.95-9 '3 7 9 HE ROSE-JA S JONES, JR THE ROSE-JAR BOOKS BY MR JONES The Voice in the Silence The Rose- Jar Interludes From Quiet Valleys The Path o' Dreams (with Clinton Scollard) From the Heart of the Hills THE ROSE-JAR BY THOMAS S JONES, JR PORTLAND MAINE THE MOSHER PRESS MDCCCCXIII COPYRIGHT THOMAS S JONES, JR 1906 : 1909 FIRST EDITION, SECOND EDITION, THIRD EDITION, OCTOBER, 1906 DECEMBER, 1909 JUNE, 1913 TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER 311504 Thanks are due the Editors of Harper's Magazine, Scribner's Magazine, Ainslee's Magazine, Appleton's Magazine, The Bos- ton Transcript, The Delineator, Everybody's Magazine, Lippincott' s Magazine, The New York Times, The Pathfinder, Poet Lore, The Smart Set, and the other publications in which the poems of this collection originally appeared, for their kind per- mission to reprint. CONTENTS AS IN A ROSE-JAR . .. W . 3 THE LITTLE GHOSTS I .#J &Q. UQY 4 THE ISLAND iff/.'-j -iute Uii'j '/a i *.i#i 5 YOUTH ^ ,. HOl:^;; 6 WITH APRIL WINDS .. a fH Si 7 JOYOUS-GARD . .. SI/ -.1 ilOV! DH 3 8 A YESTERDAY . ,... .. aC? . 9 TWO SONGS IN SPRING . 4Afli . 10 AT THE WINDOW \A . t ft! . . 11 MAY-EVE . .. , ,. 3a:r.-^ 12 A VOICE FROM THE FAR AWAY . 13 TO SONG W JXU3 H/ 14 YOU AND I .. ,. .. m . 15 PRIMAVERA .. YX(VLI-iaa . 16 A DESERTED VILLAGE . ..78UO 17 SAIDA .. '..'JlAay^U . . 18 FROM THE HILLS , 4 ,.O^O2 . 19 I KNOW A QUIET VALE Wt *> 20 THE ROSE HAS BLOWN AWAY . 21 TO WILD-ROSES ^ 1A*V ' LK 22 LONGING . . . . 23 A HOUSE O' DREAMS / . . 24 OF ONE WHO WALKS ALONE . 25 v CONTENTS PAGE IN ARCADY . . ... 26 THE POET ' . * . . . . 27 FROM THE GRAVE OF KEATS . 28 SOMETIMES . .. * Ai-''UOjC P-. JK 29 TO YOU, DEAR HEART . 3, IT' 1J 30 IN TRINITY CHURCH-YARD . ^ 31 IMPRESSION .. . . *P 32 THE PIPER T fcti; 1 !'*/ IUH*JH 33 THE HUNCHBACK ,,. ' ^-j! HAC -V' 34 INTERLUDE . , ,. , ft ,^ . -V 35 REMEMBRANCE . . . *>r. 36 MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN-CLOSE 37 NOON-TIDE 38 TRAUMEREI 39 ON AN IDYL OF THEOCRITUS . 40 TRISTESSE <; - .. t. c.i ^4 41 AN ETUDE IN IVORY .. fi#'Vf&} 42 AT DUSK . ;. y fv, iy/ :t:vr ^ u 43 IN THE FALL O' YEAR . . & 44 AN OLD SONG . ., UJII f SttVjk 45 OLD ROSES 46 AVE ATQUE VALE .... 49 Vlll THE ROSE-JAR AS IN A ROSE-JAR S in a rose-jar filled with petals sweet Blown long ago in some old garden place, Mayhap, where you and I, a little space Drank deep of love and knew that love was fleet- Or leaves once gathered from a lost retreat By one who never will again retrace Her silent footsteps one, whose gentle face Was fairer than the roses at her feet ; So, deep within the vase of memory I keep my dust of roses fresh and dear As in the days before I knew the smart Of time and death. Nor aught can take from me The haunting fragrance that still lingers here As in a rose-jar, so within my heart ! THE LITTLE GHOSTS TT7HERE are they gone, and do you know If they come back at fall o' dew, The little ghosts of long ago, That long ago were you ? And all the songs that ne'er were sung, And all the dreams that ne'er came true, Like little children dying young Do they come back to you? THE ISLAND ' I A HERE is an island in the silent sea, -* Whose marge the wistful waves lap listlessly - An isle of rest for those who used to be. For ne'er an echo wakes that towering wall, Whose blackened crags answer none other call Save the lone ocean's rhythmic rise and fall. Only the song the sea sings as she laves That sleep-bound shore with sad caressing waves, The while the dead lie sleeping in their graves. So still they sleep within each quiet tomb, Cool in long shadows of the cypress gloom, Breathing in death the moon-flower's rank perfume. They know not when slow barges on the mere Enter the portals of that place austere Enter, and so forever disappear ! And in this island of a silent sea, Whose marge the wistful waves lap listlessly, Is rest, is peace for all eternity. YOUTH T SHALL remember then, * At twilight time or in the hush of dawn, Or yet, mayhap, when on a straying wind The scent of lilac comes, or when Some strain of music startles and is gone. Old dreams, old roses, all so far behind, Blossoms and birds and ancient shadow-trees, Whispers at sunset, the low hum of bees, And sheep that graze beneath a summer sun. Will they too come, they who in yester-year Walked the same paths and in the first of Spring, And shall I hear Their distant voices murmuring ? I shall remember then When youth is done, With the dim years grown gray ; And I shall wonder what it is that ends, And why they seem so very far away Old dreams, old roses . . . and old friends. WITH APRIL WINDS I SIT and dream across a