8 LIBRARY UWtYERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE SUNSET AND DAWN SUNSET AND DAWN FURTHER SONGS AND LYRICS BY A Burton Baldry HEATH CRANTON LTD. 6 FLEET LANE, LONDON. E.C.4 TRfcO AN EXPLANATION A LL troubles are capable of explanation. It is ** nine years since I published a little book of verses, and if, in this small volume, I have failed to fulfil the promise some kindly critics assured me (and my youth) was held out by my first publication, well — c'est la guerre. All these verses have been written in the past two years. For the pessimism in some of them, I blame the emotion of the moment. The optimism in the others, foolish as it may appear, remains. Burton Baldry. The End of the Year, 1921. 5 CONTENTS PAGES I I 12 *3 J 5 Apologia - The Gift - Yesterday - To-morrow - To My Love - - - . - 16 An Old Cottage - - - - - 18 Sunset and Dawn - - - . - 20 An Evening Hymn - - - - - 23 Evening on the Downs - - - - 25 Puddletown - - - - - 28 To Mary - - - . _ -, T Requiem ---___ -,-, After Twilight - - - - -34 In November - - - - -35 Eternity ---___ <*y If I were God. 1. The Question - - -38 2. The Answer - - - 40 Loneliness ------ 41 Vanished Gods - - - - - 43 Absque Argento Omnia Vana - - - 45 A Fragment ----•*•- 48 Heartsease - - - - _ - 40 An Unfinished Song - - - - 5 1 A Song of June - - - - r-> A Castle in the Air - - - - - 54 How Dreams are Made - - - - 55 The Toy Town - - - - - S7 The New Dawn - - - - - 59 Life's Mart ---... 60 The Wantage Road - - - - 62 To the Ideal Woman - - - - 65 Contents — contd. PAGES To an Unknown Soldier - - - -67 Two Wise Fools - - - - - 68 The Last Evensong - - - 7 1 The White Gate 72 My Dream Child 74 Old Age . 75 To a Wise Lady - - - - .76 Early Morning in London - - - 78 The Aftermath - - - - - 79 The Meadow of Play - - - - 80 The Tears of Love - - - - - 81 Tinsel and Gold - - - - - 82 A Jingle ...... 84 The Light on the Hill - - - 85 A Song of Life - - - - - 87 A Linnet in a Town - - - - - 89 My Garden ------ 90 Realisation ------ 92 A Lamentation - - - - "93 To an Old Tramp - - - - "95 A Thought ------ 98 To a Little Girl 99 Why do I Love You - - - - ioi To an Egoist - - - - - 103 A Memory - - - - - - 105 Lines to a Picture - - - - 106 Oxford and Youth - - - - - 107 When Pan Piped Low - - - - no Beyond the Shadows - - - - r 1 r Epilogue - - - - - -112 8 TO THE IDEAL WOMAN IV /I Y book is a gift from a life in debt, *Vl t t he dream hours you gave to me; And were there a jewel in each verse set It were still unworthy of thee. APOLOGIA IF / have sung some old time tunes, * And old time tales have told, While all the songs of many moons Have faded, and grown cold, What matters it? for youth so wise, Still dreams its thoughts are new, With beauty, wandering 'neath its eyes Now bright with dawn-tide dew. And if I've sung the old time songs With but some different rhymes, Is it because the world belongs To him, who hears the chimes Of Life, come echoing to his ears, Bringing their joys to stay; So, should I sing of pain and tears And spoil my song to-day? Thus have I tried to sing these tunes ; But ends by vain pursuit If all my songs, through all these moons, Spring from a broken lute. i i THE GIFT AVERSE, for you who made my songs. Will you take it ? A heart, to lighten all life's wrongs, Will you break it ? A verse, a heart — both strive to live — 'Tis all a poet has to give ! A prayer for you, when stars tread shy, Will vou hear it? A hope, that pales adown the sky, Will you fear it ? A prayer, a hope — the world apart — In these limp lines lay bare my heart. A day, of lazing in the sun, Will you live it ? A hour for me, e'er life is done, Will you give it ? A verse, a heart, an hour, a day — A hope, a prayer that's gone astray — All in a song that fades away. 12 YESTERDAY jT'S strewn with roses, long since dead, *■ That will not bloom again ; The scent from all the flowers has fled, To call it back, is vain. It's strewn with hope, filled with regret, The wistful tears they mean ; The eyes of yesterday are wet For all that might have been. And all the things we might have done, Soft words we failed to say, The comfort that we might have won ^Vere this but yesterday. Our youthful dreams were something real That came to help, to aid ; Till now, we grasp a lost ideal That from the past has strayed. 13 We wonder why our aching eyes See now, what then was hid, And why our heart has grown so wise For things we never did. We wonder why the moon is pale, The sun has lost its gold, And why the silence o'er the dale Makes all the world seem old. Oh, could we wander back along The Road to Yesterday, And tell the love, and sing the song That we have found to-day. 14 TO-MORROW •yHE past is dead; so let it lie, * Its transient sorrow, fleeting; The joys it gave us we descry Within to-day's sad greeting". Forget the past, its faded tire, Its coloured hours of leisure ; And in to-morrow, our desire Will be the future's treasure. The rose of yesterday will fade While yet the bud is breaking; But some fiesh fragrance will be made With each new dawn's awakening. To-day may hold few joys that yet Reward our heart's endeavour; But in to-morrow we'll forget And grasp new hope, for ever. So, with the hope that comes to-day, I pray that we may borrow, The might-have-been of yesterday, The joys we lost, or threw away — And give them to to-morrow. 15 TO MY LOVE IV VI ORE fair than stars **•* That worship at the moon's pale feet, Beyond the bars That keep the silent night so sweet ; And fairer yet Than any flowers that scent the day, To bring regret Across the path where memory lay. More beautiful, Than flowers of day or stars of eve, More wonderful Than rainbows, that the Spring showers weave; More sweet and fair Than all the fragrant nights of June, — I wander where My thoughts are tangled in the moon. 16 The world may miss Your beauty, that my glad eyes see, Yet I know this, — Your charm lights all the world for me. And though no sound Is heard, I feel your heart's soft call ; For I have found The soul vou hide behind it all. «7 2 AN OLD COTTAGE —'LEET time has passed it by *■ And left it wistful, lone; On the down's breast to lie, Unknown. Its history, its fame, Lie buried in the past ; But old grey walls, a name Outlast. The roof with lichen bright, The walls with creeper clad, Look pale in morning' light, — And sad. Though storms of life have left The weather beaten beams, Its garden is bereft Of dreams. iS The sundial checks the hours Unheeded, passing by, That, like the Summer flowers, Soon die. And though a century's fears Have passed beyond its gaze, It brings, from byegone years, Lost days. 19 SUNSET AND DAWN 'T'HE cry of a heart in anguish, went up to its God •* in vain, And its plea was not for power, its cry was not for gain. With its just reward forgotten it sought the end of a quest, In a little peace at even, and from its aching — rest. There is no vain ambition that strives for its meed on earth. And the kingdoms strong men covet, are of but little worth. There is no gold men delve for, from out the richest mine, No jewels fair and precious can make for life divine. So