Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I knew that a baby was hid in the house; Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry, But the husband went tiptoeing round like a mouse,

All that a man can say of woman's charms, Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told To you a thousand times.    Your perfect arms

They walked the valley of the dead; Lit by a weird half light; No sound they made, no word they said;

A book has been made for the King, A book of beauty and art; To the good king's eyes

To-day I had a burial of my dead. There was no shroud, no coffin, and no pall, No prayers were uttered and no tears were shed -

An hour ago when the wind blew high At my lady's window a red leaf beat. Then dropped at her door, where, passing by,

I heard such a curious story Of Santa Claus: once, so they say, He set out to see what people were kind,

MORTAL The world is full of selfishness and greed. Lord, I would lave its sin.

HE Let us be friends.    My life is sad and lonely, While yours with love is beautiful and bright.

Death and a dirge at midnight; Yet never a soul in the house Heard anything more than the throb and beat

That was a curious dream; I thought the three Great planets that are drawing near the sun With such unerring certainty begun

In the night I dreamed that you had died, And I thought you lay in your winding sheet; And I kneeled low by your coffin side,

Some cawing Crows, a hooting Owl, A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh-Fowl, One day all meet together

Oh! hush little baby, thy Papa's at sea, The big billows rock him as Mama rocks thee. He hastes to his dear ones o'er breakers of foam.

We plucked a red rose, you and I, All in the summer weather; Sweet its perfume and rare its bloom,

Across the miles that stretch between, Through days of gloom or glad sunlight, There shines a face I have not seen

Across the miles that stretch between, Through days of gloom or glad sunlight, There shines a face I have not seen

I was a little lad, and the older boys called to me from the pier: They called to me:    'Be a sport:    be a sport!    Leap in and swim!' I leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke.

The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers,

Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to celebrate the sinking of the Lusitania. War declares a holiday; Little children, run and play.

Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, That you were married, or soon to be. I have not thought of you, I believe,

Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, That you were married, or soon to be. I have not thought of you, I believe,

Oh, a great world, a fair world, a true world I find it; A sun that never forgets to rise, On the darkest night, a star in the skies,

He said he loved me! Then he called my hair Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid strings his bow, My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new snow;

Do you think, dear, as you say Such a light good-bye to-day, That this parting time may be

A lovely little keeper of the home, Absorbed in menu books, yet erudite When I need counsel; quick at repartee

Like the tenth wave, that offers to the shore Accumulated opulence and force, So does my heart, which thought it loved of yore,

(Intended for recitation at club dinners.) To-night when I came from the club at eleven, Under the gaslight I saw a face -

How cold the old porch seems.    A dreary chill Creeps upward from the river at twilight, And yet, I like to linger here at night,

Let the old snow be covered with the new: The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden. Let it be hidden wholly from our view

A yacht from its harbour ropes pulled free, And leaped like a steed o'er the race-track blue, Then up behind her the dust of the sea,

A yacht from its harbor ropes pulled free, And leaped like a steed o'er the race track blue, Then up behind her, the dust of the sea,

Sit still, I say, and dispense with heroics! I hurt your wrists?    Well, you have hurt me. It is time you found out that all men are not stoics,

Quite carelessly I turned the newsy sheet; A song I sang, full many a year ago, Smiled up at me, as in a busy street

I heard a strain of music in the street - A wandering waif of sound.    And then straightway A nameless desolation filled the day.

Above her veil a shrouded Moorish maid Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake; A brow untouched by care; a band of jetty hair,

There was once a little comet who lived near the Milky Way! She loved to wander out at night and jump about and play. The mother of the comet was a very good old star -

I strolled last eve across the lonely down; One solitary picture struck my eye: A distant ploughboy stood against the sky -

Oh! I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good, But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion could. The little chills run up and down my spine whene'er we meet,

When mighty issues loom before us, all The petty great men of the day seem small, Like pigmies standing in a blaze of light

Master of sweet and loving lore, Give us the open mind To know religion means no more,

Just as I shape the purport of my thought, Lord of the Universe, shape Thou my lot. Let each ill thought that in my heart may be,

I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose A wee one, that grows Down low on the bush, where her sisters above

I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose A wee one, that grows Down low on the bush, where her sisters above

As the ambitious sculptor, tireless, lifts Chisel and hammer to the block at hand, Before my half-formed character I stand

Long, long ago, ere yet our race began, When earth was empty, waiting still for man, Before the breath of life to him was given

In that great journey of the stars through space About the mighty, all-directing Sun, The pallid, faithful Moon has been the one

Mother, sit down, for I have much to say Anent this widespread ever-growing theme Of woman and her virtues and her rights.

I am singing a song to the boys to-day, A song of the home that is far away. And I know that an echo the word is waking

In the rapture of life and of living, I lift up my heart and rejoice, And I thank the great Giver for giving

In the rapture of life and of living, I lift up my heart and rejoice, And I thank the great Giver for giving

Fair Freedom's ship, too long adrift - Of every wind the sport - Now rigged and manned, her course well planned,

Is any one sad in the world, I wonder? Does any one weep on a day like this, With the sun above, and the green earth under?

In through the open window To the chamber where I lay, There came the beat of merry feet,

There was a man who killed a loving maid In some mad mood of passion; and he paid The price, upon a scaffold.    Now his name

As I go and shop, sir! If a car I stop, sir! Where you chance to sit,

Let the wild red-rose bloom.    Though not to thee So delicately perfect as the white And unwed lily drooping in the light,

Since early this morning the world has seemed surging With unworded rhythm, and rhyme without thought. It may be the Muses take this way of urging

My soul beheld a vision of the Master: Methought He stood with grieved and questioning eyes, Where Freedom drove its chariot to disaster

A waft of perfume from a bit of lace Moved lightly by a passing woman's hand; And on the common street, a sensuous grace

In the dark and the gloom when winds were fretting Like restless children worn out with play, I said to my heart, 'This task, forgetting -

The band was playing a waltz-quadrille, I felt as light as a wind-blown feather, As we floated away, at the caller's will,

There was a flame, oh! such a tiny flame - One fleeting hour had spanned its birth and death, But for a silly child with playful breath

Great dignity ever attends great grief, And silently walks beside it; And I always know when I see such woe

You call me an angel of love and of light, A being of goodness and heavenly fire, Sent out from God's kingdom to guide you aright,

All day long there has haunted me A spectre out of my lost youth-land. Because I happened last night to see

So vast the tide of love within me surging, It overflows like some stupendous sea, The confines of the Present and To-be;

One night Nurse Sleep held out her hand To tired little May. "Come, go with me to Wonderland,"

Not we who daily walk the City's street; Not those who have been cradled in its heart, Best understand its architectural art,

Not we who daily walk the city's Not those who have been cradled in its heart, Best understand its architectural art

For ever stars are winging Their swift and endless race; For ever suns are swinging

On the white throat of the' useless passion That scorched my soul with its burning breath I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion,

I must do as you do? Your way I own Is a very good way. And still, There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,

In a garb that was guiltless of colours She stood, with a dull, listless air - A creature of dumps and of dolours,

In a garb that was guiltless of colors She stood, with a dull, listless air - A creature of dumps and of dolors,

Body and mind, and spirit, all combine To make the Creature, human and divine. Of this great trinity no part deny.

After the end that is drawing near Comes, and I no more see your face Worn with suffering, lying here,

Over the din of battle, Over the cannons' rattle, Over the strident voices of men and their dying groans,

[Read at Reunion of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.] After the battles are over, And the war drums cease to beat,

[Read at Re-union of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.] After the battles are over, And the war drums cease to beat,

Well, Mabel, 'tis over and ended - The ball I wrote was to be; And oh! it was perfectly splendid -

The world grows green on a thousand hills - By a thousand willows the bees are humming, And a million birds by a million rills,

The world grows green on a thousand hills - By a thousand willows the bees are humming, And a million birds by a million rills,

The quality folk went riding by, All in a coach and four, And pretty Annette, in a calico gown

"He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, And should be in chains," you say. I haven't a doubt of your statement,

"He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, And should be in chains," you say. I haven't a doubt of your statement,

All roads that lead to God are good. What matters it, your faith, or mine? Both centre at the goal divine

"All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes; For in their depths lies largest Paradise.

"All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes; For in their depths lies largest Paradise.

I am all alone in the house to-night; They would not have gone away Had they known of the terrible, bloodless fight

Always at sea I think about the dead. On barques invisible they seem to sail The self-same course; and from the decks cry 'Hail'!

If all the end of this continuous striving Were simply to attain, How poor would seem the planning and contriving

I am the refuge of all the oppressed, I am the boast of the free, I am the harbour where ships may rest

America will not turn back; She did not idly start, But weighed full carefully and well

Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French As along through France we go. But the moments to us that are keen and sweet

I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon Of a perfect day - though it was not June; The lilt of winds, and the droning tune

If all the year was summer time, And all the aim of life Was just to lilt on like a rhyme,

Leaden skies and a lonesome shadow Where summer has passed with her gorgeous train; Snow on the mountain, and frost on the meadow -

The glitter of wheels far down the street (Ah me, and alack a day.) And I heard the thud of his horse's feet

Beside a crib that holds a baby's stocking, A tattered picture book, a broken toy, A sleeping mother dreams that she is rocking

Along the narrow Moorish street A blue-eyed soldier strode. (Ah, well-a-day)

PART I She was a light and wanton maid: Not one whom fickle Love betrayed,

However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes With fluttering flags and prancing nags

Ho! sportsman Time, whose chargers fleet The moments, madly driven, Beat in the dust beneath their feet

I opened a long closed drawer to-day, And among the souvenirs stored away Were the faded leaves of an old bouquet.

How young I am!    Ah! heaven, this curse of youth Doth mock me from my mirror with great eyes, And pulsing veins repeat the unwelcome truth,

As when the old moon lighted by the tender And radiant crescent of the new is seen, And for a moment's space suggests the splendor

Two roadways lead from this land to That, and one is the road of Prayer; And one is the road of Old-time Songs, and every note is a stair. A shabby old man with a music machine on the sordid city street;

For 'Mabel Brown' I never cared (My rightful name by birth), But when the name of Smith I shared,

I have been across the bridges of the years. Wet with tears Were the ties on which I trod, going back

I have been across the bridges of the years. Wet with tears Were the ties on which I trod, going back

O well have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth. We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth; And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the hearth!