space of hours * Nor note the passing of the moment's wing, For time seems but the voice of gentle showers, A far-off echo faintly murmuring. I sit and dream . . . and as sweet April ways The turf turns golden in a sweep of bloom, Each branch takes on the tint of chrysoprase Where Spring reveals the wonder of her loom. And in an instant all the world slips by With time and space out-stript in long ago ; About my feet the meadow-grasses lie Rocked by a wind that makes the blossoms grow. While in the grasses every bloom I see Harbors the dew of immortality. JOYOUS-GARD -W ASHED and free, full-swept by rain and wave, By tang of surf and thunder of the gale, Wild be the ride yet safe the barque will sail And past the plunging seas her harbor brave ; Nor care have I that storms and waters rave, I cannot fear since you can never fail Once have I looked upon the burning grail, And through your eyes have seen beyond the grave. I know at last the strange, sweet mystery, The nameless joy that trembled into tears, The hush of wings when you were at my side For now the veil is rent and I can see, See the true vision of the future years, As in your face the love of Him who died ! A YESTERDAY F HELD you in my arms so happy I, *- Who quite forgot the while that moments fly; Nor ever dreamed that they could pass away, Till it was yesterday. Yet, just because that hour was long ago And seems to me so near well, this I know That sometime I shall clasp your hand and say : . Was there a yesterday ? TWO SONGS IN SPRING LITTLE buds all bourgeoning with Spring, You hold my winter in forgetf ulness ; Without my window lilac branches swing, Within my gate I hear a robin sing O little laughing blooms that lift and bless ! So blow the breezes in a soft caress, Blowing my dreams upon a swallow's wing; O little merry buds in dappled dress, You fill my heart with very wantonness O little buds all bourgeoning with Spring ! II At hint of Spring I have you back again The blush of apple-blossoms on the bough, A scent of buds far sweeter for the rain . . . At hint of Spring I have you back again, And all of time is lost since then and now. Your voice is hidden in the thrush's song, And in the south-wind's slumbering refrain ; You needs must come, love is so very strong, And we who found each other waited long At hint of Spring I have you back again ! 10 AT THE WINDOW 41 F LOOKED out of my window tall -** And laughed to see the May, For everything both great and small Was on a holiday. Then love came by and laughed at me, And I forgot the Spring Only I knew the ecstasy Of madly listening. And now the buds are out again, White on the boughs of May, But tears have dimmed the window-pane - And no one comes my way. 11 MAY-EVE S~\VER the hill, over the hill, ^^ The dews are wet and the shadows long, Twilight lingers and all is still Save for the call of a faery-song. Calling, calling out of the west, Over the hill in the dusk of day, Over the hill to a land of rest, A land of peace with the world away. Never again where grasses sweep, And lights are low, and the cool brakes still Never a song, but a dreamless sleep, Over the hill . . . over the hill. 12 A VOICE FROM THE FAR AWAY F HEARD a voice from the far away * Softly say this to me u You will find the heart of the world some day And the why of the things that be ; You will see the grief of the yea and nay And the price of frailty. 'And upon your lute you will weave a theme Which the world will harken and know, For every note of the song will teem With a great soul's overflow You will speak the meaning within a dream And the pain in the afterglow. " But for all of this there 's a price to pay, 'T is the price of minstrelsy, You will never have of the things you play, Sad singer of poetry, And throughout your life you will go for aye Heart-hungry and silently ! " I heard a voice from the far away Softly say this to me. 13 TO SONG T TERR shall remain all tears for lovely things * -* And here enshrined the longing of great hearts, Caught on a lyre whence waking wonder starts, To mount afar upon immortal wings ; Here shall be treasured tender wonderings, The faintest whisper that the soul imparts, All silent secrets and all gracious arts Where nature murmurs of her hidden springs. O magic of a song ! here loveliness May sleep unhindered of life's mortal toll, And noble things stand towering o'er the tide ; Here mid the years, untouched by time or stress, Shall sweep on every wind that stirs the soul The music of a voice that never died ! Ol HI 14 YOU AND I the hills where the pine-trees grow, With a laugh to answer the wind at play. Why do I laugh ? I do not