic realm of 
 gold to join the colourful heroes and heroines 
 of other times and climes, who know both 
 trials and triumphs and have moods both 
 grave and gay. 
 
 No wonder her observations are so swift 
 and sure, with an experience so _ varied 
 through the lives of the characters in her be- 
 loved books. Through their eyes she has 
 
 [| xxv | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 seen many lands; through their feelings she 
 has had a varied emotional experience; and 
 by their aid she can well view her own world 
 with more than the eyes of a child. Through 
 them also has come a mastery of her own 
 language that is quite extensive for one so 
 young; and her many moods find expression, 
 ample and clear, in her practical and esthetic 
 vocabulary, stored up in the genial com- 
 panionship of her books. 
 
 The wild love of freedom, which in many of 
 her verses has found expression,—freedom 
 from convention, from school, from life in 
 cities, from hypocricies, and from other rules 
 attributed to a conspiring civilisation, not 
 omitting skirts and bathing suits, so utterly 
 worthless and annoying—might long since 
 have assumed a tragic significance but for her 
 sense of humour, sense of justice, and recogni- 
 tion of expediency. These possessions have 
 lifted her over many’s the vexing problem. 
 Some things simply must be because they 
 must, and people are funny, anyway. This 
 humour of hers is ever lurking in the back- 
 ground, to be revealed in flashes at times the 
 least expected. To the solemn question, 
 
 [ xxvii | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 “Do you ever read Shakespeare?”’ her ready 
 reply came with a twinkle in the eye: “Oh, 
 yes. As Mr. Jiggs said to Mr. De Jected, ‘I 
 read Shakespeare’s works as fast as they are 
 published.’”” What a question to propound 
 to a well-read young lady of the sixth grade! 
 The answer would have checked a less per- 
 sistent admirer. The humour of situation, 
 quite as much as the humour of word and 
 phrase, attracts her. Many a funny story is 
 garnered from the events of each day, to be 
 remembered and recounted later with irre- 
 sistible zest. 
 
 All things and animals have souls where 
 Mary Harriss is concerned. Her communion 
 with Nature is full and intimate. She is not 
 dependent upon human beings for compan- 
 ionship. Not at all. Trees and dogs will do 
 quite as well. In fact, she has few illusions 
 left about people. Human nature she can 
 read in a way almost uncanny for a child. 
 But with it all, she is yet a child; and, 
 strange to say, she wishes to remain one for 
 ever. There is the feeling, perhaps, though 
 unexpressed even to herself, that now is the 
 happy season, free of too much responsibility 
 
 [ xxvii ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 and full of care-free existence in overalls atop 
 the trees, or in a bathing suit on the sandy 
 beaches of the Bay. Wordsworth might have 
 meant her when he wrote: 
 
 Loving she is, and tractable, though wild; 
 
 And Innocence hath privilege in her 
 
 To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes; 
 
 And feats of cunning; and the pretty round 
 
 Of trespasses, affected to provoke 
 
 Mock-chastisement and partnership in play... . 
 . this happy Creature of herself 
 
 Is all-sufficient; solitude to her 
 
 Is blithe society, who fills the air 
 
 With gladness and involuntary songs... . 
 
 III 
 The verses 1n Blue Beads and Amber need 
 
 little analytical comment. They are their 
 own best introduction, and clearly speak for 
 themselves. But it will do no harm to point 
 out their distinctive qualities, thus emphasis- 
 ing their pronounced modernity and intense 
 mode. 
 
 - The vast problems arising from the theories 
 of metre and verse are too extensive and com- 
 plicated for discussion here. They have not 
 
 [ xxviii | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 concerned Mary Harriss, and they need not 
 concern an introduction to her verse. She is 
 a poet rather than a mechanical creator of 
 accurate and rigid verse forms. She instinc- 
 tively achieves the effects and results of her 
 verses through fee/ing more than through 
 conscious effort, although her manuscripts 
 with much elimination and interlining show 
 that, like all true poets, she can pick and 
 choose with discretion. With much justi- 
 fication, she might be classed as a modern 
 primitive. Her verses are distinctly written 
 in the new mode. Her manner for that very 
 reason enables-her to touch hands with the 
 ancients in the spirit of friendly under- 
 standing. The King James Version of the 
 Bible and translations from the Chinese are 
 suggested by her simple and direct expression. 
 Indeed, one of the most interesting aspects 
 of these poems is their attainment largely of 
 the modern ideal of the New Poetry by a 
 natural process of expression in which self- 
 consciousness is at the minimum and sponta- 
 neity at the maximum. They are, in a sense, 
 unconscious, therefore instinctive. © Mary 
 Harriss resembles, in so far as a child may, the 
 
 [ xxix | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 new poets in the attained result; but she 
 differs from them widely in the method. Her 
 literary kinship with Eunice Tietjens, Edna 
 St. Vincent Millay, Amy Lowell, Marjorie 
 Seiffert, Aline Kilmer, and others of the 
 modern school is the kinship of temper and 
 tone achieved, not of method and means of 
 achievement. She may arrive at much the 
 same goal, achieve much the same effect; 
 but by what different ways! Her product is 
 that of a naive sophistication; theirs of 
 a sophisticated naiveté. Hers is the bird’s 
 song; theirs the meditated melody. 
 
 These verses in the new mode have, as real 
 poems of the new mode must, a freedom 
 from artificiality. They are direct, simple, 
 and unaffected. They have, moreover, as 
 not all verses of the new mode do, the de- 
 sirable virtues of the trinity of form, propor- 
 tion, and emotional idea. The possession of 
 these qualities, according to Sir Rabindranath 
 Tagore, is the true test of true poetry. 
 
