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MOODS AND MEMORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES L. STORY 
 
 THE 
 STANFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 NOVEMBER 
 1906 
 
GIFT 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER 
 
 Who left me the heritage of a life right with 
 God and helpful to his fellow-men, and who 
 taught me even as a chi/a that love is rather 
 to be desired than length of days and right 
 eousness than great riches. 
 
 M8Q1571 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 "Count it as a thynge not havynge his full shape, 
 but as it were borne afore hys tyme, even as a 
 thynge begunne rather than fynnesshed." 
 
 WILLIAM TINDALE. 
 
CONTENTS 
 i. d&en anfc JBoohe 
 
 PACK 
 
 THE INESTIMABLE BOON . 
 
 UKE TO UKE 
 
 THE BETROTHED .............................. T2 
 
 TO A PHYSICIAN ................................ T ? 
 
 MY NURSE ..................................... T _j 
 
 LITTLE LADY KATHERINE ..................... T = 
 
 TO ELLA (AGED ELEVEN) .......................... T f, 
 
 IN MEMORIAM ................................... , j 
 
 HAMPTON, MY FRIEND ........................ K) 
 
 REMINISCENCE ........................ 2 1 
 
 THE SCHOLAR .......................... 22 
 
 TO BOOKS ......................................... 27> 
 
 CHILD S CHRISTMAS GIFT ............................ 24 
 
 TO VICTOR HUGO ......................... ?- 
 
 GOETHE .................................. 2( ; 
 
 HAWTHORNE . . : .......................... 2 " 
 
 THOREAU AT WALDKN ........................... 2 S> 
 
 TO GEOFFREY CHAUCER ............................. 2 Q 
 
 AFTER READING CERTAIN OLD ENGLISH ROMANCES ...... 30 
 
 HEATHER, IVY, AND YEW ........................... 32 
 
 KIPLING .......................................... ^ 
 
 TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ...................... ^j 
 
 TO AN INCESSANT READER ........................... 36 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 II. climes an& Seasons 
 
 IN PRAISE OF MISTRESS SPRING 39 
 
 SPRING SONG 4 1 
 
 EASTER IN ENGLAND 43 
 
 MAYTIME 44 
 
 ET IN ARCADIA EGO . 47 
 
 MIDSUMMER IN ENGLAND 49 
 
 EXILED 50 
 
 "THE CALL OF THE WILD" 51 
 
 LOAFING 53 
 
 ON HILLS OF PINE 55 
 
 "TH ALATT A \" 57 
 
 NEAR MONTEREY 5& 
 
 AUTUMN WALK IN CALIFORNIA 59 
 
 THE GOLDEN-ROD 62 
 
 THANKSGIVING , 64 
 
 BENEDICITE 66 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 7 
 
 THE STAR 69 
 
 in. ttbe JSoofc of tbc *Re& "Rose 
 
 THE GREATEST OF THESE 73 
 
 A COMPLEYNT TO CUPID 74 
 
 MY VALENTINE 75 
 
 WITH A GIFT OF ROSES 7^ 
 
 LOVE S PLEA 77 
 
 INCERTITUDE . . 7& 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FOR MY LADY S BIRTHDAY 79 
 
 WON T YOU BE MY COMRADE ? 80 
 
 TWO SONNETS 8l 
 
 AN OLDEN TALE 83 
 
 MY LADY S GARDEN 85 
 
 MY COMRADE . . . 87 
 
 THE SONG 89 
 
 THE SILENCES OF LOVE GO 
 
 A LITTLE LYRIC 92 
 
 SOMETIMES YOUR EYES ARK VERY WISTFUL, DEAR 93 
 
 CONSUM M ATION 95 
 
 WONDERLAND 9^ 
 
 A MEMORY 97 
 
 GOOD-BY ! 98 
 
 A MIDNIGHT GREETING 1OO 
 
 WITH A WILD ROSE FOR "ROSALIND" IOI 
 
 GEMMA GEM M ARUM IO2 
 
 QUESTIONING IO4 
 
 MY THOUGHT OF THEE I OS 
 
 iv. /fcooOs and Memories 
 
 MOODS 109 
 
 OUR NEED Ill 
 
 THE BLUE f LOWER 1 13 
 
 A SONG FOR STANFORD I 15 
 
 THF WORK OF THY HANDS T \7 
 
 LARGESS . 1 19 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 RECEPTIVITY I2 Q 
 
 "FAITH OF OUR FATHERS" .121 
 
 THE LEPERS 
 
 124 
 
 THOSE WASTED DAYS 12^ 
 
 THE UNFINISHED TEMPLE T26 
 
 BETHEL 
 
 COUPLETS 
 
 127 
 
 129 
 
 TWELVE QUATRAINS 130 
 
 SLEEPLESS ^4 
 
 FROM THE SICK ROOM j -^ 
 
 FAILURE 137 
 
 VICTOR T3 8 
 
 DE IMITATIONS CHRISTI 139 
 
 THE NEW EARTH 140 
 
 "THE QUICK AND THE DEAD" 143 
 
 A PRAYER I 44 
 
 WHEN I LIE DYING 145 
 
 THE ANSWER 146 
 
 EVEN AS A MOTHER 147 
 
 MORS IMPOTENS 148 
 
 ALPHA AND OMEGA 149 
 
 "SHALL THE IMMORTAL DIE?" 150 
 
 "IF IT WERE ONLY A DREAM" 151 
 
 HORIXONS 1^2 
 
 KVKN AS HERE, SO THERE 153 
 
 T M UST GO SOFTLY 155 
 
 ] M MORTALITY . 156 
 
MEN AND BOOKS 
 
"Fine writing, next to fine doing, is the top thing in the world, " JKtat*. 
 
THE INESTIMABLE BOON. 
 
 To each of us the years benignant bring 
 Some gift : to one the power to inflame 
 By voice inspired the souls of men, to wring 
 From eyes long dry impassioned tears, to make 
 Minds dormant leap with virile thought, or wake 
 Men somnolent to deeds of deathless fame. 
 
 Unto another cometh skill to paint 
 With cunning art the colors of the rose 
 So deftly, that on-lookers catch the faint 
 Fragrance from honey-laden blossoms shed 
 What time the clusters pendulous had fed 
 The bandit bees that all their sweets disclose. 
 
 And oftimes he whom the Power Supreme 
 
 To thrill the world with word or work denies, 
 
 Exultant in his stalwartness of limb, 
 
 His lithe and sinewy strength and rugged health, 
 
 Complacent, finds a plenitude of wealth 
 
 In firm-knit muscles and in clear-lit eves. 
 
THE INESTIMABLE, BOON. 
 
 And even to him driven by adverse Fate 
 To drain the bitter dregs of life, to move 
 Slowly in torturous anguish, to await 
 Evasive Fortune with despairing eyes, ~ 
 Even to him one gift she ne er denies : 
 The inestimable boon a Mother s Love. 
 
 10 
 
LIKE TO LIKE. 
 
 TO W. F. H. AND F. P. J. 
 
 If he be not of your kind 
 Let him go his way and mind 
 You your own : discord is blind. 
 
 But if there be no divorce 
 In thought or heart or intercourse, 
 Cleave to him yea, though by force. 
 
 For if one and one there be 
 Of like kind in their degree 
 Greet they, glad, as comrades free. 
 
 Friends we find not every day, 
 And when one doth chance our way 
 Fellowship should have full play. 
 
 11 
 
THE BETROTHED. 
 
 (TO A. M. B.) 
 
 Ne er have I seen such perfect joy before 
 
 Upon a human countenance expressed. 
 
 What yearnings vague. I wonder, stir her breast, 
 
 To what far height doth her rapt spirit soar ? 
 
 Ah, it is sweet to watch the face of her 
 
 And see that strange new light within her eyes. 
 
 To be betrothed must be paradise 
 
 When it such radiant beauty can confer. 
 
 And now she doeth innumerable kindnesses 
 
 As willingly as if they were for him. 
 
 Such power hath Love to transfigure all the dim 
 
 Tracts of our lives with self-forgetfulness. 
 
 If all were then as beautiful as she. 
 
 I would all maids full soon betrothed might be ! 
 
TO A PHYSICIAN. 
 
 No other craft is quite so loved of men 
 As the physician s, whose it is to bring 
 Assuaging remedies and everything 
 
 To calm life s fret and lift from beds of pain. 
 
 Tis a true poet-craft, for in some phase 
 Pain is life s one experience known to all, 
 And he who frees a sufferer from its thrall 
 
 Writes on that sufferer s heart in noblest phrase. 
 
 Thou, Anderson, best type of those who heal, 
 Brusque, taciturn, and bluff, and seeming cold, 
 Yet quick to help, and kind and genial-souled 
 
 We know who suffer that thou knowest to feel. 
 The poet s theme must universal be : 
 Who shares our pain the truest poet he! 
 
 13 
 
MY NURSE. 
 
 Keen-witted, quick-footed, 
 
 Quiet of tongue, 
 Calm-minded, kind-hearted, 
 
 Deft-handed, strong ; 
 Considerate, cheerful, 
 
 Yet dominant she 
 And firm in each crisis 
 
 My good nurse to me! 
 
LITTLE LADY KATHARINE 
 
 A little child scarce past her baby days, 
 With laughing eyes and silken-shadowy hair, 
 And kissing lips and dimpling features fair, 
 I meet her often, with her shy, sweet ways. 
 She prattles gayly while glad laughter plays 
 Upon her rosebud lips, and sets astir 
 The hearts of all who chance to look on her 
 And stoop to chat with her and pet and praise. 
 She doth not know, this little lady dear, 
 How she doth lighten many a dreary load, 
 And by her baby smile make smooth life s road, 
 And many a racking heartache disappear. 
 Wearing her innocence like an aureole, 
 She doth illumine every darkened soul. 
 
TO ELLA. 
 
 (AGED ELEVEN.) 
 
 E er keep thy joyous heart, 
 
 Ella, as now ; 
 Never may sorrow cast 
 
 Shade o er thy brow. 
 
 Fair as a lily 
 
 Still thy face gleams ; 
 In thy life s fairyland 
 
 Beautiful dreams 
 
 Angels breathe low to thee, 
 
 Hovering around, 
 Angel wings cover thee 
 
 Slumbering sound. 
 
 So may their company 
 
 Ever be given, 
 So may they finally 
 
 Woo thee to heaven. 
 
 16 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 (THE REl\ J. C. SIMMONS, D. D.j 
 
 The good gray head is bowed, 
 
 The mobile face is still, 
 The stately form of strength is shorn, 
 
 Inert the tireless will. 
 
 "Dust unto dust" is said, 
 
 The grave is covered o er; 
 Turn we lonely from the dead 
 
 Unto life once more. 
 
 So he would have us do 
 
 Whom here we leave behind, 
 Who, to his every duty true, 
 
 Lived for his kind. 
 
 And shall we, then, forget 
 
 His godly walks and ways, 
 The good he wrought, the joy he brought ? 
 
 Never, through all our days! 
 
 17 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 He was our pioneer 
 
 When all the paths were dark, 
 Peace-bringer, and tried comforter, 
 
 True keeper of the ark. 
 
 His was the welcome voice, 
 Ready with jest and cheer 
 
 To bid the stricken soul rejoice 
 And free the heart from fear. 
 