know, But you and I once passed this way. Down in the hollow now white with snow My heart is singing a song to-day. Why do I sing? I do not know, But you and I were here in May. 15 PRIM AVER A TI7HAT is it stirs, What whisper calls within the wood Breaking the winter solitude Over snow-laden firs? What whisper calls, what scent Of vanished thing, What waking merriment? It is of Spring A dream of long ago when gods were young, When Life was Youth, and Song was yet unsung ; Nor Death, nor Fear, But Youth at best, and Spring-time all the year. So, for a little while remembering, Do violets blow And daffodils, as in the long ago A little while in Spring. A little while, A web of dreaming spun ; And through our blinding tears Still smiling mid the ever-changing years The lovely face of young Endymion ! 16 A DESERTED VILLAGE FT stands upon the edge of yesterday, -* Remote, forgotten in the years since sped, Its ghostly houses all untenanted, Its moss-grown streets fallen to rank decay ; Sometimes a vagrant sheep may idly stray Adown its lonely lanes, but never tread Of human step none save the simple dead, Who sleep behind the hill the hours away. For this I think that in the first of Spring, Or 'neath the wonder of the summer moon, When all things speak of Youth's remembering, When all is fair because the time is June They come again and wander to and fro, Those quaint dear people of the long ago. 17 SAIDA \X7E passed along the high-road, you and I, Though I remember not the place nor when ; Only the wonder of your face, and then That you passed by. But that was long ago, and I forget ; Perhaps 't were better that I went alone, You might not e'er have loved me had you known, And yet, and yet 18 FROM THE HILLS you the white-wracked waste yet not for me- The roar of tempests and the storm-god's song, All that is sad and strange and sweet at sea, All that is fierce and strong. I too have tasted of the salt-sea wine And heard a-riot the wild winds at play ; The heart's full beat, the joyous anodyne Of salt-sea spray. This, this at last a quiet intervale, Kissed by soft lights and gladdened by the sun ; You, of the curling surf, the blast, the gale I, of oblivion. 19 I KNOW A QUIET VALE T KNOW a quiet vale where faint winds blow * The silver poplar-branches all awry, And ne'er another sound comes drifting by Save where the stream's cool waters softly flow, Only wild-roses riot there and throw Their perfume recklessly, the while on high Great snowy clouds pillow the smiling sky And cast frail shadows on the grass below. All is the same, the summer stillness dreams In idleness across the sunny leas, Until for very drowsiness it seems The wind has gone to sleep within the trees Yet we once laughed at what the years might bring, And now I am alone, remembering. 20 THE ROSE HAS BLOWN AWAY To J. B. R. F^HE rose has blown away -* And the song-bird now is still, Yet little care had they Save to echo Nature's will. But in us a sadness grows At the ending of the strain, For the petals of the rose That will never bloom again. And I think this needs must be, As a gleam through grated bars, Hint of some great mystery Past the outposts of the stars ! 21 TO WILD-ROSES E. A. MacD. ' I A HE wild-rose riots and the lichens cling, -* And all o'errun with tangled brier and thorn, Within the alder still the thrushes sing Because they know not change nor things outworn. Tangle and wild-rose and a ruined wall, Silence and sunlight and a voiceless pain, The haunting smell of roses and the fall Of leaves full-blown that will not bud again. 22 LONGING AN this be summer, though the gentle heat Has swept the roses on a wind of June, And borne their fragrance to my aimless feet That go unheeding 'neath a ghostly moon? And all the poplars vague and motionless, And all the lights soft in a silver gray ; Can this be so, and with such loveliness, Can this be summer, dear, with you away ? So hushed, so quiet where the shadows throng Across the pool between the starlight's stain, Watching in silence all the still night long, Watching in silence, and for you in vain. Summer and starlight and an hour grown late, And you who will not come, and I who wait ! 23 A HOUSE O' DREAMS \\ 7"E once built a house o' dreams At the break of day, Made from out the first gold beams On the sward astray. Little did we think or care 'T was not safe nor strong ; We were very happy there And the day was long. Now we leave our house o' dreams, Why, we do not know ; Only this so strange it seems And so hard to go. 24 OF ONE WHO WALKS ALONE "^HESE are the ways of one who walks alone, * Sweet silent ways that lead toward twilight skies, Bees softly winging where a low wind sighs Through the hills' hollow cool and clover-blown. These are the ways that call one back again To old forgotten things in faded years, Swift on a moment of remembered tears They stand from out the dust where they have lain. These are the ways life's simple secrets bless, Keen homely scents borne by each haunted wind, Here in the silence one may ever find That last strange peace whose name is loneliness. 