 In verse form they differ. Vers libre comes 
 in for its share of attention, but the more 
 formal specimens of verse in metre and rime 
 are not excluded. There is no inconsistency in 
 
 [| xxx | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 this: many writers of the New Poetry retain 
 both rime and metre; and the spirit of the 
 movement may still be retained, not because 
 of them, but in spite of them. Those things 
 placed in the discard are the affectations— 
 inversion, transposition, irrelevant and high 
 sounding allusions, stilted diction, shifts and 
 contractions of language, and the innumerable 
 other rhetorical pomposities and excesses. 
 Simplicity and sincerity are the keynotes of 
 the New Poetry, if its champions are to be 
 believed, and these qualities Mary Harriss 
 has put into her verses. Her diction is that of 
 a child, and hence is unstereotyped; it is the 
 diction of a child, and so is intensive rather 
 than extensive; it is the diction of a child, 
 and is, consequently, contemporary instead 
 of archaic. When rime is used, it is used not 
 slavishly, but temporately. It is also un- 
 stereotyped, and suggests in kind, if not in 
 degree, the new freedom inaugurated by 
 Shelley and Keats and Poe. 
 
 Whether Walt Whitman were or were not 
 the father of the modern school of poetry, he 
 had all of its faults and few of its virtues. 
 His senseless jargon and meaningless ejacu- 
 
 [ xxxt | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 lations rarely rise to the heights of poetry; 
 but he will be remembered for having done 
 much to break the too rigid shackles by a 
 revolution that amounted to anarchy. He 
 helped to make poetry objective rather than 
 subjective; to give to it concreteness of object 
 and environment rather than the old ab- 
 stractions of introspection and allusion. This 
 the New Poetry does; this the poetry of 
 Mary Harriss does: and she is stamped by 
 it as a thorough-going modern and an out- 
 and-out primitive. Her naturalness is natural. 
 It places her among the moderns, therefore, 
 in the effect, but it unites her as well with the 
 primitives in the means. 
 
 An idea of Oriental verse has been given 
 recently by several volumes of picturesque 
 translations of Chinese poetry, notably those 
 by Arthur Waley, Amy Lowell, and Shige- 
 yoshi Obata. The New Poetry is responsible 
 for their appearance in English, and has been 
 tremendously influenced by their appearance 
 in return. It is interesting to see how great 
 the resemblance in form and method is be- 
 tween many of the translations from the 
 Chinese and the poems in Blue Beads and 
 
 [ xxxul | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Amber. ‘This striking similarity is particu- 
 larly evident from a comparison of such 
 selections as Looking at the Moon after Rain, 
 The Heaven's Gate Mountains, and Word- 
 Pattern by Li T’ai-Po, On Seeing a Distant 
 View of Chung-Nan Mountain by Po Chu-i, 
 Flowers and Moonlight on the Spring River 
 by Yang-ti, Boating in Autumn by Lu Yu, 
 and The Waters of Lung-T’au by Hsu Ling 
 and those poems by Mary Harriss called 
 Sky Pictures, Sunrise, Butter flies, The Orchard, 
 and Autumn Leaves. Each contains the in- 
 tensive singleness of idea, the concreteness of 
 object and environment, and the directness 
 of language and form that go to give to 
 modern poetry whatever distinction it may 
 possess. 
 
 The proportion of these poems is another 
 point of excellence. It matters not if the 
 purpose be merely to paint a picture, to reveal 
 a situation, or to convey an emotional idea; 
 there is generally that tendency toward pro- 
 portion. In The Making of Our Clothes, If 
 I Had My Way, The Doll without a Name, 
 Wild Horses, Spring, and The Ocean Waves 
 is indicated that nice feeling for proportion. 
 
 [ xxxiil | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Totality of effect is obtained both by simplic- 
 ity of structure and the absence of the super- 
 fluous word. In some instances there is only 
 the one division, setting forth the one idea; 
 in most there is a dual form, the first half 
 laying the way for the second; in some, as in 
 The Making of Our Clothes, there are three 
 divisions; in others there are more: all, how- 
 ever, are closely related, and have a unity of 
 purpose, idea, and mood. 
 
 Even more skillful is the attainment of the 
 emotional idea in these verses. Mary Harriss 
 is a-tingle with sentiment, and this trait, 
 coupled with her keen observation, enables 
 her to impute the proper feeling in most in- 
 stances and to estimate the emotional value 
 inherent in things, situations, and ideas. In 
 some she discovers sheer happiness; in others, 
 the various simple and complex emotions of 
 elation, wonder, anger, admiration, gratitude, 
 pity, and sorrow. Love of her mother, pity 
 for the poor little Dandelion Man, the joy 
 of spring, the gratitude for kindness, and the 
 wonder in the awakening of the apple seed 
 are typical illustrations that indicate the 
 possession of feeling and the power to express it. 
 
 [ xxxiv ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The themes treated are those best suited 
 to the experience of a child. Nature in its 
 visible forms occupies the principal place of 
 interest. Leaves and flowers, trees and 
 streams, woods, fields and pastures, clouds 
 and winds, birds and bees, the moon, sun, and 
 stars,—all of these come in for treatment. 
 The supernatural world with its elves and 
 fairies and witches and angels rivals the 
 physical world in the number of allusions. 
 Abstract ideas are treated in connection with 
 concrete things. Freedom is an ideal, as 
 shown in Wild Horses and If I Had My Way; 
 gratitude is expressed in the verses called 
 Boats and Mother, though not mentioned as 
 such. The ocean, the bay, and boats are ex- 
 pected themes for a child who so loves freedom 
 and vast spaces and the grace of movement. 
 There is, of course, little of the purely senti- 
 mental; and for the same reason, an absence 
 of themes that are purely ratiocinative in 
 character. These are not only prior to her 
 stage of development, but they also are not 
 such stuff as would delight the heart of a poet. 
 
 What the future may hold for this young 
 poet and what this young poet may hold for 
 
 [ xxxv | 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the future, no one can say. Bright days are 
 reasonably to be expected if there lies any 
 merit in divining the times to come by those 
 that are gone. But that really is of little 
 moment, after all is said, for Mary Harriss 
 has already won sufficient recompense of the 
 gods by bringing untold happiness to her 
 friends. That is the measure of success. 
 She is one of those rare spirits who pass in- 
 frequently through this earth in a film of 
 glory to keep alive man’s faith in the dream 
 of Immortality. 
 
 WK pe 
 
 United States Naval Academy 
 Annapolis, Maryland 
 23 August, 1923 
 
 | xxxvi | 
 
BLUE BEADS AND AMBER 
 

 
 
 
 ia 
 
 41, 
 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 I. EARTH, MOON, AND STARS 
 
 oA Tay SDE CT ee aoe ope ee RRO en ea 45 
 SOLVER SYER GaP LS ANT cla eS 46 
 Bro Urry arnt ee SO eee be, 47 
 
 GOLDEN BALLS ON SILVER THREADS 48 
 
 Il. SONGS FROM A PEAR TREE 
 
 Pe PAR GRE ain yh Luke 51 
 Te ARGS GBD, SO I Re eater ee 52 
 rere te ke 53 
 rR, Ae ee ee ae 54 
 A TOES A lena a ao 
 Te 56 
 emt tiA® Vix. WAY) =... -) . vif 
 POSSESS Pa Tie ps AT Ge 58 
 Tue Do.ti WitHout a Name. . 59 
 OER SEN hie eo ea PR a 60 
 Rte eee No | an ee a, 61 
 URE eee ar ae elias eo ahs 62 
 Ill. WINGS OF THE WIND 
 PEE We ei ioc AG ee 65 
 rere RCP AR Tie) wtf LAN Reo Me”, 66 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PANSIES. 6.0 ie a ee 67 
 BUTTERELIES ©“ 0 68 
 SPRING 2.) ¢o. Wet he eee 69 
 
 I SHALL SOMETIME HAVE A Farm . 70 
 THE APPLE SEED’S AWAKENING . 7/1 
 Tue Woops 
 
 Tl. .The Flowers’... 4 Fae 
 Il. The Brook. io st eee 
 UT. TheeTreesion © ee 
 SPRING HLOWERS 3) ay? =] See 75 
 Tur DANDELION MAN 9.3 76 
 Wuere | Want To Live © 3 eee 
 BuTTERCUPS». 01.5). 1 Meni: 
 SUNRISE’ 4+ 3 0. ss oe 80 
 My Farm 
 I. The House... eee 81 
 II. The Field and Pasture . . 82 
 lil. The Woods * ee 83 
 On First SEEING THE WASHINGTON 
 MoNUMENT . ... .) ee 84 
 Boots ©. 2.2 85 
 THe STORM. ..: .). 2 86 
 THe OceAn Waves .. 7 ae 87 
 Boats’ 57200". 70" 3 2 88 
 
 I Tuinx Ir Is a DREADFUL TuIncG . 89 © 
 Autumn LEAVES = 2 2°29 25a 90 
 
 | xl] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PP eeeAIRY SIDOAT 6 26% inc, 
 SLD IORSES = 3 eer yk 
 MIAN Sends fo) oem. 
 EBS LA i opt ie 
 
 Tue Maxinc or Our CLoTHEs . 
 
 ME ICLITR ERS coe ee 
 Perr LOE Mae fe oe Ce 
 
 IV. THE SEA AND SKY 
 
 PeererAcCK GLOUDS 35.0%. 5 
 Pe OR ie te fo ig ee 
 THES OUN S ODEDTIME = 20 ce... 
 Peer rb aArny BANOURT.. 9 2s”. 
 MelUNE  NIORNING>. .).......: 
 INiGHY ON-THE BAY | .2....° i. 
 OG 3 ie Bo en a a 
 Peete ce Se SAS 
 “ly iy Gg yon GUS Ae Ss ee a ee 
 DeIROP OFGVWWATER 9°04 225. 
 PD en fe ag oe as, 
 
 Jack Rapspit’s ADVENTURE... 
 
 ee ee ita Ee 
 BES TIONS eh 
 Mae OOUN S-LIELPERS: 36. .2e5 
 THe Bus Fe ap me 
 I’ve Countep My Beaps .. 
 
 [ xh ] 
 

 
EARTH, MOON, AND STARS 
 Four Years Old 
 

 
PROPHECY 
 
 AM all the smaller I can get, 
 All the bigger on a bet. 
 
 [45 ] 
 
SLEEP 
 
 ITTING on the chair 
 
 Swinging my legs so gay: 
 
 When I turned around 
 It was the next day! 
 
 | 46 | 
 
DISCOVERY 
 
 | ae just discovered something 
 About the earth on which we live: 
 
 It’s a big round ball 
 
 On which we crawl 
 
 Or walk, according to ourselves. 
 
 [47] 
 
GOLDEN BALLS ON SILVER THREADS 
 N OTHER, dear, 
 
 How does God bring out the moon at 
 night 
 And hide it away by day? 
 And what does He do with the stars 
 When morning light puts them to flight? 
 Are they like golden balls on silver threads 
 hung? 
 Does He just bring them out 
 For the dark night, 
 Then draw them up one by one 
 When daybreak comes? 
 
 [48 ] 
 
SONGS FROM A PEAR TREE 
 Nine Years Old 
 

 
 A OL eae 
 
 ’ i cae ‘ | ; ; 4 a % va 
 
 
 
THE PEAR TREE 
 
 HERE 1s a pear tree in our back yard; 
 It’s big and tall and wide. 
 It has so many leaves on it, 
 
 That’s where I like to hide. 
 
 Sometimes when it is nice and still, 
 I take a book up there. 
 
 One of the limbs on which I sit 
 Has a back like an easy chair. 
 
 I call to people as they pass 
 Underneath the tree; 
 
 The branches are so thick and leafy 
 That they can not see me. 
 
 [51] 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 sar trl 
 e WiiNiih 
 ns rTV OF SL pieVeee 
 
 WNIVERSI! 
 
SUNSET 
 
 ») IS sunset in the country 
 And all the bleating sheep 
 Are brought home from the pasture 
 - And soon are fast asleep. 
 
 The farmer is shutting the gate 
 That leads to the garden bowers, 
 For even the rose is fast asleep, 
 The Rose, the queen of all flowers. 
 
 The bees are in the beehives 
 All ready for the night; 
 
 They have made their honey, poor bees! 
 Being robbed 1s no delight. 
 
 Cuddled right down in their nest, 
 Kept warm by their mother bird, 
 
 The baby brood has gone to rest 
 As the hoot of an owl is heard. 
 
 The horses in the stable 
 As quiet as can be; 
 
 The streamlet singing softly 
 Goes on from tree to tree. 
 
 [ 52 | 
 
MOTHER 
 HINK first of your mother 
 
 Before you act or speak, 
 For you can not find but one mother 
 No matter how far you seek. 
 
 [53 ] 
 
THE BAY 
 
 HE water forever is moving 
 
 On the quietest summer day ... 
 
 Ever since the Mischief Fairy 
 Threw the keys away. 
 
RAIN 
 
 HE thing that seems so strange to me 
 Is that the rain can chatter; 
 But the strangest thing of all is that 
 It can only say pitter-patter. 
 
 [55] 
 
CLOVERS 
 
 HERE are many purple clovers 
 Over in the park. 
 I picked some just last Sunday 
 As it was growing dark. 
 
 I took the clovers home with me 
 And put them in a vase; 
 
 Each looked at me most kindly 
 With its little purple face. 
 
 [ 56 | 
 
IF [| HAD MY WAY 
 
 WOULD always be swinging on gates: 
 I’d swing and swing all day, 
 And I would never go to school 
 If I had my way. 
 
 I'd be playing all the night, 
 
 I’d be playing all the day ... 
 I’d never stop for work 
 
 If I had my way. 
 
 Mother said I couldn’t eat or sleep, 
 But I just say Ho! Hey! 
 
 I would not have to eat or sleep 
 If I had my way. 
 
 [57] 
 
THE MOON 
 
 AST night I looked out of my window 
 And the moon was round and bright; 
 It seemed like a great ship sailing 
 On a sea of misty light. 
 
 The white clouds are the sea; 
 The moon is the golden boat 
 
 That has no chance of sinking, 
 But always remains afloat. 
 
 [58] 
 
THE DOLL WITHOUT A NAME 
 
 | hee a little doll without a name 
 That stands upon a table; 
 
 I sometimes call her Dorothy, 
 I sometimes call her Mabel. 
 
 Once she fell into the mud, 
 But I liked her all the same. 
 As soon as she was washed again, 
 I then gave her a name. 
 
 [59 | 
 
ELVES 
 
 ~LIKE to read of fairies 
 And of wicked little elves ... 
 Of what happens to little girls at night 
 Who go out by themselves. 
 
 I read in a book the other day 
 Of how the king and queen 
 
 Had run away in the midst of war 
 And escaped without being seen. 
 
 But a king should always lead his troops 
 And never run away; 
 
 So the wicked elves got this bad king 
 On this weary warsome day. 
 
 [ 60] 
 
BIRDS 
 
 HERE are many birds that come to feed 
 On the bread that we throw out. 
 There are robins, pigeons, and blackbirds, 
 And sparrows and crows all about. 
 
 There’s one family of little robins 
 Being taught to fly ... 
 
 I sometimes wish that I also 
 Could sail away so high. 
 
 [61] 
 
A PICTURE 
 
 E’VE a picture on our wall - 
 Of mountains and of trees, 
 Of a lake of graceful ripples 
 Made by a calm soft breeze. 
 
 The sky has the loveliest colours — 
 Of the most delicate blue and pink. 
 The picture belongs to Mother; 
 She got it for Christmas, I think. 
 
 The high chains of mountains 
 Are capped with snow 
 And look quite splendid 
 
 From the shores below. 
 
 Now this beautiful lake 
 That I have described, 
 Surrounded by mountains and trees, 
 Is far away in Canada.— 
 It is fair Lake Louise. 
 
 [ 62] 
 
WINGS OF THE WIND 
 Ten Years Old 
 

 
LEAVES 
 
 HE leaves are blowing everywhere, 
 Dancing and floating,— 
 A rainbow on the earth ... 
 Green leaves, yellow leaves, red leaves ... 
 They look like hundreds of tiny birds 
 Flying about on the wings of the wind. 
 
 [ 65 | 
 
THE ORCHARD 
 
 HE orchard is full of blossoms 
 Dancing around like the fairies 
 So wild and free ... some pink, some 
 whitess< < 
 Some lie sleeping on the green moss carpet: 
 Wherever the little breezes go, 
 There go the apple and cherry blossoms 
 Riding the wind horses around, 
 Spreading the earth with their sweet scent, 
 Filling the world with joy and beauty... . 
 
 [ 66 | 
 
PANSIES 
 ANSIES’ feet are green, 
 
 Their eyes are blue; 
 Their yellow skin is soft as velvet... 
 They look as if they are scolding you. 
 
 [67] 
 
BUTTERFLIES 
 
 REAT butterflies are sailing all around 
 Like thoughts floating silently through 
 the air. 
 Their brown wings with black dots on them - 
 Are like the sails of the fairy ships 
 As the wind carries them up, up, up in the 
 sky. 
 
 | 68 | 
 
SPRING 
 LOWERS are waking up, 
 
 Birds are coming back ... 
 They make the world look and sound 
 Like a coloured music box... 
 Spring 1s coming, coming! 
 
 The brook is happily singing 
 
 As the green trees spread their branches o’er it. 
 The flowers, trees, birds, and the brook 
 
 Cry the great secret the wind told to them— 
 Spring is here! Spring 1s here! Spring is here! 
 
 [ 69 | 
 
I SHALL SOMETIME HAVE A FARM 
 
 SHALL sometime have a farm ... 
 A little brown cottage ... 
 The path leading to it 
 Lined with violets. 
 The wall will be of weeping willows— 
 Their graceful, tearful limbs 
 Will shade the roses 
 
 From the hot sun.... 
 
 | 70 | 
 
THE APPLE SEED’S AWAKENING 
 
 NDER the ground where it is always 
 night 
 And there is no ray of the sun’s lovely light, 
 A seed lies dreaming of when he shall be 
 A beautiful tall green apple tree. 
 He, of the seeds, is most anxious of all 
 To hear the sunbeam’s happy call 
 Of Wake up! Wake up! 
 Spring is here! Spring 1s here! 
 
 As he lies dreaming, a cry is heard— 
 
 A cry to the weeds, 
 
 A cry to the seeds ... 
 
 Father Sun has sent his rays 
 
 To say that snow no longer stays. 
 
 The seed lets his little shoots run 
 
 Into the world to greet Father Sun 
 
 For his mother ... The spring is here! 
 
 [71] 
 
THE WOODS 
 I. The Flowers 
 
 HE woods are full of flowers ... 
 
 They talk to me: 
 The Arbutus tells me 
 Where she got her fragrance; 
 The Violet tells me 
 Where she got her colour... . 
 All the flowers laugh 
 And bow to each other. 
 
 [ 72] 
 
THE WOODS 
 IT. The Brook 
 
 LITTLE brook runs through the woods 
 On his happy way to the sea. 
 He chatters to the sand and pebbles: 
 He tells them of the things he has seen— 
 Of the children who have sailed boats in him, 
 Of the animals who drink his water. 
 
 [73] 
 
THE WOODS 
 ITI. The Trees 
 
 HE woods have many kinds of trees. 
 They spread their branches o’er the 
 flowers— 
 They shade the flowers and the brook ... 
 Their many green tongues are never still ... 
 They sing the baby birds to sleep. 
 
 [ 74 ] 
 
SPRING FLOWERS 
 LOWERS all are waking up,— 
 
 Daisy, rose, and buttercup, 
 The yellow, pink, and white, 
 Make the world look warm and bright. 
 
 Spring is coming, 
 
 Violets are in bloom; 
 
 Spring is coming ... coming... 
 The birds will come back soon ... 
 Spring is coming ... coming! 
 
 [75] 
 
THE DANDELION MAN 
 
 S I walked along in the woods by the 
 brook, 
 In a place where the bank was low, 
 ~ I saw a cool shady nook 
 Where a little man stood 
 In green from top to toe. 
 His hair was yellow and very bright— 
 It stood out around his face like a fan .. 
 I knew it was the Dandelion Man. 
 ’ I came to see him the very next day: 
 His yellow hair had turned to grey; 
 With a single puff of the wind he was gone ... 
 Poor little Dandelion Man! 
 
 [ 76 | 
 
WHERE I WANT TO LIVE 
 
 ROWN people 
 Like places 
 
 That are part town 
 And part country; 
 But I like all country, 
 Six miles away, 
 Where there is no school 
 And where 
 I can have chickens, 
 Pigeons, and ponies, 
 And everything. 
 
 [77] 
 
BUTTERCUPS 
 
 NCE upon a time there was a King who 
 
 behaved very haughtily toward his 
 
 subjects. His horses, dogs, and even his 
 people disliked him. 
 
 He drank from a golden cup, which had the 
 power to protect him from his enemies. 
 One day he went out hunting, into a huge 
 dark forest. In the midst of the forest was 
 a pool of water on which a witch was sit- 
 ting. The King behaved toward her as to 
 his subjects. She was very angry, and said: 
 
 Hokus! Pokus! 
 
 Limbus! Lokus! 
 
 Spread the path with trees, 
 Raise a strong breeze, 
 The magical cup 
 
 And its owner seize; 
 Then sail up, up, up, 
 Away to Fairy Land, 
 
 My little elves, 
 
 Tell the Queen yourselves 
 Of his rude action to us. 
 
 The elves obeyed, and soon the King was 
 before the Queen of Fairies. 
 
 [78 | 
 
BUTTERCUPS— (Continued) 
 
 Hokus told the story, and as he spoke the 
 haughty King was turned into a frog and 
 hopped away. 
 
 The Queen then touched the magic cup with 
 her wand and it became a yellow flower. 
 “Does it not look like butter?” said Limbus. 
 “T shall call it the buttercup,” said the Queen. 
 Buttercups have been growing in meadows 
 
 by the hundreds ever since. 
 
