^«^^m«miSx^fV^^ ^^^^ ^^^^\ : 
 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 CERF LIBRARY 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 REBECCA CERF '02 
 
 IN THE NAMES OF 
 
 CHARLOTTE CERF '95 
 
 MARCEL E. CERF '97 
 
 BARRY CERF '02 
 
AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE 
 
Otl^er BooKs 
 
 by 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
 
 EVERY-DAY THOUGHTS 
 POEMS OF POWER 
 MAURI NE: A Love Story in Vers* 
 POEMS OF PASSION 
 POEMS OF PLEASURE 
 
 KINGDOM OF LOVE AND OTHER 
 
 POEMS 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE 
 MEN, WOMEN AND EMOTIONS 
 THREE WOMEN: A Story In Verse 
 
ZCZC OH^JU^^C^ ^^tVc^-t 
 
AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 ''POEMS OF PASSION," "POEMS OF PLEASURE," " MAURINE," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 IX)UISE MEARS akd W. P. HOOPER 
 
 Chicago 
 W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 
 
Copyright, iSqs. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLA WHEELER WILCOJt 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Erring Woman's Love, 5 
 
 A Song of Republics, , 25 
 
 Worth While, 29 
 
 CoLEUR DE Rose, 31 
 
 Memorial Day — 1892, 34 
 
 Life's Track, . , . . . 37 
 
 When Baby Souls Sail Out, 39 
 
 An Ode to Time, 42 
 
 A Married Coquette, . . . . , . .45 
 
 New Year, . 51 
 
 Double Carnations, ..,.•.. 53 
 
 Swimming Song, 55 
 
 Regret and Remorse, 57 
 
 Easter Morn, 58 
 
 Blind, 60 
 
 Two Women, 62 
 
 As You Go Through Life, 64 
 
 The Yellow-covered Almanac, 66 
 
 Success, 70 
 
 It All Will Come Out Right, 73 
 
 The Little Whue Hearse, 75 
 
 Realization, 77 
 
 The Lady and the Dame, 78 
 
 Love's Supremacy, 8i 
 
 I V 1 5^V> v.?*.y 4.>C7 
 
2 Contents, 
 
 The PyEAN OF Peace, ....... 83 
 
 The Eternal Will, 86 
 
 Insight %% 
 
 Heaven and Hell, 90 
 
 A Woman's Love, 91 
 
 Reform, 94 
 
 To Another Woman's Baby, 95 
 
 Diamonds, 96 
 
 Rubies 96 
 
 Sapphires, 97 
 
 Turquoise, 97 
 
 Memory's River, 98 
 
 "Has Been," 102 
 
 A Minor Chord, 104 
 
 Last Love, 105 
 
 Death's Protest 106 
 
 Duty's Path, 107 
 
 September, 109 
 
 March, . .110 
 
 The Summer Girl, m 
 
 Sun Shadows . . . .114 
 
 Thoughts 115 
 
 The End of the Summer, 116 
 
 " He that Looketh," 119 
 
 Wail of an Old-timer 121 
 
 Concentration, 124 
 
 A Warning, . 125 
 
 Was, Is, and Yet-to-be, 126 
 
 Mistakes 129 
 
 Dual 131 
 
 The Rape of the Mist, 133 
 
Contents. 3 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The All-Creative Spark, 135 
 
 Be Not Content, 137 
 
 Action, 139 
 
 Two Roses, . . 141 
 
 Shrines, 143 
 
 Satiety, 145 
 
 The Watcher, . 146 
 
 A Solar Eclipse, 148 
 
 The Depths, 149 
 
 A Suggestion, . 150 
 
 Life's Opera . • • 152 
 
 Luck, 153 
 
 The Salt Sea-Wjnp, <...... 154 
 
 Never Mind, »'«>•••.• 156 
 
AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 She was a light and wanton maid : 
 
 Not one whom fickle Love betrayed, 
 
 For indolence was her undoer. 
 
 Fair, frivolous, and very poor, 
 
 She scorned the thought of toil, in youth, 
 
 And chose the path that leads from truth. 
 
 More women fall from want of gold. 
 Than love leads wrong, if truth were told ; 
 More women sin for gay attire 
 Than sin through passion's blinding fire. 
 Her god was gold : and gold she saw 
 Prove mightier than the sternest law 
 With judge and jury, priest and king; 
 
^ Att Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 So, made herself an offering 
 
 At Mammon's shrine ; and lived for power, 
 
 And ease, and pleasures of the hour. 
 
 Who looks beneath life's outer crust 
 
 Is satisfied that God is just ; 
 
 Who looks not under, but about, 
 
 Finds much to make him sad with doubt. 
 
 For Virtue walks with feet worn bare. 
 
 While Sin rides by with coach and pair : 
 
 Men praise the modest heart and chaste, 
 
 And yet they let it go to waste, 
 
 And follow, fierce to have and hold 
 
 Some creature, wanton, selfish, bold. 
 
 She saw but this, life's outer side, 
 No higher faith was hers to guide ; 
 She worshipped gold, and hated toil, 
 And hence her youth with all its soil, 
 With all its sins too dark to name, 
 Of secret crimes and public shame, 
 
An Erri}ig Woman s Love, 
 
 With all its trail of broken lives. 
 Of ruined homes, neglected wives, 
 And weeping mothers. Proud and gay- 
 She w^ent her devastating way 
 With untouched brow and fadeless grace. 
 
 Not time but feeling marks the face. 
 
 Sin on the outer being tells 
 
 Not till the startled soul rebels : 
 
 And she felt nothing but content. 
 
 She was too light and indolent 
 
 To worry over days to come. 
 
 This little earth held all life's sum 
 
 She thought, and to be young and fair, 
 
 Well clothed, well fed, was all her care. 
 
 With pitying eyes and lifted head 
 
 She gazed on those who toiled for bread, 
 
 And laughed to scorn the talk she heard 
 
 Of punishment for those who erred, 
 
 And virtue's certain recompense. 
 
 She seemed devoid of moral sense, 
 
An Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 An ignorant thing whose appetites 
 Bound her horizon of delights. 
 
 Men were her puppets to control ; 
 Unconscious of a heart or soul 
 She lived and gloried, in the ease 
 She purchased, by her power to please 
 The eye and senses. Life's one woe 
 Which caused her pitying tears to flow, 
 Was poverty. Though hearts might break 
 And homes be ruined for her sake, 
 She showed no mercy. But when need 
 Of gold she saw, her heart would bleed. 
 The lack of clothing, fire and food. 
 Was earth's one pain, she understood. 
 The suffering poor oft blest her name. 
 Nor questioned whence the ducats came, 
 She gave so freely. Once she found 
 A fainting woman on the ground, 
 A wailing child clasped to her breast. 
 With her own hands she bath'd and dress'd 
 
An Erring Woman's Love. 
 
 The weary waifs ! gave food and gold 
 And clothed them warmly from the cold, 
 Nor guessed that one she lured from home 
 Had caused that suffering pair to roam 
 Unhoused, neglected. Then one day, 
 Unheralded across her way, 
 The conqueror came. She knew not why, 
 But with the first glance of his eye, 
 A feeling, new and unexplained. 
 Woke in her what she oft had feigned. 
 And when his arm stole near her waist, 
 As startled maidens blush with chaste 
 Sweet fear at love's advances, so 
 She blushed from brow to breast of snow. 
 Strange, new emotions, fraught with joy 
 And pain commingled, made her coy ; 
 But when he would have clasped her neck 
 With gems that might a queen bedeck 
 And offered gold, her lips grew white. 
 With sudden anger at the sight 
 Of what had been her god for years. 
 
10 An Erring Womaris Love. 
 
 She flung them from her. Then such tears 
 As only spring from love*^ despair 
 Welled from her eyes. " So, lady fair, 
 My gifts are scorned ?" quoth he, and laughed. 
 " Like Cleopatra, you have quaffed 
 Such lordly pearls in draughts of wine, 
 Ypu spurn poor simple gems like mine. 
 Well, well, fair queen, I'll bring to you 
 A richer gift next time— — Adieu." 
 
 His light words stung like lash of whip; 
 With gasping breath and ashen lip 
 She strove to speak, but he was gone. 
 She kneeled and pressed her mouth upon 
 The latch his hand had touched, the floor 
 His foot had trod, and o'er and o'er 
 She sobbed his name, as children moan 
 A mother's name when left alone. 
 
 Out from the dim and roseate gloom 
 And subtle odors of her room, 
 
An Erring Woman's Love, II 
 
 Accusing memories rose. She felt 
 
 A loneliness that seemed to belt 
 
 The universe in its embrace. 
 
 It was as if from some high place 
 
 A giant hand had reached and hurled 
 
 To nothingness her petty world, 
 
 And left her staring, awed, alone, 
 
 Up into regions vast, unknown. 
 
 There is no other loneliness 
 
 That can so sadden and oppress 
 
 As when beside the burned-out fire 
 
 Of sated passion and desire 
 
 The wakening spirit, in a glance, 
 
 Beholds its lost inheritance. 
 
 She rose and turned the dim lights higher, 
 
 Brought forth rich gems and grand attire. 
 
 And robed herself in feverish haste ; 
 
 Before the mirror posed and paced, 
 
 With jewels on her breast and wrists; 
 
 Then sudden clenched her little fists 
 
 And beat her face until it bled, 
 
12 A?i Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 And tore her garments shred from shred, 
 Gazed in the mirror, spoke her name 
 And hissed a word that told her shame, 
 Then on her knees fell sobbing there. 
 
 There are sweet messengers of prayer, 
 
 Who down through space on soft wings steal, 
 
 And offer aid to all who kneel. 
 
 Her lips, unused to pious phrase, 
 
 Recalled some words of bygone days. 
 
 And " Now I lay me down to sleep 
 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep " 
 
 She whispered timidly, and then 
 
 *' Lord let me be a child again 
 
 And grow up good." The strange prayer said, 
 
 Like some o'er weary child, her head 
 
 She pillowed on her arm, and wept 
 
 Low, shuddering sobs, until she slept 
 
 And dreamed ; and in that dream she thought 
 
 She sat within a vine-wreathed cot ; 
 
 An infant slumbered on her breast, 
 
An Erring Woman's Love, 13 
 
 She crooned a lullaby,^ and pressed 
 Its waxen hand against her cheek, 
 While one too proud and fond to speak, 
 The happy father of the child. 
 Stood near, and gazing on them, smiled. 
 
 She woke while still the lullaby 
 Was on her lips — then such a cry, 
 As souls in fabled realms below 
 Might utter, voiced her awful woe. 
 
 The mighty moral labor pain 
 
 Of new-born conscience wracked her brain 
 
 And tore her soul. She understood 
 
 The meaning now of womanhood. 
 
 And chastity, and o'er her came 
 
 The full, dark sense of all her shame. 
 
 As some poor drunken wretch, at night, 
 
 Wakes up to know his piteous plight, 
 
 And sees, while sinking in the mire. 
 
 Afar, his waiting hearth-light's fire ; 
 2 
 
14 An Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 So now she saw from depths of sin, 
 The hearth-light of the might-have-been. 
 How beautiful, how like a star 
 That lost light shone, but ah, how far! 
 
 She reached her longing arms toward space, 
 
 And lifted up her tear-wet face. 
 
 " Oh, God," she wailed, " I have been bad ! 
 
 I see it all, and I am sad. 
 
 And long to be a good girl now. 
 
 Lord, Lord, will some one show me how ? 
 
 Why, men have trod the burning track 
 
 Of sin for years, and then gone back ! 
 
 And cannot I for sin atone. 
 
 Or did Christ die for men alone ? 
 
 I want to lead an honest life, 
 
 I want to be his own true wife 
 
 And hold upon my breast his child." 
 
 Then suddenly her voice grew wild, 
 
 " No, no," she cried, " it could not be, 
 
 Those infant eyes would torture me— 
 
An Erring Woman s Love, 1 5 
 
 Though God condoned my sinful ways 
 I could not meet my child's pure gaze." 
 
 She hid her face upon her knees, 
 And swayed as reeds sway in a breeze, 
 " Oh, Christ," she moaned, " could I forget 
 There might be something for me yet : 
 But though both God and man forgave. 
 And I should win the love I crave. 
 Why, memory would drive me mad." 
 
 When woman drifts from good to bad. 
 To make her final fall complete, 
 She puts her soul beneath her feet. 
 Man's dual selves seem separate; 
 He leaves his soul outside sin's eate 
 And finds it waiting when he tires 
 Of carnal pleasures and desires. 
 Depleted, sickened and depressed. 
 As souls must be with such a test, 
 Yet strong enough to help him grope 
 Back into happiness and hope. 
 
1 6 An Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 But woman, far more complicate, 
 Can take no chances with her fate; 
 A subtle creature, finely spun, 
 Her body and her soul are one. 
 And now this erring woman wept 
 The soul she murdered while it slept. 
 She felt too stunned with pain to think. 
 She seemed to stand upon a brink; 
 Behind her loomed the sinful past, 
 Below her, rocks, beyond her, vast 
 And awful darkness. Not one ray 
 Of sun or star to show the way ! 
 She drew a long and shuddering breath ; 
 " There is no other path but death 
 For me to tread," she sighed, " and so 
 I will prepare my house and go." 
 