Good-bye - yes, I am going. Sudden? Well, you are right; But a startling truth came home to me

What is the end of each man's toil, Brother, O Brother? A handful of dust in a bit of soil -

I hold it one of the sad certain laws Which makes our failures sometimes seem more kind Than that success which brings sure loss behind -

They prize not most the opulence of June Who from the year's beginning to its close Dwell, where unfading verdure tireless grows,

[On the election of the Roman Emperor Maximus, by the Senate, A.D. 238, a powerful army, headed by the Thracian giant Maximus, laid siege to Aquileia.    Though poorly prepared for war, the constancy of her citizens rendered her impregnable.    The women of Aquileia cut off their hair to make ropes for the military engines.    The small body of troops was directed by Chrispinus, a Lieutenant of the Senate.    Apollo was the deity supposed to protect them.    - Gibbon's Roman History.] "The ropes, the ropes!    Apollo send us ropes," Chrispinus cried, "or death attends our hopes."

It was long and long ago our love began; It is something all unmeasured by time's span: In an era and a spot, by the Modern World forgot,

It is easy to stand in the pulpit, or in the closet to kneel, And say:    'God do this; God do that! - Make the world better; relieve the sorrows of man; for the sake of

Though critics may bow to art, and I am its own true lover, It is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over. Though smooth be the heartless prayer, no ear in Heaven will mind it,

Art thou alive?    Nay, not too soon reply, Tho' hand, and foot, and lip, and ear, and eye, Respond, and do thy bidding yet may be

[A room in a private house.    A maiden sitting before a fire meditating.] MAIDEN Now have I fully fixed upon my part.

Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, Mad with melody, rhythm - rife From the very first to the final note.

Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, Mad with melody, rhythm - rife From the very first to the final note,

Sometimes I feel so passionate a yearning For spiritual perfection here below, This vigorous frame, with healthful fervor burning,

As we look back at our lost Used-to-Be, 'The light that never was on land or sea' Touches the distant mountain peaks with gold,

Don't look for the flaws as you go through life; And even when you find them, It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind,

I have been down in the darkest water - Deep, deep down where no light could pierce; Alone with the things that are bent on slaughter,

I am serenity.    Though passions beat Like mighty billows on my helpless heart, I know beyond them lies the perfect sweet

Lean on no mortal, Love, and serve; (For service is love's complement) But it was never God's intent,

I wrenched from a passing comet in its flight, By that great force of two mad hearts aflame, A soul incarnate, back to earth you came,

WIFE Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast. Tell me there are no memories of your past

I, at Eleusis, saw the finest sight, When early morning's banners were unfurled. From high Olympus, gazing on the world,

At Fontainebleau, I saw a little bed Fashioned of polished wood, with gold ornate, Ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and hate

Oh! but the bride was lovely, Oh! but the scene was bright, And why was the bridegroom's face as pale

'Tis time to dress.    Dost hear the music surging Like sobbing waves that roll up from the sea? Yes, yes, I hear -I yield -no need of urging;

There is no summit you may not attain, No purpose which you may not yet achieve, If you will wait serenely and believe.

Use all your hidden forces.    Do not miss The purpose of this life, and do not wait For circumstance to mould or change your fate;

The meadow and the mountain with desire Gazed on each other, till a fierce unrest Surged 'neath the meadow's seemingly calm breast,

Slowly the People waken; they have been, Like weary soldiers, sleeping in their tents, While traitors tiptoed through the silent camp

They are waking, they are waking, In the east, and in the west; They are throwing wide their windows to the sun;

'Be not attached.'    So runs the great command For those who seek to 'know' and 'understand.' Who sounds the waters of the deeper sea

Be not content - contentment means inaction; The growing soul aches on its upward quest; Satiety is twin to satisfaction;

Be not dismayed, be not dismayed when death Sets its white seal upon some worshipped face. Poor human nature for a little space

The search for beauty is the search for God Who is All Beauty.    He who seeks shall find. And all along the paths my feet have trod,

Methinks there is no greater work in life Than making beauty.    Can the mind conceive One little corner in celestial realms

Before I lost my love, he said to me: 'Sweetheart, I like deep azure tints on you.' But I, perverse as any girl will be

Begin each morning with a talk to God, And ask for your divine inheritance Of usefulness, contentment, and success.

Behold the earth swung in among the stars Fit home for gods if men were only kind - Do thou thy part to shape it to those ends,

Ruined? destroyed?    Ah, no; though blood in rivers ran Down all her ancient streets; though treasures manifold Love-wrought, Time-mellowed, and beyond the price of gold

Why art thou sad, my Beppo? But last eve, Here at my feet, thy dear head on my breast, I heard thee say thy heart would no more grieve

In the gruesome night and the wintry weather, I watched two dear friends die, And I buried them both in one grave together.

It seemeth such a little way to me Across to that strange country - the Beyond; And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be

Dear Love, where the red lilies blossomed and grew The white snows are falling; And all through the woods where I wandered with you

Whatever a man may think or feel He can tell to the world and it hears aright; But it bids the woman conceal, conceal,

Come to me, Love!    Come on the wings of the wind! Fly as the ring-dove would fly to his mate! Leave all your cares and your sorrows behind!

When from dawn till noon seems one long day, And from noon till night another, Oh, then should a little boy come from play,

The bridge of prayer from heavenly heights suspended Unites the earth with spirit-realms in Space. The interests of those separate worlds are blended

When in the even ways of life The old world jogs along, Our little coloured flags we flaunt:

"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden." - Lamartine. Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life Than to be burdened so that you can not

"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden." - Lamartine. Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life, Than to be burdened so that you can not

Blow out the light: there is no oil to feed it: That dim blue light unworthy of the name. Better to sit with folded hands, I say,

The year has but one June, dear friend; The year has but one June; And when that perfect month doth end,

"By-and-by," the maiden sighed - "by-and-by He will claim me for his bride, Hope is strong and time is fleet;

"By-and-bye," the maiden sighed - "by-and-bye He will claim me for his bride, Hope is strong and time is fleet;

Camouflage is all the rage. Ladies in their fight with age - Soldiers in their fight with foes -

In the old wars of the world there were camp followers, Women of ancient sins who gave themselves for hire, Women of weak wills and strong desire.

England, father and mother in one, Look on your stalwart son. Sturdy and strong, with the valour of youth,

Last night I knelt low at my lady's feet. One soft, caressing hand played with my hair, And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there,

There was a time when I was confident That God's stupendous mystery of birth Was mine to know.    The wonder of it lent

Changed? Yes, I will confess it - I have changed. I do not love in the old fond way. I am your friend still - time has not estranged

Kiss me, sweetheart.    One by one Swift and sure the moments run. Soon, too soon, for you and me

Now ere I slept, my prayer had been that I might see my way To do the will of Christ, our Lord and Master, day by day; And with this prayer upon my lips, I knew not that I dreamed,

When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow, We hear sweet voices ringing from lands of long ago, And etched on vacant places

When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow, We hear sweet voices ringing from lands of long ago. And etched on vacant places,

Talk not to me of souls that do conceive Sublime ideals, but, deterred by Fate And bound by circumstances, sit desolate,

Who climbs the mountain does not always climb. The winding road slants downward many a time; Yet each descent is higher than the last.

This is the song for a soldier To sing as he rides from home To the fields afar where the battles are

Come near to me, I need Thy glorious presence. Through the dense darkness of this troubled hour Shine on my soul, and fill it with the essence

When my blood flows calm as a purling river, When my heart is asleep and my brain has sway, It is then that I vow we must part forever,

He was a failure, and one day he died. Across the border of the mapless land He found himself among a sad-eyed band

I Blind When first the shadows fell, like prison bars,

When I shall meet God's generous dispensers Of all the riches in the heavenly store, Those lesser gods, who act as Recompensers

I and my Soul are alone to-day, All in the shining weather; We were sick of the world, and put it away,

I and my Soul are alone to-day, All in the shining weather; We were sick of the world, and we put it away,

The age is too diffusive.    Time and Force Are frittered out and bring no satisfaction. The way seems lost to straight determined action.

I How shall a maid make answer to a man Who summons her, by love's supreme decree,

Talk not of strength, until your heart has known And fought with weakness through long hours alone. Talk not of virtue, till your conquering soul

God, what a glory, is this consciousness, Of life on life, that comes to those who seek! Nor would I, if I might, to others speak,

How is it that men pray their earthly lot May be 'content and happiness'?    Dire foes Without one common trait which kinship shows

I see the tall church steeples - They reach so far, so far; But the eyes of my heart see the world's great mart

I see the tall church steeples, They reach so far, so far, But the eyes of my heart see the world's great mart,

We were a baker's dozen in the house - six women and six men Besides myself; and all of us had known Those benefits supposed to come from school and church and brush and pen,

I have lived this life as the skeptic lives it; I have said the sweetness was less than the gall; Praising, nor cursing, the Hand that gives it,

The world has crowned a thousand kings: But destiny has kept Her weightiest hour of kingly power

I want more lives in which to love This world so full of beauty, I want more days to use the ways

Whether the way be dark or light My soul shall sing as I journey on, As sweetly sing in the deeps of night

There is a courage, a majestic thing That springs forth from the brow of pain, full-grown, Minerva-like, and dares all dangers known,

The impulse of all love is to create. God was so full of love, in his embrace He clasped the empty nothingness of space,

If fallacies come knocking at my door, I'd rather feed, and shelter full a score, Than hide behind the black portcullis, doubt,

BOOK FIRST I. All valor died not on the plains of Troy.

On The Presentation Of An American Banner To Camp Rochambeau By The Marquise De Rochambeau At Tours, France, June 1, 1918 Here is a picture I carry away On memory's wall.    A green June day,

Our Motherland, dear Motherland, The source of beauty and of Art, Who but thy children understand

(Written on the day of President McKinley's death) In the midst of sunny waters, lo! the mighty Ship of State Staggers, bruised and torn and wounded by a derelict of fate,

Why dost thou shrink from my approach, O Man? Why dost thou ever flee in fear, and cling To my false rival, Life?    I do but bring

The winds are still; the sea lies all untroubled Beneath a cloudless sky; the morn is bright, Yet, Lord, I feel my need of Thee is doubled;

Upon December's windy portico The Old Year stood, and looked out where the sun Went wading down the West, through drifting clouds.

They rode through the bannered city - The King and the Commoner, And the hopes of the world were with them,

In the midnight of darkness and terror, When I would grope nearer to God, With my back to a record of error

In a mansion grand, just over the way Lives bonny, beautiful Dell; You may have heard of this lady gay,

I think that the bitterest sorrow or pain Of love unrequited, or cold death's woe, Is sweet compared to that hour when we know

The tears of fallen women turned to ice By man's cold pity for repentant vice.