25 IN ARCADY A LTHOUGH 't is but a memory, 4- ^ Still in the days of long ago We tended sheep in Arcady. Then were we both of fancy free And laughing Youth had much to show, Although 't is but a memory. Again the pasture-lands we see Where in the golden summer glow We tended sheep in Arcady. And hear the tender harmony Of shepherd pipes that softly blow, Although 't is but a memory. Nor thought of any end had we As through the grasses to and fro We tended sheep in Arcady. So, what if life now empty be, Of all the past this do we know, Although 't is but a memory, We tended sheep in Arcady ! 26 THE POET T?OR one great Queen who sits in majesty, -* Untouched, austere, upon a golden throne, The like whose loveliness was never known Of ebony and rose and ivory, For her you weave a broidered tapestry, Rife with rich stains of every color-tone Inwrought; while she immovable as stone But watches pitiless and silently. Yet, should this Queen of Beauty lift her arm And take your broidered web, ah, then the prize, The vast reward of all the scars and shame, For in the moment as a mystic charm The cloth is changed to porphyry, and lies Forever on her breast a frozen flame ! 27 FROM THE GRAVE OF KEATS To G. A. K. F MAY not know, and yet your hand's impress Softly has lain where he so sweetly sleeps, And you have lingered where the ivy creeps Across a little stone with tenderness ; I may not know yet, oh the little less, For you have stood where now the laurel weeps Above that dust the sacred city keeps, And lonely shadows lean in sad caress. Once when the summer held its sway of gold We heard his song in deathless melody . . . And you have lingered where the cypress grieves ; This is the wonder of sweet things grown old For in my heart his music sings to me, And in my hand these spirit-laden leaves ! 28 SOMETIMES A CROSS the fields of yesterday r He sometimes comes to me, A little lad just back from play The lad I used to be. And yet he smiles so wistfully Once he has crept within, I wonder if he hopes to see The man I might have been. 29 TO YOU, DEAR HEART F^O you, dear heart, whom I have never known -* I sing my little songs all wonderingly, That sometime you may hear, the sweet atone For all the years and years of search alone That sometime you may hear and come to me. So on I go a-singing down my way With ne'er a thought of all the journey past, For this I know that on one perfect day When everything is, oh, so glad and gay, You '11 hear and come and claim your own, at last. 30 IN TRINITY CHURCH-YARD TTOW still they sleep within the city moil ^ * In their old church-yard with its sighing trees, Where sometimes through the din a twilight breeze Makes one forget the busy streets of toil ; But they have little thought of worldly spoil Or the great gain of mortal victories, Their hopes, their dreams, are cold and dead as these Quaint, time-worn gravestones crumbling on the soil. Yet they once lived and struggled years ago ; Their hearts beat madly as these hearts of ours And now is all undone in dreamless rest? See, a great city stands against the glow Their city, they who here beneath the flowers Have known so long God's gift of peace, most blest ! 31 IMPRESSION A LITTLE stone o'ercrept with moss 4f ^ And red wild-roses flaunting by, A wistful breeze that seems to sigh Where the tall grasses toss. To sigh for one who went away Thus it is writ upon the stone Nothing can ever make atone And tears shall fall for aye. Oh, irony of human vow, Even the stone is crumbling too, And tears none save the evening dew, For who remembers now ? 