 As housewives move with willing feet 
 And skilful hands to make things neat, 
 And ready for some welcome one, 
 She toiled until her tasks were done. 
 
A7t Erring Woman's Love. 17 
 
 Then, seated at her desk, she wrote 
 
 With painful care, a tear-wet note. 
 
 The childish penmanship was rude, 
 
 111 spelled the words, the phrasing crude ; 
 
 Yet thought and feeling both were there 
 
 And mighty love and great despair. 
 
 " Dear heart," it ran, " you did not know 
 
 How, from the first, I loved you so, 
 
 That sin grew hateful in my sight. 
 
 And so I leave it all to-night. 
 
 The kiss 1 gave, dear heart, to you 
 
 Was love's first kiss, as pure and true 
 
 As ever lips of maiden gave. 
 
 I think 'twill warm my lonely grave, 
 
 And light the pathway I must tread 
 
 Among the hapless, homeless dead." 
 
 " When God formed worlds, He failed to make 
 A path for erring feet to take 
 Back into light and peace again, 
 Unless they were the feet of men. 
 
1 8 An Erring Woman s Love. 
 
 When woman errs, and then regrets, 
 
 Her sun of hope forever sets, 
 
 And life is hung with deepest gloom. 
 
 In all the world there is no room 
 
 For such as she ; and so I hold 
 
 That death itself is not so cold 
 
 As life has seemed, since by love's light 
 
 I saw there was a wrong and right, 
 
 And that my birthright had been sold, 
 
 By my own hands, for tarnished gold. 
 
 I hated labor, hence I fell ; 
 
 But now I love you, dear, so well, 
 
 No greater boon my soul could crave 
 
 Than just to toil, a galley slave, 
 
 Through burdened years and years of lifC; 
 
 If at the last you called me wife 
 
 For one supreme and honored hour. 
 
 Alas ! too late I learn love's power, 
 
 Too late 1 realize my loss, 
 
 And have no strength to bear my cross ■ 
 
 Of loneliness and dark disgrace. 
 
An Erring Woman's Love. 19 
 
 There cannot be another place 
 
 So desolate, so full of fear, 
 
 As earth to me, without you, dear. 
 
 You will not understand, I know, 
 
 How one like me can love you so. 
 
 It was a strange, strange thing. Love came 
 
 So like a swift, devouring flame 
 
 And burned my frail, fair-weather boat 
 
 And left me on the waves afloat, 
 
 With nothing but a broken spar. 
 
 The distant shores seem very far; 
 
 I cannot reach them, so I sink. 
 
 God will forgive my sins, I think, 
 
 Because I die for love, like One 
 
 The good Book tells about, His Son. 
 
 For erring woman death can bring 
 No pain so keen as memory's sting. 
 Good night, good-by. God bless you, dear, 
 And give you love, and joy, and cheer. 
 
20 An Erring Woman's Love, 
 
 But sometimes, in the dark night, say 
 A prayer for one who went astray. 
 And found no pathway back, and died 
 For love of you — a suicide." 
 
 When morn his glorious pinions spread 
 They found the erring woman dead. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 She woke as one wakes from a deep 
 And dreamless, yet exhausting sleep. 
 
 A strange confusion filled her mind 
 And sorrows vague and undefined, 
 
 Like half-remembered faces pressed 
 To memory's window, in her breast, 
 
 Gazed at her with reproachful eyes. 
 She felt a sudden, dazed surprise, 
 
Ah Eri'ing Womaiis Love, 21 
 
 Commingled with a sense of dread, 
 " I did but sleep — I am not dead, 
 
 The potion and the purpose failed 
 And I still live," she wildly wailed. 
 
 *' Nay thou art dead, rash suicide " 
 A sad voice spake : and at her side 
 
 She saw a weird and shadowy crowd 
 With anguished lips, and shoulders bowed, 
 
 And orbs that seemed the wells of woe. 
 
 She shrieked and veiled her eyes. " No, no ! 
 
 I am not dead ! I ache with life. 
 An earthly passion's hopeless strife 
 
 Still tortures me." "Yet tiiou art dead." 
 The voice with sad insistence said. 
 
 " But love and sorrow and regret 
 All die with death. / feel them yet.** 
 
22 An Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 •* God bade thcc live, and only He 
 Can say when thou shalt cease to be." 
 
 *' But I was sin-sick, sad, alone — 
 I thought by death I could atone, 
 
 And died that Christ might show me how." 
 "Christ bore His burden, why not thou?'* 
 
 ** Oh, lead me to His holy feet 
 And let my penance be complete." 
 
 " What ! thinkest thou to find that path— 
 Thou who hast tempted Heaven's wrath 
 
 By thy rash deed? Nay, nay not so, 
 Tis but perfected spirits go 
 
 To that supreme and final goal. 
 
 A self-sought death delays the soul. 
 
 With yonder shuddering, woeful throng 
 Of suicides thy ways belong. 
 
A?i Erring Woman's Love, 23 
 
 Close to the earth a shadowy band, 
 Unseen but seeing all, they stand 
 
 Until their natural time to die, 
 As God intended, shall draw nigh. 
 
 On earth, repentant, sick of sin, 
 
 A ministering angel thou hadst been, 
 
 Whose patient toil and deeds divine 
 Had rescued souls as sad as thine. 
 
 Each deed a firm ascending stair 
 To lead beyond thy great despair. 
 
 But now it is thy mournful fate 
 To linger here and meditate 
 
 On thy dark past — to stand so near 
 The earthly plane that thou canst hear 
 
 Thy lover's voice, while old desire 
 Shall burn within thee like a fire, 
 
24 An Erring Woman s Love, 
 
 And grief shall root thee to the spot 
 To find how soon thou art forgot. 
 
 Bat since thou hast endured the woes 
 That only fragile woman knows, 
 
 And loved as only woman can, 
 Thou shalt not suffer all that man 
 
 Must suffer when he interferes 
 
 With God's great law. In death's dim spheres 
 
 That justice waits, which men refuse. 
 Thy sex shall in some part excuse 
 
 Thy desperate deed. When God shall send 
 A second death to be thy friend, 
 
 Thou need'st not fear a darker fate — 
 Go forth with yonder throng and wait." 
 
A SONG OF REPUBLICS. 
 
 Fair Freedom's ship, too lon^ adrift — • /v 
 
 Of every wind tlie sport — 
 Now rigged and manned, her course well planned 
 
 Sails proudly out of port ; 
 And fluttering gaily from the mast 
 
 This motto is unfurled, 
 Let all men heed its truth who read : 
 
 " Republics Rule the World ! '* 
 
 The universe is high as God! 
 
 Good is the final goal ; 
 The world revolves and man evolves 
 
 A purpose and a soul. 
 No church can bind, no crowni forbid 
 
 Thought's mighty upward course- 
 Let kings give way before its sway, 
 
 For God inspires its force. 
 
26 A Song- of Republics, 
 
 The hero of a vanished age / 
 
 Was one who bathed in gore; 
 Who best could fight was noblest knight 
 
 In savage days of yore ; 
 Now warrior chiefs are out of date, 
 
 The times have changed. To-day 
 We call men great who arbitrate 
 
 And keep war's hounds at bay. 
 
 The world no longer looks to priest 
 
 Or prince to know its needs; 
 Earth's human throng has grown too strong 
 
 To rule with courts and creeds. 
 We want no kings but kings of toil — 
 
 No crowns but crowns of deeds. 
 Not royal birth but sterling worth 
 
 Must mark the man who leads. 
 
 Proud monarchies are out of step 
 
 With modern thought to-day, 
 For Brotherhood is understood 
 
A Song of Republics, 27 
 
 And thrones must pass away. 
 Men dare to think. Concerted thought 
 
 Contains more power than swords : 
 The force that binds united minds 
 
 Defeats mere savage hordes. 
 
 Man needs no arbitrary hand 
 
 To keep him in control, 
 Ht feels the power grow hour by hour 
 
 Of his expanding soul ; 
 In God's stupendous scheme of worlds, 
 
 He knows he has a place. 
 He i5 no slave .to cringe, and crave 
 
 Some worthless monarch's grace. 
 
 As ocean billows undermine 
 
 The haughty shores each hour, 
 Time's sea ha? brought its waves of thought 
 
 To crumble thrones of powe*-; 
 And one by one chal! lr'u?gdoii'is VIC 
 
 Like leaves before ti^e blast. 
 
28 A Song of Republics. 
 
 As man with man combines to plan 
 Republics formed to last. 
 
 Columbia balked a tyrant king, 
 
 And built upon a rock, 
 In Freedom's name, a shrine whose fame 
 
 Outlived the century's shock. 
 Now France within our port has set 
 . Her symbol of re-birth. 
 Her lifted hand tells sea and land, 
 
 Republics light the earth. 
 
 One mighty church for all the world 
 
 Would make men far more kind. 
 One government would bring content 
 
 To many a restless mind. 
 Sail on, fair ship of Freedom, sail 
 
 The wide sea's breadth and length. 
 'Till worlds unite to make the might 
 
 Of "One Republic's" strength. 
 
WORTH WHILE. 
 
 It is easy enough to be pleasant, 
 
 When life flows by like a song, 
 But the man worth while is one who will smile, 
 
 When everything goes dead wrong. 
 For the test of the heart is trouble. 
 
 And it always comes with the years, 
 And the smile that is worth the praises of earth, 
 
 Is the smile that shines through tears. 
 
 It is easy enough to be prudent, 
 
 When nothing tempts you to stray, 
 When without or within no voice of sin 
 
 Is luring your soul away ; 
 But it's only a negative virtue 
 
 Until it is tried by fire, 
 And the life that is worth the honor on earth, 
 
 Is the one that resists desire. 
 
 3 
 
30 Worth While, 
 
 By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, 
 
 Who had no strength for the strife, 
 The world's highway is cumbered to-day, 
 
 They make up the sum of life. 
 But the virtue that conquers passion. 
 
 And the sorrow that hides in a smile. 
 It is these that are worth the homage on earth. 
 
 For we find them but once in a while. 
 
COLEUR DE ROSE. 
 
 I WANT more lives in which to love 
 
 This world so full of beauty, 
 I want more days to use the ways 
 
 I know of doing duty; 
 I ask no greater joy than this 
 
 (So much I am life's lover,) 
 When I reach age to turn the page 
 
 And read the story over, 
 
 (Oh love stay near ! ) 
 
 Oh rapturous promise of the Spring! 
 
 Oh June fulfilling after! 
 If Autumns sigh, when Summers die, 
 
 'Tis drowned in Winter's laughter. 
 Oh maiden dawns, oh wifely noons, 
 
 Oh siren sweet, sweet nights, 
 
32 Coleiir de Rose, 
 
 Td want no heaven could earth be given 
 Again with its deh'ghts, 
 (If love stayed near ! ) 
 
 There are such glories for the eye, 
 
 Such pleasures for the ear, 
 The senses reel with all they feel 
 
 And see and taste and hear; 
 There are such ways of doing good, 
 
 Such ways of being kind, 
 And bread that's cast on waters fast 
 
 Comes home again, I find. 
 
 (Oh love stay near.) 
 
 There are such royal souls to know. 
 
 There is so much to learn. 
 While secrets rest in Nature's breast 
 
 And unnamed stars still burn. 
 God toiled six days to make this earth, 
 
 I think the good folks say — 
 Six lives we need to give full meed 
 
Coleiir de Rose, 33 
 
 Of praise — one for each day, 
 (If love stay near.) 
 
 But oh ! if love fled far away, 
 
 Or veiled his face from me, 
 One life too much, why then were such 
 
 A life as this would be. 
 With sullen May and blighted June 
 
 Blurred dawn and haggard night. 
 This dear old world in space were hurled 
 
 If love lent not his light. 
 
 (Oh love stay near.) 
 
MEMORIAL DAY— 1892. 
 
 The quiet graves of our country's braves 
 Through thirty Junes and Decembers 
 
 Have solemnly lain under sun and rain, 
 And yet the Nation remembers. 
 
 The marching of feet and the flags on the street 
 
 Told once again this morning, 
 In the voice of the drum how the day had come 
 
 For those lowly beds' adorning. 
 
 Then swiftly back on Time's worn track 
 His three decades seemed driven, 
 
 And with startled eyes, I saw arise 
 From graves by fancy riven, 
 
 The Gray and the Blue in a grand review. 
 Oh, vast were the hosts they numbered : 
 
Memorial Day — i8g2. 35 
 
 As they wheeled and swayed in a dress parade 
 O'er the graves where they long had slumbered. 
 
 The colors were not, as when they fought, 
 
 Ranked one against the other, 
 But a mingled hue of gray and blue, 
 
 As brother marching with brother. 
 
 And a blue flower lay on each coat of gray 
 
 Like forget-me-nots on a boulder, 
 And the gray moss lace in its Southern grace 
 
 Was knotted on each blue shoulder. 
 
 The vision fled, but I think our dead. 
 If they could come back with the living, 
 
 Would clasp warm hands o'er hostile lands, 
 Forgetting old wrongs and forgiving. 
 
 *Mong the blossoms of Spring that you gather 
 and bring 
 To graves that tho' lowly are royal, 
 
36 Memorial Day — 18^2, 
 
 Let the blue flower prevail, though modest and 
 pale, 
 Since it speaks of the hue that was loyal. 
 
 But tie each bouquet with a ribbon of gray 
 
 And lay it on memory's altar, 
 For the dead who fought for the cause they 
 thought 
 
 Was right, and who did not falter. 
 
LIFE'S TRACK. 
 
 This game of life is a dangerous play, 
 Each human soul must watch alway, 
 
 From the first to the very last. 
 I care not however strong and pure — 
 Let no man say he is perfectly sure 
 
 The dangerous reefs are past. 
 
 For many a rock ma}^ lurk near by, 
 
 That never is seen when the tide is high — 
 
 Let no man dare to boast. 
 When the hand is full of trumps—beware, 
 For that is the time when thought and care 
 
 And nerve are needed most. 
 
 As the oldest jockey knows to his cost, 
 Full many a well-run race is lost 
 
38 Life's Track. 
 
 A brief half length from the wire. 
 
 And many a soul that has fought with sin, 
 
 And gained each battle, at last gives in 
 
 To sudden, fierce desire. 
 
 And vain seems the effort of spur and whip, 
 Or the hoarse, hot cry of the pallid lip, 
 
 When once we have fallen back. 
 It is better to keep on stirrup and rein, 
 The steady poise and the careful strain 
 
 In speeding along Life's track. 
 
 A watchful eye and a strong, true hand 
 Will carry us under the Judge's stand, 
 
 If prayer, too, does its part. 
 And little by little the struggling soul 
 Will grow and strengthen and gain control 
 
 Over the passionate heart. 
 
WHEN BABY SOULS SAIL OUT. 
 
 When from our mortal vision 
 
 Grown men and women go, 
 To sail strange fields Elysian 
 
 And know what spirits know, 
 I think of them as tourists, 
 
 In some sun-gilded clime, 
 'Mong happy sights and dear delights 
 
 We all shall find, in time. 
 
 But when a child goes yonder 
 And leaves its mother here, 
 Its little feet must wander. 
 
 It seems to me, in fear. 
 What paths of Eden beauty 
 
 What scenes of peace and rest 
 Can bring content to one who went 
 
 Forth from a mother's breast. 
 
40 Whejt Baby Souls Sail Out, 
 
 In palace gardens, lonely, 
 
 A little child will roam, 
 And weep for pleasures only 
 
 Found in its hunrrble home^ — 
 It is not won by splendor, 
 
 Nor bought by costly toys, 
 To hide from harm on mother's arm 
 
 Makes all its sum of joys. 
 
 It must be when the baby 
 
 Goes journeying off alone. 
 Some angel (Mary may be), 
 
 Adopts it for her own. 
 Yet when a child is taken 
 
 Whose mother stays below 
 With weeping eyes, through ParadisCy 
 
 I seem to see it go. 
 
 With troops of angels trying 
 
 To drive away its fear, 
 I seem to hear it crying 
 
When Baby Souls Sail Out. 41 
 
 " I want my mamma here." 
 I do not court the fancy, 
 
 It is not based on doubt, 
 It is a thought that comes unsoucrht 
 
 When baby souls sail out. 
 
AN ODE TO TIME. 
 
 Ho ! sportsman lime, whose chargers fleet 
 The moments, madly driven, 
 Beat in the dust beneath their feet 
 Sweet hopes that years have given ; 
 Turn, turn aside those reckless steeds, 
 Oh ! do not urge them my way ; 
 There's nothing that Time wants or needs 
 In this contented by-way. 
 
 You have down-trodden, in your race, 
 So much that proves your power. 
 Why not avoid my humble place, 
 Why rob me of my dower? 
 With your vast cellars, cavern deep, 
 Packed tier on tier with treasures. 
 You would not miss them should I keep 
 My little store of pleasures. 
 
Ail Ode to Time. 43 
 
 As one who frightened, flying flings 
 
 Her riches down at random, 
 
 Your course is paved with precious things 
 
 Life casts before your tandem : 
 
 The warrior's fame, the conqueror's crown. 
 
 Great creeds for ages cherished. 
 
 Beneath your chariot-wheels were thrown 
 
 And crushed to earth they perished. 
 
 Although to just and generous deeds 
 
 Your heart is not a stranger, 
 
 1 have the feeling that one needs 
 
 To guard his wealth from danger. 
 
 And though a most heroic light 
 
 Oft on your pathway lingers, 
 
 I'd hide my treasures, if I might, - 
 
 From contact with your fingers. 
 
 You are the loyal friend of Truth, 
 Go seek her, make her stronger. 
 And leave the remnant of my youth 
 
f4» 
 
 44 A7t Ode to Time, 
 
 To me a little longer. 
 
 There's work enough for you before 
 
 Eternity shall wed you : 
 
 Why stoop to steal my simple store, 
 
 Why make me shun and dread you? 
 
 * 
 
 You do not need my joys, I say, 
 Home, love, and friends united — 
 I beg you turn and go the way 
 Where wrong waits to be righted ; 
 Or pause, and let us chat a while : 
 I'll listen (not too near you) 
 For Oh ! no matter how you smile, 
 I fear you. Time, I fear you ! 
 
A MARRIED COQUETTE. 
 
 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, 
 
 Nor toys to be used as your mood may be. 
 / zvill not let go of your hands, nor leave you 
 
 Until I have spoken. No man, you say 
 Dared ever so treat you before? I believe you 
 
 For you have dealt only with boys till to- 
 day. 
 
 You women lay stress on your fine perception, 
 
 Your intuitions are prated about ; 
 You claim an occult sort of conception 
 
 Of matters which men must reason out. 
 
 4 
 
46 A Married Coquette. 
 
 So then, of course, when you asked me kindly 
 To " call again soon " you read my heart ; 
 
 I cannot believe you were acting blindly. 
 You saw my passion for you from the start. 
 
 You are one of these women who charm with- 
 oirt trying; 
 
 The clay you are made of is magnet ore, 
 And I am the steel ; yet, there's no denying 
 
 You led me to loving you more and more. 
 You are fanning a flame that may burn too 
 brightly. 
 
 Oft easily kindled, but hard to put out; 
 I am not a man to be played with lightly, 
 
 To come at a gesture and go at a pout. 
 
 A brute you call me, a creature inhuman ; 
 
 You say I insult you, and bid me go. 
 k.nd you ? Oh you are a saintly woman, 
 
 With thoughts as pure as the drifted snow. 
 **ah ! you are but one of a thousand beauties 
 
A Married Coquette. 47 
 
 Who think they are living exemplary lives. 
 They break no commandments, and do all their 
 
 duties 
 As Christian women and spotless wives. 
 
 But with drooping of lids, and lifting of faces, 
 And baring of shoulders, and well-timed sighs, 
 
 And the devil knows what other subtle graces, 
 You are mental wantons, who sin with the 
 
 eyes. 
 You lure Love to wake, yet bid passion keep 
 
 under. 
 
 You tempt us to fall but bid reason control; 
 And then you are full of an outraged wonder, 
 When we get to wanting you, body and soul. 
 
 Why, look at yourself! You were no stranger 
 To the fact that my heart was already on fire. 
 
 When you asked me to call you knew my danger. 
 Yet here you are, dressed in the gown I ad- 
 mire ; 
 
48 A Married Coquette, 
 
 And half of the evil on earth is invented 
 By vain, pretty women with nothing to do 
 
 But to keep themselves manicured, powdered, 
 and scented 
 And seek for sensations, amusing and new. 
 
 But when / play at Love at a woman's com- 
 manding, 
 I always am certain to win one game ; 
 So there — there — there! I will leave my brand- 
 ing 
 On the lips that are free now to cry " Shame, 
 shame ! " 
 You hate me? Quite likely! It does not sur- 
 prise me. 
 Brute force ? I confess it ; but still you were 
 kissed ; 
 And one thing is certain — you cannot despise 
 me 
 For having been played with, controlled, and 
 dismissedo 
 
A Married Coquette. 49 
 
 And the next time you see that a man is at- 
 tracted 
 By the beauty and graces that are not for 
 him, 
 Don't lead him on to be half distracted — 
 Keep out of deep waters although you can 
 swim. 
 For when he is caught in the whirlpool of pas- 
 sion, 
 Where many bold swimmers are seen to 
 drown, 
 A man will reach out and, in desperate fashion, 
 Will drag whoever is nearest him down. 
 
 Though the strings of his heart may be 
 wrenched and riven 
 
 By a maiden coquette who has led him along, 
 She can be pardoned, excused, and forgiven, 
 
 For Innocence blindfolded walks into wrong. 
 But she who has willingly taken the fetter 
 
 That Hymen forges at Cupid's command — 
 
50 A Married Coquette. 
 
 Well, she is a woman who ought to know bet- 
 ter; 
 She needs no mercy at any man's hand. 
 
 In the game of hearts, though a woman be win- 
 ner, 
 The odds are ever against her, you know; 
 The world is ready to call her a sinner, 
 
 And man is ready to make her so. 
 Shame is likely, and sorrow is certain, 
 
 And the man has the best of it, end as it 
 may. 
 So now, my lady, we'll drop the curtain, 
 
 And put out the lights. We are through with 
 our play. 
 
NEW YEi\R. 
 
 NE^v Year, 1 look straight in your eyes, 
 Our ways and our interests blend, 
 You may be a foe in disguise 
 But I shall believe you a friend. 
 We get what we give in our measure, 
 We cannot give pain and get pleasure, 
 I give you good will and good cheer 
 And you must return it. New Year. 
 
 We get what we give in this life, 
 Though often the giver indeed 
 Waits long upon doubting and strife 
 Ere proving the truth of my Creed. 
 But somewhere, someway, and forever 
 Reward is the meed of endeavor— 
 And if I am really worth while. 
 New Year, you will give me your smile. 
 
5 2 New Year. 
 
 You hide in your mystical hand 
 No " luck " that I cannot control, 
 If I trust my own courage and stand 
 On the Infinite strength of my soul. 
 Man holds in his brain and his spirit 
 A power that is God-like, or near it, 
 And he who has measured his force 
 Can govern events and their course. 
 
 Vou come with a crown on your brow, 
 
 New Year, without blemish or spot. 
 
 Yet you, and not I, sir, must bow. 
 
 For time is the servant of thought. 
 
 Whatever you bring me of trouble 
 
 Shall turn into good and then double. 
 
 If my spirit looks up without fear 
 
 To the Source that you came from. New Year. 
 
DOUBLE CARNATIONS. 
 
 A WILD pink nestled in a garden bed, 
 A rich Carnation flourished high above her, 
 One day he chanced to see her pretty head 
 And leaned and looked again, and grew to love 
 her. 
 
 The moss (her humble mother), saw with fear 
 The ardent glances of the princely stranger ; 
 With many an anxious thought and dewy tear 
 She sought to hide her darling from this danger. 
 
 The gardener-guardian of this noble bud 
 A cruel trellis interposed between them. 
 No common Pink should mate with royal blood, 
 He said, and sought in every way to wean them. 
 
 The poor Pink pined and faded day by day; 
 Her restless lover from his prison bower 
 
54 Double Carnations, 
 
 Called in a priestly bee who passed that way, 
 And sent a message to the sorrowing flower. 
 
 The fainting Pink wept as the bee drew near, 
 Droning his prayers, and begged him to confess 
 
 her. 
 Her weary mother, over-taxed by fear. 
 Slept, while the priest leaned low to shrive and 
 
 bless her. 
 
 But Lo I ere long the tale went creeping out, 
 The rich Carnation and the Pink were married I 
 The cunning bee had brought the thing about 
 While Mamma Moss in Slumber's arms had tar- 
 ried. 
 
 And proud descendants of that loving pair, 
 The offspring of that true and ardent passion, 
 Are famous for their beauty everywhere. 
 And leaders in the floral world of fashion. 
 
SWIMMING SONG. 
 
 I AM coming, coming to thee, 
 My strong-armed lover, the Sea ! 
 On thy great, broad, breast, I will lie and rest, 
 And thou shalt talk to me. 
 
 I have come to thee, all unsought, 
 I have stolen an hour from thought ! 
 And peace and power, thou canst give in that 
 hour. 
 Which thy rival Earth gives not. 
 
 Alone here, under the sky, 
 And the w^hole world drifting by ! 
 Thy breast of brine thrills close to mine, 
 While the cloudless sun sails high. 
 
 I fly, but thou givest chase — 
 Thy kisses are on my face! 
 
56 Swimming Song, 
 
 Be bold and free as thou wilt, oh Sea, 
 There is life in thy close embrace. 
 
