Humorous Verse Madeline Bridges AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION SOLDIERS AND SAILORS CAMP LIBRARY The Open Book HUMOROUS VERSE By Madeline Bridges NEW YORK Ube Knickerbocker press MCMXV COPYRIGHT 1915 BY MARY AINGE DEVERE DEDICATED To My Friends of the Firelight Circle CONTENTS PAGE FATE AND LACE WORK 3 MY NEIGHBOR 4 His ANSWER 5 THE MAD, MAD HATS 6 To EVERY ONE 8 A FREAK OF NATURE 9 THE CRY OF THE HOSTESS 10 HER LOGIC 12 THE MASCULINE VIEW 13 ANDY'S WIDDA ...... 14 THE WELCOME MAN 16 BESIDE HER HAMMOCK 17 THE PHOTOGRAPH 18 METAPHYSICAL ...... 19 BETWEEN THE LINES 21 CHANGED .22 HER MILKING PAIL 23 THE CUP-BEARER ...... 25 THE WAY OF IT 26 WERE ROBIN HOOD ALIVE To-DAY ... 27 AFTERWARD ....... 28 His MUSINGS 29 SPRING STIRRINGS 3 1 v vi CONTENTS PAGE THE OLD, OLD FASHION .... 32 SOUVENIRS 33 A VICTORY 34 Too RESPECTFUL 35 A CURED HEARTACHE 36 BROKEN THREADS 37 HER PERFECT LOVER 38 CONVINCED 39 SHE'S KIND AS SHE Is FAIR .... 40 JIM . 41 THE POINT OF VIEW 43 WID THADY'S PIPE BESIDE THE DOOR . . 44 THE POET'S WIFE 45 WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY ? . . .46 THE SIMPLE CITY FOLK 47 A NEEDED CHARITY ..... 49 CAR-FARE 51 His INTERPRETATION ..... 52 A DIFFERENT TUNE 53 A CONUNDRUM ...... 54 A GIRL 55 A COGITATION . . . . .56 A SKETCH 57 As IT SHOULD BE 58 A WOMAN'S SORROW ... -59 A FAIR SINNER 61 WHAT GLADYS SAID ..... 62 ONE SUMMER ...... 63 'TwixT CUP AND LIP 64 CONTENTS vii PAGE YES, OR No? 65 EXPLAINED 67 THE FATAL TOPIC 68 ROSES 69 Two VIEWS OF IT 70 A SEA-SIDE HERMIT 71 YEARS OF DISCRETION 72 THE POSTMAN 73 A PESSIMISTIC REVERY 75 A BY-GONE JOY 77 THE WHOLE STORY 78 LOVE'S HOUR 79 PEGGY 80 HER PUZZLING WAYS 81 BLUE EYES AND BROWN 82 SMILES vs. TEARS 84 "IT" 85 THE EASTER GIRL 86 A USEFUL BLIZZARD 87 REFUSED 88 THE QUEST OF THE PILGRIMS .... 89 THE HAPPIEST TIME 90 A CLEVER MAN ...... 91 Two PHANTOMS 92 AWAY WITH THEM! ..... 93 'Tis TIME TO RISE 94 A STUDY 95 THE VANQUISHED MAN ..... 96 A HOPELESS CASE ...... 97 Two INVITATIONS 98 viii CONTENTS PAGE WHAT SHE DID NOT SAY 101 HER TYRANT MASTER ..... 102 THE FALSE ORACLE 102 AT DAWN 104 MULTIPLICATION 105 A FREE SLAVE 105 THE MAIDEN'S AIM ..... 106 A GRADUATE ....... 107 ON THE YACHT 107 SILENCE ....... 108 THE OUTLOOK 108 HER WAY OF WAITING 109 IRISH COURTSHIP no POETIC JUSTICE . . . . . .113 WHAT LIKE Is A LOVER 114 THE OLD, OLD STORY 115 CONSISTENT 116 THE CRY OF THE REVIEWERS . . . .117 THE I OF ME 119 WHY? 1 20 THE OPEN BOOK " The Book of my Heart is all my own No leaf is turned, and no page is shown To any outside beholder." Proudly she spoke, but she did not know That man and woman, and friend and foe, Were reading it, over her shoulder ! FATE AND LACE WORK OF course, I loved him. (One, two, three, And slip the fourth.) Dear fellow, yes! He loved me madly. (Now you see, This time you take two stitches less.) Quite tall, well built, his eyes were gray. (You pull that thread the other way, Two loops.) A dimple in his chin; The sweetest hair! (My dear, observe.) He was a poet. (These begin The second row, and make the curve.) I'm sure you'd like to read the rhymes He wrote me, (Round the edge three times.) Poor boy. It was so sad to part ! He died quite young. (Another one But not so tight.) It broke my heart (There, that is very nicely done !) He was my first love, and my last. (Be careful, dear don't go so fast.) My husband? Ah, so good and kind! I met him (Now the pattern shows.) In Europe. We were married (Mind That turn.) Well, yes, as marriage goes, I'm happy. (Keep the thread quite straight Or it will tangle.) Such is Fate! 3 THE OPEN BOOK MY NEIGHBOR I'D give my heart to hope, and my hands to daily labor; I'd have my home a cottage, set in a space of green, And you to be my neighbor my friendly next- door neighbor With, maybe, nothing more than just a wild- rose hedge between. I'd wander in my garden when the twilight dews were falling ; I'd dig and hoe, and spade and sow in warmth of rosy morns And I'd linger often, near the hedge, in hope to hear you calling, For a hedge is soon jumped over both the roses and the thorns. Oh, if you were my neighbor, my charming winsome neighbor, My courting would be night and day, and never, never done I'd tell you tales, I'd sing you songs, I'd play on flute and tabor HIS ANSWER 5 As shepherds woo, I'd woo you, dear, and woo till you were won. Then you would be my neighbor, my nearest, dearest neighbor; For evermore my neighbor my own, and only one ! HIS ANSWER "BEFORE you ask my vow," she said, "Dear, listen to this word: You're not the first man I have loved, Nor second, nay nor third." "Am I the fourth or fifth," he asked With scorn, "or were there more? " "Now, don't be hurt and grieved," she sighed "But, as I said before "'Tis not my first love, dear, but hark!" He felt her gentle touch "I promise it shall be my last : Now can you say as much? " A silence fell upon her hand He bowed his manly head. " My love," he said "my own my bride!" But that was all he said! THE OPEN BOOK THE MAD, MAD HATS OH the hats and the mad, mad hats ! The tiles, the turbans, the pokes, the flats Hats pushed back from the brow, and those Tilted forward, to hide the nose The infant's hat the hat of the pope The straight square hat the hat with a slope Hats that present us a dish of grapes, These are the hats of the different shapes ! Oh the hats, made of everything The hats that the changing seasons bring! Butterfly hats, with dangling veils, Fur hats, trimmed with animals' tails, Hats that challenge, like impish elves, Hats that look ashamed of themselves (And well they may be on any head!), Hats that make us wish we were dead ! Oh, the hats, as they come and go, And come again to our utter woe ! Hats without brim, hats without crown Hats, like a plate turned upside down THE MAD, MAD HATS 7 Hats of tinsel, and tangled lace Hats that are openly a disgrace Hats that would cause a saint to swear, These are the hats that the women wear ! Oh, the hats that they dare to wear! I gaze as I pass, and scowl, and stare, And mutter and mumble and grind my teeth And wondering, ask, if the brains beneath Have no more sense than these mad, mad hats ! My thoughts go whirling like dizzy bats. Only one answer I find and that's No one with brains could wear such hats ! THE OPEN BOOK TO EVERY ONE STOP telling people what to do Stop it this day this hour ! Check the advice you're yearning to Impart restrict your power To guide, for oh, the bliss, the peace, Could counselling and advising cease ! Stop telling people what to do ! Then, seeing where you're at, Others may take your point of view Picture the joy of that ! Never to meet the maddening thrust Of "Why don't you?" "You ought," "You must." Stop telling people what to do ; For neither young nor old Are heeding, any more than you Have done as you've been told. Good counsel is that sort of cake That all can give, but none will take. A FREAK OF NATURE Stop telling people what to do, And inward turn your eyes ; There you will find the blunderer who Most needs your sage advice; There you will find the only one Poor blockhead you are fit to run ! A FREAK OF NATURE AN ugly girl, a handsome man And no one can tell whether It comes by Fate's especial plan; But, given a corner, and a fan, You'll find them there, together. An ugly man, a handsome girl This rule, too, seems most certain; Wherever dancers glide and twirl, They're sitting, safe from glare and whirl, Paired off, behind a curtain. 10 THE OPEN BOOK THE CRY OF THE HOSTESS OH, I am weary, heart and hand, And warped, and worn, and strained So tired of entertaining, and Of being entertained ! Could I but once pay up the calls That now, alas, I owe, I'd gladly hug my four home walls And from them never go. And with what joy I'd waltz about Yea, with what heartfelt glee If no one came to ask me out, Or ever called on me. So scared is my affrighted soul Of dinners, luncheons, teas, I'd build a house at the North Pole To get away from these. Oh, what delight to sit and gaze Over the wastes of snow, Quite sure no form would cross the space Either of friend, or foe! THE CRY OF THE HOSTESS II Fearing, nor woman, man, nor child, Nor even the postman's ring The cards and invitations piled That he is sure to bring. Yea, could I pay my calls and see My list quite clear again, My score wiped out, my tablets free, My mind at ease. . . . Ah, then I'd ask of Fate this blessing dear Of all dear blessings known For one long, idle, listless year Just to be let alone ! 12 THE OPEN BOOK HER LOGIC I MAY not kiss you, sweetest ? Why, Since all the world to love is molded? Look how the happy butterfly Kisses the rose and isn't scolded ! See how the stream with tender lips Its green and mossy margin presses, And even the stately willow dips Her beauty to the tide's caresses. I may not kiss you? Tis absurd To scorn the truth all nature traces! The very breeze, upon my word, Stands still, and kisses both our faces. "Quite right," she said, "for breezes, John, For butterflies and streamlets, dearest ; I notice, though, they soon pass on To kiss the next thing that comes nearest ! " THE MASCULINE VIEW 13 THE MASCULINE VIEW "SHE'S really a lovely girl," he said, "A blonde, and extremely fair, With a gracefully small and classic head." "Indeed? And what did she wear?" "Her eyes you know those eyes like mist, Just the color of skies, at dawn, With lashes the longest, silkiest " "Yes yes, but what had she on?" "I liked her manner. Its gentle charm Suggested a soul at rest; And then her smile was so sweet and warm " "Good gracious ! How was she dressed ? "She must have worn some sort of a gown ? " "Why yes that is certainly clear; But I did not see it, I frankly own I saw only her, my dear!" 14 THE OPEN BOOK ANDY'S WIDDA WE allus fix his grave up good, Car'line 'n' me at least she does. Poor Andy ! When he fell I stood Right by him so as if it wuz Me here him there. I broke his fall With a quick grab, but that wuz all He left his wife a widda. 