32 THE PIPER X7[7E danced and sang through the sylvan glade As the piper played, as the piper played, With never a thought of the joy he made ; For his squeaking pipe was quaintly small And the rasping notes would break and fall. We thought it quite poor if we thought at all As the piper played. The shadows were long in the sylvan glade As the price we paid, as the price we paid. We had little to give, else he might have stayed ; But others must dance while he must play. Yet it seemed so strange he went away, For we didn't then know we had lived our day And the price was paid. 33 THE HUNCHBACK T TE never knew the golden thrall of youth, * -* The ringing step, the rumpled wind- tossed hair, The reckless laugh untouched of pain or ruth, Youth without pity and without a care. Not his the swift lithe strength that ever slays, And in its joyous slaying doubly sweet, Like some young god adown immortal ways, Crushing the blossoms 'neath unheeding feet. A twisted back, a face year-scarred and grim, A very mockery to love's caress, These were the only birthright given him What should he know, except of ugliness ? But in his fettered heart in longing pent A wealth of tenderness and, stranger too, Youth full of pity ah, the wonderment He never knew, and yet how well he knew ! 34 INTERLUDE OOMETIMES from out the rush of pulsing days, ^ These days whose poetry was lost in prose So long ago, left desolate on those Far childhood paths yet, sometimes from the haze Of half-forgotten years, fall on our ways Now drear, a strain of song, a June-blown rose. Ah, sweet, so sweet unto a heart that knows The memory of once-remembered Mays ! Only a moment's interlude, and yet How the heart quaffs the draught that ever thrills Its soul, finding again youth's mysteries. What matter if to-morrow we forget To-day the stillness of the sun-lit hills And the low drowsy hum of summer bees. 35 REMEMBRANCE WEET rosemary within the lane, The while the day is warm and clear, And ne'er a thought of bitter rain Or the road-side sere. But there are flowers more dear to me That time can never set apart The fragrant blooms of memory That grow within the heart. 36 MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN- CLOSE 1\>TY soul is like a garden-close 1.T A Where marjoram and lilac grow, Where soft the scent of long ago Over the border lightly blows. Where sometimes homing winds at play Bear the faint fragrance of a rose My soul is like a garden-close Because you chanced to pass my way. 37 NOON-TIDE A S in some old and simple village street *- ^ Where all day long the lazy shadows lean, And the soft sunshine sifting in between Makes golden all the road-side at my feet; Where overhead the arching branches meet Holding me close with walls of cloistered green, Where scents come homeward clover-lade and keen, And ways are homely and the long hours sweet. So ever at a moment's thought of you Amid this moil, I seem again to stand In an old lane where we were wont to pass Afar the hum of bees is wafted through, The sleepy pastures smile on either hand, And life lies dreaming in the tangled grass. 38 TRAUMEREI F^HERE is a place of dreams, Dear, a place of dreams Where you and I, my head upon your breast, Ride toward the South. Far in the yellow West There is a fading light, while o'er the moonlit sky The clouds fly from the wind ; and you and I Just dream together, dreaming thus to rest Forever and a day in that far place of dreams. 39 ON AN IDYL OF THEOCRITUS ' I X O thee the haunting pipes of Pan belong -* And merry revels from a sheltered glade, Where in cool crystal depths slim naiads wade And the dim woods proclaim a satyr throng ; A faun peeps through the copse with ardor strong To capture some hid dryad half-afraid, And I have seen the virgin forest-maid All, all through thee and thy immortal song. Far from this winter steep and cheerless snow Lure me away to that sweet southern sea, Where in profusion rose and myrtles grow Upon the fragrant banks of Sicily Where I, perchance, may hear the low flutes blow, And dream I walked the meadow-lands with thee 40 TRISTESSE TF you were not away, -* These trees, this south-wind and this dreary day Would all be mad with joyous ecstasy; But you are gone, so mourning they with me Find bitter-sweet in idle fantasy. How glad, how mad, how gay, If you were not away ! 41 AN ETUDE IN IVORY A GLEAM of amber through the sunset's glow * ^ And on the keys your hands that softly creep, Aimlessly wandering like little sheep, Lost in a pasture-land of long ago. Dusk and the shadows sifting to and fro ... And far away upon some twilit steep, Fast in the dew-washed asphodel asleep, Drunken in dreams that stir as drifted snow. Where now the wind is but a shepherd's reed And overhead the clouds a scattered fleece, Swift as the scud and restless as the sea. . . . Or where, borne home across that pallid mead, I see no more the lovely vales of Greece Only your hands that are of ivory ! 42 AT DUSK A LINE of gold, a shade of withered rose ^ Amid the gray, oh, just a little while Before the night ; as though day could not close Its eyes in sleep without one last sweet smile. 