 [79 | 
 
SUNRISE 
 
 LL is dark. . . the stars shine brightly .. . 
 A streak of pink pierces the black of the 
 sky; 
 
 As it widens, the stars seem to fade into 
 Wer os 
 
 It forms a path for the Sun 
 
 When he starts on his journey 
 
 Across the sky. 
 
 The cock crows, the sparrows chirp, 
 
 The robin’s song is broken 
 
 Only by the crow’s harsh caw. 
 
 The sleepy earth shakes its head and rubs 
 its eyes.— 
 
 All it sees is the bank of white clouds in the 
 Case a 
 
 They form a snowy mountain in the sky.... 
 
 The Sun tumbles over the silver cloudy cliffs 
 
 In a spray of light 
 
 Like a foaming torrent leaping from rock to 
 rock. 
 
 [ 80] 
 
MY FARM 
 I. The House 
 
 HMAVE:a farm... ::. 
 A little brown cottage 
 Enfolded in a blanket of climbing vines ... 
 The grassy front yard is bordered with violets, 
 And a great oak spreads its leafy boughs 
 To shelter it all from the sun’s heat. 
 
 [81] 
 
MY FARM 
 Il. The Field and Pasture 
 
 EXT to the cottage is a lovely field, 
 A field of waving hay. 
 It glistens like gold 
 In the summer sun. 
 The air carries the sweet scent 
 Far and wide over the green pastures 
 Stretching far behind it, 
 Where the two goats graze 
 While their kids play about them, 
 Running and jumping 
 And rolling about in the grass. 
 Their neighbour, the black horse, 
 Takes dinner with them, 
 Her colt, like the kids, 
 Playing around his mother. 
 
 [ 82] 
 
MY FARM 
 ITI. The Woods 
 
 HERE are woods on my farm 
 Where the hickory trees grow 
 And the squirrels in their branches 
 Hop to and fro, 
 Happily chattering as they gather the nuts 
 And store them in their hollow trees. 
 A cool brook tinkles near by ... 
 Why doesn’t its tongue get tired? 
 It is forever chattering and laughing— 
 It tells me about the things it has seen: 
 It has seen the fairies dancing, 
 And has seen the animals raise their fami- 
 lies... . 
 But, when I touch the tinkling brook, 
 It fades into the air beneath my hand— 
 For my farm is but a lovely dream, 
 A wonderful castle in the air. 
 
ON FIRST SEEING THE WASHINGTON 
 MONUMENT 
 
 MONUMENTAL shaft of white 
 Does high above the city rise, 
 Seen afar by day and night 
 Towering to the skies. 
 
 | 84 | 
 
BOOTS 
 
 OOTS was a kitten of gray 
 With a shirt front and shoes of white; 
 He was far too dignified to play, 
 But just loved to fight. 
 
 Once Boots ran away 
 
 And couldn ’t be found for a night and a day. 
 When he came home, his coat of grey 
 
 Was covered with soot and dirty clay. 
 
 So we will say good-bye to this naughty cat 
 Who ran away a night and a day, 
 
 Who steals and does such things as that, 
 This naughty, naughty kitty cat. 
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
THE STORM 
 
 ZING Neptune was churning the sea— 
 His white horses were prancing... 
 
 The Sea King was angry ... 
 
 The waves were dancing 
 
 As dark cloud ships floated in the sky. 
 
 [ 86 | 
 
THE OCEAN WAVES 
 
 HE ocean waves come rolling in... 
 They mumble and rumble. 
 
 Perhaps like witches 
 They are mumbling charms. 
 You can see through their green skin 
 As the army of witches charges and retreats. 
 Each one’s long flowing white hair 
 Is blown all about by the strong winds; 
 Their wicked eyes gleam 
 As they rush into battle. 
 When they hit me, they knock me down; 
 When I slap them, they splash in my face.... 
 
 [ 87] 
 
BOATS 
 
 Written in acknowledgment of a toy launch 
 
 Y little boats are sailing, 
 Little boats called thoughts; 
 Sailing to one who sent to me 
 One of my pretty boats. 
 
 [| 88 | 
 
I THINK IT IS A DREADFUL THING 
 
 THINK it is a dreadful thing 
 That mothers die 
 And leave their children 
 When they need them so ... 
 I do not mind 
 If you go away 
 And stay 
 In a place where I can come to you... 
 But please, 
 Mother, 
 Do not leave me 
 And never come back. 
 
 [ 89 | 
 
AUTUMN LEAVES 
 
 HE autumn leaves are dancing— 
 They are light as the fairies 
 Dressed in their new dresses, 
 All red and yellow and orange, 
 That Autumn gave to them. 
 
 [90 | 
 
THE FAIRY’S BOAT 
 
 Y a pond 
 A red rose grew, 
 A petal fell off 
 When the wind blew. 
 
 To a lily 
 
 It did float, 
 Looking like 
 
 A little boat. 
 
 Out of the lily 
 A fairy stepped, 
 Into the crimson 
 Boat she leapt; 
 
 They sailed around, 
 Around, around 
 Until the petal 
 Was old and brown. 
 
 Then the wind blew 
 The petal up, 
 
 And the fairy flew back 
 To her lily cup. 
 
 [91] 
 
WILD HORSES 
 
 ILD horses are roaming 
 Over the Western prairies ... 
 
 Their leader prances ahead, 
 His sleek sides shining, 
 His tail trailing the ground. 
 He does not want to be caught, 
 To have a saddle on his back, 
 Or a cart behind him. 
 He likes to run wild and free 
 Over the prairies with a band of his kind. 
 He wants to be his own master, 
 To go and come 
 Whenever he wishes. 
 
 [92] 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 CTOBER’S walking over 
 
 Her carpet of gold 
 With her friend, Jack Frost, 
 Whose breath is so cold. 
 Little clouds are playing 
 About the blue sky 
 As the blustering winds 
 Finrey Dy. . << 
 Calling so loud 
 That each cloud 
 Sheds a tear... 
 Autumn is here! 
 Autumn is here! 
 
 [93] 
 
MOTHER’S DAY 
 
 HE is treasured more than gold, 
 She is kind and very wise; 
 I am glad I have a mother 
 With brown hair and hazel eyes. 
 
 I never can be too grateful 
 
 For what she has done for me; 
 There was never a person nicer 
 In any way than she. 
 
 [ 94 | 
 
THE MAKING OF OUR CLOTHES 
 
 HE spinning wheel is going around 
 With a busy Aum—hum—hum! 
 Making thread for you and me 
 And for every one. 
 The shuttle is working busily, 
 Humming like a bee, 
 Weaving cloth to make the clothes 
 Worn by you and me. 
 Mother’s hands work quickly, 
 As in and out the needle goes, 
 Sewing the cloth together, 
 Making us our clothes. 
 
 [95 ] 
 
SOK Y*PICTURES 
 
 HE clouds are like angel’s wings, 
 Soft and feathery ... 
 The trees look like black lace 
 Outlined against the sky: 
 Back of them 
 With wings outspread 
 Is an angel about to fly. 
 
 [ 96 ] 
 
frie GLOCK 
 I 
 
 HAT a wonderful thing is the clock, 
 Always saying: “Tick, tick, tock .. . 
 You better go to bed, it’s nine o’clock ... 
 Tick-tock, tick, tick, tock.” 
 
 ide 
 
 What a strange thing is the clock; 
 
 It doesn’t wash its face, and yet is never 
 dirty. 
 
 How does it know when to say, 
 
 “You had better go to school, it’s almost 
 eight-thirty’’? 
 
 [97] 
 

 
 wil} 
 
 
 
 
 
THE SEA AND SKY 
 Eleven Years Old 
 

 
THE BLACK CLOUD 
 
 HIS morning 
 I saw a great black cloud 
 In the eastern sky ... 
 With a wreath of yellow sunshine round it 
 Like the wings of a black butterfly 
 In a garden of daffodils. 
 
 DL bOt | 
 
A STORM 
 
 ib. 
 
 HE sun is blotted 
 By a great black cloud; 
 
 A peal of thunder 
 Rolls over the sky 
 Like a giant cart wheel 
 Falling down stairs; 
 The terrifying sound 
 Makes all the world tremble. 
 
 i 
 The lightning flashes 
 
 In one long thin line of light.... 
 
 iB Bk 
 
 Like many little soldiers 
 With tiny pattering feet 
 The rain beats down 
 
 Upon the brick-paved street. 
 
 Ve 
 
 The sun is shining brightly, 
 The thunder has ceased to roar: 
 The lightning has quit flashing; 
 Now the storm ts o’er. 
 
 [ 102 ] 
 
THE SUN’S BEDTIME 
 
 HE sky is pink with the glow of the sun 
 As he goes to his bed in the west; 
 He has worked so hard all day long 
 He surely has earned his rest. 
 
 Perhaps he sleeps in the heart of a rose 
 Which unfolds its petals in the sky; 
 
 And in creeps the sun at the end of the day 
 And soon is asleep in his bed so high. 
 
 [ 103 | 
 
THE FAIRY BANQUET 
 
 P came the moon, 
 Down went the sun, 
 Out peeped the twinkling stars 
 One by one. 
 
 They kept their watch 
 O’er the meadow fair— 
 Trees and buttercups 
 Were blooming there. 
 
 Each shining buttercup opened wide, 
 And out of each a fairy stepped.— 
 You see, these little buttercups 
 Were where the fairies slept. 
 
 One had long golden curls; 
 
 Her tiny slippers were white and clean; 
 Her gauzy wings were long and pink;— 
 She was the Fairy Queen. 
 
 All night they danced and sang and ate 
 
 To the light of the fireflies in the meadow and 
 sky, 
 
 Twinkling and flashing and flying about, 
 
 While the stars kept their silent watch on 
 high. 
 
 [104 ] 
 
THE FAIRY BANQUET—(Continued) 
 
 The moon and stars began to disappear; 
 
 The sky turned light and the sun came 
 rh aa 
 
 With shouts and cries each fairy flew 
 
 Back to her buttercup. 
 
 [ 105 ] 
 
A JUNE MORNING 
 
 HE robins sing, 
 The sparrows chirp, 
 
 Trees are nodding 
 In the summer breeze. 
 The clouds overhead 
 Are snowy white, 
 Like feathers floating 
 In the sky. 
 Roses fill the air 
 With their scent; 
 
 The world hums with happiness ... 
 
 "Tis a morning in June. 
 
 [ 106 | 
 
NIGHT ON THE BAY 
 
 vA T was night. 
 The clouds in the east were purple, 
 The moon was rising ... 
 It went behind a cloud, 
 Where it shone, 
 Giving the world a reddish tint. 
 The water lapped on the shore 
 With a soft rippling sound. 
 The moon burst forth ... 
 It made a pathway across the water 
 Of its glorious light. 
 The mass of clouds began to separate 
 And take shape ... 
 They became men, birds, animals, and reptiles, 
 Jumping, running, flying, creeping.— 
 They all went down the watery path. 
 A game then began— 
 Everybody moved according to hisown fashion. 
 
 [ 107 | 
 
NIGHT ON THE BAY—(Continued) 
 Suddenly a black hand 
 
 Descended out of Heaven; 
 
 It closed over the purple figures: 
 
 Then the moon, clouds, and water 
 Were swallowed up in the darkness ... 
 A grey mist appeared in the east— 
 
 It was dawn! 
 
 Night was over. 
 
 [ 108 ] 
 
SEAWEED 
 
 HERE does seaweed come from? 
 Who planted the grass of the ocean? 
 Perhaps some lovely mermaid 
 Has a garden on the bottom, 
 And the strong and restless waves 
 Washed the long, flat, green grass,— 
 Washed it to the shore, 
 Where the children of the land 
 Laugh and play with it 
 As did the daughter of the ocean 
 Who first planted all the seaweed.... 
 Do the children of the waters 
 Long for their strange green toys? 
 Do they cry when it is washed upon the 
 shore? 
 
 [ 109 ] 
 
PHOSPHOROUS 
 
 HE sun slowly sank in the west, 
 The moon took her silent watch in the 
 
 heavens 
 
 And poured her light upon the sparkling 
 water. 
 
 As I plunged my hand into the salty waves, 
 
 I felt something soft between my fingers: 
 
 It was a jellyfish! 
 
 As I touched it, it shone abroad 
 
 With a soft green light like a candle’s. 
 
 There are many of them shining far and near. 
 
 Are they the water fairies’ lanterns? 
 
 When lifted from the water, 
 
 They are jelly-like and shapeless; 
 
 But when dropped into the ocean, 
 
 They look like many tiny hairs. 
 
 Paddling and waving they wriggle through 
 the water— 
 
 The tiny fireflies of the sea. 
 
 [ 110] 
 
WHITE: CAPS 
 
 IANT waves and baby waves 
 Rollin and break on the sand, 
 Sending up a cloud of milky spray. 
 Never resting, 
 Never hurrying, 
 They play together. 
 Far away I can still see them, 
 All coming closer and closer to me. 
 Each wave, large or small, 
 Wears a white cap. 
 All the ocean is covered 
 With tiny white dots.— 
 They are all snowy foaming caps. 
 
 Fath] 
 
A DROP OF WATER 
 
 GIANT wave 
 Broke on the sand, 
 A drop of its spray 
 Fell on my hand. 
 
 I watched the little drop of water 
 Take off his foaming cloak; 
 Then sitting down upon my hand, 
 He turned to me and spoke. 
 
 He said: “‘I come from far-off lands; 
 I’ve floated in a cloud on high; 
 
 I almost touched a star one night, 
 Playing in the sky.” 
 
 Bibby 
 
A SHELL 
 
 HAT is stranger than a shell— 
 A shell that always seems to be 
 Whispering and telling me 
 The secrets of the sea? 
 
 What is lovelier than a shell? 
 
 From pink to blue and then to brown 
 The colours change like mother-of-pearl 
 As in the sun I turn the shell around. 
 
 [113] 
 
JACK RABBIT’S ADVENTURE 
 
 ) WAS a warm and sunny morning ... 
 The green marsh reeds were waving, 
 
 Whispering to each other. 
 
 Then they were softly thrust aside ... 
 
 A small brown face looked out between them. 
 
 There was a dry scaly rustling— 
 
 A dark striped head appeared. 
 
 The great brown eyes looked frightened ... 
 
 The little face was gone! 
 
 There was a tiny white spot 
 
 Bobbing in the distance; 
 
 The body of a snake followed the dark head,— 
 
 A water moccasin wriggled through the 
 
 OPASG, ane 
 On and on went rabbit and snake; 
 Nearer and nearer the water snake came to 
 
 Jack. 
 
 With a long hiss, the reptile struck—and 
 missed! 
 
 One instant later, and Jack was safe in his 
 nest. 
 
 [114] 
 
BEES 
 | Den are many flowers in the woods, 
 
 And over each flies a bee. 
 They hang in the air on fairy wings 
 And sing buzzing songs to me. 
 All year they work to make honey and comb, 
 And make bees’ bread to keep them alive; 
 At the end of a year, after all their labour, 
 Men come and rob the hive. 
 
 [115 ] 
 
QUESTIONS 
 
 HERE was I before I was born? 
 Where will I be after I die? 
 Who made the maker of you and I? 
 What is gravity that holds me down? 
 Why can’t I leap into space and fly? 
 
 These questions no man can answer, 
 
 For who saw the Creator made? 
 
 Who has seen the beginning of gravity? 
 And who has come back after being dead? 
 
 [116 ] 
 
THE SUN’S HELPERS 
 FOUND a clearing in the woods— 
 
 There were trees on all sides... 
 Their branches met over my head, 
 And kept out the sunbeams: 
 
 But it was not dark— 
 
 It was lighted by yellow butterflies. 
 Perhaps the sun sent them on earth 
 To light the places his rays could not reach. 
 
 [117] 
 
THE BULB 
 FOUND a brown ball, ugly and rough; 
 
 SlowlyI turned it round and round.... 
 
 ‘““Give me stones to steady my roots, 
 
 Give me water to drink, 
 
 And you shall see growing 
 
 A lovely flower whose fragrance fills your 
 home— 
 
 A flower whose beauty penetrates all darkness 
 
 As the sun shines through a break in the 
 clouds.”’ 
 
 [.118 J 
 
I’?VE COUNTED MY BEADS 
 
 "VE counted my beads one by one: 
 In this book they are strung... 
 According to colour and kind they stand; 
 But now I come to the end of my strand 
 
 Of Blue Beads and Amber. 
 
 [119] 
 

 

 

 
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