'N' that wuz what he dreaded, too, From firs' to las'. He used to say: "Oh, you're all right. Ef I wuz you I wouldn't car' much either way; But when you know you're goin' to leave Some one behind to fret 'n' grieve 'N' live a lonely widda! " He had her pictur' jes' a girl, A pleasant young thing well enough ; But Andy 'lowed she were the pearl; The best, tip-topest kind of stuff ! He used to look 'n' look 'n' smile 'N' say: "Old boy! she ain't the style Now, is she, fer a widda ? " 'N', my! I got that pictur' yet. I kep' it kinder for his sake When I fetched home his things 'n' met His folks 'n' her. I hed to break The news, 'n' mighty hard to do, Seein' I'd brung poor Andy too, Home to his little widda. ANDY'S WIDDA 15 Hard work, I tell ye, boys, that's so ! 'N' sakes! ye'd oughter heard her cry! Be good 'n' glad you didn't though; But well, she ca'med down by 'n' by, 'N ' then I hed to tell about Jes' how the whole blame scrape come out To that inquirin' widda. 'N ' so on Decoration Day I git his grave up extra fine, Or Car'line does. I hev to stay Most of the time in marchin* line A-filin' here, salutin' there Us vetterns got to do our share Fer every soldier's widda. But Andy, poor old boy ! his grave We tend to that, or Car'line does; 'N' then, of course, she likes to have Her little quiet cry, becuz Well, jes' becuz 'twixt you 'n' me It's on'y natural for, you see, I married Andy's widda. 'N' so it's kinder comforting When Decoration Day comes round With the rememberies it bring Of them old comrades underground, It's really comforting to drink Poor Andy's health 'n' well, to think His wife ain't left a widda. 16 THE OPEN BOOK THE WELCOME MAN OF men and lovers, brothers all He is the welcome one ! Whenever he may choose to call I gladly rise, and run To meet and greet him with a smile And eager beating heart, the while. At morn if I am not "in trim" And other fellows come, I cleverly retreat. To him I always am at home With bangs in crimp, I boldly stand And willingly extend my hand. And yet his presence sometimes brings Regret, and pain, and blame, And other aggravating things No matter ! Just the same I fly to ope the door and see If he a letter have for me ! BESIDE HER HAMMOCK 17 BESIDE HER HAMMOCK THE warm leaf -shadows fleck her face and hair And waver down to kiss her feet, and then, No doubt, go wavering off some other where, While I how blest above a world of men ! I am allowed to sit, and gently stir Her hammock, now and then, and talk to her. But too much bliss, in man's imperfect state, Ceases ere long, to bless; hence, as I swing, I'm silently rebelling against Fate And getting very weary of this thing; And yet I sit and smile, the while I yearn For some one else to come and take a turn. Still, there's one thought which makes me almost gay, To know that other fellows fret and pine And grind their teeth, watching this hammock sway. They little dream that I am grinding mine; And so life goes, and never can one guess How much is real of seeming happiness. 18 THE OPEN BOOK THE PHOTOGRAPH LOOKED Cleopatra thus, when Antony gazed, And all the world beside, upon her grace ? Had Troy's bewildering Helen such a face? Eyes like to these, the girl that Petrarch praised ? Was the fair Mary Magdalen more fair? The dear Madonna of a purer mold? As calm, the chaste Diana (and as cold) ? k Great Joan worthier to do and dare? Meeker, betimes, could meek Griselda prove? Zantippe, half as saucy to her slave? Aspasia, of a loftier tone as grave? Or Eve more warmly formed for life and love ? I ask these questions, with my brain a-whirl, Of you, my sweetheart, twentieth-century girl. METAPHYSICAL 19 METAPHYSICAL " You cannot speak of what you feel ? But why? " she asked him, as they walked. The moon's first ray began to steal Across the garden where they talked. "Is it too deep for words too high, Too sad, too bad your thought of me? Come now take courage, frankly try To speak your mind. Be brave, " said she. "You wish me to be true ? " he sighed. "I do." "And brave?" " Yes brave and true." "But if the truth should hurt your pride, And to be brave would anger you? " She smiled with gentle tolerance. "That I have faults I quite well know; Yet speak for truth's sake I will chance Or stinging shaft or hurting blow. ' ' Why should not soul respond to soul Without," she said, "this wretched art? These poor pretenses that control The earnest impulse of the heart? " 20 THE OPEN BOOK They paused. He seemed as one distraught, And as he quietly drew near, And stooped his head, she merely thought He meant to whisper in her ear. But no such thing the villain meant. "Words," he remarked, in thoughtful mood, "Too often fail of their intent, And are, at best, misunderstood. "In that I think and feel for you (Forgive me), action must eclipse All speech in being frank and true." He kissed her square upon the lips. She turned away with cheeks aflame, With angry tears he saw them fall "Men, men," she sobbed, "are all the same." She did not blame herself at all. And yet the chances are that he, Altho' the garden walks were dim, Might have remained quite sane had she Not too completely cornered him. BETWEEN THE LINES 21 BETWEEN THE LINES DEAR Mr. Raymond, (Dearest Ned!) My mother wishes I should write (She does not wish it half as much As / do, darling!) to invite Your presence at bridge whist, (Of course, You hate it, dear I'm glad you do!) On Wednesday evening. She has planned A pleasant party (I have, too !) And hopes you'll come, if not engaged. (Of course you will ! I mean to get Old Hodge and Mrs. Winks to fill Our places yours and mine !) Please let Dear Mama know if she may count Upon your coming (Yes, she may). She sends her very best regards, And I am (more than I can say), Sincerely yours, J. E. VAN NESS. (Your little, loving girlie, Jess !) 22 THE OPEN BOOK CHANGED WE, who were lovers so warm and near When spring's young buds were growing, Walk to-day through the woodlands drear With the dead leaves round us blowing. Here is the path where my timid arm First dared in its clasp to fold her, And here by the clear stream's songful charm Her cheek first touched my shoulder. And yonder what passionate dream is this What breath through the silence sobbing? The pulsing thrill of an endless kiss, Or the sound of a heart's wild throbbing? We walk as of old, but we walk apart, Through the well-known nooks and spaces; We stand no more with heart pressed to heart In the lonely beautiful places. But I follow mutely her footstep slow Through the cool bright autumn weather, Because we were married six months ago And are used to being together ! HER MILKING PAIL 23 HER MILKING PAIL WHEN Doris took her milking pail To cross the dewy meadow, The eastern sky was golden pale, The valley lay in shadow; I followed slowly, not too near, And softly, lest the maid should hear. The wet, white daisies bent to touch Her slender foot, and kiss it; I envied them this pleasure, much, Since I'd been doomed to miss it; And thought the flowers were treated far More kindly than some lovers are ! Behind a thorn I stood to watch Her coax the cow, and chide her, And humming at a merry catch, Set the small stool beside her; While freshly as she could have wished The milk through dimpled fingers swished. Thought I: "This chance I must not miss! Her milk pail home I'll carry; 24 THE OPEN BOOK And in return, demand a kiss; For milkmaids are not chary, The poets sing, if swains be brave; Hence, my reward I'll boldly crave." But when at length I would have stept Toward the maid with fervor, Young Stephen o'er the hedge had leapt With like intent to serve her; And lest his chance might later fail, Took, first, a kiss, and then, the pail! Unseen, I sought a shaded path, And left the lovers cooing; But now my verse a moral hath: Whatever's worth the doing You'll find each day the story tells Is being done by some one else! THE CUP-BEARER 25 THE CUP-BEARER To Dorothy's house I often go When the late sweet afternoon sun is low, For I know that Dorothy likes to see Me come, and ask for a cup of tea. The cup is served by her Irish maid Nora, the beauty, whose lashes shade Those wonderful eyes of Irish blue Matchless forever, in depth and hue ! I talk to Dorothy, Heaven knows what, For the coal-black ripples and twisted knot Of Nora's riotous lovely hair Set me staring, as idiots stare. I gaze on her cheeks' young crimson rose, Her roguish dimples and saucy nose, Her teeth like no, there never were pearls To equal the teeth of the Irish girls ! Ah, what would stately Dorothy think If she but knew while I drink and drink And talk to her, logic philosophy lore, That I look at Nora, and say still more? 26 THE OPEN BOOK But no answer comes neither look, nor sign, Nor sigh to these silent words of mine. Though Nora knows I am drinking tea Because she carries the cup to me! THE WAY OF IT SHE kept his flowers, and in a book She pressed them, with a written date, To show him, ere his leave he took, That she had felt, at any rate. He knew her tears were falling, while He ground his teeth, and turned away, Lifting his hat, with one hard smile Even "good-bye" he did not say. No date he wrote, he kept no flower, He made no sign of heart's regret. She thought of him perhaps an hour He still is trying to forget ! WERE ROBIN HOOD ALIVE TO-DA Y 27 WERE ROBIN HOOD ALIVE TO-DAY WERE Robin Hood alive to-day, Full fain would he rejoice To find fair woman, every way So suited to his choice. For here, in girl with golden hair, A boxer he'd behold; And there, in damsel debonair, An archer, strong and bold; Yonder, in dame of high degree, A rider to his mind; Elsewhere, in student-maid, would he An all-round athlete find. Then, if for followers he sought Methinks he'd quickly ken The charming fact, that women ought To be his merry men ! 28 THE OPEN BOOK AFTERWARD "NEVER," he vowed it, "while life may last, Can I love again. I will die unwed." "And I, too, dear, since our dream is past, I will live single, " she sobbing said. A storm of farewells of wild good-byes He rushed from the spot, like an outcast soul. She hid in a pillow her streaming eyes, And wept with anguish beyond control. Just five years afterward, they two met At a vender's stand, in a noisy street ; He saw the smile he could ne'er forget, And she the eyes that were more than sweet. "How well you 1nnkf " "Oh, Kate! ""Oh, Harry!" ' How well you look!" "I stopped," he said, "just to get a toy For my little girl." "I wanted a book," She softly said, "for my little boy." HIS MUSINGS 29 HIS MUSINGS To think of it ! ... To-morrow night I'll be a married man! Time brings odd fashions in his flight. I wonder if one can, Beforehand, dream how much a wife May change the current of his life ! My feet upon the table rest, I've cast my coat aside My necktie, also and my vest Is open, free and wide And as I puff my good cigar How strange, how new, my musings are ! To be no more alone ! How queer ! To think that night and day Her place will be beside me here That she will come, to stay That never can the chance occur For me, to go and call on her ! Will she shut down on cigarettes? A pipe she quite abhors. 30 THE OPEN BOOK Sometimes a rare cigar she lets Me smoke, but out of doors. Would she be horrified to see The cloud that now encircles me? Will she object to Tom and Dick, And flout poor Harry too? At cards demur? At billiards "kick"? Who knows what she may do To catch my soul at unawares? Perhaps she'll make me say my prayers ! I wonder if she'll always seem So full of fitful charm, So like a bright elusive dream? When here against my arm Her sweet head lies, shall I be sure I have her fast, all mine secure? Ah, sweetheart mine, the mist is deep Around us both . . . Life's way In golden shadow seems to sleep Beyond our wedding day ! Yet, for all else the wide world hath, I would not change the untried path ! SPRING STIRRINGS 31 SPRING STIRRINGS Lo, somewhere swung in ether free, The spider sights a nook where he May dine and sup, And likewise build a winding stair, Which flies exploring, unaware, May tumble up. Now doth the mute and struggling worm, Far in his clay deeps, writhe and squirm, To life recalled ; Wriggle and crawl for all he's worth To get above the breaking earth His forehead bald. The frog is glad, and tries his voice Yet softly, for he has no choice But still to wait Until the season really opes, And an engagement crown his hopes With joy elate. As for mosquitoes, wasps, and bees, And other things, as prompt as these To bite and sting, If only kindly Nature would Forget to waken them, for good Thrice welcome, Spring ! 32 THE OPEN BOOK THE OLD, OLD FASHION IN olden days, when love proved fickle And cruel fate the heart oppressed, Convenient Death came with his sickle And swept the broken flower to rest. It seemed to be enough that lovers Should wish to die with faces hid, They laid them down among the clovers, Or on their beds, and die they did. But in these latter days degenerate, Ropes, poisons, dagger-points are sought; Yet these means fail us oft at any rate They don't act always as they ought. Is it that Life grows more tenacious Of this, her fleeting house of clay? Or Death's grim maw much less rapacious, More fain to wait on nature's way? Or is it that the tender passion Now comes and goes like idle breath, And laughing, flouts the old, old fashion That made Love king of Life and Death? SOUVENIRS 33 SOUVENIRS I AM so fond of souvenirs ! I get as many as I can. They're nice to keep in after years A souvenir for every man. The boatswain's whistle? Yes, it's queer Will Clymer carried it, at the Pier. This clump of moss? If you had seen The breezy space whereon it grew! All sky and air and summer green, And on the rock just room for two. We had the sweetest time when he, Dear Arthur, dug it out for me ! My poet-lover, Raymond, stripped This piece of bark, and wrote the rhyme; It always brings to mind the script That Rosalind found, once on a time, Pinned on a tree it is as sweet, But, luckily much more discreet ! Yes, ferns seem really fairy things; They make one think of sprites and elves. 34 THE OPEN BOOK I brought these back from Sharon Springs We went to find them by ourselves, Through a big wood the wildest place ! I, and my cousin, Charley Chase. Now, these are treasures these two shells ! We named them by each other's name, And that, of course, the story tells. Strange but, they're always much the same, Those stories! See! "Sylvester," "May." He'll hate me till his dying day ! Oh! that? That's nothing, dear, at all! At least it was a boutonniere. We waltzed, and some one let it fall Some one, who oh, he didn't care. I cared, that time . . . And so, my dear, No name goes with this souvenir ! A VICTORY "WHAT is the masculine of shrew? " She asked. He firmly shook his head, And gleeful was his face to view "There isn't any, dear," he said. TOO RESPECTFUL 35 TOO RESPECTFUL HE says he loves me ardently, yet he Of this sweet thought goes far to disabuse me When, if by accident he touches me, He murmurs anxiously, "Oh, pray excuse me." And when in crowded seat I take my place, When Fate by his dear side has close bestowed me, Why should he try so hard to give me space, And mourn the fact that he must "dis- commode "me? And if, in circling dance, against his breast, Some whirling couple recklessly impels me, His handsome face, at once, looks so dis- tressed ; "Pardon, 'twas not my fault," he gently tells me. Ah, yes he loves me, for he seems to be Never, of petits soins, tired nor neglectful, But as I'm fond of him dear me, dear me I wish he'd be a little less respectful. 36 THE OPEN BOOK A CURED HEARTACHE OH, dear lost heartache sweetest pain, When hours were weeks and weeks were years, And eyes had always room for tears. How blest it was to pine and sigh, To wait for letters, sick at heart Of hope deferred to kiss and part On dim street corners in the rain; To win a smile or madly feel A frown divide the soul like steel. Oh, loveliest misery! Why, why Did we curtail that happy grief, Or make one darling pang more brief? For now the days are simply days. We part each morn, each night we meet; We kiss and yawn, we talk and eat In married life's calm peaceful ways. But, oh, for those dear woes abjured, And the sweet heartache that is cured ! BROKEN THREADS 37 BROKEN THREADS "WHEN the moon is up o'er yon rock," she said, "With its silvery arrows, in splendor spread, [And she pointed out which rock she meant, Like the back of a dolphin, curved and bent.] "Wherever your thoughts or footsteps be, You must fly to this spot, dear, and think of me; "For, be sure, when the moonrise tints the blue, In soul and spirit I'll walk with you! " And nobly true to her last fond prayer He strolled by the sea in the moonrise fair, Down where the breakers foam and stir, And looked 'round sideways, and thought of her With a guilty glance, as he held the hand Of a girl she hated, and paced the sand; 38 THE OPEN BOOK While she, the woman, gone back to town, Knew not if moons came up or down, As she waltzed and waltzed till the break of day With a man whom she hadn't seen since May ! HER PERFECT LOVER "I HAD a lover once," she sighed "Yes, just before I married you Who listened when I spoke and tried To answer all my questions, too. "So courteous and so kind so good! He'd never think a man could be As thoughtless and, indeed, as rude As you too often are to me. "The jewel of my love once won, He used to swear, could ne'er grow dim; He would not dream that any one Could whistle when / spoke to him ! "If he had faults he kept them hid. I should have married him? Yes; true. And that's exactly what I did. My perfect lover, sir, was you!" CONVINCED 39 CONVINCED "Now tell me, dearest, truth for truth I sometimes fear you may have known In boyhood, or your earliest youth, Another girl you called your own. "Forgive me if I seem to lapse Prom perfect faith that is not it ! I only wonder if, perhaps, You ever loved, a little bit ! " He thought of Kate, whose brilliant mind Once gave to life its keenest zest ; He thought of Maud, whose hair had lined The left-side pocket of his vest. He thought of Lillie, Nell, and Sue, Of gentle May and saucy Nan, And then he did as lovers do, And proved himself a truthful man. With injured air and mournful eye He sadly turned away his head. "If you can think " she heard him sigh. "Oh! no no no! I don't! " she said. 40 THE OPEN BOOK SHE'S KIND AS SHE IS FAIR SHE'S kind as she is fair aye there's the rub ! If she much fairer were, or far less kind, If she would give me scoff, or sneer, or snub, I might take heart of hope for Love, though blind, Seeks, through the guarding thorns, his rose content To meet the stings of her environment ! She's kind as she is fair that's saying much! Too much, alas, for my poor haggard heart. Her candid eyes, her warm and friendly touch, Give me no joy but rather, deeper smart And seem to signal brightly, "Fool, beware! She's only kind because she is so fair! " She's kind as she is fair. Alas, and hence, I make my sad adieux and go my way, For want of surer warning, hurried thence By words too sweet, by smiles too fond and gay; Yet knowing this, if I were to her mind, She could not be too fair much less, too kind! JIM 41 JIM WHEN Jim, the hired man, first came He never had a word to say, 'Cept jest to answer to his name; He'd sleep all night, and work all day, And eat his meals, and go and come 'Most like as if he's deef and dumb. I didn't care. Why, no ! Of course, Sometimes Pa'd send me down the farm To tell him to hitch up the horse, Or help us get the bees to swarm; But not a word he'd say not he! He wouldn't even look at me. Well, by and by that made me mad. As tall, and clever built, and trim. Nice teeth and hair oh, not half bad To look at, and I looked at him Considerable, first and last, And jest as temptin' as I da'st. I used to curl my hair at night, And dress and fix up every day; He never cared a single mite He'd always stare the other way, And pet the dog, or stroke the cow, Or coax the cat oh, he knew how! 42 THE OPEN BOOK Course, other fellows came around, Much better dressed and not so shy; They cared enough, but I was bound I'd make him care, or I'd know why. And so I picked on Sammy Snow, And glory, how I flirted oh ! We used to set nights, Sam and me, Out on the porch. One night Jim passed, A-goin' in to bed. Says he, "Folkses, good-night." And jest as fast, 'Fore I could think, he stooped, like that, And kissed me on the mouth, right flat ! Well, Sam he took his hat and flew Off in a rage at me, not Jim. And me? Good lands! What could I do? I didn't care a snap for him. But Jim ! If he'd 'a' slapped my face I wouldn't felt a worse disgrace. I cried, and then I said, "Who cares? " And then I cried again. But when I went indoors, there, on the stairs, That Jim was waitin'. Then, oh, then Lucky 'twas dark you'd think that he Would never get through kissin' me ! And so, as soon as my folks knew, They sent him packing? I guess not! Why, there he sets, in front of you. Readin' his paper. Yes, that's what ! Father, I've been a-tellin' her Jest how you didn't court me, sir ! THE POINT OF VIEW 43 THE POINT OF VIEW SHE said: "I have given up cards and balls, And I shall not go out, unless To pay off my list of duty calls, Or to comfort and help distress. "In fact, I'm renouncing everything That is wicked and worldly, so This Lent will surely a blessing bring, For the pleasures I must forego!" He fretted and fumed and gazed apart And mournfully said, at last: ' ' I suppose you won't give me a kiss, sweet- heart, Till the whole of Lent be past?" She gently looked in his face, at this, And he saw a reproachful tear. "How strange 'men are ! Do you call a kiss Either wicked or worldly, dear?" 44 THE OPEN BOOK WID THADY'S PIPE BESIDE THE DOOR WID Thady's pipe beside the door, And Thady there, content and aisy Could wife or woman ask for more Barrin' she wor a fool or crazy? The queen could crave no blessin' higher Than her good man, in comfort, nigh her. Wid Thady's pipe beside the door, The hearth clean-swept, the praties bub- blin' The childre playin' on the floor Ah, what could make me heart be throub- lin'? I'll smooth me hair an' take me knittin' A body might as well be sittin'. Wid Thady's pipe beside the door The friendly neighbors passin', callin', With bits of talk and jokes galore The quiet duskus round us fallin' ; It's far to God me heart is strayin', And many's the happy prayer I'm sayin'. THE POET'S WIFE 45 THE POET'S WIFE SHE brings her pretty knitting (bless her!) Or mystic threads for making laces, That by and by will serve to dress her In new and, no doubt, charming graces. She sits and rocks, her rocker chiming In measured cadence to my rhyming. Sometimes with eye that proudly glistens I read a sonnet I have written; She counts her stitches while she listens, Or pulls a thread to make it fit in And, with her gaze intent upon it, Asks what they pay me for a sonnet. She little knows of rhyme or metre And cares still less, but asks me whether Chiffon and roses would look sweeter To trim her hat, than jet and feather. And while I'm "framing odes to Cupid" She tells me, "Poetry is stupid ! " But oh, her eyes! . . . Her silken lashes Her hair's sweet mutinies the dimple 46 THE OPEN BOOK In cheek and chin the outward flashes Of inward smiles her tranquil, simple, Entrancing air ! . . . Did she but know it- She is the reason I'm a poet! WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY? WHAT will people say? Well, this is too absurd ! Of what they say you never may Hear even one single word. What will people think? Now, this is even worse ! How can you get a wink, or blink, Of what their minds rehearse ? Then, as for what they may Remark let no tear fall; And as for what they think well, say! They never think, at all ! THE SIMPLE CITY FOLK 47 THE SIMPLE CITY FOLK OH, yes, we got the house right full; all city people, too, Payin' plank down fer everything the best I ever knew; An' as fer clo'es, an' rings an' things, I swan, it dazzles me! But, land sakes! it's surprisin' what simple folk they be. They're jes like children they'll believe, why, any sort of chaff; 'Twould do you good to watch 'em set, an laff, an' laff, an' laff; The minnit Pa appears they all begin to smile an' when He starts to tell 'em jokes you'd ought to see 'em laffin' then. An' my! the wimmin come to me (their ways are kinder nice; Mothers, themselves, an' not so young) a- askin' my advice 48 THE OPEN BOOK Jest how I keep my eggs so fresh, an' what I put in dye, An' how I make my buttermilk, an' get my cheese to dry. The girls all want their fortchins told in tea- grounds I declare You'd think I tell 'em gospel truth they take it in, fer fair; An' them young men! as innocent an' mild I'd like to know However they grew up like that, an' keep on bein' so! The ol' men moon aroun' the farm, examinin' this and that, An' don't know plows from harrows, nor a beetle from a bat; An' yet it seems they're business men but glory, I can't see However they could make their salt sech simple folk they be ! A NEEDED CHARITY 49 A NEEDED CHARITY THE keenest bliss, the sweetest pain, that lover's heart can borrow Meet in that moment when to-day is verging on to-morrow When warning hand on dial-plate points fatefully and clearly, And all your vain pretenses checked, you know 'tis midnight nearly. Oh, hard the task, when feeling well that equally 'twill grieve her, To grip your courage in both hands and say good-night and leave her. Now what could be more frightful than, when life is at its sweetest, To goad and lash and flay yourself, to writhe in the completest Soul-sacrifice man e'er can know; no martyr could outdo it Nor saint, in sackcloth clad, attempt a penance like unto it. 4 50 THE OPEN BOOK To tear yourself from paradise as Adam from his garden, But with this difference, that he had sinned past hope of pardon. To say good-night when clinging arms about your neck are twining, To turn away when coaxing eyes into your own are shining, To take one last sweet kiss and leave unkissed the rest you covet, And actually to drop her hand, as if you did not love it, To hear the cruel hall-door bang I swear by all the sages 'Tis savage, vile, uncivilized, barbaric, and outrageous ! Kind Christian thought has organized in every known direction Humane and gentle charities that offer sweet protection Not only to the human race, but unto beasts and fishes, To birds and insects of the air how strange that no one wishes A nobler charity to found; no one a bent discovers To war against the wide-spread crime of cruelty to lovers ! CAR- FA RE 51 CAR-FARE HAVE you ever watched the warfare Of two women over car-fare ? Each aflame with generous feeling, Depth of heart and purse revealing; Each inspired with gentle horror Lest the other should pay for her. But take note the more insistent Of the combatants persistent, She whose hand most promptly snatches At her pocket-book's stiff catches, She who murmurs: "Don't be strange, dear, It's all right, I've got the change, dear!" She though I am sad to say it Always lets the other pay it ! 52 THE OPEN BOOK HIS INTERPRETATION "On give me time," she, trembling, said, "A little time, to think it over"; He smiled and kissed her drooping head, And yielded like a tender lover. "She's but a child," he mused that night, "Who shrinks from fate, afraid to test it; She really seemed quite in a fright." He little knew how near he'd guessed it. *' How shall I break with Jack? " she moaned "He's got my letters. Oh, good gracious! And Harry has my ring," she groaned "He'll keep it, too he's so audacious. "Was ever girl in such a fix? I must get rid of Will and Stephen, And George, and Archibald that's six And poor dear cousin Tom makes seven." As thus she grieved in accents wild, He said, while joy his features brightened, "Yes she is nothing but a child, And that is why she seemed so frightened." A DIFFERENT TUNE 53 A DIFFERENT TUNE THE ball is up, the moon is bright, I muse alone My thoughts drift backward through the night To nights long flown, When I amid the merry crowd Went forth to skate, Erect of back and fearless-browed, With charming Kate. What joy to hold her glove or muff To rest or haste ! What joy where friendly ice was rough To clasp her waist ! What joy to face the bracing wind, To curve and reel, And hear the ceaseless silvery grind Of skater's heel ! What joy alas! my light burns low; I must to bed. Alone, through darkened halls I go With stealthy tread. 54 THE OPEN BOOK The girl I used to skate with, she Sleeps sound and well. The baby but who knows when he Will wake and yell? So, soft, by glimpses of the moon, Up-stairs I steal; With step far different from the tune Of skater's heel. A CONUNDRUM " SWEET Kitty, tell me why a kiss Is like creation ?" Lost in mood, Perplext, she could not answer this: Or would not, if she could. As one who had not much to fear, He grasped her hand, and nearer stood: "Because, 'tis made from nothing, dear, And God knows it's good." A GIRL 55 A GIRL HER eyes are lovely I won't tell What hue their loveliness may show; Her braided hair becomes her well In color like but ah, no, no That is my secret, red or brown, It is the prettiest hair in town. She walks with such a dainty charm That whether she be short or tall, Of rounded limb, or sylph-like form, Her figure suits me that is all; Nor do I choose the world to know If silk her gown, or calico. My precious girl is worth her weight, Not in rough gold, but diamonds fine And whether that be small, or great, I leave the reader to divine. Ask me to gauge her solid worth, She would outweigh the whole round earth. S 6 THE OPEN BOOK To rhyme her praise is such delight, That I must keep it to myself, Lest one should better verses write, And lay me gently on the shelf. I am not jealous, but, you see, This charming girl belongs to me. A COGITATION THE frost-swept marshes seem to sleep, The listless streams lie still and numb, The winds a charmed silence keep, The hills are mute, the woods are dumb ; But Nature wears a thoughtful frown As of surprise with anger blent (As one will cast one's eyelids down In sudden study, deep and brown, When met by problem strange, and bent On finding out just what is meant) . So Nature evidently sighs O'er some deep riddle, pondered well I think it must be at the lies That disappointed sportsmen tell. A SKETCH 57 A SKETCH SHE sketched and painted, up and down the river. I rowed the boat Where willows dip, and deepening shadows quiver, And lilies float. Cliff, cottage, sail, and bridge, and sea-sands yellow Her studies were And, oh, I thought myself a lucky fellow, Adrift with her ! Long hours, with oars at rest, I sat and waited; She painted on, With now and then a smile absorbed, elated Till, daylight gone, She'd raise her eyes reluctantly, and murmur "Oh, must we go? " And I I'd only plant my feet the firmer, And start to row. 58 THE OPEN BOOK Last night we met. Of art, she prattled sweetly; Of what she'd done In way of summer work, accomplished neatly ; Of praises won; But, when I shyly dared my part to mention, As oarsman true, She vaguely smiled, and said, with inatten- tion " Oh was it your AS IT SHOULD BE "I LOVE you," he said, "I love you Believe me," he warmly cried, "There is none I would place above you! " She gazed at him tranquil-eyed. "I love you" again he uttered The words, with a final air While she, quite unmoved, unfluttered, Continued her steadfast stare. Puzzled and vexed he wondered What she was staring at Nor dreamed that she mutely pondered, " Do you think I'm surprised at that ? " A WOMAN'S SORROW 59 A WOMAN'S SORROW SHE read the page with a mournful eye. "Oh, heart," she said, "it is strange! I could weep when I think how man's wild love Can silently cool, and change! "To look at Jack's letters of long ago! 'My angel,' 'my love,' 'my own,' 'The light of my dreams,' 'my lovely one '; But this, to-day, is his tone: "'Dear wife: O. K., and the trunk has come; Tell Williams I'll telegraph; He might have managed the thing himself If he hadn't been such a calf. "'I'm here for a week, at the Wilmington Enough to eat of the kind ; Look under the bureau, some time, dear, For that stud that I couldn't find. "I've got an earache confounded draft On the train. You can ask Old Ray To cash your checks for you. Don't forget To send me my flannels. J.' " 60 THE OPEN BOOK She dropped a tear as she took her pen, Yet these were the words she wrote: "Dear Hubby, I told you you'd get your death Without your big overcoat. "The man for the carpets came to-day; I haven't seen Williams since; Dear mother arrived last night to stay And we're doing up jelly (quince). "Take care of your money, for goodness* sake ! The check was a perfect boon; Your flannels? N. G. Get some new ones, dear; The baby is well. Write soon." She shook her head as she traced his name, And sealed her letter with sighs: " It is hard for a woman to understand How soon man's sentiment dies." A FAIR SINNER 61 A FAIR SINNER His conscience gave him many a twinge And led him many a dance, Recalling thoughts that made him cringe Before her earnest glance; Her pure eyes caused his soul to quake While he confession longed to make. He yearned to empty out his heart And firmly tell her all, Then, bravely make a clean new start, Resolved no more to fall. But, as he mused, she murmured, "Dear, I've a confession you must hear." " You! " he exclaimed. Her eyes were wet, She hid her face. " "Pis true: Listen ... I smoked a cigarette Once, with a man I knew; It made me sick and so did he. Speak tell me can you pardon me? " He chuckled inwardly, but made His face surprised and sad. 62 THE OPEN BOOK "I had a tale to tell," he said, "Of errors, quite as bad; But now, I can't confess to you, Since you, dear, are a sinner too." WHAT GLADYS SAID SAID Gladys with a smile of bright disdain (The season is her first ; she knows not yet The sweet and bitter uses of her reign, The perils in her frowns and dimples set) ; Said Gladys (and I heard her little foot Beat its impatience on the favored ground, The while I longed to button up that boot With kisses from its toe to ankle round) ; Said Gladys (and I listened, who would not? Watching those lips that might a saint be- guile) What did she say? Really, I can't tell what I'm only certain that I saw her smile. ONE SUMMER 63 ONE SUMMER THE nights were calm, the days were splendid; We roamed the woodlands, side by side When sunset's dream with moonlight blended, We floated out, across the tide We sang together, gently keeping Time to the oars' slow rhythmic beating. We were the only two, that season, Who came to board Fate willed it so, For a distinctly special reason That later on we learned to know, And how we hoped that none would find us Where our sweet solitude enshrined us ! The house and grounds alike were spacious, And she and I we owned it all. We reveled in the thought ! Good gracious, How we enjoyed the quiet hall, The shadowed porch, the parlor lonely, The dinners served for us us only! Ah, Fate Life's lesson strangely orders, For now in thinking of what was 64 THE OPEN BOOK I wish there had been other boarders, Because alas! ah, yes, because We've been to write it makes me wince Boarding together, ever since! 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP "THERE'S many a slip 'Twixt cup and lip" The proverb's made of sterling stuff; But when we think How much men drink, We find there are not slips enough ! YES, OR NO? 65 YES, OR NO? THE big barn doors stood open wide And a fiddler sat on either side; Red lanterns hung on the beams a score And lighted the barn from roof to floor, The rough-board walls and the piled-up hay, The girls' sweet faces and ribbons gay, And the boys who had pulled off their coats to stay And dance it out till the morning. How light they pattered, the nimble feet, While clapping palms to the music beat, And now and then, through the dizzy whirl Rang a merry shriek as some breathless girl Was swung by her partner off the ground In the clasp of his arm round, round, and round ; The hills laughed back to the laughing sound, Ah ! many a time ere the morning. I sat in a corner against the hay. I had brought her there, but that didn't say I might fetch her back again ; so I sat And I held her shawl oh, I clung to that! 66 THE OPEN BOOK I couldn't dance and I wouldn't try, But as she glided and slided by With the other fellows, I swore that I Should take her home in the morning. Well, so when the dawn broke east and west And the last dance ended the last and best I walked right over. It seemed the noise Stopped still of a sudden ; the girls and boys Looked smiling, waiting I didn't fall, But I straightened myself and stood up tall And said, "When you're ready well, here's your shawl, And we'll tell the folks good-morning." And she God bless her (I saw a smile In her beautiful, sleepy eyes the while) She said, "All right! " not another word But a sweeter by man was never heard. The joy of it made me chill and pale As she took her bonnet down from a nail And searched about for her missing veil In the growing light of the morning. And oh, to think of that lonely walk Through the dim, gray fields, and our foolish talk, And the words I said ere her noisy gate Had closed between us like bars of fate ! EXPLAINED 67 But whether my heart beat high or low What matters now? 'Tis so long ago Since she whispered that "yes" or was it "no"? In the still, soft dawn of the morning. EXPLAINED "LOLITA, do you love me, dear? " I asked her in the merest joke; While o'er her cheek, so sweetly near, A flush of sudden rapture broke. She caught me in a quick embrace And held me, clinging close and warm, While her soft kisses swept my face Like whirling rose leaves in a storm. I laughed aloud, amused, but she, Half sobbing, kissed me more and more "Outrageous conduct? " Well, you see The girl's quite young she's only four. 68 THE OPEN BOOK THE FATAL TOPIC SHE talked of poetry. Her voice Sank to a cadence soft and low, The while she murmured in his ear Some rhymes she'd written, years ago. She talked of music, with her hands Astray among the ivory keys, Playing a rippling "gondolied" That brought his soul upon its knees. She talked of art. Her blue eyes shone, Her fair cheek flushed, and, as he sat, He thought: "By Jove! what pictured face Could better be worth looking at? " She talked of friendship, till he felt That friendship was man's greatest good; And when she quoted Emerson, He looked as if he understood. She talked of love. The hour was late, It may have been because of that But one thing certain is, that when She talked of love, he took his hat ! ROSES 69 ROSES The Plaint of the Belle I DREAD the very sight of them; My tired eye closes At glimpse of blush, or bud, or stem, Of proffered roses. To sniff them all, I'd need, at least, A dozen noses I'm sure my nostrils have increased From smelling roses. For too much of a good thing, mark, One's mind disposes To base ingratitude; then, hark Don't send me roses ! I know this edict seems unkind It so forecloses The satisfaction that men find In buying roses. 70 THE OPEN BOOK Why can't they guess that woman needs, For all her poses, Gloves, laces, slippers, fans, and beads, Far more than roses? Ah, no my future's door ajar But this discloses, More men, who struggle from afar To bring me roses ! TWO VIEWS OF IT WHILE smoking gravely with his friend These confidences he let fall : "'Tis tempting, but I must haul up; Noblesse oblige, confound it all ! "Poor girl! No, no it will not do. My slightest glance she trembles at She loves me madly. Nothing else Will scare a fellow off like that! " While she unto her friend remarked : "He really bores me, but you know One must be courteous, and besides, The poor dear boy, he loves me so! " A SEA-SIDE HERMIT 71 A SEA-SIDE HERMIT HE said: "I'll away to some lonely shore Where billows broaden and sea-tides roar; I'll go and forget the season's maze Of dinners, dances, reception-days. Ah, yes; I'll find me some desert scene, Where the footstep of woman has never been." He roamed to a fishing village quaint, Where he dwelt, like an anchorite or saint, In a moss-grown cottage, all by himself, Under a huge rock's towering shelf. Here he strolled alone on a wide bright beach That stretched as far as the eye could reach. There were fifteen girls at the Surf hotel Who looked through a spy-glass long and well, And who clapped their hands with abandoned vim The day that the spy-glass sighted him ! On the following morn, when this hermit fared Forth from his hut, how he stared and glared At the sun-umbrellas of white and red Over that shining sand-stretch spread; Where, in groups of two and in groups of three Were girls as pretty as girls could be. 72 THE OPEN BOOK "What's this? " he cried. " Do I understand I'm the only man on this wide sea-strand? Ha! I'll foil them yet." And he turned him round And back to his hut with a single bound. Alas! alas! 'twas of small avail, The firm resolve of this stern young male ; For he came back late to the busy town From his hut on the sea-sands, rough and brown, Where the steep rocks rise and the billow curls, Engaged to ten of those fifteen girls. YEARS OF DISCRETION YEARS of discretion surely are Life's full and sweet completion; But wilful Fate delights to mar, For, when we reach them, there's a jar The years are more apparent, far, Than the discretion ! THE POSTMAN 73 THE POSTMAN St. Valentine's Day How fast the postman goes Laden with joys and woes Along the street ! Young eyes watch with delight; Eyes, not so young, with quite As quick pulse-beat. He carries painted hearts Transfixed with harmless darts; Live hearts, too, hide, Stowed in his swinging bag, And doubtless make it wag From side to side. Here, prayer of parted friends And shaft that malice sends Elbow for space; The pang that hurts and stings, The balm that healing brings, Run equal race. 74 THE OPEN BOOK A scentless rose, a verse That hardly could be worse, A soul's despair, A tear blot, and a jest, A happy love confessed, A laugh, a prayer! Is he a man or elf? Pandora's box itself Could scarce send wide Such motley crowd and fleet, Save that gifts fair and sweet Its ills divide ! Bird-like, he mounts and swoops Swift up and down the stoops; He's drawing near. Though I may moralize, I, too, have waiting eyes Oh, please stop here t A PESSIMISTIC REVERY 75 A PESSIMISTIC REVERY I'D like to take a journey hence To other worlds, for here, in fact, Nature seems short of common sense And painfully devoid of tact. Her loves and griefs, her joys and pains, Mix up in such a reckless way That which the losses are, or gains, No reasoning mind can clearly say. The things she does and leaves undone, Her curious use of good and bad, Would really be no end of fun Only it happens to be sad. The pains and evils she contrives Appear to make her feel elate; And then, her spite at human lives Is something strange to contemplate. That gravitation's hideous laws Should earth's fair atmosphere disgrace, And yet the earth be safe because 'Tis poised aloft in airy space; 76 THE OPEN BOOK That half our life is given to sleep; That not to eat is certain death, And that alive we cannot keep Without the constant aid of breath ; Why, these facts so outrageous seem That when I ponder them I shake Myself and say, "This is a dream; I surely cannot be awake! " Alas ! I am. My grief is this, That I'm too wide awake by far, And hence my yearning project is To seek some other sphere or star. But, then, on second thought, perhaps I'd better stay and calmly wait, Because when years enough elapse I'll have to go at any rate. A BY -GONE JOY 77 A BY-GONE JOY THERE was a joy we used to know, A joy that only came in spring, With leaves that burst, and flowers that blow In fact, with every beauteous thing Also, with adjuncts less sublime; Yet, how we reveled in the day That brought, with ashes, dust, and grime, A "moving" on the first of May. How sweet to lunch from crate and box; What bliss to be allowed to bear Pillows, brooms, vases, lamps, and clocks, And watch them packed in "anywhere." To boyish hearts, what wild delight To ride upon the load yet more, Methinks, the crowning joy, at night, To sleep in beds upon the floor. Ah, nothing now of this we greet. We see an auto van a few Stout ropes some packing boxes neat A quiet, giant man or two; 78 THE OPEN BOOK By trolley car our transit's made To seek the new abode, and lo! Curtains are hung and carpets laid, And table spread, and range aglow. I know not how it came about, This change I only know 'tis here; More comfort, yes, beyond a doubt ; Less work, less weariness, more cheer. But ah! they dream not what they miss, Of reckless fun and frolic gay, Who never knew the old-time bliss A "moving" on the first of May! THE WHOLE STORY THEY met and bowed, and moved apart- They met, and danced, and yet Again they met, and talked and walked,- And afterwards, they met, And met, and met, and met and then, They met and did not part again ! LOVE'S HOUR 79 LOVE'S HOUR LOVE cried to Life: "Sweetheart, take hands with me Leave strife and traffic, toil and busy mart, Swift wheels on land, deep laden ships on sea Thou know'st not yet how fair, how great thou art, Till I have kissed and crowned thy kingly head Thou canst not know, " Love, in sweet plead- ing, said. And Life looked, smiling, but with anxious brow, As one through tears might gaze at some soft flower. "Thou child of sun and dew, what sayest thou? I have no time for thee, save one brief hour. ' ' Then Love, too, smiled, with fond eyes as before "One hour, sweetheart? ... I have not asked for more!" 8o THE OPEN BOOK PEGGY PEGGY ! Who wrought this saucy name From stately Margaret? Methinks, in laughter's chime it came, To reckless music set. Who was the lover, knave or poet, That dared first in this guise to show it? The sound is sweet and odd, Like quaint, wild note of bird, Or quick foot dancing on a sod ; Yet nothing ever heard Quite echoes Peggy. Who could breathe it And not in graceful rhythm wreathe it ? Peggy ! Its syllables transform Proud Margaret's queenly grace To milkmaid beauty, wild and warm, Of sun-kissed brow and face, In green Arcadian lanes coquetting With rustic swains, her path besetting. Peggy! But of one thing I'm sure: A great deal's in a name! HER PUZZLING WAYS 8l Margaret had never proved the lure That Peggy swift became. I knew at once Love could not err in The blindest pathway he saw her in! HER PUZZLING WAYS SHE smiled and smiled and smiled and smiled, And sometimes for a change, She laughed and laughed and laughed he thought Her ways were rather strange ! But when he asked her for her hand Into his own it crept, With glad response, and then she wept And wept and wept, and wept ! 82 THE OPEN BOOK BLUE EYES AND BROWN BLUE eyes ! A mountain stream Is not more blue; She trifles with her cream As women do And I, I smoke and dream, Contented, too. II She wears my wedding ring, She is my own ; Yet swift, on sudden wing My thought has flown Back, where wild roses cling And hay is mown. Ill The slowly-brightening moon (How beats my heart !) Rises, too fair too soon; They have no art To lengthen time's scant boon, Who kiss and part. BLUE EYES AND BROWN 83 IV I kissed her mouth and hair Her lids, that fell Drowned in quick tears, that bear The heart's farewell. Of love's last sweet despair What tongue can tell? Blue eyes ! Alas, alas, For dear brown eyes, For roses in the grass And moonlit skies, For time beloved that was, And sad good-byes ! VI Alas ! while through the haze Of my cigar Blue eyes send tranquil rays, My heart, afar, Wanders a wild-rose maze, Where brown eyes are. AFTERTHOUGHT But if suppose it true These eyes so near Were brown instead of blue, Warm, more than clear, 84 THE OPEN BOOK Perhaps who knows? my sighs Might still float down The past, in search of eyes That were not brown! SMILES VS. TEARS WHEN Clytie laughs at me, as oft she doth, I set myself to use whatever wile Her merry mood may alter, nothing loth To see repentant tears put out her smile. But, when she weeps, as eagerly I try To soothe her pain, her dear grief to beguile; And know not which is sweeter, no, not I, Her smile in tears, or tears within her smile. IT" 85 (( TT^ " GIVE me an Ignoramus bold The densest of his kind ; With him I'll sweet communion hold, Meet with him, mind to mind. Let me clasp the hand of that woman great Who hasn't a word to spare ; No views, nor opinions wise, to prate On anything whatsoe'er. Hither and yonder I bend my brow, In hope that I yet may hit On the chance of meeting, somewhere, some- how, A being who is not "IT"! Speak not of "up to date" to me, "Aufait," "good form," or "in touch"; I long for nothing except to flee From the people who know so much ! 86 THE OPEN BOOK THE EASTER GIRL THE Easter girl ! Beneath the skies There's nothing like unto her; The sun that shines, the breeze that sighs, Both seem inclined to woo her; And there are others, but she's less Responsive to their willingness. The Easter girl ! Her hat is made Of various sorts of splendor; But, bright or dark, or gay or staid, Be sure the eyes are tender That 'neath the brim, or flat or curled, Look sweet good- will, to all the world. The Easter girl ! Yes, she is here Best of all Easter blessings; Sweet contradiction, warm, sincere, Of Lenten time repressings. A resurrection is her face Of Earth's delight, and Heaven's grace. Dear Easter girl ! I sing your lay, Child of bright tears and laughter, A USEFUL BLIZZARD 87 Who know not that you lead the way The whole world follows after; Or if you know, have you, then, guessed That I, too, follow with the rest? A USEFUL BLIZZARD A BLIZZARD one day went out to play; He raced and he romped and ran And howled and hustled and made things gay, As only a Blizzard can. He did all the harm he conveniently could, And he did it with zeal and vim; But he did one thing that was great and good And the good lived after him. He helped full many a hostess out And lightened her soul of dread; For he gave people something to talk about All hail to his hoary head! 88 THE OPEN BOOK REFUSED "No, no," she said, and firmly spoke; She reasoned with him like a mother, And showed why he should be content To let her love him as a brother. She pictured how the marriage state Was one of trouble and confusion; How love, at best, is but a snare, And plainly sent for man's delusion. He bowed his head before her flow Of eloquence, nor strove to turn it, But meekly hinted that he would The lesson take, and strive to learn it. "Farewell. I go beyond the sea Since you refuse, no more I'll press you. Kind Time," he sighed, "may heal my pain. Forgive forget me, and God bless you." She faltered, stared then tossed her head. "I see it will not greatly grieve you; You can't have loved me much," she said, "And yet, indeed, I did believe you. THE QUEST OF THE PILGRIMS 89 "Besides," with this her fair cheek gained The color his was slowly losing "I only said no once, or twice, And women don't call that refusing." THE QUEST OF THE PILGRIMS ONE by one through the city street In sorrowful search we go; At curbs and crossings we sometimes meet With looks of infinite woe. For the shadow of fate stalks close behind, And a will-o'-the-wisp before, As sadly onward our way we wind Like beggars from door to door. Oh, happy birds, if we could but know Your blithesome and merry quest ! Out of the free four winds that blow To fashion a home-like nest. Alas ! we are only wretched men, Seeking by night and day Some place of shelter as round again Comes the pitiless first of May. 90 THE OPEN BOOK THE HAPPIEST TIME WHENEVER life's song is out of rhyme And fate and my plans won't thrive, Then I love to muse on that glorious time The time when I wasn't alive. Those dear old days ! How they haunt me yet With dreams of content and bliss; When there wasn't a hurt I could possibly get, Nor a joy I could lose nor miss. When I let the years and the ages flee In the most uncounted way, And never looked in the glass to see If my hair were growing gray. What wonder that still I love to speak Of this kingdom grand and free, That vanished away at the first wild shriek Of the infant known as me? They may prate of the wondrous things that are, Which existence alone can give; But I know that my happiest days, by far, Were the days when I didn't live. A CLEVER MAN 91 Nor would I compare the pleasures shown In the present's frivolous scene With the endless raptures that were not known, The bliss that has never been. I don't care a jot how fortune flows To the men on each side of me; For the fellows I envy the most are those Who have not begun to be. A CLEVER MAN "You must be mine you must be mine"; He used the words best known to wooers, In ardent tones, but, all the same, He never said: "I must be yours! " 92 THE OPEN BOOK TWO PHANTOMS A PHANTOM but newly dead was in search Of his bearings, to get them right, And was hovering doubtfully over a church When another ghost came in sight; He nodded grimly, and nearer drew. While the preacher's ringing tone Rang clearly the sound of sobbing through To the ghosts in the high ozone. Said the new-made ghost, in a reverent tone, As he thoughtfully glanced below : " It seems some soul from his friends has gone Whose like they shall never know; Of angel grace he lacked naught save the wings, So nobly his virtues ran." Said the other ghost who was used to such things "They are talking of you, old man." "Of me?" cried the phantom. "Can it be I was such a soul, so great, So true and noble so strong and free? Have I learned it, alas, too late? AWAY WITH THEM/ 93 I will hie me back to the earth, and strive " "Hie nothing," the other said; "The reason they're praising you, man alive, Is just because you are dead! " AWAY WITH THEM! AWAY with charms that tempt in vain! Green shadowy wood, and winding lane; Away with meads and fragrant leas, With butterflies and birds and bees ! Away with her I love, whose eyes Draw from me my sad heart in sighs! Away with her sweet wiles ! I say, With all these things, away, away! Away with them! because, you see, Away with them, I'd like to be! 94 THE OPEN BOOK 'TIS TIME TO RISE WHEN cats forsake the backyard fence, And drowsy maid in darkness dense Doth scratch a match to view the clock; When milkman, taking in the block, Doth morning bottles briskly clink Of cream and milk; with him we think We ought to rise. When dimly white the window gleams, And most familiar object seems Unlike itself; when faint and far We hearken the first down-town car; When most we hate the thought of "biz," This, this, alas ! we feel this is The time to rise. When sunlight reddens on the floor, And carrier swift at basement door The morning paper gayly flings; When gently stir the breakfast things; When we to spring from slumber vow And fall asleep, we know that now 'Tis time to rise! A STUDY 95 A STUDY SHE'S full of tact she knows just what To say, and when to say it ; Whatever part falls to her lot, She's well equipped to play it. Your smiles are mirrored on her face, Your sighs are heard, and heeded; And tears the tears that leave no trace Are promptly yours, when needed. She has soft looks for Tom and Dick, Likewise for scapegrace Harry; Were she confronted with Old Nick, Methinks she'd mildly tarry To say a word of soothing praise And e'en that stern saint, Peter, Could scarce escape her wiling ways If he, by chance, should meet her ! Her mind's alert your thought to grasp, Practical, or esthetic; Her hand is ready with a clasp, Tenderly sympathetic; She's full of tact in word and act Well doth such grace become her; But, she's so full of tact, in fact That all the men fly from her ! 96 THE OPEN BOOK THE VANQUISHED MAN WHO speaks of freedom's joy to me In accents brave? Ah, let who will, or can, be free; I am a slave! No chains my limbs or body fret With twist and twinge No dungeon walls are 'round me set; And yet I cringe; I bend, I bow, I sneak, I slink, I crawl and creep; I scarcely ever get a wink Of quiet sleep. Above my breath I dare not speak; Upstairs I steal, Fearful my shoes might chance to squeak Or door-hinge squeal. You wonder why my manhood bows Thus basely low? There's a new baby in the house Now, do you know? A HOPELESS CASE 97 A HOPELESS CASE "GiVE me a kiss," she pleading said. He heard, unmoved, her ardent suing, Altho' to her he was not wed Nor had he even come a-wooing. "Give me a kiss," her lips in shape To tempt a saint, did thus beseech him, While he seemed striving to escape To some place, where she could not reach him. "Give me a kiss, just one, I pray." Her fond insistence ill did serve her. He looked askance, and turned away, Scared and disgusted at her fervor. " Give me a kiss." Each coaxing word Seemed more and more to fright and pain him, Because he was her brand-new bird, And she was starting in to train him. 98 THE OPEN BOOK TWO INVITATIONS May writes: DEAR Helen, you must surely come, the season is so gay. I'll tell you now just what to bring, and then of course you may Make such additions as seem fit. I hope you'll come to stay. Well, dear, to be effective here, where color is the rage, One should adopt some quiet tint; soft gray would suit your age I mean your youth; but then the shade is difficult to gauge. I've chosen black, and stick to it. Just once I thought I'd dare A change. I wore flame-color, and you should have seen them stare, Especially the men. Of course my arms and neck were bare. TWO INVITATIONS 99 Still, as I said, the quieter the dress the more it makes One seem a contrast to the throng, and that's the thing that takes; And that's just what we're playing for our very highest stakes. But bring your nicest underwear. These rocks are very steep, And sometimes, in the climbing, one is apt to jump and leap; So have your flouncings all of lace and extra fine and deep. Be lavish, dear, in parasols, as brilliant as you choose. They make the picture's setting, and shine out against the blues And grays of ocean background if one the term can use. The place is very full this year; the faces all seem new. The men are simply splendid, and there's plenty of them, too. I know that is the best inducement I can offer you. ioo THE OPEN BOOK So come; we'll have no end of fun. My Jack is still away. He's camping out at Wildwood glen, and says he'll write to-day To ask your Frank to join him. Won't that be lovely? MAY. Jack writes : Dear boy, come up and stretch yourself come up and breathe some air. Get out of that infernal rut. It makes a fellow swear To think what lives we live all year, penned in the city there. I've lots of things to tell you, but I can't keep on the track; There's too much world, and sky, and breeze come up and take a whack. And bring the oldest togs you have the very oldest. JACK. WHAT SHE DID NOT SAY 101 WHAT SHE DID NOT SAY "I WISH to tell you," she firmly said, "Yes, once for all" here she caught his eye "When faith is ended and hope is dead" She looked as if she would like to cry. "Whatever of love but that time is past, That dream is over. You needn't speak, The bitter truth you must know at last ; Oh! I will be strong though I have been weak. "But now that you plainly understand" Her soft voice faltered, he drew more near "I need say no more" here he caught her hand, And the word he murmured was simply "Dear!" And then, as a loving woman should, She wept on his heart in the old sweet way, And she said no more, but he understood, Ah ! better far, what she did not say. 102 THE OPEN BOOK HER TYRANT MASTER WITH cheeks aglow from kisses of the frost, Blue laughing eyes, and shining hair, wind- tossed, She comes in breathless, bright, a little late, Fair as a dream, but pitiless as Fate. She struggles with her rubbers on the mat, Lays by her jacket and hangs up her hat, Pulls off her gloves, and sweetly thoughtful stands Beside the register, to warm her hands. I look up, at her soft "good morning"; then I mumble "morning," and lay down my pen. And then her task begins, and, like a Turk, I keep her how remorselessly at work ! She's my typewriter girl, and I'm her "boss"; I hear her tell the bookkeeper I'm "cross," And ' ' hard to please. ' ' Great Scott ! that isn't it. If she could only know how hard I'm hit ! Oh, yes, I scold you, dear; I nag and yell; Only, because you please me far too well ; Also, because I'd like to knock in two The tall young fellow who walks home with you. THE FALSE ORACLE 103 THE FALSE ORACLE SHE picked a little daisy flower With fringe of snow and heart of gold, All pure without, and warm within, And stood to have her fortune told. "He loves me, " low, she musing said, And plucked the border, leaf by leaf, "A little too much not at all With fullest heart, beyond belief." "A little too much not at all," So rang the changes o'er and o'er; The tiny leaflets fluttered down And strewed the meadow's grassy floor. "A little too much not at all With fullest heart." Oh, magic brief! Ah, foolish task, to measure out Love's value, on a daisy leaf. For as she plucked the latest left, With "not at all, " I heard her say, "Ah, much you know, you silly flower He'll love me till his dying day." 104 THE OPEN BOOK AT DAWN I LOVE the first faint tender thrill Of light that tints the east, and makes A silvery ribbon of the rill Unwound among its tangled brakes. I love the robin's matin note That, stirring in his sleep, he sings Half on the air, half in his throat, And muffled half, beneath his wings. I love the violet's waking eye The wayside daisy's star-like face The sweet-briar, blushing at the sky The dew-drenched clover's generous grace. I revel most at this strange hour, In Nature's charm, mysterious, deep; This is the time I feel her power Because, thank goodness, I'm asleep. MULTIPLICA TION 105 MULTIPLICATION I CRAVED a kiss with prayer and sigh, Long, long I craved, and long in vain ; At length, in pity for my pain, The gift she granted, tenderly. I can not tell the reason why This grace, alas! should prove my bane; For now, still far more hungrily, I'm wishing day and night that I Could kiss her fifty times again. A FREE SLAVE SHE said he was her lover " I would not hold you no If once the dream seemed over If once you wished to go "You're free at any season At any moment free! " ' ' But that is just the reason You hold me fast," said he. io6 THE OPEN BOOK THE MAIDEN'S AIM HE pelted her neatly, from head to feet, With snowballs soft and with snowballs fleet, And seemed to think it no end of fun; While she was busy preparing one, Rolling, pounding it hard and sound, With snow scooped up from the fleecy ground. Then aimed she her missile fair and clear; He did not dodge, for he did not fear, But calmly waited to see it fly, And far from its target wildly shy. When, whack ! on the side of his smiling face He caught it, right in the very place She had meant to paste it. By Jove, and Mars, And Jupiter Ammon, but he saw stars ! For her brother, a baseball pitcher tall, Had taught and trained her to throw a ball. A GRADUATE 107 And this gay young fellow, who laughed with glee, While bravely awaiting her onslaught, he Was speedily brought to understand How the clinging, gentle, and trusting hand That rocks the cradle, plain truth to tell, Can do some other things quite as well ! A GRADUATE PRACTICE, they say, makes perfect in each art : The heart, then, truly In Cupid's lore, if studious from the start, Must progress duly. Ergo the fact that I have loved before, Proves only, now, dear, That I can love you better far, and more By knowing how, dear. ON THE YACHT SAID Dick, "This sea breeze has one fault It makes my whiskers taste of salt." Said pretty Lil, who near him sat, "Yes, doesn't it? / noticed that." 108 THE OPEN BOOK SILENCE SHE has a sweet, distracting way Of saying nothing, which, I swear, A dearer meaning can convey, Than uttered words could ever dare. Her eyes their silken fringes raise, A dimple comes in either cheek; Her ripe lips part, and as you gaze You'd really think you heard her speak. You may at first be vexed by this, But you'll discover day by day Her silence much more charming is Than anything she finds to say. THE OUTLOOK HE begs me to marry him, here, and now He frets at a week's delay, When he pictures the joy that will crown his brow From the date of the wedding day. He knows I can fill his cup, to the brink, With such bliss as we seldom see, But it never occurs to the man to think If the bliss will be shared by me \ HER WAY OF WAITING 109 HER WAY OF WAITING SHE sat and waited by the hedge, The western sky shone clear and yellow; White mists were rising from the sedge, The birds drank at the water's edge She sat and watched for him dear fellow! The fields grew dim, the sky grew gray, The stars, like timid flowers, were budding; She watched along the lonely way, While up the smooth sands of the bay The limpid, silvery tide came flooding. She watched; but when she saw, at last, His tall form hurrying from the distance, She rose, nor look behind her cast, And walked the other way as fast As if he wasn't in existence ! i io THE OPEN BOOK IRISH COURTSHIP "AND how are ye, Kitty?" "Sure, is it yerself?" "What's left of me, darlin' it's not a great deal, And that little might just as well be on the shelf, For all that your hard heart would pity or feel." "No, thanks be to goodness, I'm not such a fool As the rest of the women, mind that, Master Ted!" "Ye're the cruel exception that's provin' the rule, And it's of that same proof, dear, I'm nearly half dead. " "Well, ye're wastin' yer time; don't I tell ye so, flat, So trim up yer whiskers an' get yer hair curled ; IRISH COURTSHIP in There's plenty of girls for the askin', mind that." "But there's only one Kitty, just one, in the world." "If there's only one Kitty, then she's not for you." "Oh, troth, if she isn't, I'm surely forlorn! But I've made up my mind that I'll pound black and blue, The fella that gets her, as sure as he's born. "I'll break every bone in his body, Miss Kate, For there's no other comfort would make me resigned; Then, if you can love him, good luck to your fate, For you'll marry a cripple, so now, do you mind?" "Sure ye know ye're a rascal." "An' that's just my name, And that's what I will be, and all for yer sake But rascal or not, faith, I'll haunt ye, the same, And I'll follow ye, what iver road ye may take. 112 THE OPEN BOOK, " Ye'll make me a divil, yes, that's what ye'll do, And then ye'll be proud of yer handiwork, dear, When I might be a saint, livin' peaceful wid you, In Heaven hereafter, and Paradise here." "A divil! Oh, Teddy, don't say it, that's wrong! Sure, ye're makin' me cry, wid yer schames an' yer art." "Isn't that what I'm tryin' to do, all along An' it's time I was kissin' yer tears off, sweetheart." "It's a slap ye'll be gettin' take that, that and that." "An* welcome; ye know, dear, they tell us a kiss We must give for a blow. Don't I see what ye're at, And faith I won't stint ye take this, this and this." POETIC JUSTICE 113 POETIC JUSTICE WE'VE heard of the summer girl too much; We are tired of the modes and styles By which she endeavors to lure and clutch Unwary youth in her wiles. Why hasn't the poet extolled in rhyme The girl who discreetly goes Away from town for a quiet time And to get a rest from her beaux? Why doesn't he sing of the maid whose soul Is attuned to Nature's tone Who prefers, by herself, through the woods to stroll, And to gaze at the moon, alone? I would answer thus: In great Nature's plan Is many a strange surprise, And the poet may be a truthful man Who never has learned to tell lies. H4 THE OPEN BOOK WHAT LIKE IS A LOVER? WHAT like is a lover ? A lover's like A straw, in the spring wind blowing ! How far he will float, or where he'll strike, Is past all our wisest knowing. A straw in the wind, now here now there, And that's like a lover; so, sweet, beware! What like is a lover? A light in a mist, Not well to be trusted, blindly Sometimes found, but as often missed Unkind, when he seems most kindly; A scorching sun, and a chilling shade And that's like a lover; be warned, fair maid! What like is a lover? My sweet sweetheart, Ah, nothing's like to a lover For guile and cunning, and wicked art ! Forswear them all, and discover The one, one only, you need not fear To trust forever! ... 7 love you, dear! THE OLD, OLD STORY 115 THE OLD, OLD STORY I CHOSE him out from all the rest My Tom he had three lovely brothers; But well he seemed to like me best Of all the girls. Oh, there were others That wanted him, but, somehow, he, Right from the first, kept after me. He was so splendid! Big and kind And calm, and full of mischief, very. A romp seemed always to his mind, While I was rather prim than merry. Yet, when he was my own, I felt How fond a lover near me dwelt. Alas! There came a time of change; He cared no more for home nor quiet. His moods were reckless, wild, and strange; Night after night he spent in riot, Returning when the dawnlight came Quite heedless of reproach or blame. And so it went, till months were past. I was too proud to bang or beat him, Ii6 THE OPEN BOOK Or pull his whiskers yet, at last, He left me. Now, I sometimes meet him; He has grown ugly, old, and fat My handsome Maltese Thomas cat. CONSISTENT "'TWOULD never do," she firmly said; "The clustering curls that crown your head Are blond, which is my color, too. Your eyes, alas! like mine, are blue; Sanguine are both our temperaments. I am compelled to drive you hence, Science forbids that we should wed. 'T would never do!" she firmly said. "Then I must seek a dark brunette," He sadly sighed, "with eyes of jet; A woman languid, dreamy, slow, Would be my counterpart just so." He sighed. "Across the street from me Lives such a one I'll go and see How she, on nearer view, appears." "And leave me ?" she inquired with tears. THE CRY OF THE REVIEWERS 117 THE CRY OF THE REVIEWERS AYE, write, write, write! Oh, go on writing, do! Don't stop to let us breathe, nor to take breath Speed, speed your stylo-pens typewriters, too The sooner we shall all be nearing death, And rest . . . and rest ! Keep up the strenu- ous sprint, Scribble, erase, pad out, revise, and print. Print, print, and print ! Let pity be forgot Let gentle mercy weep, and peace take wing; We yet have strength, it seems, to bear our lot; So cease not, halt not, write up everything That brain, or want of it, can ponder o'er, And when that's written, then write up some more. Bring out your novels one, or two, or three, Or ten, or twenty but, make haste, make haste ! Ii8 THE OPEN BOOK Blizzards can't last, and plagues, whate'er they be, Have limitations to their laying waste; Earthquakes are hurried, and the liveliest boom Soonest collapses, to its certain doom. So write, print, sell, do everything you like, Or may, or can, or must. . . . But oh ! the bliss When heart-sick publishers go out on strike, And there is suddenly an end to this No more new books, what joy! Oh, let us pray That we may live to see this glorious day ! THE I OF ME 119 THE I OF ME WHEN I, forsooth, would go prancing forth Abroad over field and plain, These limbs of mine are so slow and loth I find I must use a cane. I'm as fond of reading the daily news As ever I was; indeed Rather more than of old, but my eyes refuse And of glasses I stand in need. For music's exquisite charm I yearn Yes, just as I used to do. But alas, a deaf ear I now must turn And not only one, but two ! And as for Beauty, never before Did I yield to her magic sway With such vast capacity to adore, But Beauty won't look my way. Yet, these things prove Immortality! Though the body must heed Time's laws, Without any doubt, the I of Me Is as nimble as ever it was ! 120 THE OPEN BOOK WHY? WHY need a pretty woman chat When, from her sweet shut lips, A language well worth looking at In silent utterance slips ? Why need a clever woman speak Her wit or wisdom; for Each man she meets dull, mild, or meek- Feels her superior? Why need an ugly No. I fall Back to one simple cry Why, why need women speak, at all? There is no reason why! A 000091 517