43 IN THE FALL O' YEAR f WENT back an old-time lane *- In the fall o' year, There was wind and bitter rain And the leaves were sere. Once the birds were lilting high In a far-off May I remember, you and I Were as glad as they. But the branches now are bare And the lad you knew Long ago was buried there Long ago, with you ! 44 AN OLD SONG LOW blowing winds from out a midnight sky, The falling embers and a kettle's croon These three, but oh what sweeter lullaby Ever awoke beneath the winter's moon. We know of none the sweeter, you and I, And oft we 've heard together that old tune Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky, The falling embers and a kettle's croon. 45 OLD ROSES PIRIT of old-time roses, when the glow Of eventide steals softly through the trees Like rosy petals falling, and the breeze Grows hushed until it sings a love-song, low And sweet and tender, then I seem to know You too are somewhere near and watching these Last wondrous sights of day God's mysteries We used to watch together long ago. And, like a benediction, happiness Fills all my soul, as if a wandering breath From that high heaven had wafted down to me- As if I felt again your dear caress And knew you to be waiting e'er in death, Crowned with tile roses of eternity. AVE ATQUE VALE IN MEMORIAM ARTHUR UPSON AVE ATQUE VALE I OU found the green before the Spring was sweet And in the boughs the color of a rose, The haunting fragrance that the south-wind knows When May has wandered far on questing feet; And in your heart a wild note, full and fleet, The first cry of a gladdened bird that goes North to the fields of winter-laden snows, Joyous against the blast and stinging sleet. A.nd now the Spring is here, the snows are gone, The apple-blossoms fall from every tree And all the branches throb with love and Spring ; But never comes one note to greet the dawn, Never again a wild-glad melody God speed, great soul, your valiant wandering ! 49 II hand that traced these lines, and now is dust ! How strange to-night this thing of life and death, Where my low candle-flame o'ershadoweth What once knew youth in its first joyous trust; So simple and so near, as if you must Still linger somewhere yet no answer saith Its golden word, no magic-freighted breath, Only a heart-beat stilled in rainbow-rust. Stilled in the music of a yester-year That ever echoes its sweet instrument, And richly sings across an unknown sea; But these dim lines so vital they appear, So full of youth and joy and life's intent. Ah, this it is that seems so strange to me ! 50 Ill T TOW quiet are their voices on the wind *- As they toss sadly in a darkened sky, And yet, mayhap, to you old words imply That all my questing days I shall not find ; For never more may earthly vestures bind, But stripped away from things that needs must die, Deep in that youth where death's strange secrets lie And whose faint whispers fall on us behind. \ Therefore to you the voices harbor peace, Their ancient patience do you know at last, Yet more, the inmost murmuring of these And in that mystic lore beyond release, In one full instant from a treasured past, Mayhap, you heard the Message of the Trees ! 51 IV r STOOD to-day upon time's border-land And looked far off across each rolling year, Yet scarcely their great thunder did I hear Nor marked the wreckage of the changing sand ; For one soft note persuasive did command All other tones that reached my quickened ear, And in that note a message low and clear That I so plainly seemed to understand. As in the saddened passing of fair things, The sorrow of the sunset and the dawn, For death that comes when life's hour least should fail : Ever the moment's hush of lifted wings, A gleam of wonder ere the flood is gone . . . The host uncovered from its mortal veil ! 52 /^\CTOBER almost holds her golden sway ^^ Across these hills and through the slopes between, As if for you some sacrament unseen Were now unfolded in a silent way, As if for you pale memory astray Had touched each spot of misted summer green, And in the coolness where the shadows lean Had whispered of a cherished yesterday. For one to whom you gaVe your youth's full praise Now takes you back into her hallowed rest With all the loveliness that is your due, Yielding the precious beauty of her days To your deep sleep upon her tranquil breast, Giving you back her deathless love of you ! TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF THIS BOOK PRINTED ON VAN GELDER HAND-MADE PAPER AND THE TYPE DISTRIBUTED IN THE MONTH OF JUNE MDCCCCXIII THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 5O CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE, ef AUG 5 1933 / 1933 12 1934 LD 21-50m-l,'33 YB 76.802 311504 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY