"1 li rnia ir il THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES // ') VASSAR VERSE A COLLECTION OF POEMS FROM THE PUBLICATIONS OF VASSAR COLLEGE. 1872-1893 EDITED BY EDITH COLBY BANFIELD, 92. AND SARAH ELISABETH WOODBRIDGE, '92 CAMBRIDGE prinrcb at tftr Rrtrcr.iSibf prcW 'S93 Copyright, 1893, Bv EDITH C. BANFIELD. All rights reserved. M'^^^^Q^ ^^©^:^?^^^^^^^ PREFACE HE favor that Vassar poems have won, as they have appeared in the college magazines, seems warrant for their publication in book form. The verses of this collection have been selected in the main from the \"assar Miscellan}-, from the time of its foundation to the present date. The exceptions are a few poems taken from the Vassarions of recent years. It is regretted that signatures could not be obtained for all of the poems. Very many of them were pub- lished anonymously, and it has not been possi- ble to discover the writers in all cases. The editors wish to express their apprecia- tion of the interest that all have taken in their work, and their gratitude for the help that they have received from many friends. 762930 CONTENTS PAGE " Hark how the Storm- King rages." Juliet W. Tomp- kins, '91 1 A Rondel. Maud M. Morris 3 The March Wind blows. A nonynwus 4 Song. A nonymous 5 "Oh, the World is Fair." Anonymous 6 Nesting. A nony-inous 7 Pussy-Willows. Edith C. Banfield, '92 8 The Water-Spirit of the Storm. Juliet IV. Tompkins, 'c)i 9 May- Day Greeting. Lillian La Monte, 'Sg 10 " A Merry Blue-eyed Laddie." Juliet IV. Tompkins, '91 12 To an Oriole. Eliza P. Cobb, '93 13 Rosalie. Juliet IV. Tom/kins, '91 14 Night-Song. Lola L. Iddings, 'S9 16 Ebb Tide. Grace E. Palmer, '93 17 Noon in August. A nonymous 18 Solitude. A nonymous 20 In the Pines. Juliet IV. Tompkins, '91 21 In a Wheat-Field. Mary L. Boynton,'^^ CONTRIBUTORS PAGE Adams, Elizabeth K., '93 34. 60, 66, 83, 85, 87, gi Arnold, Winifred, '96 64 Banfield, Edith C, "92 8 Boynton, Mary L., '94 221 49 Brown, Alice C, '93 43i 76 Cobb, Eliza P., '93 '3 Cornish, Mabel, 89 28 Drake, Jeannie C, "So 50 Ferrell, L. Minna, "Sg 3' Haight, Bessie H., '94 81 Halliday, Florence, '91 47 Marker, Katharine V. D., '93 48 Hartridge, Emelyn B., '92 S5> 78 Howe, Leonora, '94 80 Iddings, Lola L., '8g 16.. 27, 71 La Monte, Lillian, "Sg 'o. 52 Morris, Emily E. , '90 26 Morris, Maud M 3 Nettleton, Annie T., '89 4°. 69 Palmer, Grace E., '93 17. 84 Perry, Jenette B 79 Reed, Amy L,, '92 37! 44. 5^ Tompkins, Juliet W., '91 i, 9, 12, 14, 21, 24, 29, 35, 38) 58, 61, 62, 65, 68, 75 Warren, Katharine, '8g 90 VASSAR VERSE I. ARK how the stormkinpr rao^es ; '^L-'xLkt'i The winds are mournfully crying; But over the trackless snow my soul To another land is flying, Where the poppies are waving, waving, And the roses hang down from above, — Away to the land of sunshine Where is waiting the one I love. Through the twilight she comes to meet me, The fireflies round her glisten. The river sweeps on with its low sweet song, And the willows bend down to listen. About her hovers the incense Of the violets 'neath her feet; Her dreamy eyes are lifted — Already our fingers meet. J'ASSA/i VERSE Have I been sleeping — dreaming? Harlt to the wild wind's crying. Away from this land of snow and storm, Would that I might be flying ! — Oh, for the waving poppies And the roses that hang from above. Oh, for the land of sunshine And the sight of the one I love ! Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. A RONDEL n. A RONDEL. JRAPT round in a cold white cloud The moon is dying to-night, alone. The stars have all of them thought- less flown ; Tenderly, slowly, is folded her shroud. With the softness with which the night is en- dow'd, And the wind is saddened into a moan. Wrapt round in a cold white cloud The moon is dying to-night, alone. In the presence of Death all nature is bow'd, The wave beats the shore in a dirge monotone, Black Night in slow grace is ascending her throne. The world is to mystery pledged and vow'd. Wrapt round in a cold white cloud The moon is dying to-night, alone. Maud Margaret Morris. I ASS A A' I'EJ^SE III. THE MARCH WIND BLOWS. HE March wind blows along the shore, And shrieks and sleeps and wakes once more ; And gathers all its might to rise, And chase along the troubled skies The frightened clouds that fl)' before ; Then feigns its sudden wrath is o'er. And knocks half gently at the door; And laughing mocks me as it flies ; The March wind blows. I dream of you, dear Eleanore, The wee blush rosebud that you wore. Half faded now, before me lies. Sweet visions float across my eyes, While loud without with angry roar, The March wind blows. SOXG IV. SONG. EEP, deep, In their caves below, While the cold winds blow, The flowers sleep, Sleep. There, there, Live the fairies who guard the flowers, And sing to them, sing thro' the cold dark hours. Until they dream of the sun that smiles Over the meadow for miles and miles ; But ever they sleep. Sleep. Soft, soft, Whisper the fairies of waving trees That beckon the flowers with every breeze, Of birds that nest in the boughs and call. Call to their mates, till the flowers all Laugh as they sleep, Sleep. I'ASSAR VERSE And And The The H, the world is fair, for the sun is hi,«(h, And the clouds have fled from the April sky, the river leaps on its way, and sings, draws new life from its mountain springs, robin calls from the willow tree, " Do you hear ? Do you see ? world is fair and joy is free, Do you see ? " And what if the sun shall hide awhile In his mantle of clouds ? He soon will smile. And gladden the river and wake the bird And stoop to the earth for a whispered word, While the robin sings in the willow tree, — " Do you hear ? Do you see ? The world is fair and joy is free, Do vou see ? " NESTING VI. NESTING. ^HOOSIXG a place for nesting, With just a bird's light care ; On barren spine, or leafy branch. What doth it matter where, So twittering love be there ? Choosing a place for nesting ; Or hill or plain or hollow — Or north or south, or east or west, Ah ! little recks the swallow, If but his true mate follow. Choosing a place for nesting This balmy witching weather; Be it in lofty fragrant pine, Be it in lowly heather. Ah ! little recks she whether. 