the cry of a heart in anguish, went up — like a bird to its nest, For a little peace at even, and with the nightfall — rest. 20 It asked not joys unbounded, knowing full well they tire, Like a love that's fed and nourished by a transient passion-fire. It sought not wealth for the seeking, nor aught to make it strong, For the depth of a heart is often touched by the power of a song. i And the knowledge of things beyond us ; the all that men most trust, Are blown like the leaves in Autumn, and fade like life— to dust. While the self that strives to flourish, and the lies we devoutly pray, Are naught neath the sun at dawning, that heralds each new born day. So the cry of a heart in anguish, went up to its God again, And the answer came with the sunshine, it had not asked in vain. 21 For the heart that rinds its helpmate, and the souJ that meets twin-soul. Has found the joy of the twilight; has reached its y earned for goal. And its rest comes, with the nightfall ; its peace is born with the stars ; When the heart has found its haven, and the soul has burst its bars. 22 AN EVENING HYMN /""^OD offered day for toil, The night for rest He sent; And the pale screen that comes between He gave us — for Content. A sheep bell jingled, o'er the down, The gold was fading into grey, And through the trees the Summer breeze Brought whispers of a vanished day. A strange, soft song of eventide, Across the fields its pilgrimage, — Through the gaunt gloom of daylight's tomb- Sped on and on, from age to age. The bashful morn at noonday flies, To seek its rest from scorching sun ; The weary day pursues its way, Until it joins the night, as one. 23 A falling star marks on the hill, The path some long dead shepherd trod ; The song fades low, the shadows go, And I, — I make my peace with God. He offered day for toil, The night, for rest He sent; While the pale screen that comes between, He gave us -for Content. 24 EVENING ON THE DOWNS A track wandered up from the village, -**• Round the grass girdled hill, It skirted the furze, and the ridges, And we watched it, until The ghosts of the Danes and the Romans Stepped aside, while we passed ; As friend gives to friend silent greeting, So their welcome will last. A hare lying couched in the grasses, Started at my footfall ; Above him, there circled a curlew With its shrill, plaintive call ; The protest was born with the silence, So it seemed then, to me — Afar o'er the slopes stood a fir-copse Like an isle in the sea. 25 A bird pierced a cloud in the distance, Then was lost to the eye — As small as an hour in a lifetime 'Gainst the breadth of the sky; The thistledown fluttered and hovered lill the furze gave it rest; The clouds, on their journey, were burnished O'er the hill in the West. My thoughts were in tune with the vastness Of warm earth, and soft sky; My eyes, they were blind to the high road, Where the world hurries by ; The rhythm of time was unfolding All its joys, for an hour; But deep in my heart, they were treasured Like the scent of a flower. The play, men call life, had no place there — 'Twas not compassed by words ; While God endowed me with the freedom Of the soft-throated birds; The breeze wandered back through the distance From some lost, Summer land, And brought me the future, and sealed it, With the touch of vour hand. 26 I glanced at your face, and I marvelled, At the tenderness there; The care-lines had faded, 'twas wistful, For the hour we could share ; Away in the valley, the softness Of the day, tipped the corn — The sun kissed the earth, and brought twilight, But for me — it was Dawn. 27 PUDDLETOWN T READ the sign, "To Puddletown," and then I looked again, But I was not mistaken, for in letters clear and plain, " To Puddletown," was seven miles, the staring signpost said, Fp Dorset hills, and through the dales, with Dorchester ahead ; The place at once attracted me, 'twas such a funny name, Just lifted from a fairy tale, or from a children's game ; I wondered if the people there, would be like you and me, When you replied, ' It's seven miles, let's wander on and see." You said, " I think you'll find the place is not a town at all, " But built of white toy houses, oh, so very quaint and small, " Set round a great big, dirty pond, all filled with ducks and geese, That waddle up and waddle down, and give the folk no peace ; 28 " And half the pond will be black slime, and there'll be heaps of frogs, " While lizards green, will there be seen, and purple spotted dogs, " For I am sure that Puddletown, comes straight from some old book, " As watercress grows down the street, so let's go on and look." That seven miles to Puddletown, we filled with sheer delight, We pictured little people there, with dancing eyes, so bright ; We really hoped to see the frogs, the long tailed tadpoles, too, And thought the ducks and geese would have their feathers painted blue; We thought the small white houses, would have orange tinted doors, And all the little people would not know our funny laws, While all the dogs that wandered there, would have a curious bark, And cows and sheep would go to church, as they did in the ark. 29 We came at last, to Puddletown — but let us draw a veil, Imagination is a help, when hard words really fail; We found a simple village there, with folk like me and you, There were some ducks, but they were white, and none were painted blue; There was no pond, with watercress ; we never saw a frog; And all we heard, was just a whine, from one poor chained-up dog; Oh, Puddletown, your funny name, that made our thoughts so gay, I wish we'd looked, and smiled, and thought, and— gone the other way. 3<> TO MARY " And a little child shall lead them " a rxEAR child, the time has come to end my playing, " To weary toil I fain must turn my head, " No more with you, among the daisies straying " — These were the words 1 should have said. But when she smiled, and raised her eyes in pleasure, And when those eyes were Summer-tinted blue, And when she caught my coat, in pleading measure, I went, — what else was 1 to do ? Her hand in mine, we wandered past the roses — My work had faded in the mists of time; Let man propose, but some small hand disposes, — And Mary's eyes gave me this rhyme. The birds song ceased, the bees forsook their humming, The meadows offered her a cloak of green, The sunbeams kissed her hair, to greet her coming — And thus a babe was crowned a Queen. 3i Dear child, when comes the time to end your playing, And when a hand that trembles, (as did mine), Shall take your hand, may your eyes still be saying, " Come where the sun will always shine." REQUIEM To G. H. B. Killed in Action A WOODEN cross now marks the place, **■ That names a loss, that hides a face. It stands for hope . . . eternity . . . It ends a grope for victory. A little mound of shell loosed earth And he, who found this life's true worth Lies buried there, 'neath rain-swept sky; Oh, he was fair, and young to die. The road he trod without one fear, Led him to God. Nor bitter tear From aching breast, or throbbing heart, Disturbs the rest that ends his part. • • • • • A wooden cross ... a glorious Death . . . It tells the loss of Nazareth. 33 AFTER TWILIGHT BETWEEN the twilight and the dark, *-^ When pale and fragile moon, To fading sounds of day shall hark E'er it should rise too soon. Faintly, the last soft glint of day Glides slowly o'er the hill — The birds have sung their roundelay, And Nature's voice is still. Then, can I dream and watch the sky, — The clouds like billowed foam Will hide the moon, and hurry by To reach their evening home. The world is mine in evening light, Xo alien whisper jars ; The day is yours; but of my night 1 give to you the stars. 34 IN NOVEMBER |~"\0 we mourn the sun, *-^ Or the lost, green leaf, With the days that run To a new belief ? While the cold, grey earth With its rain swept ways, Loses all its mirth, And the song birds' praise. Where the stark, bleak down, With its piercing wind, And its dank, dull brown, Summer beauties blind ; And the dead leaves cling In each furrowed way, As the pale hours wing Shattered storms away. 35 And all joy takes flight E'er it's half begun, With a memory, bright From the dying sun; Then the mad wind dies, Till its notes are thin, Like the haunting sighs Of a violin. 36 ETERNITY A WAY in the innocence of the world, •^* When prayers were rendered unto stone, When forest and plain and the endless hills Each had their gods, to-day unknown ; Before Rome was, (how an old myth grows?) Deep in the forest, a temple rose. With a world grown grey, and the plains all ploughed, A church spire guards the endless hills ; The temple has gone, but the forest glade Remains, where no man ever tills; And in the silence, where ancients trod, The birds still sing to the self-same God. 37 IF I WERE GOD 1. The Question IF I were God, and all the stars were mine. The sun, the moon, and all the things that please ; And if I had my will, to redesign The complex ways of life, to hours of ease; Could I remould them to a better plan, By making into God, what now is man ? What faith is ours, that seeks its joy in pain, That craves through sorrow, to be purified; While tears from some poor tortured soul, sustain An old belief, that heaven will be denied To him, who spurns the fiction, as he goes His unrelenting way. Is heaven denied a rose? We cared not, when to earth our soul was brought ; To some was given wealth, and some were strong; And some were offered life, without a thought, To live awhile, then die, like some sad song; And destiny — the chance for which we crave — Will mock, and laugh, and offer us — the grave. 38 We take our places in the passing show, While few observe, and no one reallv cares; We light the lamp of fame, till it burns low And then expires. Wheat's garnered with the tares. A mound of earth; a tablet; some regret From one or two; an hour; then — they forget. Of happiness, we take our little fill, We laugh, to drown the sadness in our eyes; But peace, which life disturbed, is with us still, So we return to it, when we grow wise. And should we earn posterity's grim cheers, How hollow they must sound, in dead men's ears? Of love, the dream to which we all aspire, We clasp it to our breast, for one short while And then it flickers, like a dying fire — Vain love, how few the hours that you beguile. And taking all that love and life can give, Is it all worth our while, to love — to live ? 39 IF I WERE GOD II. The Answer. |F 1 were God, and the world were mine, I'd make the eyes of the wurld to shine; I 'd give a star to each tortured soul To heal its wounds, and to make it whole. My sun would shine in each woman's hair, And my moon would make each heart more fair; Each hour would compass a Summer day, And the days of toil, would be hours of play. My wind would brighten each wanderer's cheek, And lighten his step, that he might seek A rest, from the turbulent tides of life That ebb and flow, with the storms of strife. My peace would be each sufferer's bond, Between this life, and the dreams beyond; Each flower would be, with its fragrant scent, A moment's love, and a life's content, If I were God. 40 LONELINESS | SHOULD not be so lone, Had I not you To compass all my thoughts, My longings, too ; For all that life held out, Through darkening day, To keep my soul alive — You took away. 1 should not be so sad, Had we not met; The past would be forgiven Without regret. I should not see your eyes Smile down on me, To make each short day seem, Eternity. 4* But could I live again, I'd still want you ; It well were worth the pain To say adieu ; One hour may make a life, One heart may break — I'd bear it all again, For your dear sake. 42 VANISHED GODS IV TOW they have gone, * ^ Whv should I care?- Gone with the winds, Vanished in air ; Daydreams of June, Fallen from grace, Bubbles and dreams, Melted in space. Now they have gone, Why should I sigh ? — Smile and forget, Let them all die. Let time and tide, Heed not their plea; Carry them far, Far out to sea. Now thev have gone, Vain hopes and fears — Love of a day Drowned in its tears, 43 Time, through the past Wearily plods, Joining", at last, Old, vanished gods. And now they've gone, Bury them deep. I shall not pine, I shall not weep. Vanished, like dust, Taking their toll— They've left me free, — Free, with my soul. 44 ABSQUE ARGENTO OMNIA VANA I E made a fortune in the Town *■ * Where smoke and grime came circling down, And with his wealth, he thought, a crown Of happiness he'd won ; He preened himself, and paramount, Imagined all he'd do was count His gains, and then recount The great things he had done. He dreamed of life as one sweet song, Of days not short, but not too long, The flesh so weak, but power more strong To mould life to his will. Yet, these poor dreams of power and place All fade, before God's open space And sunset o'er the hill. He knew the worth of this and that — He smiled, and grew exceeding fat And made pretentious show; 45 But, while I'm poor compared to him, My eyes are bright, and his are dim ; The flowers for me retain their smell, And there are things that I can tell That lie will never know. I know the song of wind a.nd rain, The bird's goodbye, with Summer's wane, The scent of wood.'and flowers, The bronze-red sycamore of Spring, The butterfly, with mottled wing That flits among the bowers. I've trod the rich chalk turf in June, And lingered 'neath the harvest moon To catch the breath of night ; While I've been paid a hundredfold When all the scarlet in the gold, Pales with the changing light. I know the lilt of Nature's word That speaks through every singing bird, — And is it nothing worth To hear, among the hazel boughs, The nightingale, whose song avows That hope is waiting for the weak, That joy is there, for all who seek The breast of Mother Earth. 46 I've seen the warblers in the sedge, When blackthorn burst along the hedge That skirts the winding stream ; While dabchicks, scurrying in and out Among the reeds, disturb the trout From out their midday dream. The night-hawk's jar from out the fern, Is music, that you cannot learn From teacher, or from book. The darkening woods, the Autumn sky, The greenfinch, in the elm-tree high That towers above the brook ; And Winter, with her sleepy eye, That bids the fading year, goodbye. My wealth is naught, beside his gold, But I am young, — and he is old ; While all the things he cannot see Have never been denied to me. He made a fortune, in the Town And stayed there, while his eyes grew dim; So let him wear his burnished crown, But I'm still glad, that I'm not him. 47 A FRAGMENT YY/HY should we sorrow here, that men may reap In gladness, all the fruits that sorrow knows; But if it is the Son of Man must weep — Are all His tears the dew upon the rose? 48 HEARTSEASE. A S a babe to its mother, **■ My head sought your breast ; And there, in your pity, You offered me rest. \ ; hile all that was tender, And womanly wise With deep understanding, Smiled down from your eyes. While there, in the silence, The swirl of life's stream Bore me to my goal, on The fringe of a dream. And, safe in my haven, No protest or fear, Xo thought of the parting, No sigh, and no tear, 49 With never a whisper. Or soft spoken word — But the sigh of your heart, And the note of a bird. As a babe to its mother, My head sought your breast ; And your pity was comfort, Your sympathy — rest. 50 AN UNFINISHED SONG WOVE a song, with threads of gold, *■ And each, its haunting music made ; The song remains unfinished, while The threads have frayed. I looked to beauty's thoughtful eyes, For all the joys that I might share ; She kept her laugh, but gave her sighs For me to bear. The pale grey finger of the dawn, Brought me, each sad and lengthening day, The echoes of my song, still-born, From far away. I touched my lute each eventide And listened, but no music came; My lone heart whispered, e'er it died — It breathed vour name. 5* Oh, bitter-sweet, my fragile song With all its fairy notes of gold, That sung a love, tender but strong, But still untold. The threads have frayed, they soon may break; But still through lonely hours they gleam, And love, one day, may bid them wake, Within a dream. 52 A SONG OF JUNE GONE is the Winter of our discontent, Lost now beneath a monotone of green ; The tide of Summer rolls in, with the scent Of lilac and acacia; while between The dawn and sunset, with its afterglow, Are all the joys a Summer day ran know. The wind of dawn heralds the pale sun's rays, Then breaks the cry of birds, so jubilant, Across the damp, grey morns' dew-sodden ways, From out leaf laden trees, luxuriant ; And through the silence, comes the glorious cry Of silver throated lark, far in the sky. The brilliance of the coloured hours that pass, The pink of sanfoin, and the clovers' mauve, Vie with the velvet greenness of the grass In which the corncrake, hidden now, may rove; While scarlet poppies, smiling from the corn Hold up their heads, to greet a soft June morn. 53 A CASTLE IN THE AIR BUILT a castle in the air, With windows made of stars That looked upon a dreamland fair, Through rainbow latticed bars; An angel guards it night and day, To keep it safe, for me, From its two towers, that stand alway- Love, and fidelity. You built a castle in my heart, You fashioned it with care ; Your tenderness built up one part And bound it with your hair; Its windows are your two dear eyes That keep their watch o'er me ; They guard our dreams of Paradise, Love, and fidelity. 54 HOW DREAMS ARE MADE TF you one day should give your all, *■ And give it gladly, too; So hopelessly beyond recall. Thinking it neither great, nor small, But all you wish to do. And if the object of your gift, Should take your love, and smile; With your glad heart, and soul, to drift Through hours of joy, at last to lift The clouds, for one brief while, To give a golden glimpse, beyond Those clouds, where heaven lay; And make your every nerve respond As heart calls heart, in accents fond. Throughout the new found day, 55 And then turn back, with serious eyes That seem to be afraid To take the waiting, cherished prize, Because, maybe, it is not wise ;— Let not your ideal fade. But smile, and cherish in your heart The love that may be frayed ; For it will mend — or you can start To build a dream, with each small part- For thus our dreams are made. 56 THE TOY TOWN \V/ 1 THIN a gap, between tall cliffs, ft nestles to the sea Whose breakers, with their hem of white, Bring from the East the morning light, Where Toy Town smiles at me. [t has a harbour, and a pier, Both very quaint, and small ; Some houses, dotted here and there, All jumbled up without a care; And no street lights at all. Red standstone guards it on the left, And grey stone on the right; While little ships, with flapping sails, Too fragile for the Winter gales, Lie anchored, day and night. The little pier that greets the sea is not a pier at all ; Its just a jetty, rough and plain That boasts a fussy little crane, To mend the harbour wall. ;>/ Grey houses in a cluster stand, Maybe, they once were white ; While one small shop supplies the ' town,' And that thatched cottage on the down, O'er which stars stay their flight. It's sleepy, quiet, muddled, dear— And time has ceased to flow Between the narrow harbour walls; But how the old world quaintness calls. Beneath the sunset glow. I dreamed away some Autumn davs That fluttered with the wind, And came to rest upon the down That wanders up beyond Toy Town, To leave the world behind. Oh, long ago, oh, long ago- It seems but yesterday ; You, with the sunlight in your hair, Were waiting by the harbour there, While I betrayed a fool's surprise When all the world shone from your eyes, . and came away. 58 THE NEW DAWN [ F all our dreams should end one Summer night, *■ And we could wake, to meet our heart's delight With life from bondage free, no thoughts untold, With love we hoped might be, crowned with dawn gold. And if our dreams did end one Summer night, Would we some pale star send, to stay their flight; Or would we rest content, and bid them fly While we beheld the dawn, beyond the sky. 59 LIFE'S MART H E sold his hear! For love of gold— The highest bid Of wealth untold, Clouded his eyes, Usurped his brain ; When he sold his heart For greed, and gain. She sold her heart— And all its tire Was trampled deep, Deep in the mire ; For wealth so vain Exacts its toll — She sold her heart And lost her soul. And to what end Are things like these, — Should Providence Give us life's ease; 60 Unjust reward For nothing won, Or for the deeds We've left undone? Should we accept And rest content, Or conquer some Fresh continent ; Or should we strive To justify, God's gift of life, Before we die ? Frail, fragile, fair, — ■ From time unknown, The buyer reaps As he has sown ; While what of you, With hearts to sell, Have ye not known Life's heaven — and hell ? 61 THE WANTAGE ROAD I TOOK the road to Wantage town, that wanders Cholsey way, And on my left were rolling downs that sheltered lambs at play ; The rolling downs, the chalky downs, the fields of green and white That lumbered on to Ilsley, which was somewhere out of sight ; While on, and on the ribboned road went up towards the sky, Then down again to Blewbury, which nestled snug and shy Below the chalk strewn, rolling down, where life is half begun, Along the road to Wantage town, all white beneath the sun. It's westward on to Wantage town, by all the bramble ways, It's up along and down along, through scented Springtide days; The rough grass borders all the fields that never know the plough, That wander up from anywhere, to meet the fir clad brow; 62 The gaps between the ridges, call to mind the open sea. And how the space and silence call, and bid tired hearts be free, While on and on, for mile on mile, the lazv down- lands spread. And over all the long, long slopes, come songs of men, long dead. It's miles away is Wantage town, and oh ! the weary road, That threads its way through hazy gaps, where once once the Romans strode; The sheep bells jingling music calls the laggard heart to stay, And laze along, and dream along, the beauty of the day. So some way out of Blewbury— the road was just the same ! — I sat and looked beyond the clouds, till crows and finches came, To whisper, in the personal way they have upon the down, That I had left the hard, white road, that leads to Wantage town. 63 I left the road to Wantage town, and uninviting flints. And wandered to a ridge-top, just to watch the sunset tints ; While there, upon the down's soft breast, where trials and troubles cease, 1 sought upon the yielding turf, the breath of earth, and peace, — While on and on, the ribboned road, went up towards the sky, Then down again, to Blewbury ; and can you wonder why I smiled, as some rich wanderer, in flaunting motor spun Along the road to Wantage town, now gold with dying sun. 64 TO THE IDEAL WOMAN T'HE world gives its pity to dreamers like me, While it offers its wealth, to set a heart free; But spurning its pity, nor heeding its gold, I have given my life, to dreams — that are old. I fashioned an Idol, through Winters of care, And I gave her a heart, no other could share; Thus formed in the mists and the shadows of time, I can sing of her charms, in the lilt of a rhyme. I gave her blue eyes, and full lips that could smile, And a voice from the woods, the hours to beguile, With hair like deep twilight, to bind her to me As the strings of the moon bind the sand to the sea. My heart was her temple, wherein I could praise, This creation of dreams, in content, through the days; I worshipped my Idol, my longed for Ideal, Till 1 found she was Life, and knew she was real. 65 If I could forget her, and hide her away In the depths of my heart that never sees day, Deep down in the silence, and lost to the sight, Would she rest there content, or haunt the long night ? If I could forget her, and all that she said, And could let dying thoughts join hands with the dead; No more hear her whispering and plaintive refrain, Like the sound of a bell, through soft evening rain. I saw her a moment, but such was my choice, That beyond waning moons I can still hear her voice, And all through the twilight my thoughts are afar As I see her, through cloudland, smile down from a star. t And while the world's pity that's leavened with sneers, Lies drowned in a sea of trouble, and tears, I pass by unheeded, while night will enfold The days that are blind to the dream that is old. TO AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER QO straight of eye, so clean of limb, **** No troubles could your fair smile dim; I knew thee only by thy name, And by one word, that men call " Fame "; I knew thee from thy mother's word, And from the heart your going stirred. But when you met the Angel, Death, — I know no quickening of the breath Would bid him frown, as he said " Come " And keep in step with the muffled drum, " There'll be no time to say goodbye, " No time to write, no time to sigh. ..." But this I know, dear soldier-child, You clasped his hand . . . and then you smiled. 67 TWO WISE FOOLS YY/HY is it that we love the things *" The world considers small ; And why do we, with silken wings Fly over housetops, tall, And come to rest, oh, miles away Beside some wandering stream, To laze along a soft June day In company with a dream, Dear pal, I say, With some old foolish dream? And why do we, with childish pride, Our eyes near staring out With feverish joy, we cannot hide, Watch the big, cruising trout ; The king of that clear, chalky run Between the waving weeds,— While Pan is piping in the sun Upon the river reeds ? Our life begun Beside the river's reeds. 68 A plover circling round and round, And dipping from the sky, Calls loud and shrill, till from the ground Its mate gives answering crv ; While we, in wonder, stand and gaze To marvel at the din Of birds, let loose in Nature's ways, To shepherd June-tide in ; To join our praise And welcome June-tide in. The pride of June is in our heart, When on smooth turf we lie, To share our life — a thing apart — With the blue butterfly ; The dusky blue that haunts the down, The rolling down and wold, And settling, gives each flower a crown The sun tips with its gold ; Begone dark frown, Ye cannot spend sun's gold ! Oh, all the foolish things of earth Discarded by the wise, These are the things we count of worth, The things we love, and prize; 69 The butterflies, the trout, the birds, The rivers, downs, — prolong The joys that need no honeyed words To make our Summer song, For all the birds Brought us our Summer song. We know no Winter's discontent, We know not Summer's wane ; We missed the shadows as they went Across the fields of pain; Forget the wise, big things that make And keep life in their thrall, Let us be fools, and ne'er forsake The things the world thinks small ; With joy we'll take The things the world thinks small. 70 THE LAST EVENSONG YY/HEN the last song is sung, and the last words * v are said, When our hearts will have flung all their hopes to the dead. Then, no more lone and long, will be each passing day, — And the last evensong will fade softly away. When the world's weary strife, and the pangs of regret, Shall depart from the life we must strive to forget, In our haven of bliss we shall end our last quest, And in your goodbye kiss I shall find my last rest. 7i THE WHITE GATE Death . . . the white gate we have known all our lives. . . ." — The Roadmender. ¥ HAVE been near Thee, * I almost touched Thy hand; 1 heard you whisper, Beheld your promised land. T smiled, (hough sleeping", For 1 was unafraid; So you released me, And thus, my life was made. Beyond my garden, with its bordered flowers, (Where life must wait While I can dream away untroubled hours) Stands my white gate. It guards the footpath, leading to the hill And far away, To where the blackbird's song is ever still, Through each Spring day. It guards the entrance to that unknown land, Beyond the sky ; That most men dread, because few understand, Nor reason why. 72 Nor reason why this shadowgraph of life, Whose light and shade Throws a blurred outline on the screen of strife, Where strength is made. ts' And so, this interval between a dream, Is sometimes long; — Nor cry when it is short, though it may seem A wasted song. 'b ' While Death, is but the soul's awakening, A moment's wait ; And 1 shall be content when life takes wing, Through my white gate. 'S 11 "V vvii '^ fa' I have been near Thee, Have almost touched Your hand ; I heard Your whisper, Beheld Your promised land, — I smiled, though sleeping, For I was unafraid, Now, I am ready, Bright eved, and undismayed. 73 MY DREAM CHILD TIER eyes are deep, and fairy blue, *■ * Like some far Southern sea, Soft, smiling eyes, of changing hue That hold the world for me. Her baby arms around my neck Press tight, and hold me fast ; And roses fair her cheeks bedeck, With sweetness, unsurpassed. Her pouting lips are held to mine, Her soft eyes smile anew, The while gold sun-rays there entwine Her hair, that came from you. I found her where the sunlight gleams Over a fairy sea ; She is the child of our love dreams, Whom God has given to me. 74 OLD AGE ¥ F I grow old, 1 pray Thee, God, •"• Mv smile may ne'er depart ; That 1 may bless the paths I trod, When youth was in my heart. And when the youth that fades away Looks with grave eyes at me, May joys that were, be still, alway More than a memory. And may the songs that I have sung. May those who cared for me, Remind me still, my heart is young, And keep my spirit free. 75 TO A WISE LADY For this is Wisdom ; to love, lo live, To take what Fate, or the Gods, may give, To ask no question, to make no prayer. . . TF Life should offer Heaven to thee, From out its scanty store; A glimpse of what a dream might be, Take it — nor ask for more. Nor ask not whence, nor why, nor how, Nor reason when it came ; Nor lose the chance, but take it now, Nor pause to seek its name. A messenger from out the moon May whisper warnings wise, When you shall find this fleeting boon Within two pleading eyes. So take the gift, nor wish, nor wait, It may not tarry long ; For oft a dream is claimed too late, Like some forgotten song. 76 >t You may be wise; but is it fair When life's wide sky is grey, To cast your longings to the air And turn a dream away ? Life gave a glimpse of Heaven to thee, Your eyes once told me so ; A hope of what a dream might be, — Whv did von let it go ? 77 EARLY MORNING IN LONDON If AVE you heard the thunder of the Dawn, The boom of rolling traffic from the East; Sounds that tell a London day is born, And bid the toilers, hasten to the feast. Have you seen the smoke athwart the sun, That pales the faces of the hurrying throng, Eyes so tired, before day has begun And crying each to each, how long, how long? Have you known the streets so grey and trim, That greet the grime and litter of the day ; Buildings gaunt, with upper windows dim, The lonely square, where later, urchins play? You may know these things and all they mean, But you'll forget the City's dreary din When, one day, you say that you have seen The rooks, up in the trees, around Grays' Inn. 78 THE AFTERMATH 1 HEARD the voice of the reed and lyre, * The melody of the harp and lute, The wail of the world was strangely mute, As the once grey heavens blazed with fire. I watched by the river of Paradise, That flowed through a fairyland of flowers, With longing eyes, through the scented hours I loved your laugh, and pitied your sighs. We danced to a happy, lilting rhyme, And we danced to a whispering guitar, To music whose home was in a star We danced, and forgot the worth of time. Oh that day of days in fairyland, It changed the course of my life for me, And the aftermath was— rosemary, Rosemary, and the touch of your hand. 79 THE MEADOW OF PLAY /^OME, baby, come, to the meadow of play, ^■^ Take hold of my hand, for I know the way, There's never a sorrow and never a care, So come, baby, come, for the fairies live there. When you grow up, then the meadow of plav, Will be hard to find — and you'll lose your way; And life will mean sorrow, and life will mean care,. So come, baby, come, while the fairies live there. 80 THE TEARS OF LOVE "~pIS a woman who knows •*• Love's pain, and its fears, And the dew on the rose, Is like her tears. When her love deeper grows Those fears to beguile. Then, the sun on the rose Is like her smile. 81 TINSEL AND GOLD WOU took my eyes, You thought them steadfast, true; And you were wise, — They showed how I loved you. You took my hand That trembled in your own, To understand All that your smile had shown. You took my heart, — I offered it to thee As one small part Of all you meant to me. You took my soul One night, now long ago, To that fair goal 1 thought I'd never know. My love, I gave, — And on your throbbing breast I sought to save The peace, that comes with rest. 82 You took my life, And all that it had sought ; While naught of strife Was touched by bitter thought. I was content. — But you, you wondered why It was, love meant Your doubting thoughts to die? And why your heart Called every night for me, And why no part Of love, was hid from thee ? You took my all, My soul, my heart that burned Were yours to call ; And then . . . they were returned. Tinsel and gold Mav blend, sometimes, I know : But can love hold A while . . . and then let go ? 83 A JINGLE. (For a lady, who, on hearing of the coming publication of my verses, wrote and suggested that I would be ' sure to give her a copy ') /^OULD you go to your grocer, ^•^ As you came to me, And ask him to give you A pound of his tea ? Would you ask of your butcher, With smile, dimpling sweet, To give, as he knew you, A joint of his meat? That is commerce, you'll tell me, And prattle of art, But why should I tender A throb of my heart ? Can I send you a sample, That if you enthuse You'll be driven to purchase, And pay for, my muse ? I will offer my blessing, That's all I can give, With a thought for your kindness, But — poets must live ! 84 THE LIGHT ON THE HILL A SOFT light gleams across the vale, ■^^ Through rising mist, As though some star, so small and frail Had stopped, and kissed The breast of earth at eventide, And lingered there To flaunt the moon, whose beams will guide The night from care. And with the light, day fades away To seek another clime, And silently, its footsteps stray Through mists of time; Oh, day of toil, we bid thee gone Beyond the night, — But leave my dreams to look upon That fading light. 85 As the light dies, from o'er the vale I hear a call ; — While darkness comes, no longer pale r From out its thrall. And night now offers me this boon, So old, yet new ; I climb the ladder of the moon To look for vou. 86 A SONG OF LIFE ¥ DO not ask for power, Wealth leaves me cold ; The love that lasts an hour And then grows old Means naught to me ; and no sad sighs Are brought by any woman's eyes. I do not long for fame, That sheep-like crowd At whisper of my name Cheer long and loud ; For days of triumph bring regret — The world is wistful to forget. I ask no ease from life That can be bought ; No means to lessen strife That can be taught ; For what is taught and what you buy Are naught, when comes the time to die. 87 I ask for self-control, To wend my way Untrammelled, that my soul Long lost, may say : " Look up thou wanderer, thou wert wise To ask the glories of the skies." &' " For in them you shall find The path you seek, The pureness of the wind Shall kiss your cheek, And let your eves with morning dew Be cleansed, to look at life anew." 88 A LINNET IN A TOWN T SAW a linnet in a cage, I heard it try to sing As up and down in its prison there, With a beautiful, broken, wing It tripped and fluttered, as though all care Had left the street, with its musty air. The man who owned the square, little cage, Looked up, and cursed with intemperate rage, When the linnet refused to sing. How could he know the copse on the down Was different far, from a street in a town? His reasoning was, " Well, a bird's a bird," And he cursed again, that the street all heard, — But the linnet refused to sing. You may own a cage, with golden bars. But the home of a bird is bound by the stars; You may prison a linnet, you may break its wing, But a thousand curses wont make it sing. 89 MY GARDEN " When daffodils begin to peer. . . ." HPHE world is harsh outside the wall, Away beyond the trees ; The fields unploughed, and over all No sign of rest, or ease. Within the wall, is Paradise, That soothes my heart and tired eyes. The sundial tells of passing- hours, As in a pleasant jest ; For time moves slow among the flowers And lingers o'er its quest. To-morrow, is as far away As the dim mists of yesterday. The garden never has been young, It never can be old ; Its velvet greenness smiles among The red, and blue, and gold. The moss was always on the stone That guards the base of Nature's throne. Qo And like some priceless, old heirloom, The past forgot to take, The old time flowers their fragrant bloom Dim memories will wake ; The woodbine's tendrils, dewy wet, The sweet musk rose, and violet. The holly-hocks touch the thatched eaves ; And if the primrose died Before the early Summer leaves Burst forth in all their pride, The wallflowers and the pansies there Smiled just as sweet, and looked as fair. The world is harsh, outside the wall, It's barren, and it's cold; Ah, could I keep, beyond recall,. The red and blue and gold ? Then all the tints of all the flowers Would while away the scented hours. And I should find a life's content Within a moment's rest; W T hile in the blue-white firmament The sun from out the West With radiance, its beam of bliss, Would send each flower, a golden kiss. 9i REALISATION TS that soft shadow on the moon Like some fair woman's hand A doubt ? and will life end too soon, In this, our fairyland ? Or will the shadows pass awa)' Far, far beyond the night, And let the soul you gave me, stay To greet the morning light ? Pale moon, and gold dust of the stars, You brought my love to me ; You helped a heart to burst the bars That set its longing free. And now, ! never see thy beam That lights a Dorset down, But I, in some poor poet's dream, Steal it, for my love's crown. 92 A LAMENTATION T7AIR days of life, beyond regretting, * Beyond the trail of the setting sun ; Fair hours, e'en now beyond forgetting, — Your tears undried, and your songs all done. We wander, hand in hand with sadness, Companions now of the mournful things; Along the path that leads from gladness To where no bird ever trills or sings. You taught us much, the rest we borrow, And live to-day with the future's fears; We wait for joy that comes to-morrow, A salve, to dry all our burning tears. You give, you take, and never deigning To let us hold to our heart's desire; You make, you break, without explaining, How flames can rise from a dying fire. 93 Until, we spend the hours comparing Past days of joy, with the blank despair That at our heart is roughly tearing, While we await an unanswered prayer. Could we recall the hours we squandered, The words that once from our hearts were wrung; Retread the path that our youth once wandered, And sing the songs that we left unsung. And ease the heart of all its aching Of all its doubts and its pulsing pain ; To bind the threads of love, that, breaking, Can ne'er be bound in a heart again. But let hope live, and strive for ever, To wring, one day, from the shroud of night Our dying dreams, that they may sever The memory of a dead delight. 94 TO AN OLD TRAMP (Found dead by the roadside) /^H ! L have known thee now for many years, ^-^ When come October days That bid the sun goodbye, with Autumn tears, Across the downland ways. When Autumn comes, ray road is on your beat, From Bradrield, after dawn You trudge to Wallingford, with weary feet, And back again, next morn. We used to meet, and yarn, to pass the time, Just by the Moulsford stile; You told me life was but a simple rhyme That often made you smile. You told me life was either sun or rain, With now and then some snow ; That tiresome days, seldom returned again Once night had bid them go. 95 You (old me that all joy was just— content, That every pain would pass; That both made up life's rainbow, as they went Across the down land grass. You were content, I know, because your face Still tanned from August sun, Breathed all the strength you'd won, in life's hard race, For you, so nearly done. You knew the birds, and all their Summer songs, You knew the road's lone ways ; And if the world had beaten you with thongs, You had your happy days. You were content, oh ! would that i were you. You take my life, each dawn, Without one thought, or care, to wander through The day, till night was born. But you were old, with many deep-set lines Around your dew-bright eyes; Yet they shone clear, as but contentment shines, So clear, and oh ! so wise. 96 You lived your life, you said your last goodbye, Beside the rolling road; So your soul fluttered lightly up the sky, Without the sinner's load. And now, the hedge beneath which you last lay, Is decked with brighter flowers ; While I believe the moon's pale amber ray Shines there, through darkest hours. 97 A THOUGHT ""THERE'S a quaint little cottage that looks o'er * the sea, That was built, as a haven for two ; There's a rose in the garden, that's smiling for rne, — May I ask it to smile, dear, for you ? 98 TO A LITTLE GIRL (Who still believes in fairies) T FOUND a fairy in a tree, * A-swinging on a bough; Oh, long ago, in Arcady — And there she sang a song to me, Whose echo haunts me now. Her wings were like a butterfly's, The purple splashed with gold, The deep blue seas were in her eyes, And oh, she looked so wondrous wise,— So young, and yet so old. The sunbeams played about her hair, Their game of hide-and-seek, And while the sunbeams gathered there, One, bolder, though perhaps more fair, Stooped down, and kissed her cheek. She made as if to fly away, Afar, beyond recall ; But when I smiled and bade her stay To grace the scented Summer day, She sang this madrigal. 99 You may be old, And you may be wise ; The earth enfold With your smiling eyes; But from my tree As the world goes round, I hear, and see, All the Summer sound. Only the breeze Disturbs the rose, And the life of ease That Summer knows. So stranger hold To your vision, clear, For peace untold May fringe a tear; Life will not weep Nor joys depart, If you but keep Youth in your heart. I found a fairy in a tree, A-swinging on a bough ; Oh, long ago, in Arcady She sang a song of youth to me, Could I return there now ? ioo WHY DO I LOVE YOU? w HY do I love you ? How do I know . . . ? Is it the glory of Your face aglow ; Is it the laughter, Tender, but wise, Fresh wakened in your heart Comes from your eyes ; Is it your lips, that smile Greeting to me, Hair with the perfume of Down land and sea ; Is it your whispered word, Soft, like a song, Breaking upon a heart Starved for so long? Is it a thought that holds Life's anodyne, Joining, across the night Your heart and mine? 101 I cannot answer why, Wherefore, or how — I've loved you all mv life, And I love vou now ! 102 TO AN EGOIST TJAVE you captured the breath of Spring, * Or the scent of a Summer day ; Have you envied the birds that sing, Or the man, who can kneel and pray To the God of the wind and rain, And the sun, and the angry seas — No ! you smile in your wisdom, vain, At such sad, foolish thoughts as these. Have you captured a fallen star, Where the sky meets the distant hill, Do you know where the rainbows are When the song of the wind is still ; Have you trodden the rolling downs All along by the bramble ways, Or is life made of sighs, and frowns, That will compass your selfish days? 103 Have you watched the butterflies blue, Seek their rest in the uncut hay, Has a robin made friends with you, Have you smiled at the lambs at play; Do the birds call a welcome there When you find that the way is long; When your load is too hard to bear Can you lighten it, with a song? No ! you clutch at a phantom star, And become not a whil more wise; In your loving, you only mar For there's envy within your eyes; All vour hopes are behind your tears, And remorse, you will find too late When alone, in the slough of fears You lie crushed, on the wheel of fate. Oh, there's joy in the earth, the sea and sky, And I pray you may find it, e'er you die. 104 A MEMORY TP HERE'S a whisper among the trees * That is carried along, Far on the wings of the breeze Like a Summer song ; It wanders away to the West, From the home we knew — But that whisper returns to rest, Comes back, to the love that is best,— It comes back to vou. 105 LINES FOR A PICTURE BY CONSTABLE TJ ERE is the breath of England, The strength that made her strong The peace, the joy of England Through centuries of song : The strength of oak : the beauty Of leaf, that's moist with rain, It filters all the sunbeams That bring earth youth again. Here is a home of England, Set deep among the trees : A grey-white farm of England, High elms and rookeries : The pool around which cattle In slow, contentment laze The rich and vivid greenness Of England's country ways. 106 OXFORD VXD YOUTH WHEN youth, and hope, strolled hand in hand Along your winding ways, With visions of a future, planned To noble things, formed to withstand The call of baser days. When life, and art, (in tawdry gown) Trod lightly up the High, Self-consciously, our youthful crown Outshone each dull, disconsolate frown, And blinded every sigh. The gold of life was in our heart, Pure gold, without alloy ; And if a dream claimed one small part 'Twas lent to youth, that it might start A minor chord of joy. And where the sunlit sky of blue Was pierced by tower and spire, We wandered on, as youth will do, We babbled theories, to pursue Dim heights of our desire. 107 There never bloomed a rose so red Against a cloistered wall. As flowered the hope, in thoughts that sped Along the road where past hopes, dead, Lay stark, in sorrow's thrall. When life's pale fretted dome of grey Was screened from anxious view, When youth found strength, along the way, And firmlv trod, where dead hopes lay, And scorned all past hopes knew ! The faith we found, the dreams we met, That lined the path to fame, Make those fair days live with us yet, While the soft nights hold no regret,— For youth knew not life's shame. The springtime of our life was free, By cares and fears unfraught ; We lived our days, for what might be, Romance, art, fame, — and failed to see That greater ones had sought The dreams that flourished in our breast, (E'er they had let them die, Amid the turmoil of the quest For happiness, content, and rest, Like some frail butterfly). 1 08 But if those days are far away, Their memory lingers, sweet And if the hopes have gone astray, While dreams have fallen by the way To seek some calm retreat, The thought returns, from days afar, (How time, the reaper, gleans!) That unbelievers strove to mar My hope, that lay within one star, Above the gate of " Oueens." Fair days, the creeping hours of time Have left upon your grave, Life's vanities, o'er which we climb To seek a reason and a rhyme For all we failed to save. Dead days, ambition fades so small, — (Our dreams are faced with truth !) Forgotten now beneath time's pall, — But is Life greater, after all, Than fragile dreams of youth ? 109 WHEN PAN PIPED LOW W/HEX Pan piped soft across the fields, v * A cowslip raised its drooping head, And shook the dewdrops from their bed, — A cloud athwart a pale sun shields The morn from heat ; the world was green With royal velvet's softened sheen. When Pan piped low, the lark came down To listen to the fairy note ; The music in its silvern throat Was stilled. . . . But if my eyes were dewy wet, And on my brow a troubled frown,- — Was it that I could not forget The memory, of past regret ? It called to mind from days lost long The music, of a dead soul's song. no BEYOND THE SHADOWS VV/HEN shadows lift, " v I see the stars steal by Like children's dreams, Adown a fairy sky. While mother moon Will smile, to light their way, Lest they be lost, And into dawn-tide stray. ill EPILOGUE /"\H, your's the sympathy; you do not laugh ^"^ And mock, in pitying strain, — For seeking in my life, among the chaff You garnered some good grain. And I, who strove to fly with broken wings Was grateful, yet afraid; But strengthened, turned my thoughts to nobler things, That you might be repaid. You scorned the chaff; you kept ihe golden grain, That all the world might see — It symbolised, you said, through love and pain, The man, that I might be. 112 By the Same Author. "HEARTS DESIRE'' BIRMINGHAM POST.—" Mr. Burton Baldry will do something' worth doing- as a poet. His ' Heart's Desire ' has individuality underlying it. . . . He is a writer of whom something more will be heard." DAILY GRAPHIC.—" Mr. Burton Baldry is best known as a writer of agreeable light verse, and as a clever parodist. In ' Heart's Desire ' he presents to the critic a volume of poems . . . the lyrics are simple and effortless, and are charged with the high sincerity that belongs to youth. . . . Mr. Burton Baldry has done well." DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" Mr. Burton Baldry has an ear for metre, and the workmanship of his poems is characterised by an exemplary simplicity and directness." DAILY MAIL. — " Charming lyrics, with no straining after effect. One poem, ' God's Toys,' should find a place in any anthology of childhood." SCOTSMAN. — " The most sweetly musical of verse. . . . Mr. Burton Baldry 's lyrics are charming." VANITY FAIR.—" Extremely clever lyrics, with their pleasing smoothness of phrase and sentiment . . . express a decided individuality." Published in 19 12. DATE DUE i G/.Tt LORD 1 PRINTED IN U.S. A. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 600 382 6