We have outgrown the helmet and cuirass, The spear, the arrow, and the javelin. These crude inventions of a cruder age,

Like a thorn in the flesh, like a fly in the mesh, Like a boat that is chained to shore, The wild unrest of the heart in my breast

Thinking of one thing all day long, at night I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore; But only for a little while.    At three,

If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road, Who meets us by the way, Goes on less conscious of his galling load,

If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road, Who meets us by the way, Goes on less conscious of his galling load,

Sequestered in their calm domestic bower, They sat together.    He in manhood's prime And she a matron in her fullest flower.

A wild Pink nestled in a garden bed, A rich Carnation flourished high above her, One day he chanced to see her pretty head

Thank God for dreams! I, desolate and lone, In the dark curtained night, did seem to be The centre where all golden sun-rays shone,

Why do we pity those who weep? The pain That finds a ready outlet in the flow Of salt and bitter tears is blessed woe,

You say that your nature is double; that life Seems more and more intricate, complex, and dual, Because in your bosom there wages the strife

I know not wherefore, but mine eyes See bloom, where other eyes see blight. They find a rainbow, a sunrise,

Out from the harbour of youth's bay There leads the path of pleasure; With eager steps we walk that way

The hurry of the times affects us so In this swift rushing hour, we crowd and press And thrust each other backward as we go,

New paradise, and groom and bride; The world was all their own; Her heart swelled full of love and pride;

How baseless is the mightiest earthly pride, The diamond is but charcoal purified, The lordliest pearl that decks a monarch's breast

The Day has never understood the Gloaming or the Night; Though sired by one Creative Power, and nursed at Nature's breast; The White Man ever fails to read the Dark Man's heart aright;

A truth that has long lain buried At Superstition's door, I see, in the dawn uprising

An unkind tale was whispered in his ear. He paused to hear. His thoughts were food that helped a falsehood thrive,

A beautiful great lady, past her prime, Behold her dreaming in her easy chair; Gray robed, and veiled; in laces old and rare,

So well I knew your habits and your ways, That like a picture painted on the skies, At the sweet closing of the summer days,

Little lads and grandsires, Women old with care; But all the men are dying men

You are here, and you are wanted, Though a waif upon life's stair; Though the sunlit hours are haunted

Let a valiant Faith cross swords with Death, And Death is certain to fall; For the dead arise with joy in their eyes -

False!    Good God, I am dreaming! No, no, it never can be - You who are so true in seeming,

Wise men tell me thou, O Fate, Art invincible and great. Well, I own thy prowess; still

He never made a fortune, or a noise In the world where men are seeking after fame; But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys

My grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one, Delights in talking of her only son, My gallant father, long since dead and gone.

Fear is the twin of Faith's sworn foe, Distrust. If one breaks in your heart the other must. Fear is the open enemy of Good.

In books I read, how men have lived and died, With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. While she for whom they long in secret sighed,

I - THE MOTHER'S KISS Love breathed a secret to her listening heart, And said "Be silent."    Though she guarded it,

My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar, Higher and higher on soul-lent wings; But ever and often, and more and more

My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar, Higher and higher on soul-lent wings; But ever and often, and more and more

In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep I wake to hear outside my window-pane The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,

Flowers of France in the Spring, Your growth is a beautiful thing; But give us your fragrance and bloom -

Thank Fate for foes!    I hold mine dear As valued friends.    He cannot know The zest of life who runneth here

Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear As valued friends. He cannot know The zest of life who runneth here

The passion you forbade my lips to utter Will not be silenced.    You must hear it in The sullen thunders when they roll and mutter:

Let me look always forward.    Never back. Was I not formed for progress?    Otherwise With onward pointing feet and searching eyes

Found - as I rushed through the great world's mart, In a race for gold and a pleasure quest, A passionate, throbbing human heart

From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray; Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day, Neglect no labour and no duty shirk:

Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows.    Lip-service is not loving;

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires,

Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving;

When the first sere leaves of the year were falling, I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled, Out of the grave of a dead Past calling,

Just as the sun went bathing in a sea Of liquid amber, flecked with caps of gold, I told The sweet old story unto Geraldine, my Queen,

In golden youth when seems the earth A Summer-land of singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light,

In golden youth when seems the earth A Summer-land of singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light,

There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there They come out of the gloom,

There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there They come out of the gloom,

Live, and thou shalt receive.    Give thoughts of cheer, Of courage and success, to friend and stranger. And from a thousand sources, far and near,

When winds of March by the springtime bidden Over the great earth race and shout, Forth from my breast where it long hath hidden

God, what a joy it is to plant a tree, And from the sallow earth to watch it rise, Lifting its emerald branches to the skies

Into the world's most high and holy places Men carry selfishness, and graft and greed. The air is rent with warring of the races;

Once in a time of trouble and of care I dreamed I talked with God about my pain; With sleepland courage, daring to complain

There is no summit you may not attain, No purpose which you may not yet achieve, If you will wait serenely and believe

God measures souls by their capacity For entertaining his best Angel, Love. Who loveth most is nearest kin to God,

God measures souls by their capacity For entertaining his best Angel, Love. Who loveth most is nearest kin to God,

The day is at its golden height, No shadow falls on sea or land; And yet to thee I say Good night,

Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shalt not blame her, My Gracia, who hath so deserted me. Thou art my friend, but if thou dost defame her

In his great cushioned chair by the fender An old man sits dreaming to-night, His withered hands, licked by the tender

Our hearts were not set on fighting, We did not pant for the fray, And whatever wrongs need righting,

As the funeral train with its honoured dead On its mournful way went sweeping, While a sorrowful nation bowed its head

Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year I saw a tear. Alas!    I murmured, that the Year should borrow

Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year I saw a tear. Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow

Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone. Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow? The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone

Gypsying, gypsying, through the world together, Never mind the way we go, never mind what port. Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather:

I feel the stirrings in me of great things. New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings, And tremble on the margin of their nest,

I feel the stirrings in me of great things. New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings, And tremble on the margin of their nest,

There are so many little things that make life beautiful. I can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for happiness. Toward the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach.

That melancholy phrase "It might have been," However sad, doth in its heart enfold A hidden germ of promise! for I hold

'He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.' - St. John the Divine. The Spirit says unto the churches, 'Ere ever the churches began

Yea, she and I have broken God's command, And in His sight are branded with our shame. And yet I do not even know her name,

Take out the blossom in your hair abloom, No more it seemeth beautiful, or bright, And sickening is its subtly sweet perfume -

While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face, Love, robed like sorrow, led me by the hand And taught my doubting heart to understand

The world an abject vassal to her charms, And kings competing for a single smile, Yet love she knew not, till upon this isle

The battles ended, ardent Paris dead, Of faithful Menelaus long bereft, Time is the only suitor who is left:

Last night I saw Helena.    She whose praise Of late all men have sounded.    She for whom Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb

Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise Of late all men have sounded. She for whom Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb

Sitting alone by the window, Watching the moonlit street, Bending my head to listen

The sands upon the ocean side That change about with every tide, And never true to one abide,

The sands upon the ocean side That change about with every tide, And never true to one abide,

Here, in the heart of the world, Here, in the noise and the din, Here, where our spirits were hurled

Here, in the heart of the world, Here, in the noise and the din, Here, where our spirits were hurled

We know not what lies in us, till we seek; Men dive for pearls - they are not found on shore, The hillsides most unpromising and bleak

We know not what lies in us, till we seek; Men dive for pearls - they are not found on shore, The hillsides most unpromising and bleak

Time's finger on the dial of my life Points to high noon! and yet the half-spent day Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,

Time's finger on the dial of my life Points to high noon! and yet the half-spent day Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,

Well, you are free; The longed for, lied for, waited for decree Is yours to-day.

There was a thought he hid from all men's eyes, And by his prudent life and deeds of worth He left a goodly record upon earth

"Dying?    I am not dying?    Are you mad? You think I need to ask for heavenly grace? I think you are a fiend, who would be glad

I Sailing away on a summer sea, Out of the bleak March weather;

The greatest words are always solitaires, Set singly in one syllable; like birth, Life, love, hope, peace.    I sing the worth

AHASUERAS What were thy thoughts, sweet Esther?    Something passed Across thy face, that for a moment veiled

How does Love speak? In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek, And in the pallor that succeeds it; by

You who are loudly crying out for peace, You who are wanting love to vanquish hate, How is it in the four walls of your home

The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone, More proud than a monarch who sits on a throne. I am but a jockey, yet shout upon shout

The roses all were pink and red, Before the Bumble Bee, A lover bold, with cloak of gold,

How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal,

Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast, Tell me you have no memories of your past That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast.

She looked at her neighbour's house in the light of the waning day - A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride's bouquet. And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom,

I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go; But the fact stands clear that I am here

I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go; But the fact stands clear that I am here

I am running forth to meet you, O my Master, For they tell me you are surely on the way; Yes, they tell me you are coming back again

If all the troubles in the world Were traced back to their start, We'd find not one in ten begun

Oh, I have dreams.    I sometimes dream of Life In the full meaning of that splendid word. Its subtle music which few men have heard,

Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of Life In the full meaning of that splendid word. Its subtle music which few men have heard,

Death!    I know not what room you are abiding in, But I will go my way, Rejoicing day by day,

I look to Science for the cure of Crime; To patient righting of a thousand wrongs; To final healing of a thousand ills.

I may not reach the heights I seek, My untried strength may fail me, Or, half-way up the mountain peak,

Do you remember that glorious June When we were lovers, you and I? Something there was in the robin's tune,

I saw fond lovers in that glow That oft-times fades away too soon: I saw and said, 'Their joy I know -

Dear love, if you and I could sail away, With snowy pennons to the winds unfurled, Across the waters of some unknown bay,

If Christ came questioning His world to-day, (If Christ came questioning,) 'What hast thou done to glorify thy God,

If I could only weep, I think sweet help with my salt tears would come, To ease the cruel pain that is so dumb,

If I should die, how kind you all would grow! In that strange hour I would not have one foe. There are no words too beautiful to say

If I were a raindrop, and you were a leaf, I would burst from the cloud above you, And lie on your breast in a rapture of rest,

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day, I would look in the eyes of Life undaunted By any Fate that might threaten me.

Once more on the beach with the shifting clouds o'er me (Like the friends of a day), And the sea all unchanged, like a true friend before me,

Now what were the words of Jesus, And what would He pause and say, If we were to meet in home or street

Dear love, if you and I could sail away, With snowy pennons to the winds unfurled, Across the waters of some unknown bay,

God and I in space alone And nobody else in view. "And where are the people, O Lord," I said,

How can I wait until you come to me? The once fleet mornings linger by the way, Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee

Before the statue of a giant Hun, There stood a dwarf, misshapen and uncouth. His lifted eyes seemed asking:    'Why, in sooth,

In England there are wrongs, no doubt, Which should be righted; so men say, Who seek to weed earth's garden out

In France I saw a hill - a gentle slope Rising above old tombs to greet the gleam From soft spring skies.    Beyond these skies dwells hope,

In India's land one listens aghast To the people who scream and bawl; For each caste yells at a lower caste,

How happy they are, in all seeming, How gay, or how smilingly proud, How brightly their faces are beaming,

How happy they are, in all seeming, How gay, or how smilingly proud, How brightly their faces are beaming,

In the long run fame finds the deserving man. The lucky wight may prosper for a day, But in good time true merit leads the van

In the long run fame finds the deserving man. The lucky wight may prosper for a day, But in good time true merit leads the van,

Sometimes at night, when I sit and write, I hear the strangest things, - As my brain grows hot with burning thought,

The summer is just in its grandest prime, The earth is green and the skies are blue; But where is the lilt of the olden time,

O yes, I love you, and with all my heart; Just as a weaker woman loves her own, Better than I love my beloved art,

To-day I was so weary and I lay In that delicious state of semi-waking, When baby, sitting with his nurse at play,

To-day I was so weary and I lay In that delicious state of semi-waking, When baby, sitting with his nurse at play,

On the river of life, as I float along, I see with the spirit's sight That many a nauseous weed of wrong

Sirs, when you pity us, I say You waste your pity.    Let it stay, Well corked and stored upon your shelves,

Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy, Is inspiration, eager to pursue, But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy,

Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy, Is inspiration, eager to pursue, But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy,

The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer; The headstones thicken along the way, And life grows sadder, but love grows stronger,

The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer; The headstones thicken along the way; And life grows sadder, but love grows stronger,

When from the prison of its body free, My soul shall soar, before it goes to Thee, Thou great Creator, give it power to know

If the sad old world should jump a cog Sometime, in its dizzy spinning, And go off the track with a sudden jog,

It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes, The last line has withered and curled. In a tiny white heap of dead ashes

It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes, The last line has withered and curled. In a tiny white heap of dead ashes

Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play? "What play?" Why, this old play of winning hearts! Nay, now, lift not thine eyes in that feigned way:

Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along

It does not matter very much to me Through what strange ways my pathway now may lead; Since I know that it runs away from thee,

Let us be silent for a little while; Let us be still and listen.    We may hear Echoes from other worlds not far a way.

We will be what we could be.    Do not say, "It might have been, had not or that, or this." No fate can keep us from the chosen way;

We will be what we could be. Do not say, "It might have been, had not or that, or this." No fate can keep us from the chosen way;

There was a something in your song, men say No later singer voices: some strange power Like to the essence in a rare June day,

All the selfish joys of earth, I am getting through. That which used to lure and lead

However inexplicable may seem Event and circumstance upon the earth, Though favours fall on those who none esteem,

However inexplicable may seem Event and circumstance upon this earth, Though favours fall on those whom none esteem,

I We cannot choose our sorrows.    One there was Who, reverent of soul, and strong with trust,

Is the goal distant, and troubled the road, And the way long? And heavy your load?

At the concert and the play Everywhere you see them sitting, Knitting, knitting.

Would you believe in Presences Unseen - In life beyond this earthly life? BE STILL:    Be stiller yet; and listen.    Set the screen

When was it that love died? We were so fond, So very fond, a little while ago. With leaping pulses, and blood all aglow,

Lais, when old and all her beauty gone, Lais, the erstwhile courted pleasure queen, Walked homeless through Corinth.

Lais when young, and all her charms in flower, Lais, whose beauty was the fateful light That led great ships to anchor in the night

The first flower of the spring is not so fair Or bright as one the ripe midsummer brings. The first faint note the forest warbler sings

Lean down and lift me higher, Josephine! From the Eternal Hills hast thou not seen How I do strive for heights? but lacking wings,

Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast: In all earth's devious ways I sought for rest And found it not. I will be strong, said I,

Let the dream go.    Are there not other dreams In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams,

Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams,

For the courage which comes when we call, While troubles like hailstones fall; For the help that is somehow nigh,

Toward even when the day leans down To kiss the upturned face of night, Out just beyond the loud-voiced town

Toward even, when the day leans down To kiss the upturned face of night, Out just beyond the loud-voiced town

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong,

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong,

Life and I are lovers, straying Arm in arm along: Often like two children Maying,

Life and I are lovers, straying Arm in arm along: Often like two children Maying,

Life is a privilege.    Its youthful days Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays. To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,

Life is a privilege.    Its youthful days Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays. To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,

Is anyone sad in the world, I wonder? Does anyone weep on a day like this, With the sun above and the green earth under?

Life is too short for any vain regretting; Let dead delight bury its dead, I say, And let us go upon our way forgetting

'Hurry up!' No lingering by old doors of doubt - No loitering by the way,

Let no man pray that he know not sorrow, Let no soul ask to be free from pain, For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow,

Let no man pray that he know not sorrow, Let no soul ask to be free from pain, For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow,

The hand that fashioned me, tuned my ear To chord with the major key, In the darkest moments of life I hear

Like an opera-house is the world, I ween, Where the passionate lover of music is seen In the balcony near the roof:

This game of life is a dangerous play, Each human soul must watch alway, From the first to the very last.

When the motive is right and the will is strong There are no limits to human power; For that great Force back of us moves along

When God created this good world A few stupendous peaks were hurled From His strong hand, and they remain

Now we must part, my Lippo. Even so, I grieve to see thy sudden pained surprise; Gaze not on me with such accusing eyes -

Whoever you are as you read this, Whatever your trouble or grief, I want you to know and to heed this,

Every morning and every night There passes our window near the street, A little girl with an eye so bright,

Every morning and every night There passes our window near the street, A little girl with an eye so bright,

Whether you frolic with comrade boys, Or sit at your studies, or play with toys, Whatever your station, or place, or sphere,

Do you remember the name I wore - The old pet-name of Little Queen - In the dear, dead days that are no more,

When God had formed the Universe, He thought Of all the marvels therein to be wrought And to His aid then Motherhood was brought.

Oh! we are a lone, lost nation, We, who sing your songs. With his moods, and his desolation

Dreaming of love, the ardent mind of youth Conceives it one with passion's brief delights, With keen desire and rapture.    But, in truth,

SPRING A sudden softness in the wind; A glint of song, a-wing;

Love is enough.    Let us not ask for gold. Wealth breeds false aims, and pride, and selfishness; In those serene, Arcadian days of old

Once in the world's first prime, When nothing lived or stirred - Nothing but new-born Time,

Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty To those who walk beside thee down life's road; Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,

Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial-place. He is dead, dear, as you see,

Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial place. He is dead, dear, as you see,

She had looked for his coming as warriors come, With the clash of arms and the bugle's call: But he came instead with a stealthy tread,

When silence flees before the voice of Love, Of what expression does that god approve? Is dulcet song or flowing verse his choice,

How does Love speak? In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek, And in the pallor that succeeds it; by

Midway upon the route, he paused athirst And suddenly across the wastes of heat, He saw cool waters gleaming, and a sweet

(Vers de Soci't'.) We'll cover Love with roses, And sweet sleep he shall take.

As yon great Sun in his supreme condition Absorbs small worlds and makes them all his own, So does my love absorb each vain ambition,

Love gives us copious potions of delight, Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and care; Love leads us upward, to the mountain height,

A soul immortal, Time, God everywhere, Without, within -how can a heart despair, Or talk of failure, obstacles, and doubt?

Luck is the tuning of our inmost thought To chord with God's great plan. That done, ah! know,

Could I but hear you laugh across the street, Though I, or mine, shared nothing in your glee, Could I taste that one drop of bitter sweet,

Like some reformer, who with mien austere, Neglected dress, and loud insistent tones, More rasping than the wrongs which she bemoans,

Fame writes ever its song and story, For heroes of war, in letters of glory. But where is the story and where is the song

PART I. I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune, Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June!

I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune, Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June! Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair:

To little birds that never tire of humming About the garden, in the summer weather, Aunt Ruth compared us, after Helen's coming,

One golden twelfth-part of a checkered year; One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth With not a hint of shadows lurking near,

"Maurine, Maurine! 'tis ten o'clock! arise, My pretty sluggard! open those dark eyes, And see where yonder sun is! Do you know

A visit to a cave some miles away Was next in order. So, one sunny day, Four prancing steeds conveyed a laughing load

There was a week of bustle and of hurry; A stately home echoed to voices sweet, Calling, replying; and to tripping feet

With much hard labor and some pleasure fraught, The months rolled by me noiselessly, that taught My hand to grow more skillful in its art,

After the ball last night, when I came home I stood before my mirror, and took note Of all that men call beautiful.    Delight,

I was so proud of you last night, dear girl, While man with man was striving for your smile. You never lost your head, nor once dropped down

The sun rode high in a cloudless sky Of a perfect summer morn. She stood and gazed out into the street,

The quiet graves of our country's braves Through thirty Junes and Decembers Have solemnly lain under sun and rain,

I am thinking of the Springtime On the farm out in the West, When my world held nothing for me that I wanted,

In Memory's Mansion are wonderful rooms, And I wander about them at will; And I pause at the casements, where boxes of blooms

In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom, Which lies in the hearts of carnations and roses,

Many the songs of the brave boys sent Over The Top in the battle's thunder; But mine is the song of the men who went

I am troubled to-night with a curious pain; It is not of the flesh, it is not of the brain, Nor yet of a heart that is breaking:

How odd and strange seems our meeting Like a grim rendezvous of the dead. All day I have sat here repeating

After the May time, and after the June time, Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, Cometh the round world's royal noon time,

After the May time, and after the June time Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, Cometh the round world's royal noon time,

When the beautiful mountain ash is turning - As lovely a sight as the eyes desire; When the leaves of the sumac bush are burning,

If you are sighing for a lofty work, If great ambitions dominate your mind, Just watch yourself and see you do not shirk

God sent us here to make mistakes, To strive, to fail, to re-begin, To taste the tempting fruit of sin,

Oh the Kings of earth have mobilised their men. See them moving, valour proving, To the fields of glory going,

Why do we grudge our sweets so to the living Who, God knows, find at best too much of gall, And then with generous, open hands kneel, giving

Though with gods the world is cumbered, Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered, Never god was known to be

Though with gods the world is cumbered, Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered, Never god was known to be

Awake! arise!    Cast off thy drowsy dreams! Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams. "As Monday goes, so goes the week," dames say.

I hold that life more fortunate by far That sits with its sweet memories alone And cherishes a joy for ever flown

Let me to-day do something that shall take A little sadness from the world's vast store, And may I be so favoured as to make

Most blest is he who in the morning time Sets forth upon his journey with no staff Shaped by another for his use.    Who sees

When Tom and I were married, we took a little flat; I had a taste for singing and playing and all that. And Tom, who loved to hear me, said he hoped I would not stop

My faith is rooted in no written creed; And there are those who call me heretic; Yet year on year, though I be well or sick

My Flower Room is such a little place, Scarce twenty feet by nine; yet in that space I have met God; yea, many a radiant hour

When first I looked upon the face of Pain I shrank repelled, as one shrinks from a foe Who stands with dagger poised, as for a blow.

Unhoused in deserts of accepted thought, And lost in jungles of confusing creeds, My soul strayed, homeless, finding its own needs

I into life so full of love was sent That all the shadows which fall on the way Of every human being could not stay,

This is the place that I love the best, A little brown house like a ground-bird's nest, Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees,

If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the harbour could not hold

That pale word 'Neutral' sits becomingly On lips of weaklings.    But the men whose brains Find fuel in their blood, the men whose minds

Whatever your work and whatever its worth, No matter how strong or clever, Some one will sneer if you pause to hear,

I and new love, in all its living bloom, Sat vis-a-vis, while tender twilight hours Went softly by us, treading as on flowers.

Know this! there is nothing can harm you If you are at peace with your soul. Know this, and the knowledge shall arm you

New Year, I look straight in your eyes - Our ways and our interests blend; You may be a foe in disguise,

As the dead year is clasped by a dead December, So let your dead sins with your dead days lie. A new life is yours and a new hope.    Remember

When with clanging and with ringing Comes the year's initial day, I can feel the rhythmic swinging

As some dusk mother shields from all alarms The tired child she gathers to her breast, The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms,

As some dusk mother shields from all alarms The tired child she gathers to her breast, The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms,

A drop of water risen from the ocean Forgot its cause, and spake with deep emotion Unto a passing breeze.    'How desolate

O mad with mirth are the birds to-day That over my head are winging. There is nothing but glee in the roundelay

When days grow long, and brain and hands grow weary, And hot the city street, Forth to the haunts, by cooling winds made cheery

These summer days when all the poets sing I have no voice for song. I see the birds of summer taking wing,

Up from the South come the birds that were banished, Frightened away by the presence of frost. Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished,

Up from the South come the birds that were banished, Frightened away by the presence of frost. Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished,

I hold it the duty of one who is gifted And specially dowered in all men's sight, To know no rest till his life is lifted

I hold it the duty of one who is gifted, And specially dowered in all men's sight, To know no rest till his life is lifted

As some contented bird doth coo She trilled a song of fond delight, The while she spread the cloth of white,

My heart is like a ship that finds no rest, Tossed here and there upon the stormy breast Of loves of many hearts too oft conferred.

Not quite the same the spring-time seems to me, Since that sad season when in separate ways Our paths diverged. There are no more such days

I think I never passed so sad an hour, Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night. The edifice from basement to the tower

I think I never passed so sad an hour, Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night. The edifice from basement to the tower

From the dawn of spring till the year grows hoary, Nothing is new that is done or said, The leaves are telling the same old story -

Nothing remains of unrecorded ages That lie in the silent cemetery time; Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages,

Nothing remains of unrecorded ages That lie in the silent cemetery of time; Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages,

I leave with God to-morrow's where and how, And do concern myself but with the Now, That little word, though half the future's length,

When I pass from earth away, Palsied though I be and grey, May my spirit keep so young

'The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way; a lion is in the street.' - PROVERBS xxvi. 13. There are no lions in the street; No lions in the way.

There must in heaven be many industries And occupations, varied, infinite; Or heaven could not be heaven.

'Invisible and silent' - Mystery Surrounded that great Guardian of the Sea. That Father - Mother - of the mighty main.

Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU, Flinging stars out into space, moving suns and tides; Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view,

The young see heaven - but to the old who wait The final call, the hills of youth arise More beautiful than shores of Paradise.

Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays, Old times, old loves, old friendship, and old wine. Why should the old monopolize all praise?

They tell me new methods now govern the Muses, The modes of expression have changed with the times; That low is the rank of the poet who uses

One day when England's June was at its best, I saw a stately and imperious swan Floating on Avon's fair untroubled breast.

On rainy days old dreams arise, From graves where they have lonely lain; With wan white cheeks and mournful eyes,

Not great Vesuvius, in all his ire, Nor all the centuries, could hide your shame. There is the little window where you came,

Long have I searched, cathedral shrine, and hall, To find a symbol, from the hand of art, That gave the full expression (not a part)

Little by little and one by one, Out of the ether, were worlds created; Star and planet and sea and sun,

Was it last summer, or ages gone, That damp, dark night in the August dusk, When I waited for you by the gate alone?

Only a glove that has touched her fingers, But it seems to me something half divine. A delicate fragrance about it lingers,

Only a line in the paper, That somebody read aloud, At a table of languid boarders,

Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow, Where "blisses" rhymed with "kisses," "heart," with "dart:" Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow,

'Twas just a slight flirtation, And where's the harm, I pray, In that amusing pastime

'Only be still, and in the silence grow,' If thou art seeking what the gods bestow. This is the simple, safe, and certain way

How strange are dreams.    Last night I dreamed about you. All that old bitterness of loss and pain, The desolation of my lot without you,

Send forth your heart's desire, and work and wait; The opportunities of life are brought To our own doors, not by capricious fate,

Not Atlas, with his shoulders bent beneath the weighty world, Bore such a burden as this man, on whom the Gods have hurled The evils of old festering lands - yea, hurled them in their might

Our petty cares wear on us so, - More cruel than our great despairs, More rasping than a mighty woe,

Our souls should be vessels receiving The waters of love for relieving The sorrows of men.

Over the banisters bends a face, Daringly sweet and beguiling. Somebody stands in careless grace,

All through the night time, and all through the day time, Dreading the morning and dreading the night, Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time

All through the night time, and all through the day time, Dreading the morning and dreading the night, Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time

How blind is he who prays that God will send All pain from earth.    Pain has its use and place; Its ministry of holiness and grace.

I'm pardoned out.    Again the stars Shine on me with their myriad eyes. So long I've peered 'twixt iron bars,

Lean down, and kiss me, O my love, my own; The day is near when thy fond heart will miss me; And o'er my low green bed, with bitter moan,

Whatever the task that comes your way, Just take it as part of your luck. Look it right square in the eyes, and say,

Peace should not come along this foul, earth way. Peace should not come, until we cleanse the path. God waited for us; now in awful wrath

The cunningest thing that a baby can do Is the very first time it plays peek-a-boo; When it hides its pink little face in its hands,

Because of the fullness of what I had All that I have seems void and vain. If I had not been happy I were not sad;

The leaf that ripens only in the sun Is dull and shrivelled ere its race is run. The leaf that makes a carnival of death

All perfect things are saddening in effect. The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes, The matchless tinting on the royal rose

God, may Thy loving Spirit work, In heart of Russian, and of Turk, Until throughout each clime and land,

At morn the wise man walked abroad, Proud with the learning of great fools. He laughed and said, "There is no God -

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted,

I knew it the first of the Summer - I knew it the same at the end - That you and your love were plighted,

O Science, reaching backward through the distance, Most earnest child of God, Exposing all the secrets of existence,

O Science reaching backward through the distance, Most earnest child of God, Exposing all the secrets of existence,

SUNDAY Lie still and rest, in that serene repose That on this holy morning comes to those

That which we had we still possess, Though leaves may drop and stars may fall; No circumstance can make it less,

Let us halt now for a space in our hurrying; Let us take time to look up and look out; Let us refuse for a spell to be worrying;

Lean on thyself until thy strength is tried; Then ask God's help; it will not be denied. Use thine own sight to see the way to go;

I do not undertake to say That literal answers come from Heaven, But I know this - that when I pray

It is easy to sit in the sunshine And talk to the man in the shade; It is easy to float in a well-trimmed boat,

I step across the mystic border-land, And look upon the wonder-world of Art. How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!

I step across the mystic border-land, And look upon the wonder-world of Art. How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!

(Written on the day of Queen Victoria's funeral) The Queen is taking a drive to-day, They have hung with purple the carriage-way,

We must not force events, but rather make The heart soil ready for their coming, as The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,

We must not force events, but rather make The heart soil ready for their coming, as The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,

As unseen spheres cast shadows on the Earth Some unknown cause depresses me to-night. The house is full of laughter and sweet mirth,

Whenever I am prone to doubt or wonder - I check myself, and say, "That mighty One Who made the solar system cannot blunder -

There is no progress in the world of bees, However wise and wonderful they are. Their wisdom makes not increase.    Lies the bar,

Let there be many windows to your soul, That all the glory of the universe May beautify it. Not the narrow pane

To each progressive soul there comes a day When all things that have pleased and satisfied Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried.

To sit in silence when we should protest Makes cowards out of men.    The human race Has climbed on protest.    Had no voice been raised

To sit in silence when we should protest Makes cowards out of men.    The human race Has climbed on protest.    Had no voice been raised

Well, how has it been with you since we met That last strange time of a hundred times? When we met to swear that we could forget -

Just a changing sea of colour Surging up and flowing down; And pagodas shining golden, night and noon;

The Radiant Rulers of Mystic Regions Where souls of artists are fitted for birth Gathered together their lovely legions

Hers was a lonely, shadowed lot; Or so the unperceiving thought, Who looked no deeper than her face,

I tread the paths of earlier times Where all my steps were set to rhymes. I gaze on scenes I used to see

One time in Arcadie's fair bowers There met a bright immortal band, To choose their emblems from the flowers

Twice have I seen God's full reflected grace. Once when the wailing of a child at birth Proclaimed another soul had come to earth,

The time has come when men with hearts and brains Must rise and take the misdirected reins Of government; too long left in the hands

Regret with streaming eyes doth seem alway A maiden widowed on her wedding day. While dark Remorse, with eyes too sad for tears,

There is a haunting phantom called Regret, A shadowy creature robed somewhat like Woe, But fairer in the face, whom all men know

He slept as weary toilers do, She gazed up at the moon. He stirred and said, "Wife, come to bed";

His art was loving; Eres set his sign Upon that youthful forehead, and he drew The hearts of women, as the sun draws dew.

When in the early dawn I hear the thrushes, And like a flood of waters o'er my heart The memory of another summer rushes,

Over and over and over These truths I will weave in song - That God's great plan needs you and me,

You have lived long and learned the secret of life, O Seer! Tell me what are the best three things to seek - The best three things for a man to seek on earth?

Build on resolve, and not upon regret, The structure of thy future. Do not grope Among the shadows of old sins, but let

The mighty conflict, which we call existence, Doth wear upon the body and the soul, Our vital forces wasted in resistance,

The mighty conflict, which we call existence, Doth wear upon the body and the soul. Our vital forces wasted in resistance,

I said this morning, as I leaned and threw My shutters open to the Spring's surprise, "Tell me, O Earth, how is it that in you

Pausing a moment ere the day was done, While yet the earth was scintillant with light, I backward glanced.    From valley, plain, and height,

I look down the lengthening distance Far back to youth's valley of hope. How strange seemed the ways of existence,

My heart to-day is like a southern wood, Through summer months it has been drunk with heat; And slumbered on unmindful of the beat

Let us begin, dear love, where we left off; Tie up the broken threads of that old dream, And go on happy as before, and seem

The day has been wild and stormy, And full of the wind's unrest, And I sat down alone by the window,

Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed, That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed. Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat,

We stood by the river that swept In its glory and grandeur away; But never a pulse o' me leapt,

What do you think Red Robin Found by a mow of hay? Why, a flask brimful of liquor,

Nay, Romney, nay - I will not hear you say Those words again:    "I love you, love you sweet!" You are profane - blasphemous.    I repeat,

As you forgot I may forget, When summer dews cease to be wet. When whippoorwills disdain the night,

The crimson life-drops from a virgin heart Pierced to the core by Cupid's fatal dart.

Lost rays of light that wandered off alone And down through space were hurled From that great sapphire sun beyond our own

To yearn for what we have not had, to sit With hungry eyes glued on the Future's gate, Why, that is heaven compared to having it

Now with the almost finished task make haste. So near the night thou hast no time to waste. Post up accounts, and let thy Soul's eyes look

Alone I climb the steep ascending path Which leads to knowledge.    In the babbling throngs That hurry after, shouting to the world

Think not some knowledge rests with thee alone; Why, even God's stupendous secret, Death, We one by one, with our expiring breath,

If one proves weak who you fancied strong, Or false who you fancied true, Just ease the smart of your wounded heart

Seeking for happiness we must go slowly; The road leads not down avenues of haste; But often gently winds through by ways lowly,

HE One decade and a half since first we came With hearts aflame

My life's long radiant Summer halts at last, And lo! beside my path way I behold Pursuing Autumn glide:    nor frost nor cold

I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth, And searched for Pleasure.    On a distant height Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.

I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth, And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.

I am sorry in the gladness Of the joys that crown my days, For the souls that sit in sadness

Show me the way that leads to the true life. I do not care what tempests may assail me, I shall be given courage for the strife;

About a holy shrine or sacred place, Where many hearts have bowed in earnest prayer, The loveliest spirits congregate from space,

If this were our creed it were creed enough To keep us thoughtful and make us brave; On this sad journey o'er pathways rough

'Since Sinus crossed the Milky Way, sixty thousand years have gone.' - GARRETT P. SERVISS. Since Sirius crossed the Milky Way Full sixty thousand years have gone,

Sisters, sisters of mine, have we done what we could In all the old ways, through all the new days, To better the race and to make life sweet and good?

As the grey twilight, tiptoed down the deep And shadowy valley, to the day's dark end, She whom I thought my ever-faithful friend,

Slipping away - slipping away! Out of our brief year slips the May; And Winter lingers, and Summer flies;

Slipping away - slipping away! Out of our brief year slips the May; And Winter lingers, and Summer flies;

Smile a little, smile a little, As you go along, Not alone when life is pleasant,

Smile a little, smile a little, As you go along, Not alone when life is pleasant,

Last summer, lazing by the sea, I met a most entrancing creature, Her black eyes quite bewildered me -

Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under - The busy Old Year who has gone away - How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder,

Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under - The busy Old Year who has gone away - How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder,

The dawn grows red in the eastern sky, (Long, so long is the day,) And I lean from my lattice and sigh and sigh,

Laugh, and the world laughs with you: Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,

O praise me not with your lips, dear one! Though your tender words I prize. But dearer by far is the soulful gaze

You may thrill with the speed of your thoroughbred steed, You may laugh with delight as you ride the ocean, You may rush afar in your touring car,

Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail, Black, with its face to the dust. But it carries a message where winged things fail;

I am a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad; And I link with my beautiful tether Town and Country together,

All the aim of life is just Getting back to God. Spirit casting off its dust,

O thou, mine other, stronger part! Whom yet I cannot hear, or see, Come thou, and take this loving heart,

O praise me not with your lips, dear one! Though your tender words I prize. But dearer by far is the soulful gaze

I. In the day my thoughts are tender When I muse on my ladye fair.

I Who has not felt his heart leap up, and glow What time the Tulips first begin to blow,

I When first we met (the Sea and I), Like one before a King,

Methinks ofttimes my heart is like some bee That goes forth through the summer day and sings. And gathers honey from all growing things

The uses of sorrow I comprehend Better and better at each year's end. Deeper and deeper I seem to see

The uses of sorrow I comprehend Better and better at each year's end. Deeper and deeper I seem to see

There is much that makes me sorry as I journey down life's way. And I seem to see more pathos in poor human lives each day. I'm sorry for the strong brave men, who shield the weak from harm,

There is much that makes me sorry as I journey down life's way, And I seem to see more pathos in poor human lives each day. I'm sorry for the strong, brave men who shield the weak from harm,

Obscured the sun, the world is dark; Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Send down thy spark.

How terrible these nights are when alone With our scarred hearts, we sit in solitude, And some old sorrow, to the world unknown,

Spirit of a Great Control, Gird me with thy strength and might, Essence of the Over-Soul -

Who is the strong?    Not he who puts to test His sinews with the strong and proves the best; But he who dwells where weaklings congregate,

As we gaze up life's slope, as we gaze In the morn, ere the dewdrops are dry, What splendour hangs over the ways,

When the Summer sun is shining, And the green things push and grow, Oft my heart runs over measure,

All in the time when Earth did most deplore The cold, ungracious aspect of young May, Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;

There never was success so nobly gained, Or victory so free from selfish dross, But in the winning some one had been pained

Lie still and rest, in that serene repose That on this holy morning comes to those Who have been burdened with the cares which make

I saw the day lean o'er the world's sharp edge And peer into night's chasm, dark and damp; High in his hand he held a blazing lamp,

I am coming, coming to thee, My strong-armed lover, the Sea! On thy great broad breast I will lie and rest,

Is the way hard and thorny, oh, my brother? Do tempests beat, and adverse wild winds blow? And are you spent, and broken, at each nightfall,

All the world was wearying, All the world was sad; Everything was shadow-filled;

Thank God for life, in such an age as this, Rich with the promises of better things. Thank God for being part of this great nation's heart,

Thanksgiving for the strong armed day, That lifted war's red curse, When Peace, that lordly little word,

We walk on starry fields of white And do not see the daisies, For blessings common in our sight

The wonderful age of the world I sing - The age of battery, coil and spring, Of steam, and storage, and motored thing.

Pain can go guised as joy, dross pass for gold, Vulgarity can masquerade as wit, Or spite wear friendship's garments; but I hold

Up to the gates of gleaming Pearl, There came the spirit of a girl, And to the white-robed Guard she said:

'What do I hear at the window? Did some one call me?'    Nay, It was only the wind, my darling,

I love the tropics, where sun and rain Go forth together, a joyous train, To hold up the green, gay side of the world,

I said, 'I will place my heart, my heart all broken, Beside the world's torn heart, that it may know The comradeship of sorrow that is not spoken,

They drift down the hall together; He smiles in her lifted eyes; Like waves of that mighty river,

Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, Your head like the golden-rod, And we will go sailing away from here

Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad, And love me if you like! I hardly hear the door shut

With brooding mien and sultry eyes, Outside the gates of Paradise Eve sat, and fed the faggot flame

'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?' Yes, sir - yes, sir:    three bags full.' 'I don't want any New Thought,' said he,

There must be lonely moments when God feels The need of prayer - Such lonely moments, knowing not anywhere,

I had seen our splendid soldiers in their khaki uniforms, And their leaders with a Sam Brown belt; I had seen the fighting Britons and Colonials in swarms,

Between the ringing of bells and the musical clang of chimes I hear a sound like the breaking of chains, all through these Christmas times. For the thought of the world is waking out of a slumber deep and long,

I stand in the blaze of the candle rays, While my merry maidens three Arrange each tress, and loop my dress,

As fleecy clouds trail back across the skies, Showing the sweet young moon in azure space, The lifted veil revealed her shining face -

In the banquet hall of Progress God has bidden to a feast All the women in the East.

All wantonly in hours of joy, I made a song of pain. Soon Grief drew near, and paused to hear,

My lady is robed for the ball to-night, All in a shimmer and silken sheen. She glides down the stairs like a thing of light,

AHASUERAS Tell me thy name! ESTHER

They stood before the Angel at the gate; The Angel asked:    'Why should you enter in?' One said:    'On earth my place was high and great;'

Thou Christ of mine, thy gracious ear low bending Through these glad New Year days, To catch the countless prayers to Heaven ascending -

Oh! not for the great departed, Who formed our country's laws, And not for the bravest-hearted,

It is a common fate - a woman's lot - To waste on one the riches of her soul, Who takes the wealth she gives him, but cannot

From the Queen Bee mother, the mother Beast, and the mother Fowl in the fen, A call went up to the human world, to Woman, the mother of men. The call said, 'Come:    for we, the dumb, are given speech for a day,

Alone she sat with her accusing heart, That, like a restless comrade frightened sleep, And every thought that found her, left a dart

God finished woman in the twilight hour And said, 'To-morrow thou shalt find thy place: Man's complement, the mother of the race -

Our thoughts are moulding unmade spheres, And, like a blessing or a curse, They thunder down the formless years,

Our thoughts are molding unmade spheres, And, like a blessing or a curse, They thunder down the formless years,

Whoever was begotten by pure love, And came desired and welcome into life, Is of immaculate conception. He

Musing upon the tragedies of earth, Of each new horror which each hour gives birth, Of sins that scar and cruelties that blight

You may talk of reformations, of the Economic Plan, That shall stem the Social Evil in its course; But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in THE MAN.

The woman who looks upon man as a sinner Unsaved as to soul, and uncertain in heart, Should learn how to cook, and prepare him a dinner,

There are not many sins when once we sift them. In actions of evolving human souls Striving to reach high goals

Among the virile hosts he passed along, Conspicuous for an undetermined grace Of sexless beauty.    In his form and face

Not only sun-kissed heights are fair.    Below The cold, dark billows of the frowning deep Do lovely blossoms of the ocean sleep,

Oh many a duel the world has seen That was bitter with hate, that was red with gore, But I sing of a duel by far more cruel

I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey, Were singing together a blithe duet,

To build a house, with love for architect, Ranks first and foremost in the joys of life. And in a tiny cabin, shaped for two,

The earth is yours and mine, Our God's bequest. That testament divine

Two thousand years had passed since Christ was born, When suddenly there rose a mighty host Of women, sweeping to a central goal

I held the golden vessel of my soul And prayed that God would fill it from on high. Day after day the importuning cry

The birds laugh loud and long together When Fashion's followers speed away At the first cool breath of autumn weather.

Into the gloom of the deep, dark night, With panting breath and a startled scream; Swift as a bird in sudden flight

Born in the flesh, and bred in the bone, Some of us harbour still A New World pride:    and we flaunt or hide

Time with his back against the mighty wall, Which hides from view all future joy and sorrow, Hears, without answer, the impatient call

There is no thing we cannot overcome Say not thy evil instinct is inherited, Or that some trait inborn makes thy whole life forlorn,

Too tall our structures, and too swift our pace; Not so we mount, not so we gain the race. Too loud the voice of commerce in the land;

Above the din of commerce, above the clamour and rattle Of labour disputing with riches, of Anarchists' threats and groans, Above the hurry and hustle and roar of that bloodless battle,

(Suggested by the "Clarimonde" OF Th'ophile Gautier.) Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me. Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,

Hark! high o'er the rattle and clamour and clatter Of traffic-filled streets, do you hear that loud noise? And pushing and rushing to see what's the matter,

The bold young Autumn came riding along One day where an elm-tree grew. "You are fair," he said, as she bent down her head,

It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw The forecast of a time to come by some supernal law. I seemed to dwell in this same world, and in this modern time;

Lie down, and let the billows hide your shame, Oh, shorn and naked outcast of the seas! You who confided to each ocean breeze

Through the open door of dreamland Came a ghost of long ago, long ago. When I wakened, all unheeding

There was no wind, and yet the air Seemed suddenly astir; There were no forms, and yet all space

[This recitation is intended to be given with an accompaniment of waltz music, introducing dance-steps at the refrain "With one, two, three," etc.] A giddy young maiden with nimble feet, Heigh-ho! alack and alas!

Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine, And I think every fellow will state That the 'what-you-may-call-it' coiffured way

All your wonderful inventions, All your houses vast and tall, All your great gun-fronted vessels,

All roads that lead to God are good; What matters it, your faith, or mine; Both centre at the goal divine

A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest, Was hanging her head through the long golden hours; And early one morning I saw her tears falling,

A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest, Was hanging her head through the long golden hours; And early one morning I saw her tears falling,

I saw them beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day; Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet As cultured roses, brought to their estate

Hear thou my prayer, great God of opulence; Give me no blessings, save as recompense For blessings which I lovingly bestow

Skilled mariner, and counted sane and wise, That was a curious thing which chanced to me, So good a sailor on so fair a sea.

Who thinks how desolate and strange To me must seem the autumn's change, When housed in attic or in chest,

All day, all day in a calm like death The harp hung waiting the sea wind's breath. When the western sky flushed red with shame

I cried, 'Dear Angel, lead me to the heights, And spur me to the top.' The Angel answered, 'Stop

This is the world's stupendous hour - The supreme moment for the race To see the emptiness of power,

All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago. "Pray show me this great house of thine, nor close a single door;

I have listened to the sighing of the burdened and the bound, I have heard it change to crying, with a menace in the sound; I have seen the money-getters pass unheeding on the way,

There are, there are Invisible Great Helpers of the race. Across unatlased continents of space,

Said Willie to Tom, 'Let us hie away To the wonderful Island of Endless Play. It lies off the border of "No School Land,"

'Oh life is wonderful,' she said, 'And all my world is bright; Can Paradise show fairer skies,

There's many a house of grandeur, With turret, tower and dome, That knows not peace or comfort,

Oh! it is not just the men who face the guns, Not the fighters at the Front alone, to-day Who will bring the longed-for close to the bloody fray, for those

In the dawn of the day when the sea and the earth Reflected the sunrise above, I set forth with a heart full of courage and mirth

Unto each mortal who comes to earth A ladder is given by God, at birth, And up this ladder the soul must go,

So, thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest, To keep Time's perishing touch at bay From the roseate splendour of the cheek so tender,

So thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest, To keep Time's perishing touch at bay From the roseate splendour of the cheek so tender,

Between the little Here and larger Yonder, There is a realm (or so one day I read) Where faithful spirits love-enchained may wander,

I set out for the Land of Content, By the gay crowded pleasure-highway, With laughter, and jesting, I went

I set out for the Land of Content, By the gay crowded pleasure-highway, With laughter, and jesting, I went

Oh! that is a beautiful land I wis, The land of the Gone-Away Souls. Yes, a lovelier region by far than this

WHEN LOVE FOR HIS MAKER AWOKE IN MAN, THE DANCE BEGAN The wave of the ocean, the leaf of the wood, In the rhythm of motion proclaim life is good.

The tide of love swells in me with such force, It sweeps away all hate and all distrust. As eddying straws and particles of dust

The sun may be clouded, yet ever the sun Will sweep on its course till the cycle is run. And when into chaos the systems are hurled,

What shall the leader be in that great day When we who sleep and dream that we are slaves Shall wake and know that Liberty is ours?

It was long, long ago that a soul like a flower Unfolded, and blossomed, and passed in an hour. It was long, long ago; and the memory seems

Now is the time when India is gay With wedding parties; and the radiant throngs Seem like a scattered rainbow taking part

Somebody’s baby was buried to-day— The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back, And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay

Here in my cosy corner, Before a blazing log, I'm thinking of cold London

There was a fair green garden sloping From the south-east side of the mountain-ledge; And the earliest tint of the dawn came groping

When the long day leans to the twilight, When the Evening star climbs to the moon, With a heart that is silently breaking,

I saw them sitting in the shade; The long green vines hung over, But could not hide the gold-haired maid

Look in the eyes of trouble with a smile, Extend your hand and do not be afraid. 'Tis but a friend who comes to masquerade.

A curious vision on mine eyes unfurled In the deep night.    I saw, or seemed to see, Two Centuries meet, and sit down vis-a-vis

Said the Kaiser's god to the god of the Czar: 'Hark, hark, how my people pray. Their faith, methinks, is greater by far

I have not the gift of vision, I have not the psychic ear, And the realms that are called Elysian

She rose up in the early dawn, And white and silently she moved About the house.    Four men had gone

Love breathed a secret to her listening heart, And said "Be silent."    Though she guarded it, And dwelt as one within a world apart,

The Muse said, Let us sing a little song Wherein no hint of wrong, No echo of the great world need, or pain,

Unnumbered gods may unremembered die; A thousand creeds may perish and pass by; Yet do I lift mine eyes to ONE on high.

I know the need of the world, Though it would not have me know. It would hide its sorrow deep,

'Let go the Cross' - GERTRUDE RUNSHON. I heard a strange voice in the distance calling As from a star an echo might be falling.

EXPLANATORY Kamehameha First, of the Hawaiian Islands, conquered his foes in a great battle, driving them over the high mountain peak known as Pali- - one of the famous scenic views of the world, and the goal of all visitors in Honolulu. The Hula (pronounced hoola) was the national muscle and abdominal dance of Hawaii, and the late King Kalakua was its enthusiastic patron.    The costume of the dancers was composed chiefly of skirts of grass.    The Hula (so attired) is now forbidden by law.    The Hula Kui    is a modification of the dance and exceedingly graceful.

I thought my heart was death chilled, I thought its fires were cold; But the new love, the new love,

Oh! give me the night, the dark, dark night, The night with never a star. When the stars are veiled and the moon has sailed

In a land beyond sight or conceiving, In a land where no blight is, no wrong, No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,

In a land beyond sight or conceiving, In a land where no blight is, no wrong, No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside. No more to its motion o'er sleep's fairy ocean,

The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing Or note enlivened the depressing wood;

The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing Or note enlivened the depressing wood, A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood

All alone with my heart to-night I sit, and wonder, and sigh. What is she like, is she dark, or light,

With ever some wrong to be righting, With self ever seeking for place, The world has been striving and fighting

Fling my past behind me, like a robe Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date. I have outgrown it.    Wherefore should I weep

I fling my past behind me, like a robe Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date. I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep

Angel of Peace, the hounds of war, Unleashed, are all abroad, And war's foul trade again is made

[In Edgar Allan Poe's story, 'The Pit and the Pendulum,' the victim is bound hand and foot, face upturned to a huge, knife-edged pendulum which swings back and forth across his body, the blade dropping closer to his heart at each swing.] Bound hand and foot in the pit I lie, And the wall about me is strong and high;

The pessimistic locust, last to leaf, Though all the world is glad, still talks of grief.

You remember the hall on the corner? To-night as I walked down street I heard the sound of music,

In the rosy light of my day's fair morning, Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west, Ere even a shadow of night gave warning

If you listen you will hear, from east to west, Growing sounds of discontent and deep unrest. It is just the progress-driven plough of God,

Oh, you who read some song that I have sung, What know you of the soul from whence it sprung? Dost dream the poet ever speaks aloud

Why should the poet of these pregnant times Be asked to sing of war's unholy crimes? To laud and eulogise the trade which thrives

What is the explanation of the strange silence of American poets concerning American triumphs on sea and land? Literary Digest.

I said I would have my fling, And do what a young man may; And I didn't believe a thing

All through the Castle of High-bred Ease, Where the chief employment was do-as-you-please, Spread consternation and wild despair.

Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish, Not they who, while sad years go by them, in The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish,

Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish, Not they who, while sad years go by them, in The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish,

Over and over the task was set, Over and over I slighted the work, But ever and alway I knew that yet

(Written on the day of Queen Victoria's funeral) The Queen is taking a drive to-day, They have hung with purple the carriage-way,

Beside us in our seeking after pleasures, Through all our restless striving after fame, Through all our search for worldly gains and treasures,

Beside us in our seeking after pleasures, Through all our restless striving after fame, Through all our search for worldly gains and treasures,

I Arise, O master artist of the age, And paint the picture which at once shall be

In the face of the sun are great thunderbolts hurled, And the storm-clouds have shut out its light; But a Rainbow of Promise now shines on the world,

High o'er the clouds a Sunbeam shone, And far down under him, With a subtle grace that was all her own,

Do you know what moves the tides As they swing from low to high? 'Tis the love, love, love,

Suddenly and without warning they came - The Revealing Angels came. Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets,

AHASUERAS Is this the way to greet thy loving spouse, But now returned from scenes of blood and strife?

I am a river flowing from God's sea Through devious ways.    He mapped my course for me; I cannot change it; mine alone the toil

I am a river flowing from God's sea Through devious ways. He mapped my course for me; I cannot change it; mine alone the toil

There are curious isles in the River of Sleep, Curious isles without number. We'll visit them all as we leisurely creep

The saddest hour of anguish and of loss Is not that season of supreme despair When we can find no least light anywhere

When Venus, mother and maker of blisses, Rose out of the billows, large-limbed, and fair, She stood on the sands and blew sweet kisses

The rain falls long, and the rain falls light, With a desolate drip -drop, sad to hear. But never a star shines through the night

How will Christ come back again, How will He be seen, and where, Where His chosen way?

For he who climbs to say his prayer Meets half way the descending Grace. ELSA BARKER, in British Review.

In the great ship Life we speed along, With sails and pennons spread. And tethered, beside the great ship, glide

I will paint you a sign, rumseller, And hang it above your door; A truer and better signboard

The deepest tragedies of life are not Put into books, or acted on the stage. Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearts

We are the Allies of God to-day, And the width of the earth is our right of way. Let no man question or ask us why,

Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land, A temple by the muses set apart; A perfect structure of consummate art,

Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land, A temple by the muses set apart; A perfect structure of consummate art,

The solemn Sea of Silence lies between us; I know thou livest, and them lovest me, And yet I wish some white ship would come sailing

I Here are the orchard trees all large with fruit; And yonder fields are golden with young grain.

Back of each soldier who fights for France, Ay, back of each woman and man Who toils and prays through these long tense days,

I asked the rock beside the road what joy existence lent. It answered, 'For a million years my heart has been content.' I asked the truffle-seeking swine, as rooting by he went,

God gave him passions, splendid as the sun, Meant for the lordliest purposes; a part Of nature's full and fertile mother heart,

A granite rock in the mountain side Gazed on the world and was satisfied. It watched the centuries come and go,

A granite rock in the mountain side Gazed on the world and was satisfied. It watched the centuries come and go.

We are the army stevedores, lusty and virile and strong, We are given the hardest work of the war, and the hours are long. We handle the heavy boxes, and shovel the dirty coal;

They met each other in the glade - She lifted up her eyes; Alack the day! Alack the maid!

Upon the wreckage of thy yesterday Design the structure of to-morrow.    Lay Strong corner stones of purpose, and prepare

Vast was the wealth I carried in life's pack - Youth, health, ambition, hope and trust; but Time And Fate, those robbers fit for any crime,

There is a little Bungalow Perched on a granite ledge, And at its feet two suitors meet;

She's the jauntiest of creatures, she's the daintiest of misses, With her pretty patent leathers or her alligator ties, With her eyes inviting glances and her lips inviting kisses,

What will the superwoman be, of whom we sing - She who is coming over the dim border Of Far To-morrow, after earth's disorder

I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast Was at its loudest; when there was no sound From dawn to dawn, save soldiers marching past,

Amidst applauding cheers I won a prize. A cynic watched me, with ironic eyes; An open foe, in open hatred, sneered;

A modern hour from London (as we spin Into a silver thread the miles of space Between us and our goal), there is a place

Under the snow in the dark and the cold, A pale little sprout was humming; Sweetly it sang, 'neath the frozen mold,

Under the snow, in the dark and the cold, A pale little sprout was humming; Sweetly it sang, 'neath the frozen mould,

Now, dear, it isn't the bold things, Great deeds of valour and might, That count the most in the summing up of life at the end of the day.

Oh, vain is the stern protesting Of winds, when the tide runs high; And vainly the deep-sea waters

Be careful what rubbish you toss in the tide. On outgoing billows it drifts from your sight, But back on the incoming waves it may ride

In the still jungle of the senses lay A tiger soundly sleeping, till one day A bold young hunter chanced to come that way.

The times are not degenerate. Man's faith Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed Can take from the immortal soul the need

The times are not degenerate.    Man's faith Mounts higher than of old.    No crumbling creed Can take from the immortal soul the need

There is a room serene and fair, All palpitant with light and air; Free from the dust, world's noise and fuss -

Sometimes I wish the railroads all were torn out, The ships all sunk among the coral strands. I am so very weary, yea so worn out,

Bristling with steeples, high against the hill, Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood.

Reply to Rudyard Kipling's "He travels the fastest who travels alone." Who travels alone with his eyes on the heights, Though he laughs in the day time oft weeps in the nights;

Much may be done with the world we are in, Much with the race to better it; We can unfetter it,

We love but once. The great gold orb of light From dawn to even-tide doth cast his ray; But the full splendor of his perfect might

Oh! by and by we shall hear the cry, 'This is the way to Mars.' Come take a trip, on the morning Ship;

The Truth Teller lifts the curtain, And shows us the people's plight; And everything seems uncertain,

Just when all hope had perished in my soul, And balked desire made havoc with my mind, My cruel Ladye suddenly grew kind,

You know that oasis, fresh and fair In the city desert, as Greeley square? That bright triangle of scented bloom

On great cathedral window I have seen A summer sunset swoon and sink away, Lost in the splendours of immortal art.

On a great cathedral window I have seen A Summer sunset swoon and sink away, Lost in the splendours of immortal art.

There sat two glasses, filled to the brim, On a rich man's table, rim to rim. One was ruddy and red as blood,

There sat two glasses filled to the brim, On a rich man's table, rim to rim. One was ruddy and red as blood,

A vision beauteous as the morn, With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming, Slow glided o'er a field late shorn

A vision beauteous as the morn, With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming, Slow glided o'er a field late shorn

In the dull, dim dawn of day I heard The twitter and thrill of a brown-backed bird, As he sat and sang in the leafless tree,

When I was very young I used to feel the dark despairs of youth; Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes; Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear

Man has explored all countries and all lands, And made his own the secrets of each clime. Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,

Man has explored all countries and all lands, And made his own the secrets of each clime. Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,

As we journey along, with a laugh and a song, We see, on youth's flower-decked slope, Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight,

As we journey along, with a laugh and a song, We see, on youth's flower-decked slope, Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight,

I had been almost happy for an hour, Lost to the world that knew me in the park Among strange faces; while my little girl

In the journey of life, as we travel along To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight, You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong,

I dreamed a Voice, of one God-authorised, Cried loudly thro' the world, 'Disarm!    Disarm!' And there was consternation in the camps;

I am the voice of the voiceless; Through me the dumb shall speak; Till the deaf world's ear be made to hear

The voices of the city - merged and swelled Into a mighty dissonance of sound, And from the medley rose these broken strains

Oh! I hear the people calling through the day time and the night time, They are calling, they are crying for the coming of the right time. It behooves you, men and women, it behooves you to be heeding,

Oh, I am sick of love reciprocated, Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified. Life holds no thing to be anticipated,

"I think I hear the sound of horses feet Beating upon the gravelled avenue. Go to the window that looks on the street,

She gave her soul and body for a carriage, And livened lackey with a vacant grin, And all the rest -house, lands -and called it marriage:

Between the finite and the infinite The missing link of Love has left a void. Supply the link, and earth with Heaven will join

However certain of the way thou art, Take not the self-appointed leader's part. Follow no man, and by no man be led,

A weed is but an unloved flower! Go dig, and prune, and guide, and wait, Until it learns its high estate,

So many people - people - in the world; So few great souls, love ordered, well begun, In answer to the fertile mother need!

Through rivers of veins on the nameless quest The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping, Till it reaches that curious wheel o' the breast,

Wherever the white man's feet have trod (Oh far does the white man stray) A bold road rifles the virginal sod,

One ship drives east and another drives west, With the self-same winds that blow, 'Tis the set of the sails

Should some great angel say to me to-morrow, "Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start, But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,

Should some great angel say to me to-morrow, "Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start, But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,

Oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song, Or a flame, or a two-edged sword; Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume,

In what I do I note the marring flaw, The imperfections of the work I see; Nor am I one who rather DO than BE,

Oh! the earth is full of sinning And of trouble and of woe, But the devil makes an inning

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind,

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind,

At times I am the mother of the world; And mine seem all its sorrows, and its fears. That rose, which in each mother-heart is curled,

What can be said in New Year rhymes, That's not been said a thousand times? The new years come, the old years go,

The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet, And clasps the summer with a new delight, Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat

What can be said in New Year rhymes, That's not been said a thousand times? The new years come, the old years go,

I left the farm when mother died and changed my place of dwelling To daughter Susie's stylish house right on the city street: And there was them before I came that sort of scared me, telling

The modern English-speaking young girl is the astonishment of the world and the despair of the older generation.    Nothing like her has ever been seen or heard before.    Alike in drawing-rooms and the amusement places of the people, she defies conventions in dress, speech, and conduct.    She is bold, yet not immoral.    She is immodest, yet she is chaste.    She has no ideals, yet she is kind and generous.    She is an anomaly and a paradox. We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife, We are not like the children, born in their younger life,

O Beautiful white Angels! who control The inner workings of each poet soul, Thou who hast touched my mind with tender graces

A little time agone, a few brief years, And there was peace within our beauteous borders; Peace, and a prosperous people, and no fears

(Suggested by the book of Mr. Ed. C. Randall.) 'There is no death, there are no dead.' From zone to zone, from sphere to sphere,

Whatever the strength of our foes is now, Whatever it may have been, This is our slogan, and this our vow -

When the whole world resounds with rude alarms Of warring arms, When God's good earth, from border unto border

With each strong thought, with every earnest longing For aught thou deemest needful to thy soul, Invisible vast forces are set thronging

With each strong thought, with every earnest longing For aught thou deemest needful to thy soul, Invisible vast forces are set thronging

Thoughts do not need the wings of words To fly to any goal. Like subtle lightnings, not like birds,

A changing medley of insistent sounds, Like broken airs, played on a Samisen, Pursues me, as the waves blot out the shore.

Last night the house was crowded.    Were you there? You thought our box held only two, maybe - Myself and chaperon, a matron fair.

Of all the blessings which my life has known, I value most, and most praise God for three: Want, Loneliness, and Pain, those comrades true,

Of all the blessings which my life has known, I value most, and most praise God for three: Want, Loneliness and Pain, those comrades true,

Three Souls there were that reached the Heavenly Gate, And gained permission of the Guard to wait. Barred from the bliss of Paradise by sin,

Know this, ye restless denizens of earth, Know this, ye seekers after joy and mirth, Three things there are, eternal in their worth.

My love is young, so young; Young is her cheek, and her throat, And life is a song to be sung