8 I'ASSAA' VER^E V]I. PUSSY-WILLOWS. USSY-WILLOWS, shyly peeping, Gaining courage, slyly creeping, From their little coats looked out To find what Nature was about. Pussy-willows, getting bolder. Growing strong as they grew older. Threw their old black coats away, Showed soft fuzzy robes of gray. Pussy-willows, nodding brightly As the breezes brushed them lightly. Played at hide-and-seek all day With the sunbeams, warm and gay. Pussy-willows, cloudy hours. Revelled in the April sliowers, Listened to the robins' call, Watched the sunshine steal o'er all. Pussy-willows, gold-dust laden. Caught the eye of passing maiden ; Interrupted in their play. Gleefully were borne away. Edith Colby Banfield. THE WA TER-SPIRIT OF THE STORM VIII. THE WATER-SPIRIT OF THE STORM. HE Water-spirit of the Storm I could not help but dub her, As she passed by in mackintosh And little hood of rubber. No tongs had formed the merry curls That danced upon her forehead. She battled gaily with the winds, And in the storm she gloried. The raindrops fell upon her face As on an upturned flower. Her eyes were like two violets. Caught in an April shower. But ah ! another joined her steps, And all my visions faded, For who could fancy water-sprites By silk umbrellas shaded ? Yes, I was vexed, for I, you see, Was just about to tell her How very happy I should be, If she 'd share ;/// umbrella ! Juliet Wilbur Tomfkins, lO I'ASSA/i rEJiiiE IX. MAY-DAY GREETING. ITHIN my door stands blithesome Spring On May-day morning. What gentle greeting doth she bring On May-day morning.? " Come deck your heart with mirth and glee, Come fetter care and trip with me On May-day morning. " I do not bid you far a-field For May-day morning, Where meadows pied their cowslips yield For May-day morning, Where rippling brooklets gaily run And lambkins gambol 'neath the sun For May-day morning. " A sheltered garden I will show This May-day mofning, A spot where blooming maidens grow This May-day morning, MAV-DAV GREETING il Where rippling laughter gaily runs And bright eyes dance like spring-tide suns This May-day morning." Full blithely will I heed your hest, Sweet May-day morning. Of all life's spring songs yours is best, Sweet May-day morning. For fresher, fairer, sweeter far Than all your blossoms maidens are, Sweet May-day morning. Lillian La Monte. 12 f'ASSAA' FERSE MERRY, blue -eyed laddie goes laughing tlirough the town, Singing, " Hey, but the world is a gay, gay place ! " And every little lassie smoothes her tumbled locks a-down, And brings out all her dimples and hides away her frown, And lays aside her broom and mop, the bonnie boy to chase, Singing, " Hey, but the world is a gay, gay place ! " But away the blue-eyed laddie goes to seek another town. Singing, " Hey, but the world is a gay, gay place ! " Then every dimple vanishes and back comes every frown, And every little lassie folds away her Sunday gown. With teardrops trickling sadly down her woeful little face. Sighing, " Hey, but the world is a sad, sad place!" Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. TO AN ORIOLE 13 XI. TO AN ORIOLE. EEK-A-BOO, peek-a-boo, here, here," Tempting, teasing me to play, Sing you in the orchard near. Summons could not be more clear; Unmistakably you say " Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo, here, here." Full of mischief, free from fear. In a tantalizing way Sing you in the orchard near. Now one moment j-ou appear, Just a flash of orange gay, — " Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo, here, here." Firm resisting, I with cheer Ply my busy task all day ; Sing you in the orchard near. Gladness pouring in my ear, Through this sunny month of May, " Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo, here, here," Sing you in the orchard near. Eliza Pol hem us Cobb. 14 FASSAA' r£A'SA' XII. ROSALIE. VER the fields where the soft wind blows, Sweetest of flowers, Rosalie goes, Ever bending, so daintily slight. To gather the daisies golden and white. Careless and happy she passes by Bearing her daisy sheaf. The grasses cling to her trailing gown: — " RosaHe, Rosalie dear, stoop down. So long we have waited ! Ah, sweet, be kind, Go not away, leaving us behind." But Rosalie, careless, passes them by Bearing her daisy sheaf. Whispers the clover down at her feet, " The daisy has not our fragrance sweet. See how boldly she holds her head ! Gather us, Rosalie dear, instead." But Rosalie, careless, passes them by, Bearing her daisy sheaf. ROSALIE 15 Rosalie's lover kneels in the grass. " Rosalie, dearest, do not pass Leaving my heart to wither alone. Stoop and gather it, love, for thine own."' But Rosalie laughs and passes him bv, Bearing her daisy sheaf. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. l6 FASSAR VEKSE xni. NIGHT-SONG. WILL sing thee a song, my heart so dear; Sing thee a song that none other can hear, As we walk alone in the night. When all the turmoil of day is stilled, When the cups of the lilies with dew are filled As they dream in the pale moonlight. A song which the sighing night winds know, As they rise and fall in cadence low, Breathing a thought for words too deep. Ah, wonderful music and wonderful sone ! Which trembled in ecstasy all the night long Till my heart and I fell asleep. Lola Lammot Iddings. EBB TIDE 17 XIV. EBB TIDE. ;|INCE now the tide is out, Though sunset plumes the sky with rosy cloud, Upon the bar the running breakers crowd No more in merrj- rout, Along the beach are pools with opal glow, And sands that rival pearl-lined ocean shell ; From out her silent heavens Peace bends low, And whispers, " All is well ; The tide is out." Left by the ebbing tide My stranded boat lies hi2:h upon the sands; There is no strength witliin my weary hands To drag it o'er this wide. Smooth beach, nor in my heart aught of desire To battle with the waves. We do not feel How of vain rowing eager arms can tire. Until alone beside our boat we kneel. Left by the ebbing tide. Grace Emetine Palmer. l8 VASSAA' r£A'S£ XV. NOON IN AUGUST. LONE, among the hills, in full con- tent I lie ; The yellow sunshine warmly wraps the languid earth ; Near me, a hidden brook flows gently purling by; The daisies with each breath nod on their slender stems. Amid the stern, dark oaks gleam out some willow trees, Which seem as fair and soft as face of little child. They bow and courtesy to each gently passing breeze, Just as dear children in their pretty fancies play. Noon steals o'er all the land — steals ling'ring slowly by ; She stoops to hush the brook's low purl — fainter it sounds. NOO.V IX AUGUST 19 The drowsy hum of vagrant bees, as past thev fly, Seems like a low-voiced lullaby to baby flowers. f^"-^ 20 VASSA/i VERSE XVI. SOLITUDE. DEEP, dark pool with no outlet, Around it cedars, sombre, tall. Upon it weeds, a tangled net, The dim, white moonlight over all. An old canoe, a broken oar, Decaying there upon the sands ; Oh, who would live on this drear shore, And not away to other lands ! IX THE FIXES 21 XVII. I\ THE FIXES. HERE were three of us — Cupid went with us, you know, Dear blindfolded boy, who is never de i>'op, And the words left unsaid the soft winds whis- pered low, In the pines. A small gift she gave me — though blind, it is true. From the way that he laughed I am sure Cupid knew, And the asters and golden rod, they saw it too, And the pines. Then the shadows grew dark in the wood's tangled growth, And homeward we turned in the twilight, half loath. And Love walked between with an arm around both. Through the pines. Juliet Wilbur Tomfki?is. 22 VASSAR J'EA'SE XVIII. IN A WHEAT-FIELD. LEAMING and golden the bright day is ending, Never again comes a moment like this ; See how the wheat in its beauty is bending Under the breezes' ethereal kiss ! Seed-time is past, Love, and soon will the reaping All this gay beauty and gladness annul ; Soon will its glory forever go sweeping On to utility joyless and dull. Look in my eyes, my Own, brimming with laughter — Thou art the summer wind, I am the wheat. Dull days are left behind, dull days come after, This moment lies between, magical, sweet. Mary Louise Boynton. A LATE OCTOBER DAY 23 XIX. A LATE OCTOBER DAY. LATE October day, the meadows brown, Grave memories alone of summer tinge, The birches, with their dead leaves rustling down, But round the autumn brooks a silver fringe. Afar the gray clouds met the silent land. Their soft caresses veiled the farthest hill, A quiet hush, as if a blessing hand. Extended o'er the whole, bade earth — be still. A silence, not of want but weight of thought, A quiet, but the quietude of power, A sense that one would find, if one but sought, The truth decisive in the truth's good hour. Along the west alone a rim of gold, But, though all colorless, I yet could see A picture, in the autumn's frame of cold, Of brightness past, completion yet to be. 24 VASSAR VERSE XX. THE LITTLE LAKE, IJESTLED up close to the hill's brown breast, By bending willow and larch ca- ressed, Where down from the rocks the cool spring leaps, A tiny lake ever laughs and sleeps. The river comes hurrying, rushing down, " Wondrous sights have we seen in the town ; Through gloomy forests we 've softly crept, While you, little lake, have but laughed and slept." The fleet stag pauses in proud disdain, " I have beaten the storm-wind over the plain; On the highest crag I have proudly stepped. While you, little lake, have but laughed and slept." A traveller bends o'er the waters clear, " How narrow and small your existence here; THE LITTLE LAKE 25 I have lived and loved, I have feared and wept, While you, little lake, have but laughed and slept." But the little lake answers, " A far-off gain You are ever seeking but never attain ; In hurry and toil your life is spent, But I love my hills and I know content." Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 26 V ASSAIL I'EA'SE XXI. THE FIRST SNOWSTORM. A child's poem. ITTLE Miss Snowflake, dressed in white, Came down the dusty road one night. Her dress was as white as a piece of chalk, And she pranced around, but did not walk ; For she was going to a ball that night. And til at was the reason she dressed in white. There were fifty thousand, and many more, too, And they looked like the children that lived in the shoe. They had for music, that happy night, A little brook, that sang about flight ; They had for chorus the rustling of leaves. That came from the tops of the tallest trees. Emily Eugenia Morris. "^ THOUSAND TIMES" 27 XXII. THOUSAND times the wintry sun Has bowed liis radiant head ; A thousand times the pale white snow Has blushed a rosy red ; A thousand times it seems to you, But then to me it is so new, With sweet surprise my heart doth glow And blushes with the sun-kissed snow. Through crystal branches of the wood There shines the round-eyed moon; The brook between stern banks of ice Gives forth a merry tune. 'T was thus, you say, in days of yore ; But I Ve not heard the song before, To me 't is something new to hear A summer song in winter drear. Lola Lammot Iddings. 28 VASSAR VERSE XXIII. A VALENTINE. IS a song of a snowflake cold and white, Which came to earth on a winter's night, And lay serene in the calm moonlight — By the window of a lady. 'T is a song of a sunbeam bright and gay. Which pierced the cloud of a winter's day, To melt the snowflake where it lay Before the eyes of the lady. A song of a heart like the snowflake cold, That longed in vain for a sunbeam bold To pierce the crust and pour its gold Into the life of the lady. And then, there 's a song which is sweet and true, Of some one fair, with eyes of blue, Who came one day and did gently woo To warmth the heart of the lady. Mabel Cornish. THE SLEEPING PRIXCESS xxrv. THE SLEEPING PRINCESS. PRINCESS sleeps in a castle strong, Of wondrous beauty, told of in song And fabled abroad in story. On winter evenings oft will they tell How she must sleep there, bound by a spell, Till there come a knight of glory. Nobles boasting that none but they Could drive the spell of the sleep away, To the castles have come in numbers. Many a knight from a far-off land Has kissed full gently that cold, white hand, But ever the princess slumbers. " She will never wake," they crj- ; " She is dead ! Car\-ed from stone is that beautiful head, The spirit of sleep to semble." But I know better, for watching, I Have heard from those half-closed lips a sigh, I have seen her eyelid tremble. 3° r ASS A A' rEA'SE Never for me will those wondrous eyes lie raised with a look full of glad surprise, Or those hands held out, in waking. I guard her couch ; I should never dare To touch one lock of her soft, dark hair, To keep my heart from breaking. Sleep on, my princess ! I '11 guard thee as long As knights and princes around thee throng, With a heart that never winces. And when at last shall the true knight come, To lead thee away to his castled home, 'T will be sweet to die, my princess. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. FROM THE GERMAN OF HELVE 3 1 XXV, FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE. HOU art so like a flower, So sweet and pure and fair, I sraze on thee and a sadness Steals into my heart unaware. It seems as if over thy dear head I must clasp my hands, and in prayer Ask God forever to keep thee So sweet and pure and fair. L. Minna Ferrell. 32 y ASS AM I'EKSE XXVI. THE STORY. EARS agone, I loved a lassie, Was as dear as life to me. She was carried by a dragon To his palace o'er the sea. And the sun went out forever, And the stars died in the strife, All the earth grew blank and dreary. She was gone who seemed my life ! So I went down to the seacoast, Years and years I waited there ; Till one bright, sunshiny morning. Chanced to meet a mermaid fair. ' O young mermaid, golden-tressed ! I 've a boon to ask of thee : Make me but that bird out yonder Flying eastward o'er the sea." And the maid forgot her combing, Let her hair fall to her knee ; ' Thou shalt have the boon thou askest If thou 'It give thy soul to me." ■ Gladly, gladly, young sea-maiden, Soul and body take in pay ; THE STORY Give me but that bird's white pinions Quickly, quickly, no delay." In an instant I was sailing On white wings across the main, All my bird's heart beating, dancing, To see her, my love, again. And I found her ! found her happy, For the dragon proved a knight ; So I died on her dear bosom, And she kissed my pinions white. ZZ 34 I'ASSAR VERSE XXVII. "IN LIGHTER VEIN." N lighter vein — blue eyes and rosy lips, Gay songs and dances, jests and merry quips ; No thought of the great mysteries of Pain And Life and Death, but just a clear refrain That in 'twixt thoughts of love and laughter slips, Light as the foam that from the oar-blade drips — Such is the measure of our careless strain, In lighter vein. Safe into port come all our wandering ships From those dim lands o'er which the horizon dips; Our Fancy's castles prove not all in Spain ; Oh, life is fair and every path is plain, If we but woo the muse who ever trips In lighter vein. Elizabeth Kemper Adams. OF COURSE 35 XXVIII. OF COURSE. MERRY shepherd lad was Jock, Of course. All day he watched his father's flock, Of course. He never had learned to write or spell, But he loved his bonnie lassie well, And she his love did not repel, Of course. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, Of course. And she like the clear-voiced lark could sing, Of course. Her bright black eyes were never sad. Her face was all the wealth she had. And so she loved her shepherd lad, Of course ! A gallant guardsman came to town, Of course. He was worth full many a hundred poun', Of course. 36 FASSAJi^ VERSE She fell in love with this guardsman gay, So she jilted Jock and she ran away. He married somebody else, they say. Of course ! Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. FASSAA' COLLEGE 37 XXIX. VASSAR COLLEGE. N institution once there was, Of learning and of knowledge, Which had upon its high brick front A " Vassar Female College." The maidens fair could not enjoy Their bread and milk or porridge, For graven on their forks and spoons Was "Vassar Female College." Tra la la la, tra la, la, la, 'T was Vassar Female College. A strong east wind at last came by, A wind that blew from Norwich ; It tore the " Female " from the sign That was upon the College. And as the Faculty progressed In wisdom and in knowledge, They took the " Female " off the spoons As well as off the College. Tra la la la, tra la, la, la, It now is Vassar College. Amy Lottise Reed. 3^ yASi;AA' VEKSK XXX. TO A LITTLE EDITOR. TIRED little editor Came wearily to me, Her face was full of trouble, tier e)-es drooped mournfully. With piteous tears she begged me To set to work and write A — something — for her paper, Something not too deep nor light. Perhaps a few brief personals. To tell the different ways That the most distinguished Seniors Had spent the holidays. A little editorial All full of sayings bright, A review upon a novel That she was going to write. The poor, dear little editor ! She looked so sad that I TO A LITTLE EDITOR Could n't bear to disappoint her, So I rashly said I 'd try. I sharpened well my pencil, A brand new pad I bought, I put " engaged " upon my door, And sat me down and thought. Alas ! I found that writing Was not within my sphere ; For though I sat for hours, I had n't an idea. You tired little editor! I 'm sorry to refuse. But I sadly fear in writing I 'm of ver}' little use. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 39 40 VASSAK VERSE XXXI. NOTES ON A PSYCHOLOGY RECITATION. 'VE thought about it, And, ez for me, I ain't at all, Es fur 'z I see. But them 't ain't Don't have no sight, So now I 'm in A pooty plight. But what 's a plight But a gineral mix, And them 't ain't Ain't in that fix. This 'ere impression Has gone quite deep ; I sartinly ain't. Awake or asleep. But how can them 'At ain't, awake, PSYCHOLOGY RECITATION 41 Or be asleep, For massy sake ? This 'ere discussion Don't lead nowhere ; And ef it did Th'r' ain't nothin' there. Annie Thompson Nettleton. 42 VASSAR VERSE XXXII. VASSAR TO HARVARD. jpr3>i.i/s:y|-;0UR gay Lampoon, all life and fun, }jS^'^'\ I place beside our Miscellany, i And envy you each joke and pun — We 're far too brainy ! We write on politics, finance, — Ruled strictly out the smallest jibe is, — And quote remarks of Locke's and Kant's. We have no Ibis. If once our Misc. a grind should print, Ah, woe betide the poor transgressor ! While you can roast, without a stint. Each sage professor. We dull and serious are, by fate, And leave to you the fun and folly. Yet underneath our air sedate, We 're just as jolly ! Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. A COMMON OCCURRENCE 43 XXXIII. A COMMON OCCURRENCE. AID the maiden to her teacher, " I 'm hero in the play, And I 'd like to borrow from you My — your coat, sir, if I may." Then the teacher sighed so softly. Thus at length he gently spoke : ■ I 'm a Christian man, O maiden, — You may also take my cloak." Alice Crawford Brown. 44 FASSAA' I -£A'Si: XXXIV. QUID PRO QUO. I. IS a modest rhyme, to a proper air, With sentiment not o'er-laden ; And it aims to tell of the love affair Of a youth and a Vassar maiden, — ' To tell of The love Of a youth for a Vassar maid. His heart beat high But he feared to speak. Lest she should not an helpmeet prove Industrious and meek. So he asked her plainly. Ere he made his moan. How much of the housewifely art To her was known. " Can you brew ? Can you bake Good bread and cake ? (Before my love I utter) Can you sew a scam ? Can you churn the cream To make the yellow butter ? QUID PRO QUO 45 " What use is refraction, Chemical reaction, Biologic protoplasm, Psychologic microcosm ? Would you make my weal, You must cook the meal. Maid divine, if so, be mine, If not — farewell." II. You at once perceive he did not believe In '"higher education," And the maid replied, with natural pride, And a lack of hesitation, Replied With pride. To the youth who sadly sighed : " I was early taught. Ere I took A. B., To brew and bake, to sew and cook. Quite thriftily. But ere I give my answer, I from you must learn. If this I do, pray what have you To ofTer in return .'' Can you rent the room Where I use the broom ? 