 Throat and cheek and tress 
 Are damp where thy salt lips press ! 
 There is strength and bliss in thy daring kiss, 
 And joy in thy bold caress. 
 
 And what is the Earth to me? 
 I have left it all, oh Sea ! 
 With its dust and soil, and strife and toll, 
 For one glad hour with thee. 
 
REGRET AND REMORSE. 
 
 Regret with streaming eyes doth seem alvvay 
 A maiden widowed on her wedding day. 
 
 While dark Remorse with eyes too sad for 
 
 tears 
 A crushed, desponding Magdalene appears. 
 
 One with a hungering heart unsatisfied 
 Mourns for imagined joys that were denied. 
 
 The other pierced by recollected sin, 
 Broods o'er the scars of pleasures that have 
 been. 
 
EASTER MORN. 
 
 A Truth that has long lain buried 
 
 At Superstition's door, 
 I see, in the dawn uprising, 
 
 In all its strength once more. 
 
 Hidden away in the darkness, 
 By Ignorance crucified, 
 
 Crushed under stones of dogmas- 
 Yet lo ! it has not diedo 
 
 It stands in the light transfigured. 
 It speaks from the heights above, 
 ^^ Each soul is its own 7'cdceincr 
 There is no lazv but Love^ 
 
Easter Morn, 59 
 
 And the spirits of men are gladdened 
 As they welcome this Truth re-born. 
 
 With its feet on the grave of Error 
 And its eyes to the Easter Morn. 
 
BLIND. 
 
 Whatever a man may think or feel 
 
 He can tell to the world and it hears aright : 
 But it bids the woman conceal, conceal, 
 
 And woe to the thoughts that at last ignite. 
 She may serve up gossip or dwell on fashion, 
 
 Or play the critic with speech unkind, 
 But alas for the woman who speaks with passion, 
 
 For the world is blind — for the world is blind. 
 
 It is woman who sits with her starved desire, 
 And drinks to sorrow in cups of tears : 
 
 She reads by the light of her soul on fire 
 The secrets of love through lonely years: 
 
 But out of all she has felt or heard 
 
 Or read by the glow of her soul's white flame, 
 
Blind. 6 1 
 
 If she dare but utter aloud one word — 
 
 How the world cries shame — how the world 
 cries shame. 
 
 It cannot distinguish between the glow 
 
 Of a gleaming star, in the sky of gold, 
 Or a spent cigar in the dust below — 
 
 *TY/ixt unclad Eve, or a wanton bold; 
 And ever if woman speaks what she feels 
 
 (And feels consistent with God's great plan), 
 It has cast her under its juggernaut wheels, 
 
 Since the world began — since the world began. 
 
TWO WOMEN. 
 
 I KNOW two women, and one is chaste 
 And cold as the snows on a winter waste. 
 Stainless ever in act and thought 
 (As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not.) 
 But she has malice toward her kind, 
 A cruel tongue and a jealous mind. 
 Void of pity and full of greed, 
 She judges the world by her narrow creed: 
 A brewer of quarrels, a breeder of hate, 
 ■* Yet sliQ holds the key to " Society's " Gate. 
 
 The other woman, with heart of flame, 
 Went mad for a love that marred her name : 
 And out of the grave of her murdered faith 
 She rose like a soul that has passed through 
 death. 
 
Two Women, 63 
 
 Her aims are noble, her pity so broad, 
 It covers the world like the mercy of God. 
 A soother of discord, a healer of woes, 
 Peace follows her footsteps wherever she goes. 
 The worthier life of the two. no (^Qiibt, 
 And yet " Society " locks her out. 
 
AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE 
 
 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, 
 
 And look for the virtue behind them ; 
 For the cloudiest night has a hint of light 
 
 Somewhere in its shadows hiding : 
 It's better by far to hunt for a star, 
 
 Than the spots on the sun abiding. 
 
 The current of life runs ever away 
 To the bosom of God's great ocean. 
 
 Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course. 
 And think to alter its motion. 
 
 Don't waste a curse on the universe, 
 Remember, it lived before you : 
 
As You Go Through Life, 65 
 
 Don't butt at the storm with your puny form, 
 But bend and let it go o'er you. 
 
 The world will never adjust itself 
 
 To suit your whims to the letter, 
 Some things must go wrong, your whole life long, 
 
 And the sooner you know it the better. 
 It is folly to fight with the Infinite, 
 
 And go under at last in the wrestle. 
 The wiser man shapes into God's plan, 
 . As water shapes into a vessel. 
 
THE YELLOW-COVERED ALMANAC. 
 
 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 
 How I would find the town folks ways so 
 difficult to meet ; 
 They said I'd have no comfort in the rustling, 
 fixed up throng, 
 And I'd have to wear stiff collars, every week- 
 day, right along. 
 
 I find I take to city ways just like a duck to 
 water ; 
 I like the racket and the noise and never tire 
 of shows : 
 
The Yellow-Covered Almanac. 67 
 
 And there's no end of comfort in the mansion 
 of my daughter, 
 And everything is right at hand and money 
 freely flows; 
 And hired help is all about, just listenin' to my 
 
 call- 
 But I miss the yellow almanac off my old 
 
 kitchen wall. 
 
 The house is full of calendars from attic to the 
 cellar, 
 They're painted in all colors and are fancy 
 
 like to see, 
 But in this one particular I'm not a modern 
 feller. 
 And the yellow-covered almanac is good 
 
 enough for me. 
 Tm used to it, I've seen it round from boyhood 
 to old age, 
 And I rather like the jokin' at the bottom of 
 the page. 
 
6S The Yellow-Covered Almanac, 
 
 I like the way its " S " stoo'd out to show the 
 week's beginnin' : 
 (In these new - fangled calendars the days 
 seem sort of mixed), 
 And the man upon the cover, tho' he wasn't 
 exactly winnin', 
 With lungs and liver all exposed still showed 
 how we are fixed ; 
 And the letters and credentials that was writ 
 to Mr. Ayer 
 Fvc often on a rainy day found readin' pretty 
 fair. 
 
 I tried to buy one recently, there wa'n't none 
 in the city! 
 They toted out great calendars, in every shape 
 and style. 
 I looked at 'em in cold disdain, and answered 
 'em in pity — 
 Td rather have my almanac than all that 
 costly pile; 
 
The Yellow-Covered Almanac. 69 
 
 And tho' I take to city life, I'm lonesome after 
 all 
 For that old yellow almanac upon my kitchen 
 wall. 
 
SUCCESS. 
 
 As we gaze up life's slope, as we gaze 
 In the morn, ere the dewdrops are dry, 
 
 What splendor hangs over the ways, 
 What glory gleams there in the sky ; 
 What pleasures seem waiting us, high 
 
 On the peak of that beauteous slope, 
 
 What rainbow-hued colors of hope 
 
 As we gaze. 
 
 As we climb up the hill, as we climb, 
 Our hearts, our illusions, are rent : 
 
 For Fate, who is spouse of old Time, 
 Is jealous of youth and content. 
 With brows that arc brooding and bent, 
 
 She shadows our sunlight of gold, 
 
 And the way grows lonely and cold 
 
 As we climb. 
 
Success. 7^ 
 
 As we toil on, through trouble and pain. 
 There are hands that will shelter and feed: 
 
 But once let us dare to anain — 
 
 They will bruise our bare hearts till they bleed 
 'Tis the worst of all crimes to succeed, 
 
 Know this as ye feast on a crust, 
 
 Know this in the darkness and dust. 
 
 Ye who climb. 
 
 As we stand on the heights of success, 
 Lo ! success seems as sad as defeat ! 
 
 Through the lives we may succor and bless 
 Alone may its bitter turn sweet ; 
 And the world lying there at our feet, 
 
 With its cavilling praise and its sneer. 
 
 We must pity, condone, but not hear. 
 
 Where we stand. 
 
 As we live on those heights, we must live 
 
 With the courage and pride of a god ; 
 For the world, it has nothing to give 
 
72 Success, 
 
 But the scourge of the lash and the rod. 
 
 Our thoughts must be noble and broad, 
 Our purpose must challenge men's gaze, 
 While we seek not their blame or their praise 
 
 As we live. 
 
IT ALL WILL COME OUT RIGHT. 
 
 Whatever is a cruel wrong, 
 
 Whatever is unjust, 
 The honest years that speed along 
 
 Will trample in the dust. 
 In restless youth I railed at fate 
 
 With all my puny might, 
 But now I know if I but wait 
 
 It all will come out right. 
 
 Though Vice may don the judge's gown 
 
 And play the censor's part, 
 And Fact be cowed by Falsehood's frown 
 
 And Nature ruled by art ; 
 Though Labor toils through blinding tears 
 
 And idle Wealth is might, 
 I know the honest, earnest years 
 
 Will bring it all out right. 
 
74 It All Will Come Out Right, 
 
 Though poor and loveless creeds may pass 
 
 For pure religion's gold ; 
 Though ignorance may rule the mass 
 
 While truth meets glances cold, 
 I know a law complete, sublime, 
 
 Controls us with its might, 
 And in God's own appointed time 
 
 It all will come out right. 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE HEARSE. 
 
 Somebody's baby was buried to-day — 
 
 The empty white hearse from the grave rum- 
 bled back, 
 And the morning somehow seemed less smiling 
 
 and gay 
 As I paused on the walk while it crossed on 
 its way, 
 And a shadow seemed drawn o'er the sun's 
 golden track. 
 
 Somebody's baby was laid out to rest, 
 
 White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold, 
 And the soft little hands were crossed over the 
 
 breast. 
 And those hands and the lips and the eyelids 
 were pressed 
 With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold. 
 
76 The Little White Hearse, 
 
 Somebody saw it go out of her sight, 
 
 Under the coffin lid — out through the door; 
 Somebody finds only darkness and blight 
 All through the glory of summer-sun light; 
 Somebody's baby will waken no more. 
 
 Somebody's sorrow is making me weep : 
 
 I know not her name, but I echo her cry, 
 For the dearly bought baby she longed so to 
 
 keep, 
 The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep 
 In the little white hearse that went rumbling 
 by. 
 
 I know not her name, but her sorrow I know ; 
 While I paused on the crossing I lived it 
 once more, 
 And back to my heart surged that river of woe 
 That but in the breast of a mother can flow ; 
 For the little white hearse has been, too, at 
 my door. 
 
REALIZATION. 
 
 (At the Old Homestead.) 
 
 I TREAD the paths of earlier times 
 Where all my steps were set to rhymes. 
 
 I gaze on scenes I used to see 
 When dreaming of a vague To be. 
 
 I walk in ways made bright of old 
 
 By hopes youth-limned in hues of gold. 
 
 But lo! those hopes of future bliss 
 Seem dull beside the joy that is. 
 
 My noonday skies are far more bright 
 Than those dreamed of in morning's light, 
 
 And life gives me more joys to hold 
 Than all it promised me of old. 
 
 6 
 
THE LADY AND THE DAME. 
 
 So, thou hast the art, good dame, thou swear- 
 est, 
 
 To keep Time's perishing touch at bay 
 From the roseate splendor of the cheek so ten- 
 der, 
 
 And the silver threads from the gold away. 
 And the tell-tale years that have hurried by us 
 
 Shall tip-toe back, and, with kind gocd-will. 
 They shall take the traces from off our faces. 
 
 If we will trust to thy magic skill. 
 
 Thou speakest fairly ; but if I listen 
 And buy thy secret, and prove its truth, 
 
 tiast thou the potion and magic lotion 
 To give me also the heart of youth ? 
 
 With the cheek of rose and the eye of beauty, 
 
The Lady and the Dame, 79 
 
 And the lustrous locks of life's lost prime, 
 Wilt thou bring thronging, each hope and long- 
 ing 
 That made the glory of that dead Time ? 
 
 When the sap in the trees sets young buds 
 bursting, 
 And the song of the birds fills the air like 
 spray, 
 Will rivers of feeling come once more stealing 
 
 From the beautiful hills of the far-away ? 
 Wilt thou demolish the tower of reason 
 And fling forever down into the dust, 
 The caution time brought me, the lessons life 
 taught me. 
 And put in their places my old sweet trust ? 
 
 If Time's foot-print from my brow is driven, 
 Canst thou, too, take with thy subtle powers, 
 
 The burden of thinking, and let me go drinking, 
 The careless pleasures of youth's bright hours ? 
 
So The Lady and the Dame, 
 
 If silver threads from my tresses vanish, 
 
 If a glow once more in my pale cheek 
 gleams, 
 
 Wilt thou slay duty and give back the beauty 
 Of days untroubled by aught but dreams ? 
 
 When the soft fair arms of the siren Summer 
 
 Encircle the earth in their languorous fold, 
 Will vast, deep oceans of sweet emotions 
 
 Surge through my veins as they surged of 
 old? 
 Canst thou bring back from a day long-van- 
 ished 
 
 The leaping pulse and the boundless aim ? 
 I will pay thee double, for all thy trouble, 
 
 If thou wilt restore all these, good dame. 
 
LOVE'S SUPREMACY. 
 
 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 
 Each outside purpose which my life has 
 
 known. 
 Stars cannot shine so near that vast orb's splen- 
 dor, 
 They are content to feed his flames of fire; 
 And so my heart is satisfied to render 
 
 Its strength, its all, to meet thy strong desire. 
 
 As in a forest when dead leaves are falling. 
 From all save some perennial green tree, 
 
 So one by one I find all pleasures palling 
 That are not linked with or enjoyed by thee. 
 
 And all the homage that the world may proffer, 
 
82 Love''s Supremacy. 
 
 I take as perfumed oils or Incense sweet, 
 And think of it as one thing more to offer 
 And sacrifice to Love, at thy dear feet. 
 
 I love myself because thou art my lover, 
 
 My name seems dear since uttered by thy 
 voice ; 
 Yet argus-eyed I watch and would discover 
 
 Each blemish in the object of thy choice. 
 I coldly sit in judgment on each error, 
 
 To my soul's gaze I hold each fault of me, 
 Until my pride is lost in abject terror. 
 
 Lest 1 become inadequate to thee. 
 
 Like some swift-rushing and sea-seeking river. 
 
 Which gathers force the farther on it goes. 
 So does the current of my love forever 
 
 Find added strength and beauty as it flows. 
 The more I give, the more remains for giving, 
 
 The more receive, the more remains to win. ^ 
 Ah ! only in eternities of living 
 
 Will life be long enough to love thee in. 
 
THE P^AN OF PEACE. 
 
 With ever some wrong to be righting, 
 
 With self ever seeking for place, 
 The world has been striving and fighting 
 
 Since man was evolved out of space. 
 Bold history into dark regions, 
 
 His torchlight has fearlessly cast, 
 He shows us tribes warring in legions, 
 
 In jungles of ages long passed. 
 
 Religion, forgetting her station, 
 
 Forgetting her birthright from God, 
 Set nation to warring with nation 
 
 And scattered dissension abroad. 
 Dear creeds have made men kill each other. 
 
 Fair faith has bred hate and despair. 
 And brother has battled with brother 
 
 Because of a difference in prayer. 
 
84 The Pcean of Peace. 
 
 But earth has grown wiser and kinder, 
 
 For man is evolving a soul ; 
 From wars of an age that was blinder, 
 
 We rise to a peace-girdled goal. 
 Where once men would murder in treason 
 
 And slaughter each other in hordes, 
 They now meet together and reason. 
 
 With thoughts for their weapons, not swords. 
 
 The brute in humanity dwindles, 
 
 And lessens as time speeds along, 
 And the spark of Divinity kindles 
 
 And blazes up brightly and strong. 
 The seer can behold in the distance 
 
 The race that shall people the world ; 
 Strong men of a godlike existence 
 
 Unarmed, and with war banners furled. 
 
 No longer the bloodthirsty savage 
 
 Man's vast spirit strength shall unfold ; 
 And tales of red warfare and ravage 
 
The Pcean of Peace. 85 
 
 Shall seem like ghost stories of old. 
 For the booming of guns and the rattle 
 
 Of carnage and conflict shall cease, 
 And the bugle call, leading to battle, 
 
 Shall change to a paean of peace. 
 
THE ETERNAL WILL. 
 
 There is no thing we cannot overcome. 
 Say not thy evil instinct is inherited, 
 Or that some trait inborn makes thy whole life 
 forlorn^ 
 And calls down punishment that is not mer- 
 ited. 
 
 Back of thy parents and grand-parents lies 
 The Great Eternal Will. That, too, is thine 
 
 Inheritance; strong, beautiful, divine, 
 Sure lever of success for one who tries. 
 
 Pry up thy faults with this great lever, Will. 
 
 However deeply bedded in propensity; 
 However firmly set, I tell thee firmer yet 
 
 Is that vast power that comes from Truth's 
 immensity. 
 
The Eterjial Will, 8/ 
 
 Thou art a part of that strange world, I say. > 
 Its forces lie within thee, stronger far 
 
 Than all thy mortal sins and frailties are. 
 Believe thyself divine, and watch, and pray. 
 
 There is no noble height thou canst not climb. 
 All triumphs may be thine in Time's futur- 
 ity. 
 If whatsoe'er thy fault, thou dost not faint or 
 halt. 
 But lean upon the staff of God's security. 
 
 Earth has no claim the soul can not contest. 
 
 Know thyself part of that Eternal Source, 
 And naught can stand before thy spirit's force. 
 
 The soul's divine inheritance is best. 
 
INSIGHT. 
 
 On the river of life, as I float along, 
 
 I see with the spirit's sight 
 That many a nauseous weed of wrong 
 
 Has root in a seed of right. 
 For evil is good that has gone astray, 
 
 And sorrow is only blindness, 
 And the world is always under the sway 
 
 Of a changeless law of kindness. 
 
 The commonest error a truth can make 
 
 Is shouting its sweet voice hoarse, 
 And sin is only the soul's mistake 
 
 In misdirecting its force. 
 And love, the fairest of all fair things 
 
 That ever to man descended, 
 Grows rank with nettles and poisonous things 
 
 Unless it is watched and tended. 
 
Insight. 89 
 
 There could not be anything better than this 
 
 Old world in the way it began, 
 And though some matters have gone amiss 
 
 From the great original plan ; 
 And however dark the skies may appear, 
 
 And however souls may blunder, 
 I tell you it all will work out clear, 
 
 For good lies over and under. 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 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 
 
 That which has puzzled all the human race. 
 Full many a sage has questioned where in space 
 
 Those counter worlds were ? where the mystic 
 strand 
 That separates them : I have found each land, 
 
 And Hell is vast, and Heaven a narrow space. 
 
 In the small compass of thy clasping arms 
 In reach and sight of thy dear lips and eyes 
 
 There, there for me the joy of heaven lies. 
 Outside, lo ! chaos, terrors' wild alarms 
 
 And all the desolation fierce and fell 
 
 Of void and aching nothingness, makes Hell. 
 
A WOMAN'S LOVE. 
 
 So vast the tide of Love within me surging, 
 It overflows like some stupendous sea, 
 The confines of the Present and To-be ; 
 
 And 'gainst the Past's high wall I feel it urg- 
 ing, 
 
 As it would cry "Thou too shalt yield tome!" 
 
 All other loves my supreme love embodies ; 
 I would be she on whose soft bosom nursed 
 Thy clinging infant lips to quench their 
 
 thirst ; 
 She who trod close to hidden worlds where God 
 
 is, 
 That she might have, and hold, and see thee 
 
 first. 
 
92 A Woman's Love. 
 
 I would be she who stirred the vague fond 
 fancies, 
 Of thy still childish heart ; who through bright 
 
 days 
 Went sporting with thee in the old-time plays, 
 And caught the sunlight of thy boyish glances 
 In half-forgotten and long-buried Mays. 
 
 Forth to the end, and back to the beginning, 
 My love would send its inundating tide. 
 Wherein all landmarks of thy past should 
 hide. 
 if thy life's lesson 7/iust be learned through 
 sinning. 
 My grieving virtue would become thy guide. 
 
 For I would share the burden of thy errors. 
 So when the sun of our brief life had set, 
 If thou didst walk in darkness and regret, 
 E'en in that shadowy world of nameless terrors, 
 My soul and thine should be companions yet. 
 
A Woman s Love. 93 
 
 And I would cross with thee those troubled 
 oceans 
 Of dark remorse whose waters are despair : 
 All things my jealous reckless love would 
 dare, 
 So that thou mightst not recollect emotions 
 In which it did not have a part and share. 
 
 There is no limit to my love's full measure, 
 Its spirit gold is shaped by earth's alloy; 
 I would be friend and mother, mate and toy, 
 I'd have thee look to me for every pleasure, 
 And in me find all memories of joy. 
 
 Yet though I love thee in such selfish fashion, 
 I would wait on thee, sitting at thy feet, 
 And serving thee, if thou didst deem it meet. 
 
 And couldst thou give me one fond hour of pas- 
 sion, 
 
 I'd take that hour and call my life complete. 
 
REFORM. 
 
 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 
 Of aliens and of lackeys. He who stands 
 And sees the mighty vehicle of State 
 
 Hauled through the mire to some ignoble 
 fate 
 And makes not such bold protest as he can, 
 
 Is no American. 
 
TO ANOTHER WOMAN'S BABY 
 
 I LIST your prattle, baby boy, 
 And hear your pattering feet 
 
 With feelings more of pain than joy 
 And thoughts of bitter-sweet. 
 
 While touching your soft hands in play 
 Such passionate longings rise 
 
 For my wee boy who strayed away 
 So soon to Paradise. 
 
 You win me with your infant art ; 
 
 But when our play is o'er, 
 The empty cradle in my heart 
 
 Seems lonelier than before. 
 
 Sweet baby boy you do not guess 
 How oft mine eyes are dim, 
 
 Or that my lingering caress 
 Is sometime;? meaut for him. 
 
DIAMONDS. 
 
 The tears of fallen women turned to ice 
 By man's cold pity for repentant vice. 
 
 RUBIES. 
 
 The crimson life-drops from a virgin heart 
 Pierced to the core by Cupid's fatal dart. 
 
SAPPHIRES. 
 
 Lost rays of light that wandered off alone 
 And down through space were hurled 
 
 From that great sapphire sun beyond our own 
 Pale, puny little world. 
 
 TURQUOISE. 
 
 A BABY went to heaven while It slept, 
 
 And waking missed its mother's arms and 
 wept. 
 
 Those angel tear-drops falling earthward through 
 God's azure skies, into the turquoise grew. 
 
MEMORY'S RIVER. 
 
 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, 
 That unexplained something by men called 
 perfume. 
 Though modest the flower, yet great is its 
 power 
 And pregnant with meaning each pistil and 
 leaf. 
 If only it hides there, if only abides there. 
 The fragrance suggestive of love, joy, and 
 grief. 
 
 Not always the air that a master composes 
 Can stir human heart-strings with pleasure or 
 pain. 
 
Memory s River, 99 
 
 Bur strange, subtle chords, like the scent of the 
 roses, 
 Breathe out of some measures, though simple 
 the strain. 
 And lo ! whdn you hear them, you love them 
 and fear them, 
 You tremble with anguish, you thrill with 
 delight. 
 For back of them slumber old dreams without 
 number. 
 And faces long vanished peer out into sight. 
 
 Those dear foolish days when the earth seemed 
 all beauty. 
 Before you had knowledge enough to be sad, 
 When youth held no higher ideal of duty 
 Than just to lilt on through the world and 
 be glad. 
 On harmony's river, they seemed to float hither 
 With all the sweet fancies that hung round 
 that time, 
 
lOO Memory s Rive¥» 
 
 Life's burdens and troubles turn into air- bub- 
 bles 
 And break on the music's swift current of 
 rhyme. 
 
 Fair Folly comes back with her spell while you 
 listen, 
 And points to the paths where she led you 
 of old. 
 You gaze on past sunsets, you see dead stars 
 glisten, 
 You bathe in life's glory, you swoon in 
 death's cold. 
 All pains and all pleasures surge up through 
 those measures, 
 Your heart is wrenched open with earth- 
 quakes of sound. 
 From ashes and embers rise Junes and De- 
 cembers, 
 Lost Islands in fathoms of feeling refound. 
 
Memory's River, lOl 
 
 Some airs are like outlets of memory's oceans, 
 
 They rise in the past and flow into the heart. 
 And down them float ship-wrecks of mighty 
 emotions, 
 All sea-soaked and storm-tossed and drifting 
 apart. 
 Their fair timbers battered, their lordly sails 
 tattered, 
 Their skeleton crew of dead days on their 
 decks — 
 Then a crash of chords blending, a crisis, an 
 ending. 
 The music is over, and vanished the wrecks. 
 
•*HAS BEEN." 
 
 That melancholy phrase " It might have 
 been," 
 However sad, doth in its heart enfold 
 A hidden germ of promise! for I hold 
 Whatever might have been shall be. 
 
 Though in 
 Some other realm and life, the soul must win 
 The goal that erst was possible. But cold 
 And cruel as the sound of frozen mold 
 Dropped on a cofifin, are the words " Has 
 been." 
 
 "She has been beautiful " — " he has been great," 
 " Rome has been powerful," we sigh and 
 say. 
 
^' Has Been:' 103 
 
 It is the pitying crust we toss decay, 
 The dirge we breathe o'er some degenerate 
 state 
 
 An epitaph for fame's iinburied dead. 
 God pity those who live to hear it said. 
 
A MINOR CHORD. 
 
 I HEARD a strain of music in the street — 
 A wandering waif of sound. And then 
 
 straightway 
 A nameless desolation filled the day. 
 The great green earth that had been fair and 
 
 sweet 
 Seemed but a tomb; the life I thought re- 
 plete 
 With joy, grew lonely for a vanished May. 
 Forgotten sorrows resurrected lay 
 Like bleaching skeletons about my feet. 
 Above me stretched the silent suffering sky 
 Dumb with vast anguish for departed suns 
 That brutal time to nothingness has hurled. 
 The daylight was as sad as smiles that lie 
 
 Upon the wistful unkissed mouths of nuns, 
 And I stood prisoned in an awful world. 
 
LAST LOVE. 
 
 The first flower of the spring is not so fair 
 Or bright, as one the ripe midsummer brings. 
 Tiie first faint note the forest warbler sings 
 Is not as rich with feeling, or so rare 
 As when, full master of his art, the air 
 Drowns in the liquid sea of song he flings 
 Like silver spray from beak, and breast, and 
 
 wings. 
 The artist's earliest effort wrought with care, 
 The bard's first ballad, written in his tears, 
 Set by his later toil seems poor and tame. 
 And into nothing dwindles at the test. 
 So with the passions of maturer years 
 Let those who will demand the first fond 
 
 flame, 
 Give me the heart's last love, for that is best. 
 
DEATH'S PROTEST. 
 
 Why dost thou shrink from my approach, oh 
 
 Man? 
 Why dost thou ever flee in fear, and cling 
 To my false rival life? I do but bring 
 Thee rest and calm. Then wherefore dost thou 
 
 ban 
 And curse me ? Since the forming of God's plan 
 I have not hurt or harmed a mortal thing, 
 I have bestowed sweet balm for every sting 
 And peace eternal for earth's stormy span. 
 The wild mad prayers for comfort sent in vain 
 To knock at the indifferent heart of Life 
 I, Death, have answered. Knowest thou not 'tis 
 
 he 
 My cruel rival who sends all thy pain 
 And wears the soul out in unending strife ? 
 Why dost thou hold to him, then, spurning me? 
 
DUTY'S PATH. 
 
 Out from the harbor of youth's bay 
 
 There leads the path of pleasure ; 
 With eager steps we walk that way 
 
 To brim joy's largest measure. 
 Bat when with morn's departing beam 
 
 Goes youth's last precious minute, 
 We sigh "'twas but a fevered dream — 
 
 There's nothing in it." 
 
 Then on our vision dawns afar 
 
 The goal of glory, gleaming 
 Like some great radiant solar star 
 
 And sets us longing, dreaming. 
 Forgetting all things left behind, 
 
 We strain each nerve to win it, 
 But when 'tis ours— alas ! we find 
 
 There's nothing in it. 
 
io8 Duty's Path, 
 
 We turn our sad, reluctant gaze 
 Upon the path of duty ; 
 Its barren, uninviting ways 
 
 Are void of bloom and beauty.. 
 Yet in that road, though dark and cold, 
 
 It seems as we begin it. 
 As we press on — lo ! we behold 
 There's Heaven in it. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
 My life's long radiant Summer halts at last 
 
 And lo! beside my pathway 1 behold 
 Pursuing Autumn glide: nor frost nor cold 
 
 Has heralded her presence ; but a vast 
 Sweet calm that comes not till the year has 
 passed 
 
 Its fevered solstice, and a tinge of gold 
 Subdues the vivid coloring of bold 
 
 And passion-hued emotions. I will cast 
 My August days behind me with my May, 
 
 Nor strive to drag them into Autumn's place, 
 Nor swear I hope when I do but remember. 
 
 Now violet and rose have had their day 
 I'll pluck the soberer asters with good grace 
 
 And call September nothing but September. 
 
MARCH. 
 
 Like some reformer, who with mien austere, 
 Neglected dress and loud insistent tones, 
 More rasping than the wrongs which she be- 
 moans, 
 Walks through the land and wearies all who 
 hear, 
 While yet we know the need of such reform ; 
 So comes unlovely March, with wind and 
 storm, 
 To break the spell of winter, and set free 
 The poisoned brooks and crocus beds op- 
 pressed. 
 Severe of face, gaunt-armed, and wildly dressed, 
 She is not fair nor beautiful to see. 
 But merry April and sweet smiling May 
 Come not till March has first prepared the 
 way. 
 
THE SUMMER GIRL. 
 
 She's the jauntiest of creatures, she's the dain- 
 tiest of misses, 
 With her pretty patent leathers or her aHiga- 
 tor ties, 
 With her eyes inviting glances and her lips in- 
 viting kisses 
 As she wanders by the ocean or strolls under 
 country skies. 
 
 She's a captivating dresser, and her parasols are 
 stunning. 
 Her fads will take your breath away, her hats 
 are dreams of style ; 
 She is not so very bookish, but with repartee 
 and punning 
 She can set the savants lauq-hino- and make 
 even dudelets smile. 
 
112 The Summer Girl. 
 
 She has no attacks of talent, she is not a stage- 
 struck maiden, 
 She is wholly free from hobbies, and she 
 dreams of no "career;" 
 She is mostly gay and happy, never sad or care 
 beladen, 
 Though she sometimes sighs a little if a gen- 
 tleman is near. 
 
 She's a sturdy little walker and she braves all 
 kinds of weather. 
 And when the rain or fog or mist drive rival 
 crimps a-wreck. 
 Her fluffy hair goes curling like a kinked-up 
 ostrich feather 
 Around her ears -and forehead and the white 
 nape of her neck. 
 
 She is like a fish in water, she can handle reins 
 and racket. 
 From head to toe and finger tips she's 
 thoroughly alive; 
 
The Summer Girl. 1 1 3 
 
 When she goes promenading in a most distract- 
 ing jacket 
 The rustle round her feet suggests how laun- 
 dresses may thrive. 
 
 She can dare the wind and sunshine in the 
 most bravado manner, 
 And after hours of sailing she has merely 
 cheeks of rose. 
 Old Sol himself seems smitten and at most will 
 only tan her, 
 Though to everybody else he gives a danger- 
 signal nose. 
 
 She's a trifle sentimental, and she's fond of ad- 
 miration, 
 And she sometimes flirts a little in the sea- 
 son's giddy whirl ; 
 But win her if you can, sir, she may prove your 
 life's salvation, 
 For an angel masquerading oft is she the sum- 
 mer girl. 
 
SUN SHADOWS. 
 
 There never was success so nobly gained, 
 Or victory so free from selfish dross 
 
 But in the winning some one had been pained 
 Or some one suffered loss. 
 
 There never was so nobly planned a fete 
 
 Or festal throng with hearts on pleasure bent 
 
 But some neglected one outside the gate 
 Wept tears of discontent. 
 
 There never was a bridal morning fair 
 
 With hope's blue skies and love's unclouded 
 sun 
 For two fond hearts, that did not bring de- 
 spair 
 To some sad other one. 
 
THOUGHTS. 
 
 Thoughts do not need the wings of words 
 
 To fly to any goal. 
 Like subtle lightnings, not like birds, 
 
 They speed from soul to soul. 
 
 Hide in your heart a bitter thought 
 
 Still it has power to blight. 
 Think Love, although you speak it not, 
 
 It gives the world more light. 
 
THE END OF THE SUMMER. 
 
 The birds laugh loud and long together 
 
 When Fashion's followers speed away 
 At the first cool breath of autumn weather. 
 
 Why, this is the time, cry the birds, to stayl 
 When the deep calm sea and the deep sky over 
 
 Both look their passion through sun-kissed 
 space. 
 As a blue-eyed maid and her blue-eyed lover 
 
 Might each gaze into the other's face. 
 
 Oh, this is the time when careful spying 
 Discovers the secrets Nature knows. 
 
 You find when the butterflies plan for flying 
 (Before the thrush or the blackbird goes). 
 
 You see some day by the water's edges, 
 A brilliant border of red and black; 
 
The End of the Summer. ii/ 
 
 And then off over the hills and hedges 
 It flutters away on the summer's track. 
 
 The shy little sumacs, in lonely places, 
 
 Bowed all summer with dust and heat, 
 Like clean-clad children with rain-washed faces. 
 
 Are dressed in scarlet from head to feet. 
 And never a flower had the boastful summer 
 
 In all the blossoms that decked her sod, 
 So royal hued as that later comer 
 
 The purple chum of the goldenrod. 
 
 Some chill gray dawn you note with grieving 
 
 That the King of Autumn is on his way. 
 You see with a sorrowful slow believing 
 
 How the wanton woods have gone astray. 
 They wear the stain of bold caresses. 
 
 Of riotous revels with old King Frost ; 
 They dazzle all eyes with their gorgeous dresses, 
 
 Nor care that their green young leaves are 
 lost. 
 
Ii8 The End of the Summer. 
 
 A wet wind blows from the East one morning, 
 
 The wood's gay garments looked draggled 
 out. 
 You hear a sound and your heart takes warn- 
 ing— 
 
 The birds are planning their winter route. 
 They wheel and settle and scold and wrangle, 
 
 Their tempers are ruffled, their voices loud ; 
 Then whirr — and away in a feathered tangle 
 
 To fade in the south like a passing cloud. 
 
 Envoi, 
 
 A songless wood stripped bare of glory — 
 A sodden moor that is black and brown; 
 
 The year has finished its last love-story — 
 Oh, let us away to the gay bright town. 
 
«HE THAT LOOKETH," 
 
 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, 
 Nor ever in my life have touched her hand 
 Or brushed her garments. But I chanced to 
 stand 
 Beside her in the throng ! A sweet swift 
 
 flame 
 Shot from her flesh to mine — and hers the 
 blame 
 Of willing looks that fed it ; aye, that fanned 
 The glow within me to a hungry fire. 
 There was an invitation in her eyes. 
 Had she met mine with coldness or surprise 
 
I20 ^^ He That Looketh^ 
 
 I had not plunged on headlong in the mire 
 Of amorous thought. The flame leaped high 
 and higher ; 
 Her breath and mine pulsated into sighs, 
 And soft glance melted into glance kiss-wise, 
 And in God's sight, both yielded to desire. 
 
WAIL OF AN OLD-TIMER. 
 
 Each new Invention doubles our worries ari 
 
 our troubles, 
 These scientific fellows are spoilin' of our land. 
 With motor, wire, an' cable, now'days we're 
 
 scarcely able 
 To walk or ride in peace o* mind, an' 'tis n't 
 
 safe to stand. 
 
 It fairly makes me crazy to see how tarnal lazy 
 The risin' generation grows — an' science is to 
 
 blame. 
 With telephones for talkin', an' messengers for 
 
 walkin'. 
 Our young men sit an' loaf, an' smoke, without 
 
 a blush o' shame. 
 
122 Wail of an Old-Timer, 
 
 An' then they wan't contented until some one 
 
 invented 
 A sort o' jerky tape-line clock, to help on 
 
 wasteful ways. 
 An' that infernal ticker spends money fur 'em 
 
 quicker 
 Than any neighborhood o' men in good old 
 
 bygone days. 
 
 The risin' generation is bent so on creation, 
 Folks haven't time to talk or sing or cry or 
 
 even laugh. 
 But if you take the notion to want some Suuch 
 
 emotion, 
 They've got it all on tap fur you, right in the 
 
 phonograph. 
 
 But now a crazy creature has introduced the 
 
 feature 
 Of artificial weather, 1 think we're nearly 
 
 through. 
 
IVatV of an Old-Timer, . 123 
 
 For when we once go strainin' to keep It dry 
 
 or rainin* 
 To suit the general pubh'c, 'twill bust the 
 
 world in two. 
 
CONCENTRATION. 
 
 The age is too diffusive. Time and Force 
 
 Are frittered out and bring no satisfaction. 
 
 The way seems lost to straight determined 
 action. 
 Like shooting stars that zig-zag from their 
 
 course 
 We wander from our orbit's pathway ! spoil 
 
 The role we're fitted for, to fail in twenty. 
 
 Bring empty measures that were shaped for 
 plenty, 
 At last as guerdon for a life of toil. 
 There's lack of greatness in this generation 
 
 Because no more man centres on one thought. 
 
 We know this truth and yet we heed it not, 
 The secret of success is Concentration. 
 
A WARNING. 
 
 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 
 Who fanned it into fury. It became 
 A mighty conflagration. Ah the cost! 
 House, home, and thoughtless child alike were 
 
 lost. 
 
 Lady beware. Fan not the harmless glow 
 
 Of admiration into ardent love. 
 
 Lean not with red curled smiling lips above 
 
 The flickering spark of sinless flame and blow^ 
 
 Lest in the sudden waking of desire 
 
 Thou, like the child, shalt perish in the fire. 
 
WAS, IS, AND YET-TO-BE. 
 
 Was, Is, and Yet-to-Be 
 
 Were chatting over a cup of tea. 
 
 In tarnished finery smelling of must, 
 
 Was talked of people long turned to dust; 
 
 Of titles and honors and high estate, 
 All forgotten or out of date; 
 
 Of wonderful feasts in the long ago, 
 
 Of pride that perished with nothing to show. 
 
 " I loathe the present " — said Was, with a 
 groan. 
 I live in pleasures that I Juive known." 
 
 
 The Yet-to-be, in a gown of gauze. 
 Looked over the head of musty Was, 
 
VVaSy Is, and Yet -To- Be, 12 J 
 
 And gazed far off into misty space 
 With a wrapt expression upon her face. 
 
 *' Such wonderful pleasures are coming to me, 
 Such glory, such honor,'' said Vet-to-be. 
 
 ** No one dreamed, in the vast Has Been 
 Of such successes as I shall win. 
 
 The past, the present, why what are they? 
 I live for the joy of a future day." 
 
 Then practical Is, in a fresh print dress, 
 Spoke up with a laugh, " I must confess 
 
 I find to-day so pleasant," she said 
 " I never look back, and seldom ahead. 
 
 What ever has been, is a finished sum. 
 What ever will be, why let it come. 
 
 To-day is mine. And so you see 
 I have the past and the yet-to-be; 
 
128 Was, Is, and Yet- To- Be, 
 
 For to-day is the future of yesterday, 
 And the past of to-morrow. T live while I 
 may, 
 
 And I think the secret of pleasure is this, 
 And this alone," said practical Is. 
 
MISTAKES- 
 
 God sent us here to make mistakes. 
 
 To strive, to fail, to re-begin. 
 
 To taste the tempting fruit of sin, 
 And find what bitter food it makes. 
 
 To miss the path, to go astray, 
 To wander blindly in the night. 
 But searching, praying for the light, 
 
 Until at last we find the way. 
 
 And looking back along the past 
 We know we needed all the strain 
 Of fear and doubt and strife and pain 
 
 To make us value peace, at last. 
 
 Who fails, finds later triumph sweet. 
 
 Who stumbles once, walks then with care. 
 
130 Mistakes. 
 
 And knows the place to cry "Beware** 
 To other unaccustomed feet. 
 
 Through strife the slumbering soul awakes. 
 We learn on error s troubled route 
 The truths we could not prize without 
 
 The sorrow of our sad mistakes. 
 
DUAL. 
 
 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 
 Twixt an angel of light and a beast that is 
 cruel : 
 An angel who whispers your spirit has wings, 
 And a beast who would chain you to temporal 
 things. 
 
 I listen with interest to all you have told, 
 And now let me give you my view of your 
 trouble ; 
 You are to be envied, not pitied ; I hold 
 
 That every strong nature is akvays made double. 
 The beast has his purpose, he need not be slain. 
 He should serve the good angel in harness and 
 chain. 
 
132 Dual, 
 
 The body that never knows carnal desires, 
 The heart that to passion is always a stran- 
 ger, 
 Is merely a furnace with unlighted fires; 
 
 It sends forth no warmth while it threatens 
 no danger. 
 But who wants to shiver in cold safety there? 
 Touch flame to the fuel I then watch it with 
 care. 
 
 Those wild, fierce emotions that trouble your 
 soul 
 Are sparks from the great source of passion 
 and power; 
 Throne reason above them, and give it control, 
 And turn into blessing this dangerous dower. 
 By lightnings unguided destruction is hurled, 
 But chained and directed they gladden the 
 world. 
 
THE RAPE OF THE MIST. 
 
 High o'er the clouds a sunbeam shone, 
 
 While far down under him, 
 With a subtle grace that was all her own, 
 
 The mist gleamed fair and dim. 
 
 He looked at her with his burning eyes, 
 And longed to fall at her feet ; 
 
 Of all sweet things there under the skies 
 He thought her the thing most sweet. 
 
 He had wooed oft, as a sunbeam may, 
 Wave and blossom and flower, 
 
 But never before had he felt the sway 
 Of a great love's mighty power. 
 
 Tall cloud mountains and vast-space seas, 
 Wind and tempest and fire, 
 
134 The Rape of the Mist, 
 
 What are obstacles such as these 
 
 To a heart that is filled with desire! 
 
 Boldly he trod over cloud and star, 
 
 Boldly he swam through space, 
 She caught the glow of his eyes afar 
 
 And veiled her delicate face. 
 
 The mist grew pale with a vague, strange fright, 
 
 As fond yet fierce he came, 
 He was so strong and he was so bright. 
 
 And his breath was a breath of flame. 
 
 Close to his heart she was clasped and kissed, 
 
 She swooned in love's alarms : 
 And dead la}^ the beautiful pale-faced mist 
 
 In the sunbeam's passionate arms. 
 
THE ALL-CREATIVE SPARK. 
 
 Pain can go guised as joy, dross pass for gold, 
 
 Vulgarity can masquerade as wit, 
 Or spite wear friendship's garments ; but I hold 
 
 That passionate feeling has no counterfeit. 
 Chief jewel from Jove's crown 'twas sent men, 
 
 lent 
 For inspiration and for sacrament. 
 
 Jove never could have made the Universe 
 
 Had he not glowed with passion's sacred fire ; 
 
 Though man oft turns the blessing to a curse, 
 And burns himself on his own funeral pyre, 
 
 Thoudi scarred the soul be where its light 
 burns bright, 
 
 Yet where it is not, neither is there might. 
 
136 The All- Creative Spark. 
 
 Yea, it was set in Jove's resplendent crown 
 When he created worlds ; that done, why, 
 hence, 
 
 He cast the priceless, awful jewel down 
 To be man's punishment and recompense. 
 
 And that is how he sees and hears our tears 
 
 Unmoved and calm from the eternal spheres. 
 
 But sometimes, since he parted with all passion, 
 In trifling mood, to pass the time away, 
 
 He has created in en in tliat same fashion. 
 And many women (jesting as gods may). 
 
 Who have no souls to be inspired or fired. 
 
 Mere sport of idle gods who have grown tired. 
 
 And these poor puppets, gazing in the dark 
 At their own shadows, think the world no 
 higher ; 
 
 And when they see the all-creative spark 
 
 In other souls, they straightway cry out, "Fire!'* 
 
 And shriek, and rave, till their dissent is spent, 
 
 While listening gods laugh loud in merriment. 
 
BE NOT CONTENT. 
 
 Be not content, contentment means Inaction, 
 The growing soul aches on its upward quest; 
 
 Satiety is twin to satisfaction — 
 
 All great achievements spring from life's un- 
 rest. 
 
 The tiny roots, deep in the dark mould hiding, 
 Would never bless the earth with leaf and 
 flower 
 
 Were not an inborn restlessness abiding 
 
 In seed and germ, to stir them with its power. 
 
 Were man contented with his lot forever. 
 
 He had not sought strange seas with sails un- 
 furled, 
 
 And the vast wonder of our shores had never 
 Dawned on the gaze of an admiring world. 
 
138 Be Not Content, 
 
 Prize what is yours, but be not quite contented. 
 
 There is a healthful restlessness of soul 
 By which a mighty purpose is augmented 
 
 In urging men to reach a higher goal. 
 
 So when the restless impulse rises, driving 
 Your calm content before it, do not grieve ; 
 
 It is the upward reaching of the spirit 
 Of the God in you to achieve, achieve. 
 
ACTION. 
 
 Forever stars are winging 
 
 Their swift and endless race ; 
 Forever suns are swinging 
 
 Their mighty globes througH space. 
 Since by his law required 
 To join God's spheres inspired, 
 The earth has never tired, 
 
 But whirled and whirled and whirled. 
 Forever streams are flowing, 
 Forever seeds are growing, 
 Alway is Nature showing 
 
 That Action rules the world. 
 
 And since by God requested 
 
 To be^ the glorious light 
 Has never paused or rested 
 
 But travelled day and night. 
 
I40 Action, 
 
 Yet pigmy man, unseeing 
 The purpose of his being, 
 Demands escape and freeing 
 
 From universal force. 
 But law is law forever, 
 And like a mighty lever 
 It thrusts him tow'rd endeavor, 
 
 And speeds him on his course. 
 
TWO ROSES. 
 
 A HUMBLE wild-rose, pink and slender, 
 
 Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet/ 
 
 Beside a Jacqueminot's royal splendor, 
 And both in my lady's boudoir lay. 
 
 Said the haughty bud, in a tone of scorning, 
 " I wonder why you are called a rose ? 
 
 Your leaves will fade in a single morning. 
 No blood of mine in your pale cheek glows. 
 
 " Your coarse green stalk shows dust of the 
 highway, 
 
 You have no depths of fragrant bloom ; 
 And what could you learn in a rustic byway 
 
 To fit you to lie in my lady's room ? 
 
 '* If called to adorn her warm white bosom, 
 What have you to offer for such a place, 
 
 10 
 
142 Two Roses, 
 
 Beside my fragrant and splendid blossom, 
 Ripe with color and rich with grace ? '* 
 
 Said the sweet wild-rose, " Despite your dower 
 Of finer breeding and deeper hue, 
 
 Despite your beauty, fair, high-bred flower. 
 It is I who should lie on her breast, not you. 
 
 " For small account is your hot-house glory 
 Beside the knowledge that came to me 
 
 When I heard by the wayside love's old story, 
 And felt the kiss of the amorous bee." 
 
SHRINES. 
 
 About a holy shrine or sacred place 
 
 Where many hearts have bowed in earnest 
 
 prayer, 
 
 The loveliest spirits congregate from space, 
 And bring their sweet uplifting influence there. 
 
 If in your chamber you pray oft and well, 
 Soon will these angel messengers arrive 
 
 And make their home with you, and where 
 they dwell 
 All worthy toil and purposes shall thrive. 
 
 I know a humble plainly furnished room. 
 
 So thronged with presences serene and bright, 
 
 The heaviest heart therein forgets its gloom 
 As in some gorgeous temple filled with light. 
 
144 Shrines, 
 
 Those heavenly spirits, beauteous and divine, 
 Live only in an atmosphere of prayer; 
 
 Make for yourself a sacred, fervent shrine, 
 And you will find them swiftly flocking there. 
 
SATIETY. 
 
 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 
 With all the power gone to appreciate. 
 
 Better to wait and yearn, and still to wait, 
 And die at last with unappeased desire, 
 
 Than live to be the jest of such a fate, 
 For that is my conception of hell-fire. 
 
THE WATCHER. 
 
 She gave her soul and body for a carriage, 
 And liveried lackey with a vacant grin, 
 
 And all the rest — house, lands — and called it 
 marriage — 
 The bargain made, a husband was thrown in. 
 
 And now, despite her luxury, she's faded, 
 
 Gone is the bloom that was so fresh and 
 bright ; 
 She has the dark-rimmed eye, the countenance 
 jaded, 
 Of one who watches with the sick at night. 
 
 Ah, heaven, she does ! her sick heart, sick and 
 dying. 
 Beyond the aid of human skill to save, 
 
The Watcher. 147 
 
 In that cold room her breast is hourly lyino", 
 And her grim thoughts crowd near to dig its 
 grave. 
 
 And yet it lingers, suffering and wailing, 
 As sick hearts will that feed upon despair. 
 
 And that lone watcher, unrelieved, is paling 
 With vigils that no pitying soul can share. 
 
 Ah, lady ! it is hardly what you thought it, 
 This life of luxury and social power ; 
 
 You gave yourself as principal and bought it, 
 But God extracts the interest hour by hour. 
 
A SOLAR ECLIPSE. 
 
 In that great journey of the stars through space 
 About the mighty, all-directing Sun, 
 The pallid, faithful Moon, has been the one 
 
 Companion of the Earth. Her tender face. 
 
 Pale with the swift, keen purpose of that race, 
 Which at Time's natal hour was first begun, 
 Shines ever on her lover as they run 
 
 And lights his orbit with her silvery smile. 
 
 Sometimes such passionate love doth in her rise, 
 Down from her beaten path she softly slips, 
 
 And with her mantle veils the Sun's bold eyes, 
 Then in the gloaming finds her lover's lips. 
 
 While far and near the men our world call wise 
 See only that the Sun is in eclipse. 
 
THE DEPTHS. 
 
 Not only sun-kissed heights are fair. Below 
 The cold, dark billows of the frowning deep 
 Do lovely blossoms of the ocean sleep, 
 
 Rocked gently by the waters to and fro. 
 
 The coral beds with magic colors glow. 
 
 And priceless pearl-encrusted mollusks heap 
 The glittering rocks where shining atoms leap 
 
 Like living broken rainbows. 
 
 Even so 
 We find the sea of sorrow. Black as night 
 The sullen surface meets our frightened gaze. 
 As down we sink to darkness and despair. 
 But at the depths ! such beauty, such delight ! 
 Such flowers as never grew in pleasure's ways. 
 Ah ! not alone are sun-kissed summits fair. 
 
A SUGGESTION. 
 
 To C. A. D. 
 
 Let the wild red-rose bloom. Though not to 
 thee 
 
 So delicately perfect as the white 
 
 And unwed lily drooping in the light, 
 Though she has known the kisses of the bee 
 
 And tells her amorous tale to passers-by 
 In perfumed whispers and with untaught grace, 
 Still let the red-rose bloom in her own place ; 
 
 She could not be. the lily should she try. 
 
 Why to the wondrous nightingale cry hush, 
 Or bid her cease her wild heart-breaking lay, 
 And tune her voice to imitate the way 
 
 The whip-poor-will makes music, or the thrush? 
 
A Suggestion, 151 
 
 All airs of sorrow to one theme belong 
 And passion is not copyrighted yet. 
 Each heart writes its own music. Why not let 
 
 The nightingale unchided sing her song ? 
 
LIFE'S OPERA. 
 
 Like an opera-house is the world I ween, 
 Where the passionate lover of music is seen 
 
 In the balcony near the roof : 
 While the very best seat in the first stage-box 
 Is filled by the person who laughs and talks 
 
 Through the harmony's warp and woof. 
 
LUCK. 
 
 Luck is the tuning of our inmost thought 
 To chord with God's great plan. That done, 
 
 ah, know, 
 Thy silent wishes to results shall grow, 
 And day by day shall miracles be wrought. 
 Once let thy being selflessly be brought 
 To chime with universal good, and lo ! 
 What music from the spheres shall through 
 thee flow! 
 What benefits shall come to thee unsought ! 
 Shut out the noise of trafific ! Rise above 
 The body's clamor ! With the soul's fine ear 
 Attune thyself to harmonies divine. 
 All, all are written in the key of Love ; 
 
 Keep to the score, and thou hast naught to 
 
 fear, 
 Achievements yet undreamed of shall be 
 thine. 
 
THE SALT SEA-WIND. 
 
 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 
 To the salt sea-wind as she dried her hair. 
 
 And the salt sea-wind was the first to caress 
 her, 
 To praise her beauty and call her sweet, 
 The first of the whole wide world to possess 
 her, 
 She, that creature of light and heat. 
 
 Though the sea is old with its sorrows and 
 angers, 
 And the world has forgotten why love was 
 born^ 
 
TJie Salt Sea-Wind. 155 
 
 Yet the salt sea-wind is full of the languors 
 That Venus taught on her natal morn. 
 
 And now whoever dwells there by the ocean, 
 And feels the wind on his hair and face, 
 
 Is stirred by a subtle asid keen emotion, 
 The lingering spell of that first embrace. 
 
NEVER MIND. 
 
 Whatever your work and whatever its worth. 
 
 No matter how strong or clever, 
 Some one will sneer if you pause to hear 
 
 And scoff at your best endeavor. 
 For the target art has a broad expanse, 
 
 And wherever you chance to hit it. 
 Though close be your aim to the bullseye fame, 
 
 There are those who will never admit it. 
 
 Though the house applauds while the artist 
 plays 
 
 And a smiling world adores him, 
 Somebody is there with an ennuied air 
 
 To say that the acting bores him. 
 For the tower of art has a lofty spire 
 
 With many a stair and landing, 
 
Never Mind. iS7 
 
 And those who climb seeiii small oft time 
 To one at the bottom standing. 
 
 So work along in your chosen niche 
 
 With a steady purpose to nerve you ; 
 Let nothing men say who pass your way 
 
 Relax your courage or swerve you. 
 The idle will flock by the Temple of Art 
 
 For just the pleasure of gazing, 
 But climb to the lop and do not stop 
 
 Though they may not all be praising 
 
 11 
 
We^arethe^ol^PubU^^ 
 
 The Poetical and Prose Works of 
 
 ELLA WhtlLER WILCOX 
 
 Mrs Wilcox's writings have been the inspiration of many young 
 men and women. Her hopeful, practical, masterful views of We 
 give the reader new courage in the very reading and are a wholesome 
 fnur to flagging effort. Words of truth so vital that they live in the 
 header's memory and cause him to think-to his own betterment and 
 the lasting improvement of his own work in the world, in whatever 
 line it lies -flow from this talented woman's pen. 
 
 MAURINE 
 
 T^ a love story told in exQuisite verse. "An 'deal poem about 
 p'SSfofhumfn^merJstU excels that noted story 
 
 L.oV,l'nt'i^fc;<iy?l^'of tlfe ^^fft?Air.^^^.l% -a„s of 
 
 photographic studies from life. 
 
 ?cTrrc.-|tPol^^iPhTte^?eTu.°!'Srfor°^::::^^ 
 
 ill^=^'^^.1.?s1i?Sf^iUo'^?l.';hft°e'i\&^ 
 
 POEMS OF POWER. 
 
 S'i'a^viiy^mS.^of ?he^'^eSS^I,^/eavor t"o inculcate and to 
 
 illustrate.' Wilcox show both sweetness and 
 
 'Ihe lines, of Mrs. V'^^^^^^^^^y^^^u^QX^x Wi cox has a 
 
 sirengihr-ChuagoMmerua^^^ ^\\^ thousands all over the 
 
 strong grip upon the aftect.ons oi^no ^^ eagerly. as 
 
 Presentation Edition. 12mo. dark blue cloth ;;;;;:nS 
 
 BVLuxe Edition, white v.ellum, gold top ^ 
 
 THREE WOA^EM. a story in verse. 
 
 ••THREE WOMEN is the best thing 1 have ever done. -Ella 
 "^M^ masons dran^atic P-m will^c^^HnsUnt^P^ 
 fe-^1? ii^r/^e^'ef^ in^^r^stfnTaA-d l!\1ll^e leal with sincere 
 relish and admiration. ,.,,*}, ..$1.00 
 
 Presentation Edition. 12nio light red doth ;;;:... 1.60 
 
 Deluxe Edition, white vellum, gold top 
 
POEMS OF PLEASURE. 
 
 Many of the best poetic creations of Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
 are to be found in this charming collection. Besides many 
 admirable specimens of romantic verse, there are several 
 poems of rare beauty, dealing with every-day topics. Fvery 
 line of these poems pulsates with life and throbs with emotion. 
 
 "Mrs. Wilcox is an artist with a touch that reminds one 
 of Byron's impassionate strains."— Paris Register. 
 
 "Everything that she writes has the mark of her unique, 
 pewerful personality impressed upon it, and this volume will 
 not be a disappointment to those acquainted with her."— 
 New York Press. 
 
 "The book is replete with good things and, though a book 
 of fewer than two hundred pages, it is worth whole reams 
 of the sentimentalism flourishing under the misnomer of liter- 
 ature." — Westerti Bookseller. 
 
 "Mrs. Wilcox takes her raptures with a full heart, revel- 
 ing in blisses and draining sorrows deeply; not morbidly but 
 hopefully. Skeptic as she is of all formal creeds, she does 
 not become cynical or pessimistic, but makes a glad religion 
 out of evolution and human fellowship."— iVi?«; York Daily 
 News. 
 
 Presentation Edition, 12mo, maroon cloth $1.00 
 
 De Luxe Edition, white vellum, gold top 1.60 
 
 POEMS OF PASSION. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox is known as the greatest living poet 
 of passion. To her the human heart seems to have reve^iled 
 its mysteries, for she has the power to picture love in all its 
 moods and variations as no other has done since Byron. 
 
 "Only a woman of genius could produce such a remark- 
 able wovVi."— Illustrated London News. 
 
 Beside many others, there are some fifty poems which 
 treat entirely of that emotion which has been denominated 
 "the grand passion"— love. Among the most popular poems 
 in the book 2iXe Delilali, Ad Fine7n, Cottversion, and Communism. 
 These vibrant poems have attained a reputation that is above 
 and beyond criticism. 
 
 "Her name is a household word. Her great power lies in 
 depicting human emotions; and in handling that grandest of 
 all passions— love, she wields the pen of a master. "Saturday 
 Record. 
 
 Many thousands of the book have been issued in the plain 
 edition. The author s numerous admirers caWed ior a de hixe 
 impression, and in the New Illustrated Edition the demand 
 is met by a 
 
 BEAUT/Fi'LL Y PRODUCED ASD CHARM INGL Y EMBELLISHED EDITION 
 
 certain to satisfy the most fastidious taste. In its new form, 
 the book is sure to find additional favor. \ 
 
 Presentation Edition, 12mo, blue cloth $1.00 
 
 De Luxe Edition, white vellum, gold top 1.50 
 
 New Illustrated Edition, extra cloth, gold top 1.50 
 
 De Luxe New Illustrated Edition, white vellum, gold top, 2.00 
 
EVERY-DAY THOUGHTS- In Prose 
 and Verse. 
 
 Her latest, lartrest. and greatest prose work. This lirilliant 
 work consists of a series of forceful, logical, and fascinating 
 "talks" to every member of the household, in which the 
 author fearlessly, but with delicacy, discusses everyday sub- 
 jects, and directs attention to those evils which menace the 
 peace and safety of the home. " Everuday Thoughts" is not a 
 mere book of advice, neither does it attempt to ineach. but it 
 contains more good counsel and wholesome moral lessons 
 than are to be found in the average sermon. 
 
 "These thoughts, lofty and uplifting, are stated with viril- 
 ity, both in prose and verse. The noble sentiments expressed 
 in this volume will widen the circle of her admirers."— AW/^fj- 
 tcr Times. 
 
 "Few people are so good as not to be made better by a stu- 
 dious perusal of this useful and interesting book, which is in 
 brief, a short and vigorous dissertation on moral conduct and tho 
 springs of right living. Mrs. Wilcox's latest publication is a 
 worthy addition to the best works of moral philosophy and her 
 treatise deserves wide reading." — New York Daily News. 
 
 Presentation Edition, 12mo. gray cloth, gold top SI 50 
 
 De Luxe Edition, white vellum, gold top 2.U0 
 
 KINGDOM OF LOVE, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 ^ magnificent collection of poems suitable for recitations and resd 
 ings. true to the very best there is in human nature. 
 
 In the preface to this collection, the author says: "I am 
 constantly urged by readers and impersonators to furnish 
 them with verses for recitation. In response to this evi i - 
 increasing demand. I have selected for this volume the poems 
 which seem suitable for such a purpose. In making mv col- 
 hiction of them, I have been obliged to use, not those which 
 are among my best efforts in a literary or artistic sense, but 
 t hose which contain the best dramatic possibilities for prote< 
 sionals." 
 
 "Her fame has reached all parts of the world, and her pop- 
 ularity seems to grow with each succeeding yQa.v."—Amcf ican 
 Bookseller. 
 
 Presentation Edition, dark red cloth SI. 00 
 
 DeLuxe Edition, white vellum, gold top 1.50 
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN— Prose. 
 
 A realistic novel of the modern school of fiction. Although 
 the plot borders on the sensational, the motive of the story is 
 a good one. It teaches that hereditary tendencies can be 
 overcome; that one can conquer passion and impulse by the 
 use of the Divine inheritance of Will, and compel public re- 
 spect by lofty ideals; in other words, that one may rise on the 
 "stepping-stones of a dead self to higher things." Mrs. Wilcox 
 is a successful novel writer as well as a poet, and this story 
 is anotiier evidence of her wide range of thought. "In An 
 Ambitious Man' the central figure is a woman, who becomes 
 chastened through suffering and purified through sin." 
 
 "Vivid realism stands forth from every page of this fasci- 
 natingaiid interesting book."— v?T'^rr Dav. 
 Presentation Edition, tireea silk cloth $1.00 
 
AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE. 
 
 There i^ aiways a lascinaiiua ni Mrs. Wilcox s verse, but in 
 these beautiful examples of her genius she shows a wonderful 
 knovvlecli^e of the human heart. 
 
 "Ella Wheeler Wilcox has impressed manj' thousands of 
 people with the extreme beauty of her philosophy and the 
 exceeding usefulness of her point of view."— Bos h>n Globe. 
 
 ■'Mrs. Wilcox stands at the head of feminine writers, and 
 her verses an J essays are more widely copied and read than 
 those of any other American literary woman."— A^(?i£; York 
 World. "Power and pathos characterize this magnificent 
 poem. A deep understanding of life and an intense sympathy 
 are beautifully expressed."— C/z/Va^c Tribune. 
 
 Picsentation Edition, 12mo, light brown cloth $1.00 
 
 De Luxe Edition, white vellum, gold top 150 
 
 MEN. WOMEN AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 A skilful analysis of social habits, customs, and follies. A 
 common-sense view of life from its varied standpoints, . . . full 
 of sase advice. 
 
 "These essays tend to meet difliculties that arise m almost 
 every life. . . . Full of sound and helpful admonition, and is 
 sure to assist in smoothing the rough ways of life wherever it 
 be read and heeded." — /'/7A7'//r^ Imies. 
 
 12mo, heavy enameled paper $0.50 
 
 Presentation Edition, dark brovv'n cloth 1.00 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD. 
 
 A collection of poems, songs, stories, and allegories dealing 
 witti child life. The work is profusely illustrated with dainty 
 line engravings and photographs from life. 
 
 "The delight of the nursery; the foremost baby's book in 
 thev/orld."— A". O. Picayune. 
 Quarto, sage green cloth $1.00 
 
 iiiimniond, indiaaa 
 
■Q^ I l7-7<755,/ 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped belo, 
 
 ^^O^ 
 
 i\ y\'^ 
 
 26Wav5^^^ 
 
 ,)»^^^^^'^^*^ ,.^ 
 
 lOtO 
 
 53Cft 
 
 EvlAR 2 
 
 18War'60QC 
 
 9, 
 
 V 
 
 fK3 
 
 JMI31 
 
 196& &^>1 
 
 LD 21-100m-H,'49(B7146sl6)476 
 
 Rti'DLD H^IO"'^ 
 
 7r 
 
 -9 P»NI Q 5