46 VASSAR VERSE Can \-ou earn the household money ? Can you chop the wood While I cook the food, And provide the milk and honey ? " What use is refraction, Chemical reaction. Biologic protoplasm, Psychologic microcosm ? Would you make my weal, You must buy the meal. You shake your head. You I '11 not wed, And so, — farewell. Amy Louise Reed. TO THE POINT 47 XXXV. TO THE POINT. OME, love, a word with you; My wandering heart at last is caught and caged. I 'm blunt, you see, but then the truth will out. I love you — Let 's hang out " Engaged." Flore?tce Halliday. 48 VASSAR VERSE XXXVI. ET along, old Pegasus, I 'm going on a flight ; I have to write a valentine To go this very night. It 's going to be for EmeUne, To tell her of my love ; So get along, old Pegasus, Into the realms above. Of course she knows I love her, But it has to be in rhyme ; And that 's the reason, Pegasus, I 'm taking all this time. A few remarks about her eyes, And one about her nose. Then something said about my heart, Such nonsense since she knows. I put it down on paper, though. Because although she knows, I want to make it doubly sure She knows I know she knows. Katharine Van Dyke Marker. THE DEAR UXATTAINABLE 49 XXXVII. THE DEAR UNATTAINABLE. IS not that it is fairer, sweet, The rose that sways above you ; \l yo2i but grew just out of reach, Ah me, how I could love you ! Yet if I did, your fancy straight Would turn from my pursuing, Some other man would win your heart Another maiden wooing. Mary Louise Boynton. 50 rASSAA' VERSE XXXVIII, CONFESSIO AMANTIS. T.VALENTINE, wait, Do wait till I read it ! It may be my fate : St. Valentine, wait. Of course I 'm sedate, Too sedate, far, to heed it. But, Valentine, wait. Do wait till I read it ! Ah, love-words again ! I always resist them. Threats, too ! But, then. They 're love-words again, Words from his pen. Don't tell him I kissed them ! Ah, love-words again ! I always resist them. If Jack did but know How he makes my heart flutter ! It 's fluttering so. If Jack did but know CO?/FESSIO AMANTIS My foolish thoughts — Oh, But they 're too rash to utter ! If Jack did but know How he makes my heart flutter ! But Jack must not guess I relent to my lover. Hush, Valentine ! — Yes, But Jack must not guess: I should blush to confess, And my heart to discover. No, Jack must not guess I relent to my lover ! Jeannie Clara Drake. 51 VASSAR VERSE XXXIX. / A SONG OF DEGREES. HERE "s a maiden wondrous wise, Woe is Me ! And she never heeds my sighs, Woe is Me ! For she soars and she aspires, And of learning never tires, But of Me. And she longeth for degrees. Pity Me ! A. B.'s, A. M.'s, Ph. D.'s, Pity Me ! For ambition she will live, Titles that the world can give. Not for Me. But her folly she would rue. Even She ! If this simple truth she knew, Even She ! Love all titles can bestow, And Love's power she soon shall know, Only She ! A SOA'G OF DEGREES 53 " Loved Heart's Darling," thus I spell L. H. D. " Light of Life. Dear,"' thus I tell LL. D. And with pious zeal I vow " Dear Delight" is written now Just D. D. " My Pet " shines on civic page, M. P. " My Gem " glows in war's red rage M. G. On each doctor's sign I read " My Dear," plain as any creed, M. D. l'envoy. O Maiden ! close awhile thy book ; Behold the titles Love gives Thee ; On Love and on Love's pleading look, Then grant, I pray Thee, Love his fee. Lillian La Monte. 54 VASSAR VEJ^SE XL. RE those brown eyes quite in earnest, As I pass, And they flash me a sweet message, Little lass ? Can I trust the depth of feeling That I see, When your glance with cruel fleetness Falls on me ? Then, your smile so gay and saucy. Does it hide The quick tremor of your sweet lips ? Is it pride ? If I cast my heart, fair maiden, At your feet, Will you still look as untroubled, As discreet ? LITTLE MAID XLI. ]ITTLE maid, I 've lost my heart, Canst tell me aught about it? IJ I lost it in the path one day, — The path of life, a weary way, — And be the world or grave or gay, I 'm very sad without it. Little maid, I 've found a heart, Canst tell me aught about it ? I found it in the path one day, — The path of life, a merry way, — And now be skies or blue or gray, I could not live without it. Emelyn Batter sby Hartridge. 56 FASSAA' VERSE XLII. ITTLE Dan Cupid stole down on a sunbeam, To get of this old earth a peep. He was tired of play with toy hearts and blunt arrows, And his good mother Love was asleep. Little Dan Cupid rode home on the moon- ray, And bore to his mother as trophies of might Two human hearts, pierced and bleeding, enfolded In a bit of the gray mist that shrouded the night. " Ah, naughty Dan Cupid ! " Love cried ; her tears falling Were like the sweet dropping of soft April rain ; " Knewest thou not that in all the wide heaven No healing is found for Love's wounds or Love's pain ? " LITTLE DAN CUPID 57 The pitying All-Mother took to her bosom The poor beating things by Dan Cupid undone. "At least, ye may bear it together," she murmured. And tenderly kissed the two souls into one. Amy Louise Reed. 58 VASSAR VERSE XLIII. A HUMBLE ROMANCE. ER ways were rather frightened, and she was n't much to see. She was n't good at small talk or quick at repartee ; Her gown was somewhat lacking in the proper cut and tone, And it was n't difficult to see she 'd made it all alone. So the gay young men whose notice would have filled her with delight Paid very small attention to the little girl in white. He could n't talk the theatre, for he had n't time to go. And, though he knew that hay was high, and butter rather low. He could n't say the airy things that other men rehearse, While his waltzing was so rusty that he did n't dare reverse. A HUMBLE ROMAiYCE 59 The beauties whom he sighed for were most frigidly polite, So perforce he came and sat beside the little girl in white. She soon forgot her envy of the glittering beati monde, For their common love of horses proved a sjTnpathetic bond. She told him all about the farm, and how she came to town, And showed the honest little heart beneath the home-made gown. A humble tale, you say — and yet he blesses now the night When first he came and sat beside the little girl in white. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 6o VASSAR VERSE XLIV. HIS VALENTINE. E sat and tore his curly hair By many a midnight taper, And ruined countless dainty sheets Of most expensive paper. The reason, this : he wished to send (If rhymes he could discover) The very sweetest valentine, Their most ambitious lover. But all in vain. A winsome face Seemed peeping o'er his shoulder To stop his pen and steal his wits, And yet how could he scold her ? His similes were dull and flat. His rhymes grew worse each minute, Her voice to him was all that had A bit of music in it. And when the dear old Saint's Day came, Instead of missive scented, A bit of pasteboard at the door Was all that he presented. But holding fast her hand in his And bending low above her, He boldly said, " I love you, sweet ! " — This most courageous lover. Elizabeth Kemper Adams. THE TALE OF A PEGASUS 6i XLV. THE TALE OF A PEGASUS WITH A MORAL. HAD a Pegasus, not great indeed, Nor swift of foot, nor highly pedi- greed, And yet a merry, willing little beast, And ne'er was carnival or fete or feast But I did ride him fortli and gently spurred Him on to dance and caper till some word Of kindly, careless praise about his gait, His coat, his spirit, made my heart elate. Poor little fellow ! In my foolish pride Morning and noon and night I used to ride Until I wore him out ; he soon grew thin, And every foot went lame. His sides fell in, His ribs stood out, and when he tried to prance, Half-hidden laughter greeted him, or glance Of scornful pity, — though he did his best. At last I had to own he needed rest ; So I have turned him out, and left him free To end his days in peace. — But as for me, To serenade my love with song and lute, .Saddened and humbled, I must go on foot. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 62 VASSAA' VEJiSE XLVI. LOVE'S PRESCRIPTION. HE was a merry little witch, Of family most patrician, The belle of all the watering-place 1 was a young physician. 'T was chance that brought me to her side That day ! — I '11 ne'er forget it. A slip, a tiny ankle sprained, And I called in to set it. I very soon forgot to wear My doctor's mien imperious. I called upon her thrice a day, (For sprains are often serious). Her merry eyes had made a wound In my poor heart to rankle, And so I still kept up my calls — To ask about the ankle. She owned one day she felt so strange, Could I prescribe a tonic .'' LOVE'S PRESCRIPTION 63 She did not sleep, was oft depressed. Oh, was it something chronic 1 She was n't like herself at all. What made her feel so altered } — " Perhaps a doctor's constattt care ? " — But here I blushed and faltered. Then growing bolder, " Love," I cried, " Can cure all youth's disorders. She shyly said, " I put myself Beneath my doctor's orders." Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 64 VASSAK VERSE XLVII. BESS'S CHRISTMAS. N Christmas morning, little Bess Awoke so bright and early, A Christmas fairy must have slept Beside her head so curly. Her gleeful laughter bubbled out, And in we all came flocking, And found her hugging blissfully A huge, misshapen stocking. " Oh, look ! " she cried, " Oh, mamma, look ! I 'm sure that Santa spied it, For see, it 's grown as big as me And Christinas is inside it." At last 'mid all her wealth outspread. She sat and gazed around her. We mutely waited what she 'd say When she had ceased to ponder. She glanced about with look content, Then said with air decided. And most emphatic nod of head, "Well now I am purvided." Winifred Arttold. A DIFFERENCE 65 XLVIII. A DIFFERENCE. N the sleigh there was only just room for us two. There was nobody else to forbid it — The music of sleigh-bells beat time to my heart — And some way or other I did it. There was love inthe^air that we breathed; the white snow Was tinged with the sun's golden glory. Well, — I spoke — and she gave me the mitten point-blank ! That 's the long and the short of the story. The wild rush of happiness you do not know ; You can't know unless you have tried it. What 's that ? Why, she gave me the mitten — that's true — But her dear little hand was inside it ! Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 66 VASSAIi VERSE XLIX. RONDEAU. MODERN girl, we know you well, In Life and Puck you always dwell ; A dainty form, a piquant face, A tiny foot, a cloud of lace, In short, a charming personnel. On every heart you cast a spell, Poor foolish hearts, they cannot tell, You lead them but an idle chase, O modern girl. And yet (I 've heard such things befell) — Sometimes the coldest demoiselle Will look to find in its old place Her heart, and meet but empty space. At such bold theft does she rebel, O modern girl ? Elizabeth Kemper Adams. AlV EXPLANA TIOX 67 L. AN EXPLANATION. lOU ask why I knelt at her feet last night, In a shadowy nook of the dim lighted hall, And why for so long in that attitude bowed ? 'T was to fasten the tie of her slipper, — that 's all. And why should I blush when you question me now ? Don 't you think you could guess, if you really tried ? For why should I blush, unless it 's because 'T was a love-knot that last night I tied ? L. Minna Ferrell. 08 rASSAA' VERiiE LI. MY HOUNDS. HEN 'neath my window's bars my good hounds growl, And through the darkness frantic rushes make At unseen foes, until the echoes wake And lift their voices up in answering howl; Then do I scorn the terrors of the dark, And laugh aloud, and cry out in delight, " No danger need I tremble at to-night — My good hounds bark." But when no deep-toned baying breaks the hush, When all the silent night, my ears I strain To hear their watchful muttering, in vain. And the ground quakes not with their sudden rush, Then shadowy forms my chamber seem to fill, And stealthy footsteps on the stair I hear ; My heart leaps, quivering with a nameless fear — My hounds are still. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. GREA TNESS 69 LII. GREATNESS. HOU foolish one, to tell thyself The universe hath need of thee ; How proudly dost thou bid thy walls To tumble down and set thee free ! Hast thou a scheme to mend the world ? 'Mid longings for a wider sphere, And idle dreams of future use. Thou dost forget the Now and Here. Behold the hills in lonely wilds That stand for centuries the same ! They never break their silent calm With sudden bursts of smoke and flame. But for the verdure of their slopes Their wooded tops against the sky, Where were the gentle sheep to feed ? Where were the sunset clouds to lie ? An atom thou, 'tis tliine to do Resistlessly a humble part ; 70 FASSAR VERSE Alone and free thou wouldst be lost, Thy place is only where thou art. Then cease thy foolish, fretful strife, And think of what thy walls enclose. Be great in all thy little acts, Be great, if need be, in repose. Annie Thompson Nettleton, THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT 71 LIII. THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. OUD shouted the wild mountain torrent, Enchanting my soul in its flight, Still louder it sang while it beckoned With fingers so pliant and white. Be strong, O my heart, in this tumult. Hark not to that voice so shrill, — The song of the white-breasted sparrow That whistles so loud on the hill ; " Time flies so wearily, wearily, wearily." Deep thundered the water beneath me, Loud chanted the bird on the hill, One moment, — I cannot resist it, — My heart in its terror stood still, While the restless impetuous current Curled temptingly near to my feet. And there rushed through my feverish being The thought that to rest must be sweet. O Lord, be merciful, merciful, merciful ! 72 VASSAR VERSE Look up, O my soul, to the mountain, To that spotless and spirit-like cloud ; Grow strong in their beautiful calmness. Though the stream at thy side shout so loud ; Ask not that thy heart become silent, Nor ask that life's tumult may cease, But lift up thine eyes to the mountain Whence comcth God's infinite peace. So life grows beautiful, beautiful, beauti- ful. Lola Lammot Iddings. FAILURE 73 LIV. FAILURE. IS sad to fail. If bird have built its nest On twigs too slender to sustain the weight 'T will mourn, on seeing its unhappy fate When some strong wind has torn it from its rest. The rose whose early buds an ugly pest Has blighted, deems the summer all too late To strive again. The moth whose change — by fate — Reveals but crumpled wings and ragged crest Has naught to hope. The bird may build again Made wiser by mistake ; the roses bloom But sweeter for the early loss. Alas ! The moth can live but once. Ah, not in vain Is failure in a life. But what the doom Of lives that fail .? Will any answer pass ? 74 VASSAR VERSE LV. OVE is a river that would flow Forever calm and bright ; Dashed into spraj^, its misty tears Are rainbowed into light. Love is a jewel flashing forth The brightness of the sun ; Crushed, and a thousand glories shine Where there has been but one. Love is a never-ending song, Taught to the soul at birth. That it might sing of heavenly things While waiting on the earth. SERENADE 75 LVI. SERENADE. IGH on the balcony, See, she is kneeHng, While the faint mists of night Round her are stealing. Lake-lily, fold away All your robes white, She is more fair than you — Queen of the night. See how the tiny waves Bow low before her ; See how the winds of night Come to adore her. Moon, draw your veil of clouds ; Stars, hide your light ; She can outshine you all — Queen of the night. Juliet Wilbur Tompkins. 76 VASSAR VEKSE LVII. THE SKY'S VALENTINE. HE heavens bent low o'er the earth To whisper a word of love ; For the earth was lonely below, And the sky was longing above. Then the heavens called to the clouds, And bade them the message take To the dear old waiting world, When the morning gray should break. " Go rest on the heart of the earth, And say, thou art ever mine." And the snowflakes that softly fell Were the fond sky's Valentine. Alice Crawford Brown. TO A LADY 77 LVIII. TO A LADY. OU will not be my friend. — I know this truth, And my whole soul is sick with grief and pain, For you have never understood, dear heart, And my sweet hopes and prayers are all in vain. You will not be my friend. — Yet I give you My love and reverence for pure womanhood Unsought and freely, and I ask of you No grace save leave to love you as I would. You will not be my friend. — But knowing you Gives me a glimpse of an unwonted height, And shows the path of purer, nobler life ; I thank you from my heart, Priestess of Light ! y 78 VASSAR I'EKSE LIX. HY is it tlius in our world, I wonder, Thus in our world of if's and yet's, Tliat whenever love's passing two hearts has wakened One remembers but one forgets ? Why is it thus in our world, I wonder. Thus in our world of cares and frets, That whenever the jarring two hearts has sundered One remembers while one forgets ? What does it matter to me, you wonder. The why's and wherefore's of pain ? And yet You will scarcely pause to waste time in the wond'ring, For I remember while you forget. Emelyn Batter sby Hartridge. SONNET FROM THE DEAD yg LX. SONNET FROM THE DEAD. f^^^ jAIN thou waitest, sweetheart, on ^^^ the stair, ^^^ One hand against the carved oak balustrade, The other with its guarding finger laid In playful warning on thy lips most fair, To mind me that I keep with jealous care The word thou gavest me, which straightway made A tie of sweetest import 'twixt my staid Unlovely self and thee. Thy dusky hair, Touched by a gleam from mullioned window high. Is halved softly round that tranquil brow Of white, until thou seemest a very saint Indeed, whose garment-hem I may not taint With careless breath. — The secret, sweet- heart, now That I am dead, is ours till by and by. Jenette Barbour Perry. 8o FASSAR VERSE LXI. TO A PICTURE — "MEMORY." ITH hands behind her head, and up- turned face, Framed in by waving hair that glim- mers bright, As purest gold about an opal's light ; With eyes that gaze afar, yet see no trace Of outspread future, but the crowded space Of sweet and bitter past ; deep eyes that light With smiles and sadden all at once, — as Night Is full of clouds and all the moon's fair grace, — With lips that curved in happiness, yet seem So sad withal we could but weep, were she Less fair, as thus she stands. And all supreme Our own sweet crowded years roll silently Before our eyes, and we, too, pause to dream, Bound by the magic spell of Memory. Leonora Howe. ON BODENHAUSEN'S PICTURE 8 1 LXII. ON BODENHAUSEN'S PICTURE "the madonna and child." IHE fair young mother, standing, clasps her child, Fast, close in warm embrace, as if she feared Some stranger's hand would wrest him from her arms, Some sudden harm befall the sacred child Entrusted to her care. Her wondering eyes Dilate with brooding o'er the mysteries She cannot understand, and deepen with A wistful sadness and a fearful love. The girlish mouth is tremulous and soft, And piteous almost in its tenderness Of love for the blessed child, still only hers. A human mother holds within her arms The child Divine, the Hope of all the world. The Bringer of glad tidings and great joy. The giver of the new commandment — love. As yet He only loves his mother, there, &2 VASSAK VERSE And gazes quietly on her dear face. The purest sunlight streaming o'er the pair Sheds the Divine approval on the Babe, Restores, a space, the glory which was his. But clouds are gathering, darkening, deepening. And far upon yon hill in blackest gloom, There stands a cross. The mother sees it not. But still her sadness presages the truth ; And still the Babe in loveliness serene Smiles calmly up into his mother's face. Bessie Hazelton Haight. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM Z^ LXIII. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. NE star from all eternity has hung, The porch-light of God's house, to be a guide To weary angels, speeding to his side From ministn,' on earth ; and shines among The lesser lights with glory that has sprung From nearness to his presence, and the wide White gates of Heaven, where the hosts abide Who chant his praise with undefiled tongue. But once, when Wise Men journeyed from afar With gifts of gold and incense in their hands, God left the portals dark and sent his star To guide their footsteps over desert sands. To where, in stable, as the oxen are, A little child lay wrapped in swaddling bands. Elizabeth Kemper Adams. 84 VASSAR VERSE LXIV. GUIDO'S MADONNA. EHOLD the handmaid of the Lord ! " Shut in B)' midnight darkness, lo ! a maiden kneels : From out far heaven, a white light softly steals To touch her face, that face unmarred by sin. " Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! " Within Her eyes are deeps of holy calm. No warning din Of coming troubles breaks the hush of night. She only knows the Lord of Hosts hath said The Lord hath bowed Him to her low estate. Though darkness dim her eye, in Him is light. Upon her head his blessing hand is laid ; Enough for her to trust in Him and wait. Grace Emeline Palmer. THE POET 85 f LXV. THE POET. INCE the old world was young, and Homer's song Filled the dim ages with the sweep and blow Of poetn,', men have not ceased to know The power divine that makes the poet strong To conquer the world's might of sin and wrong : Still women weep, and strong men's voices grow Full of a feeling they are loth to show, When some great poet stirs the listening throng. We drag our way along life's crowded street, On every side the old, unlovely things ; The pulse of life beats on at fever heat, The hot, close city air around us clings, When lo, we stop to rest our weary feet. For by the way a poet stands and sings. Elizabeth Kemper Adams. 86 VASSAR VERSE LXVI. CHAUCER. MAN in whom was not the power to hate ; Whose gentle charity was glad to find Some sweet redeeming grace in all his kind ; Whose strong, far-reaching sympathies both great And small encompassed, high and low estate. A gracious spirit that could stoop to bless The daisy for its simple loveliness, — Queen in his daintiest poesy enshrined; Fair type to him of truth and purity, Of faith and love and meek humility. A heart that pitied where it could not love, That every human joy and grief could move. A soul attuned to nature's sweetest strain, In whose far depths it lived and sang again. ALFRED TENNYSON 87 LXVII. SONNETS. I. ALFRED TENNYSON. 1S09-1S92. LAUREATE poet, who hast ever stood For all things pure and true while other men Wander and stumble over moor and fen Of unbelief, O Merlin thou, who could But yesterday sing of the " gude greene vvoode," And bring us all its breezy freshness when, With thee, we dreamed the world was young again, And strayed with Marian and Robin Hood, — Yesterday ours thy singing. Fainter now And far, its echo falls upon our ears. O mystery of death ! we wait and bow Our heads to catch the song earth never hears ; We have but little space of silence ; thou. The eternal music of eternal years. 88 VASSAR VERSE II. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 1S24-1892. So empty now, and but a little while Ago his verj' self. O Easy Chair, We pause in wonder finding him not there, Where only yesterday his kindly smile Made all men welcome. Surely but a mile Or so he wanders. See, the autumn air Flutters the papers on his table where He left, a moment, the unfinished pile. Unfinished ! O poor halting word of doubt To which the heart of man forever cleaves ! Not in the vacant study, but without, Learn the completeness which all life achieves ; The hills are red with sunset ; round about The flame of autumn burns along the leaves. Elizabeth Kemper Adams. A WHITE LIGHT FELL 89 LXVIII. WHITE light fell on the waters blue, The waves forgot to curl, They stretched straight over their boundary line, Drawn up toward the gates of pearl. The gates bent down, the white light blent Earth, heaven, sea, and sky, The crowd was still, with a half-felt awe — God's shadow passed by ! That pale light shed on each watcher's face Its glory yet to be, Each man looked up at the woman he loved. But the women looked out to sea. Then the sun shone out. Though the people turned Each one his chosen way, Still all had been, for a moment's space, A part of the Sabbath that day ! 90 VASSAK VERSE LXIX. MASQUERADE. WO souls masked under faces met one day ; Ueneath the masks each saw the other's eyes. Together from the dancing throng away They drew, with strange, new joy and sweet surprise. Then, filled with longing vague and swift unrest — " Unmask ! Show me thy very self ! " — said one. The other wept : •' Alas, the bitter jest ! Thou knowst I may not till the dance is done." Katharine Warren. RONDEL 91 LXX. RONDEL. i^RISONERS under Time's stern, sad leading, The old days journey beyond our sight. The happy days, when the sun was bright, Cannot stay, though our hearts are pleading. With aching feet that are cut and bleeding The sad days pass in the fading light. Prisoners under Time's stern, sad leading, The old days journey beyond our sight, Never to come though our hearts are needing Their hands to lead us to truth and right. In vain we call through the falling night ; Prisoners under Time's stern, sad leading. The old days journey beyond our sight. Elizabeth Kemper Adams. 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