 He lives forevermore, 
 
 Not only with his Lord, 
 But in a thousand lives that bore 
 
 Fruitage from his word. 
 
 Not cypress boughs nor yew, 
 But laurel wreaths we bring, 
 
 To deck his brow who heareth now 
 The "well done!" of the King. 
 
 18 
 
HAMPTON, MY FRIEND. 
 I. 
 
 "Come, Hampton, come, and seek the M,orning Land!" 
 
 In youth the Master, looking on him, smiled, 
 And Hampton took the loving, outstretched hand 
 
 With the sweet confidence of a little child. 
 So doth he follow wheresoever led, 
 
 His trust by foolish doubtings undeterred, 
 And many a faith is quickened that was dead 
 
 And many a life to holier living stirred. 
 And he is welcome as the glad May sun 
 
 Wherever men still love the better part. 
 His is a holy life-work well begun. 
 
 What say you? "Death has stilled that noble 
 
 heart?" 
 
 Ah, no ! That ardent spirit onward fares 
 To do its Master s bidding otherwheres ! 
 
 19 
 
HAMPTON, MY FRIEND. 
 II. 
 
 Godly his walk and conversation are. 
 
 No word of malice from his lips is heard, 
 He hails God s opportunities afar, 
 
 No deed of kindness is by him deferred. 
 His Master s business him alone beguiles, 
 
 Of him his meditation day by day, 
 And many a child is happier for his smiles, 
 
 And many a toiler gladdened on his way. 
 He may not pause while yet some light is lent 
 
 For the fulfillment of the Master s will. 
 Rest may come later when the day is spent, 
 
 Now he must labor with us, for us, still. 
 That day is spent? His spirit quenched in night?" 
 Ah, no ! the dark is here : he hails the Morning Light ! 
 
 20 
 
REMINISCENCE. 
 
 (After reading "In Terms of Life < by Professor W. W. Thoburn.) 
 
 The portals of thy mind were open flung 
 Unto the truth whence-ever it might come, 
 And often thy rapt soul was stricken dumb 
 By that last vision of which Dante sung. 
 God hadst thou seen and in His presence dwelt, 
 An High Priest guarding many mysteries : 
 The song of birds, the laugh of children these 
 Were shrines whereat thy kindred spirit knelt. 
 
 And yet thine was no life from men apart 
 No star withdrawn beyond our utmost ken ; 
 Thou wert our true Confessor of the heart. 
 And women came to thee and stalwart men. 
 Burdened with doubts or torn by chastisemenl, 
 To learn from thy lips their benign intent. 
 
 21 
 
THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 TO E. F. 
 
 Full many roam through Time s fair garden plot, 
 Forgetful of the gardener and his toil, 
 
 And pluck the delicate clusters that were not 
 Had he not striven with the grudging soil. 
 
TO BOOKS. 
 
 I would that I could speak in praise of you 
 Something, unpenned by greater ones than I, 
 To thrill the soul and reinspire the high 
 
 Resolve in men to feed of you anew. 
 
 Alas! how feeble are the powers to do 
 Of us poor little ones, who humbly sit 
 And worship dumbly what the Masters writ 
 
 In words of flame of what is good and true ! 
 
 Ah ! when we bend with glad, tear-brimming eyes 
 O er their strong pages, let us not forget 
 The chastisement of grief and keen regret, 
 
 The pangs of want, the relentless agonies, 
 
 Ere Homer, Dante, their large words indite: 
 Only in their hearts blood do the Immortals write. 
 
 23 
 
CHILD S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 Soon, alas, too soon ! will come the heat and burden 
 
 of the day, 
 Let them in life s golden morning dream the long 
 
 glad hours away; 
 Rapt to fairie lands of fancy, turn the page with fresh 
 
 delight ; 
 Thrill with all the fire and valour of their favorite 
 
 "parfyt knyght," 
 Free beleaguered castles, champion friendless beauty, 
 
 or with zest 
 
 Follow some gallant adventurer on his lonely peri 
 lous quest, 
 Give them BOOKS, these youthful dreamers, filled 
 
 with deeds of high emprise, 
 So the vision shall not fail them when the rose of 
 
 morning dies, 
 But the splendor of its seeming that uplighted all 
 
 the dawn 
 Through their lives shall linger with them at their 
 
 deaths shall lure them on! 
 
 24 
 
TO VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 August, aggressive, and superbly strong, 
 
 Valiant of voice, of visage leonine, 
 Inveterate foe to every fraud and wrong, 
 
 VICTOR how fit was that first name of thine ! 
 For it was thy stern indignation lashed 
 
 Smug shamdom and conventional pretense, 
 From thy relentless satire slunk abashed 
 
 Subservient Law in abject impotence. 
 
 Yet spite of caustic pen and mien austere, 
 Thou wert a man beneficently mild ; 
 
 Thy great heart burned with love, to thee were dear 
 The wretched outcast and the orphaned child. 
 
 Noblesse oblige! "Saint Welcome," this must be 
 
 More than a motto ere Man may be free! 
 
 25 
 
GOETHE. 
 
 As the lone watcher on some mountain height, 
 
 Uplifted far beyond the haunts of men, 
 Pierces the vast profound with searching ken 
 
 To read the mystery of the starry night ; 
 So, poet, did st thou probe the living soul : 
 
 With eye undazzled, mind dispassionate, 
 Weighing the mysteries of Growth and Fate 
 
 Weaving their message in one cosmic whole. 
 
 Goethe, keen-eyed astronomer of song, 
 
 Let quibbling critics carp and call thee cold ; 
 
 To us who know thee thou art genial-souled 
 And lovable ; one unto whom belong 
 Self-poise and calm reserve, yet none the less 
 Warm-dropping tears and depth of tenderness. 
 
HAWTHORNE. 
 
 No mortal eye e er peered into his soul, 
 
 To whom the heart s deep-hidden springs were 
 
 known, 
 To whose keen gaze men s sins were as a scroll : 
 
 As at his death, so all his life, alone. 
 
 27 
 
THOREAU AT WALDEN. 
 
 With Nature s very self held st rapt commune, 
 
 Shy recluse, who did st dwell so long remote 
 From fellow-habitants. Her rarest boon 
 
 To thee she gave : to know the variant note 
 Of bird or insect ; in thy tiny pond 
 
 Find ocean s plenitude; learn all the lore 
 Of this mysterious earth ; and then beyond, 
 
 In steadfast lonely meditation, pore 
 On air-borne secrets hid from lamp-bleared eyes 
 
 And only legible to them like thee 
 That lead their lives beneath the star-strewn skies 
 
 And live as if this were the life to be. 
 Still, though them wert so lost in solitude, 
 True prophet to our shackled humanhood ! 
 
 28 
 
TO GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 
 
 To that choice company dost thou belong 
 Of kindred spirits Fielding, rare old Ben, 
 Bluff Samuel, good Sir Walter manly men 
 
 Who make our earth the gladder for their song 
 
 And sturdy pleasantry when things go wrong. 
 (Such sanely optimistic men as these 
 Are like the ozone-laden ocean breeze 
 
 That sweeps the foul-aired tenements among.) . 
 
 No sudden-blazing meteor art thou, 
 
 Grudging thy sparkles to the frore gray earth ; 
 Rather the hearth-fire bringing warmth and mirth, 
 
 Smoothing its furrows from the care-knit brow. 
 Quaint Maister Chaucer, perfect though thy art, 
 We prize far more thy rugged homely heart. 
 
 29 
 
AFTER READING CERTAIN OLD ENGLISH 
 ROMANCES. 
 
 I. 
 
 I love to read these tales of old romance: 
 How Florice fought for lovely Blanchefleur, 
 And hewed down Ajoub s son, the horrid Moor, 
 And spitted swarthy Paynims on his lance, 
 Or how the valorous Guy of Warwick bore 
 At his Felice s whimsical command, 
 His shield in joust and tourney for her hand 
 Against that recreant caitiff, Morgadour, 
 Or how Sir Bevis, brave knight of Hamptoun, 
 With s steed Arundel and good sword Morglay, 
 Bore from Sir Miles the fair Josyan away, 
 And slaughtered them that lieved on false Mahoun. 
 Sure these were men right worthy of our praise 
 These stalwart heroes of the ancient davs. 
 
 30 
 
AFTER READING CERTAIN OLD ENGLISH ROMANCES. 
 
 II. 
 
 I love, I say, these tales of olden time, 
 
 Crude though they be and full of lust and blood, 
 
 They thrill me with their touch of knightlihood, 
 Quaint courtesy, and energy sublime. 
 Stern though they seemed and full of fierce despite, 
 
 Yet were these knights possessed of virtues tried. 
 
 No idle dalliance, no weak foolish pride 
 Stained the escutcheon that they bore of right. 
 Sometimes, tis true, they struck before they thought 
 
 But yet they struck! Ah ye who weakly cower 
 
 In feeble vacillation, seize thy hour! 
 Think how they strove how hardily they wrought, 
 
 And from thy torpor rouse for very shame, 
 
 Lest ve be branded with a coward s name. 
 
 31 
 
HEATHER, IVY, AND YEW. 
 
 This tiny sprig o heather s been 
 
 Beside the banks o Loch Katrine, 
 
 This ivy-leaf erewhile hath grown 
 
 By Burns s Brig o Bonnie Doon, 
 
 This yew funereal o er the grave 
 
 Of Wordsworth drooped, by Rotha s wave. 
 
 One tells a tale of bold Romance, 
 One whispers of Love s tender glance, 
 One sighs o er Death s grim residence. 
 
 Each guards its own dark mystery: 
 Life, Love, or future Destiny. 
 
 32 
 
KIPLING. 
 
 "HYSTERICAL RHAPSODIST OF FORCE" 
 
 As strives some vulgar parvenu to win 
 Station among his nobler fellow-kind 
 By clink of coin, though poor in spirit and mind, 
 Even so doth Kipling strive to enter in 
 To Art s great temple to that hallowed fane 
 Wherein true poets worship the high Muse ; . 
 Utters his tinsel phrase, hurls low abuse, 
 Tries every paltry method. But disdain 
 Doth greet each clamorous effort : calm and still 
 Those priests of Beauty bar the sacred door 
 And chant her varied praise, and him ignore, 
 Letting him plead in vain, or storm at will. 
 No; Kipling! juggler of cheap jingo wit, 
 That shrine is shut: thou mav st not enter it! 
 
TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 I. 
 
 Glad fellow-farer through the wilds of life, 
 Undaunted heartener of the weak and faint, 
 Human of humans, yet without a taint 
 
 Of the irreverence that is now so rife ; 
 
 Intrepid wanderer through the sunlit lands 
 Of high romance, well-tried adventurer, 
 Hero in many a hard-fought Holy War 
 
 Gainst gloom, disease, and impotence of hands ; 
 
 Chivalric counsellor in youth s brave emprise, 
 
 What word of thine but cheers us toward life s goal, 
 Kindling in us the same indomitable soul 
 
 That ever smiled from thy courageous eyes? 
 Loyal and lovable, self-poised and free, 
 O gallant R. L. S., our gratitude to thee ! 
 
 34 
 
TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 II. 
 
 As our Bay sea-gulls o er the windy deep 
 
 Skim with their light deft touch the waters dun 
 And ever flash quick glints of the bright sun 
 
 From their broad wings that rhythmically sweep, 
 
 So, Optimist, amidst the buffeting 
 
 Of tortured breast and racking fever-pain, 
 With laugh at lip and quip of ready brain, 
 
 And stalwart faith, did st face Death s reckoning. 
 
 Not as the fool, with venomed scoff and sneer, 
 A coward s trick! did st jest at his grim call, 
 But as the brave man fighting till he fall 
 
 His rapier at fence gainst caitiff fear. 
 
 Wounds in the front, face lifted to the dawn, 
 So did st thou fight and fall, beloved Stevenson ! 
 
 35 
 
TO AN INCESSANT READER. 
 
 "Farewel my boke and my devocioiin! 1 Chaucer. 
 
 Down with thy volume ! Calleth the blue sea, 
 
 And the green wood, and the crisp, tingling air; 
 
 And, best of all, thy love inviteth thee 
 
 With her to roam amid yon prospect fair. 
 
 Down with thy volume. What are joys of books 
 
 Beside the blisses of all out-of-doors ? 
 Is he not mad, who, shunning ferny nooks, 
 
 In some close room o er printed pages pores ? 
 
 Dear is the heritage of books, I wot, 
 
 And ministrant to many holy needs ; 
 But must for them life s birthright be forgot 
 
 Ere yet our youth s World Beautiful recedes? 
 
 Best poets loves are but as idle dreams 
 
 Save as they mirror thine who waiteth thee, 
 And as mere phantoms Arden s groves and streams 
 
 To them that thou mayst with thy Ros lind see. 
 * 
 Go! learn from Njature what books ne er can teach, 
 
 And from thy love what Nature ne er revealed; 
 That is true wisdom. Seek it, I beseech, 
 
 And thy new lore by her dear lips be sealed ! 
 
 36 
 
TIMES AND SEASONS 
 
eAh, yes, it is a goodly thing 
 (9ne year to live, one song to sing. 
 
IN PRAISE OF MISTRESS SPRING. 
 
 Hark ye, my masters, hear me sing 
 
 My rollicking glee to Mistress Spring- 
 
 The blithest, breeziest, mad-cap thing 
 We ve met with in our frolicking! 
 
 Ay, that she is, but more she s rude ! 
 
 Her knuckles rap each stinging cheek. 
 Her biting kisses nip the blood, 
 
 Her fingers our red noses tweak. 
 
 And yet she is a humorous lass, 
 A rare good-natured one, I ween ; 
 
 We smile and turn to see her pass 
 
 When she frisks merrily on the scene. 
 
 In brief, sirs, hers is woman s mood, 
 
 A veritable Protean thing; 
 Wooer of the black depths o the wood, 
 
 Wooer of its sun-flecked burgeoning. 
 
 Betimes all melancholy wise, 
 
 She sheds the softest tears that fall, 
 
 And shyly with her pleading eyes 
 Entreats your pity for it all. 
 
 39 
 
IN PRAISE OF MISTRESS SPRING. 
 
 Then off she flits, with roguish smile, 
 Adown some leafless woodland lane ; 
 
 And you, fond dolt, are left the while 
 Dripping disconsolate in the rain. 
 
 Thus all compact of wind and sun, 
 Thus tearful is my tricksy jade 
 
 Tell me, my masters, know you one 
 More charming than this elfish maid? 
 
 Flirt? Ay, you re right. Yet I opine 
 She s worthy well your worshiping. 
 
 Come, clink me your glasses, masters mine- 
 A jolly good health to Mistress Spring! 
 
 She ll brim with rare red wine the glass, 
 Thrill o new life and laughter bring. 
 
 A buxom, heartsome, generous lass, 
 I warrant ye my Mistress Spring! 
 
 40 
 
SPRING SONG. 
 
 O the beauty of the Spring! 
 
 Everything 
 Feels a thrill of life redundant, 
 
 And the birds 
 In their bursts of song abundant 
 
 Phrase the words 
 Of a matchless litany. 
 Father, we would also praise Thee 
 
 For the Spring. 
 
 O the beauty of the Spring! 
 
 Grief took wing 
 At the sight of greening grasses 
 
 And the gold 
 Of the hillside poppy masses, 
 
 Which unfold 
 To the kisses of the sun 
 Even as our hearts have done 
 
 To the Spring. 
 
 41 
 
SPRING SONG. 
 
 O the beauty of the Spring 
 
 Burgeoning! 
 Hints untold of life eternal 
 
 Here abide 
 In these clouds of incense vernal 
 
 Wafting wide 
 Their delicate perfume 
 From white banks of orchard bloom 
 
 In the Spring. 
 
 O the beauty of the Spring ! 
 
 It doth bring 
 Vision of the glorious Being 
 
 Who doth rule 
 Men and seasons, dreams and seeing. 
 
 Is there fool 
 
 Who would fail to thank the Father 
 For His gift of gracious weather 
 
 Through the Spring? 
 
 42 
 
EASTER IN ENGLAND. 
 
 Red poppies burn where wintry winds blew cold, 
 O er the calm lake the swallows dip and sing, 
 The air is fragrant with all blossoming. 
 
 And scent of fresh-turned earth on fertile wold. 
 
 The naked limbs that barred the bleak, gray sky, 
 Like gaunt survivors of some famine scene, 
 Thrust forth now tender shoots of vivid green, 
 
 And in their new warmth comfortably sigh. 
 
 Hark! how the lark his carol merrily trills, 
 And all exultant navigates the blue 
 Vast vault of space. Our souls, do they not, too, 
 
 Aspire even unto Heaven? Through them it thrills 
 As through all Nature, this one trumpet cry : 
 "I am the Life, the Resurrection, I !" 
 
 43 
 
MAYTIME. 
 
 Mid-month of May. 
 
 Fit time to woo. 
 A perfect day, 
 
 Myself and yon. 
 
 A woodland nook 
 Where we two sit, 
 
 A pleasant book, 
 You reading it. 
 
 You turn a page 
 And then the next 
 
 But I am sage 
 You are my text. 
 
 On you I pore, 
 
 O poem mine ! 
 Con o er and o er 
 
 Each dainty line. 
 
 I watch the air 
 Play hide-and-seek, 
 
 Kissing your hair, 
 Flushing your cheek. 
 
 44 
 
MAYTIME. 
 
 Your tapering arm 
 So white, so cool, 
 
 And every charm 
 
 Make me Love s tool 
 
 Soon I am bent 
 In vain ! to look- 
 On eyes intent 
 Upon their book; 
 
 Until I m free 
 
 No more to wait. 
 Love s jealousy 
 
 Drives me his gait. 
 
 I seize your wrist 
 The book falls down, 
 
 Your lips I ve kissed 
 Despite your frown. 
 
 I kiss again 
 
 Your glowing face, 
 (Ah me!) and then 
 
 You I embrace. 
 
 My arms I ve wound 
 About your waist, 
 
 Your hair s unbound, 
 Your hat misplaced. 
 
 45 
 
MA YTJMH. 
 
 Meantime the book 
 
 Unheeded lies. 
 Yon deign no look 
 Love dims your eyes ! 
 
 Staid Wisdom flits, 
 Distraught, away, 
 
 Sweet Folly sits 
 
 Enthroned this day. 
 
 Let Learning gray 
 Keep musty schools, 
 
 Mid-month of May 
 Dan Cupid rules ! 
 
 Yet what reck we? 
 
 Love shall, I wis, 
 Our good king be: 
 
 Sweetheart, a kiss ! 
 
ET IN ARCADIA EGO. 
 
 What delight with you to be 
 Here alone in Arcady 
 Land of languorous afternoon, 
 Where aerial voices croon- 
 Lingering in this hidden nook, 
 Listening to yon rippling brook 
 And the leaves and rushes sigh 
 Their low-whispered lullaby 
 To us who idly dream, and dream, 
 By the slow down-dropping stream. 
 Stretched at ease upon the lawn 
 Nibbling cates nectarean 
 Often have I longed to be- 
 Thus with you in Arcady ! 
 
 Look, dear, is that Obcron 
 Just returned from Helicon, 
 Or is it tricksy Ariel 
 Tripping down yon leafy dell ? 
 Hzyk! those feet that nimbly ran! 
 Surely that was jolly Pan 
 And his merry Satyr crew 
 
 47 
 
ET IN ARCADIA EGO. 
 
 Up to mischief, doubtless, too ! 
 Dreaming am I? Maybe so 
 (Tho tis difficult to know 
 This dim grove of ancient oak 
 Is haunt so fit for faerie folk !) ; 
 Dream moods are no rarity 
 To them that visit Arcady ! 
 
 Here I love to be, dear heart, 
 With you from all the world apart 
 (Sad world, with its pain and fret 
 And vain endeavor to forget !) ; 
 Thro the long, long summer hours 
 Weaving wreaths of wildwood flowers- 
 Fern and fragrant violet. 
 With the morning dew still wet. 
 And these crimson poppies rare 
 For your wind-tossed, shadowy hair. 
 Ah, if you could be content 
 In Arden groves of banishment 
 Thus to linger, dear, with me 
 In Love s Land of Arcady ! 
 
 48 
 
MIDSUMMER IN ENGLAND. 
 
 Poppies are flaming in fields of rye, 
 
 Scarlet and silver together. 
 A tremulous heat-haze veils the sky: 
 
 It is sultry July weather. 
 
 In a nook reclined, where the cooling wind 
 
 Wafts me woodland odors sweet 
 From banks of thyme, I catch the chime 
 
 Of the runlet at my feet. 
 
 The rushes tall are my citadel, 
 
 Whence dreamily I spy 
 On the garrulous rooks in the storm-riven oaks 
 
 And the red deer browsing by. 
 
 So the moments pass in the long lush grass 
 And the night-stars deck the sky. 
 
 Till dusk from dawn I linger on 
 In this mid-month of July. 
 
 In our desperate haste o er the arid waste 
 
 Our feet have daily trod, 
 Often, I think, we forget to drink 
 
 At these oases of God. 
 
 49 
 
EXILED. 
 
 My heart is where the heather blooms 
 
 Afar on rough Ben Ledi s side, 
 Tis where the shaggy Trossach glooms 
 
 Above Loch Katrine s silvery tide. 
 A wanderer I from Scotia far, 
 Yet home and heart still with her are. 
 
 Her bonnie braes I yearn to see. 
 
 Her burns that bicker neath the sun ; 
 
 Her misty islands beckon me, 
 
 Her birken groves and bracken dun ; 
 
 Her highlands lure me from afar. 
 
 Her vales than which none fairer are. 
 
 Her golden morns and purpling eves, 
 Her brakes of fern and craggy dens 
 
 Ah, how my exiled spirit grieves 
 
 Again to roam those shadowy glens ! 
 
 Whate er dread weird my body dooms, 
 
 My heart is where the heather blooms. 
 
 50 
 
"THE CALL OF THE WILD." 
 
 From the tumult and surge of the market 
 
 And the shifty business ways 
 In the devious paths of traffic 
 
 Where brother on brother preys ; 
 
 From the heated glare of the pavement 
 And the foul stench of the stews, 
 
 Where to live is death, and worse than death. 
 And to win is ever to lose : 
 
 I turn to thy wind-swept spaces, 
 
 O Country of the West! 
 Hearing the call of thy highlands 
 
 With the white snow on each crest. 
 
 All, this is no vagrant yearning 
 For ease and idleness, 
 
 No coward flight from the clash of strife 
 This hunger for things that bless: 
 
 For the uplift of stately mountains, 
 
 Thick-set with fir and pine; 
 For the keen clean air of the cloudlands 
 
 And the earth-tang sweet and fine. 
 
 51 
 
"T//H CALL OF THE WILD." 
 
 A call to the heights of effort. 
 
 And renewal of brave desires, 
 Ideals long stifled and smothered 
 
 By ashes that once were fires. 
 
 Yes, back to the fresh green woodlands 
 
 And their rivers swift and wide, 
 Where the heart is cleansed and strengthened 
 
 And the spirit purified ! 
 
 52 
 
LOAFING. 
 
 I lie outstretched upon the grass 
 
 And watch the white cloud-galleons pass 
 
 Brave argosies that proudly sweep 
 
 The illimitable blue of heaven s deep. 
 
 Around me hum the honey-bees 
 
 Intent upon their piracies 
 
 Of sweets from every wayside flo\ver 
 
 Rare essences of sun and shower. 
 
 In the tall trees, with ravished ear, 
 
 The wind antiphonal I hear. 
 
 And from his airy eyrie, hark ! 
 
 The impromptu melody of the lark, 
 
 And the uninterrupted whir 
 
 From the meadowland of the harvester. 
 
 And all my other senses thrill 
 
 With the life joyous. Lo, the rill 
 
 How it doth twinkle where the light 
 
 Falls on its bubbling waters bright, 
 
 And see the glimmering of the trees 
 
 Their green leaves tossed by the gusty breeze, 
 
 And watch the patterns that the sun 
 
 53 
 
LOAFING. 
 
 Weaves on the shadow-dappled lawn. 
 
 And, ah ! the scent of the violet. 
 
 The honey-suckle, and wild-rose, met 
 
 In one waft of perfume wondrous sweet 
 
 And how as my clasped ringers meet 
 
 In the cool lush grasses my pulses stir, 
 
 And on my cheek how warm -the air ! 
 
 O the joy of living! Glorious boon 
 When one may lie in the fields at noon. 
 And loaf away the hours until 
 The night is come, at his own sweet will ! 
 
 B4 
 
ON HILLS OF PINE. 
 
 In this sequestered nook 
 
 Spic}^ azaleas blow, 
 Beside this roistering brook 
 
 The red-ripe berries glow, 
 Here through the stately trees 
 
 That sigh in coy delight 
 Soft steals the wooing breeze, 
 
 Caressing in its flight. 
 Tall pillared aisles of pines 
 
 In lengthening lines extend, 
 Embraced by tendriled vines 
 
 That, tenuous, coil and blend 
 Fantastic tangled arms 
 
 With boles columnar, vast, 
 Shielding their delicate charms 
 
 From the storm king s blast. 
 From the glimmering glades 
 
 Fails the golden light. 
 Darker fall the shades 
 
 Of the hastening night ; 
 From the mountains hoar 
 
ON HILLS OP PINE. 
 
 The colors fade and die 
 As the sun drops lower 
 
 Down the western sky. 
 From the ravine a cadence 
 
 Silvery clear, yet low, 
 Like a song of maidens 
 
 "Tis the river s flow. 
 Fit place this for dreams, 
 
 By tranquil peace possessed, 
 Fit time for starry gleams 
 
 Or calm communion blest. 
 
"THALATTA!" 
 
 Ah, the sea, the sea! 
 
 It is there I d be 
 AY here the black storm-clouds are scowling, 
 
 And the great waves rave 
 
 In each hollow cave. 
 And the gale is madly howling. 
 
 It is good to lie 
 
 Neath an azure sky 
 In a meadow-land of the valleys, 
 
 Or on beds of fern 
 
 By some mountain burn 
 That bickers and frets and dallies. 
 
 But t is best to be 
 
 By the glorious sea 
 And hear its thundering surges 
 
 That sweep and crash 
 
 On the sands and dash 
 In foam where the cliff emerges. 
 
 57 
 
NEAR MONTEREY. 
 
 Cold, black rocks in the gray of evening. 
 Great waves breaking in clouds of spray ; 
 
 Out from the heart of the crimson sunset 
 A lone gull winging its landward way. 
 
 Side by side on our cairn together 
 We two there in the waning light : 
 
 Before us the turbulent ocean reaches, 
 Behind us the sand dunes, still and white. 
 
 In a niche of the cliff we linger, silent. 
 
 Swiftly the curtains of night are drawn. 
 And the rough, salt breeze beats in our faces, 
 
 Yet we watch the billows tossing on. 
 
 Is it a dream that I remember. 
 
 Or ghost of some joy that shall be no more ; 
 You and I on the beach together 
 
 Dusk and the darkening ocean shore? 
 
 58 
 
AUTUMN WALK IN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Morning. 
 
 The country road, dew-moistened, stretches on 
 Past scattered farms that hushed and lifeless lie. 
 Faded and bleak is the gray morning sky- 
 Then sudden in the east the flush of dawn. 
 
 From every chimney now blue smoke-wreaths 
 
 come ; 
 
 Ruddy and fresh the farmer-lads appear, 
 And enter on their tasks with ready cheer. 
 
 And everywhere is heard life s busy hum. 
 
 Chickens are cackling for their customed grain, 
 Horses are whinnying, eager to be fed, 
 The lowing cattle stampede from the shed, 
 
 A hare leaps up and scurries down the lane. 
 
 , Better the dawn than beat of wakening drums : 
 All life is quickened when the glad sun comes. 
 
. AUTUMN \VALK IN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 II. 
 Noon. 
 
 Dusty and hot the road still stretches on 
 Indefinite to distant woodland ways ; 
 O er all the landscape lies a tremulous haze ; 
 
 Remorselessly beats down the noonday sun. 
 
 Thirsty and faint, imagination sees 
 
 Mirages all-alluring. The heart thrills 
 To be once more among the shadowy hills, 
 
 And quaff the coolness of the sheltering trees. 
 
 Vain is the vision memory fondly yields. 
 The locust drowses out his droning whir, 
 The far-off hills become a misty blur, 
 
 The hot sun shimmers on the stubble fields ; 
 Even the crow has hushed his noisy caws. 
 
 Tis Nature s breathing space the world s at pause. 
 
AUTUMN WALK IN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 III. 
 Night. 
 The white road glimmers, faintly stretching on, 
 
 Then fades into the dusk. The crescent moon 
 
 Sinks slowly, and all nature seems aswoon, 
 Exhausted by the irksome day just gone. 
 The blackness grows intenser hour by hour, 
 
 Its silence all unbroken by a sound, 
 Except the mournful howling of some hound. 
 It is the time when lonely thoughts o er-power. 
 Hushed are the fields at dawn athrill with song. 
 
 When life exulted under morning skies ; 
 
 Only the ghostly eucalyptus sighs. 
 And, as we stumble wearily along, 
 
 A light from each farm window dimly glows: 
 
 The tired world is seeking its repose. 
 
 61 
 
THE GOLDEN-ROD. 
 
 The hills are hidden by a haze, 
 The veil of Indian summer days, 
 And every harvest furrow hath 
 The green of autumn aftermath 
 A vivid setting fresh from God 
 To fitly frame the golden-rod. 
 
 The autumn air is mild and warm, 
 And honey bees, a droning swarm, 
 Swift as the arrow from the bow 
 Speed with their burdens to and fro 
 From many a dragon-lily pod 
 And tuft of fragrant golden-rod. 
 
 The light that ripples through the leaves 
 Upon the velvet greensward weaves 
 A rare design of shade and sun 
 That alters ere tis scarce begun, 
 And gilds refined gold where nod 
 The tall plumes of the golden-rod. 
 
 62 
 
THE GOLDEN-ROD. 
 
 The scarlet maples flash and flame, 
 The purple asters put to shame 
 The painter s most resplendent hue. 
 The gentians vie with heaven s blue, 
 And every foot of upland sod 
 Is radiant with the golden-rod. 
 
 I love to lie and take mine ease 
 Beneath these branching woodland trees, 
 Where fancy doth not strive in vain 
 To find the Golden Age again, 
 For foot ne er fairer country trod 
 Than this where grows the golden-rod. 
 
THANKSGIVING. 
 
 We thank, Thee, Lord, for all Thou hast 
 
 Of blessing to us given, 
 For precious memories of the past 
 
 And gracious hopes of heaven ; 
 
 We thank Thee for our Nation s peace 
 
 Employed for righteous ends, 
 For fireside comforts that increase 
 
 Home-ties, and books, and friends ; 
 
 We thank Thee for the prospering 
 
 Of our material store. 
 But for our spirit s strengthening, 
 
 Dear Lord, we thank Thee more: 
 
 For patience in the midst of pain, 
 And trust through test of tears, 
 
 For faith thy Face shall smile again 
 In thine own year of years; 
 
 And most of all for Thy stern laws 
 
 That spur to high endeavor 
 Those inward goads that give no pause, 
 
 But urge us upward ever. 
 
 64 
 
THANKSGIVING. 
 
 That whatso er the heights we ve gained 
 
 We hold them in derision, 
 Still striving for the unattained 
 
 The splendor of the Vision ! 
 
 For thwarted efforts, baffled will, 
 Vain schemes of our decreeing, 
 
 The reason for whose failure still 
 Evades our finite seeing. 
 
BENEDICITE. 
 
 Bless thou the Lord, my heart, and bring 
 To Him thy grateful worshiping 
 
 On this Thanksgiving Day. 
 For He hath led thee through the year, 
 And momently hath made appear 
 His love and care for thee more clear. 
 
 Bless thou thy Lord. 
 
 Thank thou the Lord, my heart, and give 
 Him all thy powers while thou dost live 
 
 Yes, gladly, every day. 
 So shalt thou keep serene nor be 
 Fearful of aught that happeneth thee. 
 But each hour further reason see 
 
 To thank thy Lord. 
 
 Praise thou the Lord, my heart, and sing 
 His love past all imagining 
 
 In all things to thy good. 
 For all things, heart, He ordereth : 
 Desired Life or dreaded Death 
 Strength to face both He fnrnisheth. 
 
 Praise thou thy Lord. 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 The stars are keenly glittering, 
 
 The moon is riding high, 
 The wind is softly shepherding 
 
 Cloud-flocks across the sky, 
 The snowy fields are glimmering bright: 
 Beneath the moonbeam s frosty light. 
 
 It is the holy night whereon 
 The Prince of Peace was born. 
 
 The night when darkness turned to dawn, 
 When midnight was as morn, 
 
 And Heaven s own glory was revealed 
 
 To shepherds watching in the field. 
 
 It is the night the Magi came 
 
 From Orient lands afar 
 To do obeisance to his name 
 
 Led by the wondrous Star, 
 And precious gifts of gold and myrrh 
 And frankincense on him confer. 
 
 67 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 O Lord, if but to our dim eyes, 
 
 Purblind because of sin, 
 A vision such as theirs might rise 
 
 And stir our hearts within ! 
 Might we but such a portent see, 
 Perchance we, too, should worship thee. 
 
 Yea, give us, Lord, the guiding star 
 
 To find the Holy Child, 
 And we, weak mortals as we are, 
 
 And sinful and defiled, 
 Will follow fain the heavenly light 
 That shone on that first Christmas night, 
 
 The stars are keenly glittering, 
 
 The moon is riding high, 
 The wind is softly shepherding 
 
 Cloud-flocks across the sky. 
 And hark! those voices from afar! 
 And lo! within my breast a star! 
 
 68 
 
THE STAR. 
 
 The Wise Men saw a thousand stars 
 
 Effulgent over them, 
 But fixed their eyes on one: the Slar 
 
 Of Bethlehem. 
 
 A thousand bright and shining names 
 
 The skies of history gem, 
 But wise men fix on one: the Christ s 
 
 Of Bethlehem. 
 
 69 
 
THE BOOK OF THE RED ROSE 
 
11 For love is heaven s very atmosphere" 
 
 Cftavid Starr Jordan. 
 
THE GREATEST OF THESE. 
 
 l ^Love is the only synonym in our earthly speech for immortality.^ 
 
 Tis Love alone can make life s work complete. 
 Ere long shall come the setting of the sun 
 And this brief day of our great task be done 
 
 (Ah, task of life, how strangely bitter-sweet!). 
 There will be folded hands, lips without breath, 
 But we shall have passed on Love knows no death! 
 
 73 
 
A COMPLEYNT TO CUPID. 
 
 Cupid, thou cruel elf, 
 
 And all unjust, 
 Why hast thou sorely wounded thus myself 
 
 That now I must 
 
 Feel in my breast the rankle of thy dart, 
 Although thou dost not deign to pierce my Lady s 
 heart ? 
 
 Cupid, thou art unfair 
 
 To me, to her, 
 That all unfeeling she s thus made to bear 
 
 No pulse astir 
 
 The mad infatuation of my heart, 
 But I her high disdain, though wounded by thy dart ! 
 
 Nay, Cupid, be more kind 
 
 To both, I pray; 
 That sting which in my heart doth lodgment find 
 
 Or pluck away, 
 
 Or else within my Lady s breast thy dart 
 Implant, that -she may likewise feel Love s rankling 
 smart! 
 
 74 
 
MY VALENTINE. 
 
 The day s at hand yclept St. Valentine s, 
 When every lover to his lady pays 
 Some tribute of true love, and in her praise 
 Strives to indite some well-beseeming lines. 
 But what is worthy of my Lady dear ? 
 Words cannot tell her tenderness and grace, 
 Nor the sweet beauty of her winsome face, 
 Nor have I aught that she would prize, I fear 
 She unto whom the whole world well might kneel 
 In worship of the charms she doth reveal ! 
 And yet, some token I would fain confer. 
 My heart s my all ! It will I send to her 
 And bid her keep it as her Valentine. 
 Ah, would that she might send me hers in interchange 
 for mine ! 
 
 75 
 
WITH A GIFT OF ROSES. 
 
 With a red red rose in her shadowy hair, 
 And her rose-red mouth and her features fair, 
 And her precious eyes and her peerless grace, 
 I would I might gaze on my Lady s face. 
 And so for her I am thinking of 
 In the red, red leaves of this rose of love 
 (May her love be my whole life s comforter!) 
 I have folded my heart and I send it her. 
 Ah, would that mine were the right to insist 
 That she wear it in token of true-love tryst 
 In her beautiful hair when tonight we meet, 
 That so I might claim her my own, my sweet ! 
 
 76 
 
LOVE S PLEA. 
 
 Beloved, though you love not me at all, 
 Who am not worthy of your tenderness, 
 Nor aught deserving of your least caress. 
 
 Think ! It is Love, not I, unto you call. 
 
 And if not me, you must learn to love Love, 
 For Love s life s all, and if it pleading come 
 Entreating in your heart its proper home, 
 
 Will you rebuff it, scourge it forth to rove? 
 
 Remember, though the lover uplifts on high 
 In worship her pure soul his heart holds dear 
 (As is most fit), yet he himself dwells near 
 
 That shrine, and is the holier made thereby. 
 To love uplifts even as beloved to be ; 
 Then love not me, Beloved, but love my love for 
 thee! 
 
 77 
 
INCERTITUDE. 
 
 Naught know I of those facile sophistries 
 Whereby men heal love s unrequited smart 
 And banish true affection from the heart, 
 
 Nor would I learn their paltry remedies. 
 
 This do I know : my Love I sought to win 
 Not by false vows and fickle gallantry, 
 Appealing to my Lady s vanity, 
 
 But in good faith her heart would enter in. 
 
 Yet she hath told me with all seriousness, 
 And not (I thank her!) with sly flatteries, 
 Luring me on by subtle coquetries, 
 
 My suit hath not yet won its wished success. 
 
 And so I know not what to do at all. 
 
 My love remains, it burns my breast like fire !- 
 And yet she will not yield to my desire 
 
 Although she knows what torments me befall. 
 Still I can blame her not but, oh, that she 
 May prove compassionate to my misery ! 
 
 78 
 
FOR MY LADY S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 This spray of waxen lilies 
 
 Dear heart, accept from me, 
 They are so fair and stainless that 
 
 They mind me, dear, of thee. 
 
 And hyacinths I send you, 
 
 Still wet with morning dew, 
 They have not half the sweetness, 
 
 My own sweetheart, of you. 
 
 Nor shun these crimson roses 
 
 With petals all aflame, 
 Love must be something more than sweet 
 
 Else is it but a name. 
 
 Take, too, these tiny violets, 
 
 Sky-azure in their hue, 
 To tell the single-heartedness, 
 
 Love, of my love for you. 
 
 And lastly these carnations. 
 
 They do not wither fast, 
 But typify true constancy: 
 
 Best love is love to last! 
 
 79 
 
WON T YOU BE MY COMRADE? 
 
 Dear, I d call you comrade 
 
 If you were my wife, 
 Cheering me and dearing me 
 
 Down the ways of life; 
 
 Holding me and folding me 
 When the days were gray, 
 
 Nesting me and jesting me 
 
 When emerald bloomed the May 
 
 M]eeting me and greeting me 
 When I came at night, 
 
 Kissing me and missing me 
 At the morning light. 
 
 Ever in good fellowship 
 
 We should fare together; 
 Fearless, front with frolic hearts 
 Glad or gusty weather. 
 
 For my chum through all my life, 
 Love, I choose but you : 
 
 Won t you be my comrade, 
 Trusty, stanch, and true? 
 
 80 
 
TWO SONNETS. 
 I. 
 
 MY LADY BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 My Lady whom I love is very fair. 
 
 God in his goodness made her to the sight 
 
 Beyond all language beautiful. Her white 
 
 White brow lies calm beneath her wind-blown hair 
 
 Which ever in dusk masses teasingly, 
 
 In tempting disarray, strays o er a face 
 
 Fairer than painter s vision in its trace 
 
 Of winsome tenderness and purity. 
 
 Her body, too, hath beauties manifold. 
 
 Stately God wrought it with divinest art, 
 
 Yet grace and graciousness he did impart. 
 
 Ah, yes ; my Lady s lovely to behold ! 
 
 And yet these charms that set my pulse astir 
 
 Seem naught beside the clean, sweet heart of her ! 
 
 81 
 
TWO SONNETS. 
 II. 
 
 MY LADY BOUNTIFUL. 
 
 My Lady is as good as she is fair. 
 
 Immaculate as Virtue s self is she, 
 
 Yet warm of heart and rich in sympathy, 
 
 Pity and kindliness her constant care. 
 
 Honor and Truth attend her everywhere 
 
 As her handmaidens, and sincerity 
 
 And gracious speech and cheerful industry 
 
 Thrill with their sweetness the environing air. 
 
 Trust hath she, too, in God s strong hand to guide 
 
 With loving-kindness the affairs of men, 
 
 And Prayer is hers to One beyond our ken, 
 
 And Faith, and Hope, and Peace with her abide. 
 
 True Vestal she, yet Woman every whit. 
 
 Love s flame hath stirred! oh, may she cherish it! 
 
 82 
 
AN OLDEN TALE. 
 
 The birds are singing, 
 The bees are winging, 
 And honey bringing 
 
 From flower to hive 
 The sun is beaming, 
 The lake is gleaming, 
 And good tis seeming 
 
 To be alive. 
 
 Upon the masses 
 Of meadow grasses 
 Where the brook passes 
 
 Murmuring clear, 
 We two are lying 
 No word replying 
 But my Love s sighing 
 
 Is sweet to hear. 
 
 Nor sad nor merry, 
 Idly we tarry, 
 While chipmunks wary 
 Scurry around; 
 
 83 
 
AN OLDEN TALE. 
 
 Lost in day-dreaming 
 Love only esteeming 
 And as is seeming 
 
 Making no sound. 
 
 Life s fret is over, 
 Heart heart may discover, 
 A maid and her lover 
 
 Vow to be true, 
 Here is no glory 
 Save only the hoary 
 Age-olden story 
 
 Of Love told anew. 
 
 84 
 
MY LADY S GARDEN. 
 
 My Lady had a garden in her heart 
 Full of tall lilies pale and virginal, 
 And roses white with waxen petals all, 
 
 Which only a faint perfume did impart. 
 
 Peaceful and still slept that dim garden-close, 
 Unknown to men by gaudier fancies led, 
 Mystic, enchanted, hushed, unvisited, 
 
 Until one day I chanced it to disclose. 
 
 Led by the lily-bells that topped the wall, 
 Their stainless chalices lifted to the sun, 
 And the faint garden-scent, like as when one 
 
 Feels a loved hand on his hot forehead fall. 
 
 I entered that sequestered nook with awe, 
 That nook till then to maiden fancies given, 
 And turned my tired eyes to the pure blue 
 heaven, 
 
 And breathed a prayer of thanks for what I saw : 
 
 85 
 
MY LADY S GARDEN. 
 
 A plot so lovely that my soul did thrill, 
 
 Even though virgin-white slept every rose. 
 Then while I gazed, lo ! all the garden-close 
 
 Reddened with roseate blushes, lovelier still! 
 
 No longer now doth that sweet garden-close 
 Sleep in seclusion, white, and hushed, and 
 
 calm, 
 But far and wide it wafts an odorous balm, 
 
 And everywhere Love s red, red rosebud blows ! 
 
 86 
 
MY COMRADE. 
 
 I do possess a constant comrade now, 
 
 My spirit s comforter, 
 My heart her its true keeper doth avow, 
 
 Worship and follow her. 
 
 I never stroll at dawn through greening fields 
 
 But my Love walks with me, 
 No honeyed scent the dew-wet clover yields 
 
 Is half so sweet as she. 
 
 I never gird myself unto the task 
 
 Of the hard work-a-day 
 But in the solace of her smile I bask, 
 
 And drudgery is play. 
 
 I never sit at dusk to write a line 
 
 But that my Love is there, 
 Her hand I feel caressingly in mine, 
 
 Or stroke her dear, dear hair. 
 
 Morning and noon and afternoon and night, 
 
 My Beautiful is near, 
 A heaven-sent minister to my heart s delight, 
 
 An angel-guardian dear. 
 
 87 
 
MY COMRADE. 
 
 With the calm presence of her spirit fail- 
 Life s fret and fever cease. 
 
 God keep thee near me, dearest, everywhere, 
 For where thou art is peace ! 
 
 88 
 
THE SONG. 
 
 What shall it be, sweetheart, what shall it be, 
 That I shall sing, O my loved one, of thee ? 
 Shall it be praise of thy beauty so fine 
 Thrilling me through like the rarest of wine ; 
 Shall it be praise unto Him who hath given 
 Thee purity like to the angels of heaven; 
 Shall it be joy in thine infinite charm 
 From the tone of thy voice to the curve of thine arm, 
 Shall it be homage to all that thou art, 
 O ministrant hand, O compassionate heart 
 What shall it be, sweetheart, what shall it be? 
 Nay, this be my theme : She loves me, she loves me ! 
 Echo it, echo it, winds of the sky- 
 She hath named me her choice. It is I, it is I ! 
 
 89 
 
THE SILENCES OF LOVE. 
 
 Love ever deals in subtle indirection 
 
 For fear its sweet 
 And vagrant hints of delicate suggestion 
 
 Their death should meet. 
 
 It needs no iteration oft outspoken 
 
 In formal phrase: 
 Vows made too ardently are often broken 
 
 In after days. 
 
 Yet love hath means of proving mystic union 
 
 Apart from speech, 
 And heart with heart may hold a rapt communion 
 
 Though wordless each. 
 
 Fond looks from fond eyes or warm hands tender 
 pressure 
 
 May tell the whole, 
 And bear delight beyond all earthly measure 
 
 From soul to soul. 
 
 90 
 
THE SILENCES OP LOVH. 
 
 Silence except for red lips low sweet sighing 
 
 Reveal as well 
 The vast content of faith on faith relying 
 
 As voice could tell. 
 
 Nay, Love hath moments of such hallowed passion 
 
 When speechless tis 
 That converse were all impotent to fashion 
 
 Gladness like this. 
 
 And so when oft I sit in voiceless rapture 
 
 Beside you, dear, 
 Know I keep silent angel strains to capture, 
 
 For heaven s near ! 
 
 91 
 
A LITTLE LYRIC. 
 
 Ah, the old world is so wondrous fair! 
 Violets, hyacinths, everywhere 
 Breathe fragrance on the April air, 
 
 And the daffodils flame at my feet ; 
 Fountains laugh in their silvery flow, 
 Winds in the tree-top whisper low, 
 And the wild birds never caroled so 
 
 For I love, and the world is sweet ! 
 
 Grief that was mine with its rankling sting, 
 Life s chafe and fretful murmuring, 
 Failure and pain and everything 
 
 That leaves us incomplete, 
 Have fled and the skies o er-head are blue, 
 Life is fair and men are true, 
 And all, dear heart, because I ve found you 
 
 For I love, and the world is sweet ! 
 
 92 
 
SOMETIMES YOUR EYES ARE VERY 
 WISTFUL, DEAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sometimes your eyes are very wistful, dear, 
 As if you felt a yearning in your heart 
 A yearning that doth make the quick tears start 
 
 And bear you far away from Now and Here. 
 
 Sweet, is it girlhood memories that you keep 
 Cherishing them still faintly in your breast ? 
 Or is it dream of some enthralling quest 
 
 Some high emprise in Art not lulled asleep? 
 
 Or some dim-stirring fancy, sweet and pure, 
 Like scent of rosemary or old lavender, 
 Always to live a maiden life, nor bear 
 
 The name of Wife nor Mother-pangs endure? 
 
 What wistful, vague desire your heart doth move? 
 
 Nav, dear, tis this: You yearn you yearn to love! 
 
 93 
 
SOMETIMES YOUR EYES ARE VERY WISTFUL, DEAR. 
 
 II. 
 
 For never shall a woman s heart be glad 
 Until she holds within herself the key 
 To all life s wonder and felicity 
 
 Until the peerless Rose of Love is had. 
 
 For this give all, dear! It alone is worth 
 
 A woman s life. For this to lay life down 
 Give utterly herself and her life s crown 
 
 She glories : tis her one delight on earth. 
 
 Living to be beloved is well, but all 
 The calm delight of being loved doth move 
 How infinitely less than this to love! 
 
 To heed the wondrous though irrational call 
 Miraculously sweet ! and yield outright, 
 All unreluctant, as Love s acolvte. 
 
 94 
 
CONSUMMATION. 
 
 Dearest, I wandered long before I found 
 Thee who in happy visions of the night 
 Often in dreams thrilled my prophetic sight, 
 
 Long, long before my life by thee was crowned. 
 
 Look in mine eyes, Beloved ! Is it true, 
 I ask myself, that I enfold thee now 
 And stroke thy dear hair from thy peerless brow 
 
 Thine, Love, for whom I searched the wide world 
 through ? 
 
 Glad consummation of my heart s desire, 
 I do hold thee at last and strain thee close 
 And kiss thee. Sweet ! At last my tired heart knows 
 
 Thee for its own! Earth hath no rapture higher: 
 To share with one beloved life s smiles and tears 
 Through all the long procession of the years. 
 
 95 
 
WONDERLAND. 
 
 The buttercups are bursting into blossom, 
 As yellow as the sunlight do they flare, 
 
 And violets uplifting their blue petals 
 
 Are thrilling with their scent the balmy air. 
 
 The flowers, dear, their queen demand : 
 
 Come, for the world is wonderland. 
 
 Above us bends a calm and cloudless azure, 
 Beneath us rolls a sea of emerald bloom, 
 
 The birds with merry love-notes chant in chorus, 
 And orchards pink with blossom breathe perfume. 
 
 Let us not, love, from bliss be banned : 
 
 Come, for the world is wonderland. 
 
 The honey-bees are humming in the clover, 
 The blue-birds dart and dip on tireless wing, 
 
 The meadow-larks are soaring up to heaven, 
 Ah, earth s a matchless dream in early Spring. 
 
 Dearest, with me hand in hand, 
 
 Come, for the world is wonderland. 
 
 96 
 
A MEMORY. 
 
 We glide along the still lagoon 
 
 And hear the vast orchestral strain, 
 
 Tannhauser s prelude; loud the tune, 
 Then lost in mists of pain. 
 
 Above us shines the transfiguring moon. 
 Dreaming we sit, nor speak again. 
 
 The gondoliers row silently 
 Adown the starlit water ways, 
 
 A myriad lights flash glitteringly 
 Wherever we direct our gaze, 
 
 But she is outlined duskily 
 
 A shade! while faint the music plays. 
 
 It voices yearning beyond speech 
 The Pilgrim Chorus s refrain! 
 
 Our hearts it fetters each to each, 
 That mystical orchestral strain ; 
 
 And hand seeks hand as if to reach 
 Love s peace through all life s pain. 
 
 97 
 
GOOD-BY ! 
 
 Heart of me, I love you, 
 And, heart of me, I pray 
 God may take in His care 
 
 Safely on your way. 
 May He bring you happily 
 
 Home unto your own. 
 Dear, how I shall long for you, 
 
 Left behind alone! 
 
 May He guide you graciously 
 
 By His kind decrees, 
 May He lead you pleasantly 
 
 Into paths of peace. 
 I would have Him keep you 
 
 All the coming year, 
 Whereso er you chance to be 
 
 This my prayer, dear ! 
 
 Heart of me, I love you, 
 And heart of me, I pray 
 
 He may give you back to me 
 Safely some glad day. 
 
 98 
 
GOOD-BY! 
 
 He who knows the need of love 
 Will not my need deny ; 
 
 God be with yon everywhere, 
 Dear, is my "good-by" ! 
 
A MIDNIGHT GREETING. 
 
 My lady resteth sweetly at this hour, 
 
 Wrapped in the hushed oblivion of sleep, 
 While angel guardians tireless vigil keep 
 
 To comfort her with happy dreams for dower. 
 
 Peace now is hers, my own tired lady s dear. 
 Worn by long toil and days devoid of rest 
 And hard heart-struggles, she at last is blest 
 
 With sweet and calm repose far, far from here. 
 
 Go, little song, speed swiftly on light wing 
 To the white bed whereon my love doth lie, 
 And softly, softly, whisper her that I, 
 
 Far in the West, forgetting everything 
 
 Save her dear self, thus send my love to her. 
 Go, little song, and may she smile and stir ! 
 
 100 
 
WITH A WILD ROSE FOR ROSALIND. 
 
 Dainty wild-rose, go to her 
 Fragile flower and very fair 
 
 Yet I dare, my rose, aver 
 You will find a fairer there. 
 
 No wild flower is fragranter 
 
 In the woodland anywhere, 
 Yet what sweetness you confer 
 
 May not with my Sweet compare. 
 
 Your petals, delicate-tinted, stir 
 
 Memories of all things rare 
 And lovely, yet far lovelier 
 
 Mem ries of her my heart doth wear. 
 
 Go, little wild-rose unto her, 
 And my love to my true love bear, 
 
 Dainty are you, yet daintier 
 
 Mv Rosalind you ll find, I swear. 
 
 101 
 
GEMMA GEM M ARUM. 
 I. 
 
 She doth not wear rich ornaments, my love, 
 As nearly every other woman doth, 
 Only a crimson rosebud, nothing loath, 
 
 Nestles her purely-beating heart above. 
 
 No glittering rings, nor brooch, nor treasure trove 
 Of flashing diamonds in her soft brown hair, 
 One only rose with odor sweet and rare 
 
 Adorns the tresses of my own true love. 
 
 Simple she is and ever simply dressed, 
 Not gaudily attired in vestments fine, 
 But O my love, no gracious heart like thine 
 
 E er beat within another woman s breast! 
 That is a jewel doth become thee well : 
 No other need st to hold me by its spell. 
 
 102 
 
GEMMA GEM M ARUM. 
 II. 
 
 And yet, dear heart, the best were not too good 
 Of polished gold and gems beyond compare, 
 Though they bedim rather than make more fair 
 
 Thy potent charm of gracious womanhood. 
 
 But just one other jewel should st thou wear 
 Upon that faultless hand I fain would hold : 
 A tiny slender circlet of strong gold, 
 
 Type of the stanch love that our hearts must bear, 
 
 And set therein a pure white stone, aglow 
 With ceaseless scintillations whose release 
 Types the exhaustless joy ancj the great peace 
 
 (White peace!) which only mutual trust may know. 
 Dear, wear the ring that I have given thee, 
 That and thy heart thy sole adornments be ! 
 
 103 
 
QUESTIONING. 
 
 A tremor seizes on me when I touch 
 
 My dear one s hand, and when I hear her voice 
 
 My very inmost being doth rejoice 
 And thrill with all love-longingall too much ! 
 
 And sometimes when in bending over her 
 I breathe the fragrance of her dusky hair, 
 Such yearning just to stroke it once is there 
 
 Within my soul that I can scarce defer. 
 
 She is my source of strength and from her eyes 
 Of all quick-pulsing life I drink my fill : 
 As an exhaustless spring I seek them still 
 
 And one sweet draught exalts and vivifies. 
 
 Then why, O God ! must love like this, denied 
 Bv dread disease, still starve unsatisfied? 
 
 104 
 
MY THOUGHT OF THEE. 
 
 My thought of thee, dear heart, is as a dower 
 Of infinite courage, lifting me above 
 The rasp and fret of hourly pain, for love 
 
 Beyond all else begets the sense of power. 
 
 My thought of thee, dear heart, is as a charm, 
 A talisman such as knights were wont to wear, 
 And thou, beloved, my Queen of Beauty fair 
 
 My Summoner to bravely front all harm. 
 
 thought of thee, dear heart, is as a prayer, 
 Giving me faith in high, abiding things, 
 Thrilling my heart with holy visionings, 
 Bridging the dreary leagues from Here to There. 
 
 My thought of thee, dear heart, what is it not 
 Of all that s good? Thank God, I ve ne er forgot! 
 
 105 
 
MOODS AND MEMORIES 
 
"For a dream cometh through the multitude </ business." 
 
 Scclesiastes, &. 3. 
 
MOODS. 
 I. 
 
 Our deeds how petty, though our dreams are great ! 
 In the fierce maelstrom of a boisterous world 
 Our fragile barks all aimlessly are whirled 
 
 Only disasters our best ventures wait. 
 
 Our dream ? A treacherous phantom of our sleep ! 
 The while the shrill winds wail or hoarsely rage, 
 In futile hope of final harborage, 
 
 Vainly we drift o er life s uncharted deep. 
 
 And fear is ours, thou terrible strange Sea, 
 
 Mother of Death and hideous creeping things 
 That writhe and crawl in slimy clamberings 
 
 Over dead forms we fear thy mystery. 
 
 We cannot conquer a resistless Fate 
 
 Our deeds how petty, though our dreams are great ! 
 
 109 
 
MOODS. 
 II. 
 
 Our deeds are petty, but our dreams how great! 
 
 What though our barks are impotently whirled, 
 
 Are we not mariners of a venturous world; 
 Shall we not front the foam-splurge, free, elate, 
 Let the waves roll, and let the shrill winds cry? 
 
 Yes, all this rampant tumult of the sea 
 
 To us shall only a glad challenge be 
 Which we will answer unreluctantly ! 
 Bare we our bosoms to the wintry deep ! 
 
 Who knows what waits us o er the utmost verge? 
 
 Ride the uncurbed and wildly plunging surge, 
 Where men are mounted, vainly doth it leap. 
 
 Free-willed are we, free-willed in spite of Fate 
 
 Our deeds are petty, but our dreams how great ! 
 
 110 
 
OUR NEED 
 
 What a sad, mad sight is our frenzied strife for 
 The toys of earth ! How we barter life for 
 Tinsel and trash, and money and power 
 Baubles that pass with the passing hour! 
 What covetous worrying to obtain 
 That which brings but bitterness if we gain, 
 And all the while as we grab or give 
 Neglect Life s art of arts to live! 
 
 How we sell our selves for some transient pleasure 
 And trample under our feet the treasure 
 Priceless, indeed, yet to all men free 
 Who would place above the to have to be! 
 How we strain and struggle and grovel and groan 
 To gain possessions "all our own" 
 Riches or glory it matters not! 
 While our brother s need is left forgot. 
 
 Are we not fools when we deem him shirk 
 Who refuses to sell his soul to WORK 
 WORK, which we moderns enshrine as God, 
 Baring our backs to its scourging rod, 
 
 111 
 
OUR NEED. 
 
 Gathering and squandering things that seem 
 
 With never a glimpse, through their dust, of the 
 
 gleam 
 
 Which alone shall goal to our strivings give? 
 We have learned to WORK Lord, help us LIVE! 
 
 112 
 
"THE BLUE FLOWER. 
 
 FLOWER, compact of sky and fire, 
 Goal of my high endeavor, 
 Fair object of my heart s desire, 
 Fain would I clasp thee ever! 
 
 Long since I felt behind my all 
 
 Became a world-wide rover, 
 That ere thine azure petals fall 
 
 I might their charms discover. 
 
 And ever as thou beckonest me 
 From far hill-slope or hollow, 
 
 My heart anew is fixed on thee 
 And after still I follow. 
 
 I hasten where thy splendors gleam 
 (Vain haste!) from hour to hour; 
 
 Mere phantom from the Realms of Dream 
 Men say thou art, BLU FLOWKR! 
 
 113 
 
THE BLUE FLOWER. 
 
 But I who often see thee shine, 
 
 Bright visitant elysian 
 Whose beauty nerves these limbs of mine, 
 
 I know thou rt no false vision. 
 
 mystic bloom of flame and sky, 
 I follow though I tire: 
 
 1 may not find thee till I die, 
 
 But then my heart s desire ! 
 
 114 
 
A SONG FOR STANFORD. 
 
 Strength of us, soul of us, mind of us, heart of us, 
 Stanford, our Stanford, we owe much to thee, 
 
 Many an impulse to good that is part of us, 
 Mother, thou gavest. Thy children are we! 
 
 To our numbed spirits did st bring liberation, 
 Bidding each build for himself his own soul. 
 
 Shall we, then, shrink from a full consecration ? 
 That were ill-seeming in us thus made whole ! 
 
 Truth was thy portion for all that did yearn for 
 her 
 
 Truth, the supreme setter-free of mankind; 
 Wisdom also unto them that dared turn to her 
 
 (Dark are her ways unto them that are blind !) 
 
 What, then, thy guerdon for all thou hast done for 
 us, 
 
 Loosing so many from gyves of the slave? 
 This! What our Stanford so stalwartly won for us 
 
 We must pass on freely give as she gave. 
 
 115 
 
A SONG FOR STANFORD. 
 
 SPIRIT OF STANFORD, the glad and the dauntless, 
 May thy sons aid in the spread of the Light, 
 
 Tolerance, Sacrifice, Beauty, while, vauntless, 
 Quietly tread they the pathway of Right! 
 
 116 
 
THE WORK OF THY HANDS. 
 
 Is this then the work of thy hands, 
 This wreckage and carnage and flame? 
 
 Was it t thy will this havoc that wrought 
 To herald the might of thy Name? 
 
 If so, we should curse Thee, O God, 
 Omnipotent ev n as Thou art; 
 
 Defiant, in anguish and scorn, 
 
 Blaspheme Thee, with hate in our heart. 
 
 We d cringe not, nor craven with fear 
 Implore Thee, our lips should be mute ! 
 
 But proud in our impotence stand, 
 Nor kneel to the Power of the Brute. 
 
 But this is not thy work, O God ! 
 
 Not thine are the earthquake and fire, 
 Our Father, and Helper, and Friend, 
 
 Destruction is not thy desire, 
 
 117 
 
THH WORK OF THY HANDS. 
 
 But Brotherhood, Sympathy, Love! 
 
 And whereso the children of men 
 Show these to their fellows, we find, 
 
 Our Lord and our God, Thee again. 
 
 Glad, generous, brave as of yore, 
 The Soul of the City still stands. 
 
 It is here that we find Thee, O God, 
 This, this, is the work of thy hands! 
 
 San Francisco, April, 1906. 
 
 118 
 
LARGESS. 
 
 God must have smiled when He made it so, 
 
 Our glorious home in the Golden State ; 
 Some angel-jest having quickened a glow 
 
 Even beyond that love so great 
 Which ever broods o er the sons of men; 
 
 For why may not God sometime, elate, 
 More than bountiful, prodigal then, 
 
 Leaning forth from the crystal gate, 
 Have lavished his largess without alloy 
 
 Of the grief and want and storm and woe 
 Wherewith elsewhere he tempers the joy 
 
 Of his gifts to men? Ah, surely so 
 To CALIFORNIA he gave her dower 
 
 Of fertile valleys and far-lifted hills, 
 Of tilth and vineyard, of fruit and flower, 
 
 Of boisterous surges and light-rippled rills. 
 God must have smiled when He leaned Him o er 
 And lavished the best of his Heaven and more ! 
 
 119 
 
RECEPTIVITY. 
 
 I waited in the dusk for her, 
 The crescent moon hung low, 
 
 The last faint flush had faded out 
 Of twilight s afterglow. 
 
 I caught the scent of orchard bloom 
 
 On the still evening air 
 Delicate fragrance thrilling me 
 
 Like breath of lavender. 
 
 With forehead bared and heart at peace 
 
 I leaned against the bars, 
 And worshiped like the Chaldee seers 
 
 The splendor of the stars. 
 
 One glorious planet throbbed and burned. 
 
 All palpitant with light. 
 (Surely some kindred feeling stirred 
 
 The bosom of the night!) 
 
 I waited in the dusk for her, 
 
 Receptive lay my soul ; 
 And all the beauty of the world 
 
 Into my being stole. 
 
 120 
 
"FAITH OF OUR FATHERS, LIVING STILL." 
 
 God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not 
 be made perfect. 
 
 The glories of that inextinguishable flame 
 Of faith which Christ left to His followers, 
 I fain would frame in fitting terms. But no! 
 Who dare attempt an effort such as this. 
 Remembering the martyrs of old times- 
 Such men as Stephen or the saintly Paul, 
 Himself the best exponent of such faith, 
 Yet failing utterly to compass that, 
 As he confesses (though in noblest phrase). 
 That which the Christ alone, incarnate God, 
 The veritable WORD, hath uttered forth. 
 
 I fail. And who would not? When even they, 
 The holy martyrs, caught but gleams of Truth, 
 The starry Galileo from his tower, 
 Albeit the Church herself was false to it. 
 Yet Truth is mighty and it shall prevail. 
 Though creeds may crumble and the Church herself. 
 We stand on Truth, we Protestants, nor yield, 
 Though shattered into dust each idol lies 
 
 121 
 
"FAITH OF OUR FATHERS, LIVING STILL." 
 
 That once we cherished wrongly as true God. 
 Truth is our birthright from those men of faith 
 Who in her darkest hour dared to defy 
 Ecclesiastic pomp and all its power, 
 And dauntless stood for man s inviolate Will. 
 
 What need to call that roll? And yet tis well! 
 Savonarola, Bruno, Luther, Huss ; 
 Wiclif, and Tindale, and the youthful Frith ; 
 Immortal Latimer and Ridley ; yea, 
 Fisher and More I mention, though you gasp, 
 "Were these not Catholics?" I grant you so. 
 Yet are they peers of all who forfeit life 
 For that which doth surpass mere life heart s faith ! 
 This sealed they with their very blood all these, 
 In sudden death. 
 
 "But are there martyrs none 
 In these degenerate days ?" I answer, Yes, 
 Not hesitant: True martyrs that would die 
 Gladly, if need were, for the faith that Christ 
 Delivered once unto the saints. But now. 
 Since ax and stake are impotent, they live 
 A nobler matter infinitely ! for Christ s cause : 
 For seeking out the Truth that makes men free, 
 (Fearing nor priest nor prelate in their scorn. 
 Nor glowering lust, nor skulking truckling sin, 
 Nor clutching greed, nor Pharisaic pride), 
 
 122 
 
-FAITH OF OUE FATHERS, LIVING STILL." 
 
 And daily doing deeds of selfless love 
 
 That martyrs of old time scarce dared perform. 
 
 For in this glorious age wherein we live 
 
 To save one s own soul s merely pitiful : 
 
 One needs must save as well some brother-man. 
 
 So are there martyrs still in these our days 
 Who feel the imperishable flame of faith 
 Warming their hearts to deeds of holy love. 
 But doth some troubled skeptic doubt me here? 
 Be not Elijahs, brethren, deeming all 
 Our good earth rotten to the very core ! 
 For martyrs blood is still the Church s seed 
 And Truth shall still prevail, though all the forms 
 We reverence vanish. What doth God require 
 But that we justly do and mercy love. 
 And walk with Him and help our fellow-men ? 
 Daily more brightly burns the eternal flame 
 In all their hearts who strive to uplift mankind ! 
 
 123 
 
THE LEPERS. 
 
 In some quaint mediaeval tome I ve read 
 
 Black-lettered and illumined, gray with dust, 
 
 Its ponderous clasp mottled with mould and rust 
 
 That lepers in past ages, banished 
 
 To hideous exile from society, 
 
 Were given bells (grim irony!) and, mewed 
 
 In desolate tracts of desert solitude, 
 
 Warned passers-by of their proximity. 
 
 And as I pondered o er the antique scroll, 
 Methought the legend an apt parable 
 Of this our life. Doth not each bear his bell, 
 Craving companionship for a lonely soul? 
 Yet, though their tones plead for Love s tenderness. 
 We tread our paths alone, estranged and comfort 
 less. 
 
 124 
 
THOSE WASTED DAYS. 
 
 Last night I waked, having dreamed I saw the 
 
 days 
 
 Those wasted days ! spent idly in my life, 
 Or foolishly, when, faltering in the strife, 
 
 I paused in midst of toil to hear men s praise. 
 
 And in my dream those days beset me round 
 Those wasted days! and when I sought to scale 
 The heights to heaven they did me assail 
 
 Implacably, and pinned me to the ground. 
 
 And I what could I do? For ev n when oft 
 From out their clutch my soul I wrested free. 
 Still grim, persistent, they did follow me 
 
 To Heaven s very gate, and grinned and scoffed 
 Till from before the Master s pitying face 
 I slunk rebuked damned by those wasted days ! 
 
 Ill 
 
THE UNFINISHED TEMPLE 
 
 My virgin soul for her a temple built 
 Whereto she might retire and be at ease, 
 And there she knelt in instant prayer to please 
 
 Him who for her his precious blood had spilt. 
 
 So thought my soul to cleanse her from all stain. 
 For in this temple was not any sin, 
 Nor any unclean thing might enter in 
 
 Her from her constant orisons to restrain. 
 
 Thus kept my soul secure from earthly taint ; 
 
 Yet she that was of evil more affright 
 
 Than ever was austerest eremite 
 Within those temple walls grew strangely faint. 
 
 For this was lacking in that paradise: 
 
 No altar stood therein for sacrifice ! 
 
 126 
 
BETHEL. 
 
 We may climb if we will in good time to earth s 
 
 highest and best, 
 Be we zealous to work and to wait, to push on and 
 
 to rest 
 At the seasons appointed ; undaunted and steadfast 
 
 of will 
 
 We may lift us at length unto summits ne er trod 
 den until 
 Our feet had first pressed them. But when on earth s 
 
 ultimate height 
 We stand in our triumph, what then? Shall the 
 
 beckoning light 
 
 That lures us with glory supernal afar and afar 
 Into realms of that infinite space wherein star calls 
 
 to star 
 But mock us? And all of our wearisome striving but 
 
 go 
 To prove us deluded mad dreamers of dreams? Ah, 
 
 not so ! 
 Tis by ladders of dream that alone the heights of 
 
 the highest we scale; 
 
 127 
 
BETHEL. 
 
 On the Wings of the Spirit we mount where the 
 feet of the body must fail, 
 
 All-confident, fearless, and glad while the welcom 
 ing angels cry "HAIL!" 
 
COUPLETS. 
 - I. 
 
 Let honors as they may befall, 
 So Honor but abide through all. 
 
 II. 
 
 What good to any man his creed. 
 If he ignore a neighbor s need? 
 
 * III. 
 
 No one should expect if his ethics are tainted, 
 Himself for right doctrines alone to be sainted. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Our deeds still journey with us from afar, 
 And what we have been lives in what we are. 
 
 V. 
 
 Despite of sense, still lives a silent trust 
 
 That day will dawn, that man is more than dust. 
 
 129 
 
TWELVE QUATRAINS. 
 
 I. 
 
 SOUTUDE. 
 In the midst of the music and laughter, 
 
 The holiday tumult and stir, 
 My heart, all a weary and lonely, 
 
 Yearns how much ! for one fond look from her. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE SOLUTION. 
 Ah, after all, tis only Love 
 
 For which the tired heart cares ; 
 Learning and Wealth and Fame but prove, 
 
 At last, delusive snares. 
 
 III. 
 
 HOW VAST THE DISTANCE. 
 How vast the distance that divides the dead 
 
 From those still living. Yet it seems as naught 
 To that which intervenes between those wed, 
 
 Whom Love hath never in true union wrought. 
 
 130 
 
TWELVE QUATRAINS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO A FREE THINKER. 
 Ay, thou art free too free with thy bold lips, 
 
 Busied with shattering life s sweet sanctities 
 And making faith darken in drear eclipse. 
 
 O Spirit that Denies, my curse for this ! 
 
 V. 
 
 THE ABIDING CREED. 
 
 Like the Lord Christ to live thine own life well, 
 And, spite of skeptic sneer and laughter, still 
 Like Him ye love to render good for ill : 
 This is one creed that stands immutable. 
 
 VI. 
 
 AFTERMATH. 
 
 What fruitage this from Death and Scorn ! 
 Naught can restrain the quickened soul, 
 Nor stay it from its glorious goal, 
 
 Nor rob it of its Easter Morn. 
 
 131 
 
TWELVE QUATRAINS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 CHASTISEMENT. 
 
 Who hath no need of pain 
 
 To chasten and control, 
 God pity him, for he must be 
 
 Dwarfed and infirm of soul. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 DESERT VISION. 
 
 Happy who sees with onward-straining eyes, 
 Beyond the mud-hut of life s sordid real, 
 
 Though blinded by the brazen desert skies, 
 The radiant snow-peaks of his soul s ideal. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 One who, when wearied with the strife for place, 
 And earth s unending toil and stern duress, 
 
 Became enamored of Death s placid face, 
 Wooed her, and fell asleep of her caress. 
 
 132 
 
TWELVE QUATJSAIN8. 
 
 X. 
 
 ENDEAVOR. 
 
 Who use not lose their strength to use, 
 We may not hoard our powers, 
 
 For what we keep is lost to us, 
 But what we give is ours. 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE IDEAL. 
 
 In every poet-soul rings one refrain 
 Ne er to be heard by the unheeding train ; 
 And every artist in his heart of heart 
 Treasures one face beyond the touch of Art. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE UNCONTROLLED. 
 
 Three things, nay rather four, there be 
 
 Beyond man to control : 
 Heaven s stars, the persistent-scarping sea, 
 
 Death, and his own indomitable soul. 
 
 133 
 
SLEEPLESS. 
 
 Sleep, O my God, send sleep! 
 
 I can endure 
 
 Disease that knows no cure, 
 If Thou grant sleep. 
 
 Even as I sowed, I reap : 
 
 I ask not hope, 
 
 Nor dread with Death to cope, 
 But, Oh, give sleep! 
 
 Forms, fearsome, round me creep 
 While night drags on, 
 Come thou, Oblivion, 
 
 Complete, in sleep! 
 
 Oblivion, dull and deep, 
 
 Nought else I crave: 
 
 Dreams, nor to cheat the grave. 
 This only sleep ! 
 
 Lord, Thy beloved dost keep 
 
 When day is done; 
 
 Why may not I be one, 
 Dear God and sleep ? 
 
 134 
 
FROM THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 Teach me, Father, how to be 
 Patient in my misery. 
 If the day be blank and drear 
 Dragging out its slow career, 
 Shall the night not come again 
 With its kind release from pain ? 
 Or if on my couch T toss 
 Shall I count it such a cross 
 That the long night watches creep, 
 Knowing thou dost thy vigil keep. 
 And that thy calm morning light 
 Follows our most fretful night? 
 
 In this close room from dusk till dawn 
 All alone, with curtains drawn, 
 Shutting out the sun and sky, 
 It is tiresome. Lord, to lie. 
 Yet shall I murmur when I find 
 A Presence fresher than the wind, 
 And fairer than the evening star, 
 And sweeter than wood violets are, 
 
 135 
 
PROM THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 What are loneliness and pain 
 If I find thee, Lord, again? 
 Father, may I learn to be 
 Patient in mv misery. 
 
 136 
 
FAILURE. 
 
 Life is made up of broken bars 
 
 Whose notes discordant ring ; 
 Like children who would clutch the stars 
 
 We fail in everything. 
 
 And yet do not the futile dream, 
 
 The ideal never won, 
 The evanescent, mystic gleam 
 
 Still lure us up and on ? 
 
 Surely the heights we vainly scan, 
 
 The hopes wherein we fail, 
 Have place within the cosmic plan 
 
 Of Him behind the veil. 
 
 Our striving is its own reward, 
 
 E en though we ne er attain ; 
 In failure may we find Thee, Lord, 
 
 And learn our loss is gain ! 
 
 Somehow, somewhere though how or where 
 
 Our eyes not yet may see 
 The work we mar shall be made fair 
 
 And perfected by Thee. 
 
 137 
 
VICTOR. 
 
 He knows, and sometime we shall also know. 
 
 Although we drift storm-tossed by doubts and fears, 
 
 And only see the wrecks of wasted years, 
 
 The markings of His chart shall clearer grow. 
 
 Who, hushing self, can say, "Thy will be done," 
 
 Is noblest conqueror; echoing huzzas 
 
 He needs not, nor the laurel : his applause 
 
 I^ies in the consciousness of victory won, 
 
 Who lifts his face faith-radiant to the skies, 
 
 And makes himself triumphant o er the hot 
 
 Heart-passions and vain questionings that seize 
 
 And throttle what is holiest he is wise. 
 
 Master thy doubts ! Life s proudest fields are not 
 
 Her Marathons, but her Gethsemanes. 
 
 138 
 
DE IMITATIONE CHRIST!. 
 
 Do thou grant me, O God, to speak the word that is 
 
 helpful and wise, 
 
 To do the thing that is right, no matter what hard 
 ships arise; 
 Do thou smite me down if I slack in the work thou 
 
 wouldst have me to do, 
 Or cringe to the mighty and false, ignoring the good 
 
 and the true ; 
 Do thou scorch with the flame of thy scorn all traces 
 
 of selfhood away. 
 To the end that my deeds may be just and potent 
 
 the prayers that I pray ; 
 And in all that I speak or perform, dear Lord, be it 
 
 ever to thee 
 That I look both for praise and for blame, intent on 
 
 thy purpose with me ! 
 
 139 
 
THE NEW EARTH. 
 
 It shall come, the glorious dawning 
 
 Of that better time to be, 
 When no longer, cringing, fawning, 
 
 Man shall stand erect and free. 
 Each shall think then of the other 
 
 Think not how to make him tool 
 For some selfish end, but brother: 
 
 Seek to rescue, not to rule ! 
 
 Songs of labor shall take place of 
 
 Muffled curses, roll of drum, 
 Men no longer share disgrace of 
 
 Bloody bayonet, deadly bomb. 
 Nation shall not war on nation, 
 
 Mankind shall advance as one ; 
 Peace shall reign blest consummation !- 
 
 Blot out deeds of carnage done. 
 
 It shall come, the prophets vision. 
 
 Poets dream of selfless life, 
 Long a theme for fools derision, 
 
 Glad cessation from all strife. 
 
 140 
 
THE NEW EARTH. 
 
 All the miseries of oppression, 
 
 Mocking spectres of despair, 
 Squalor, deadening toil, privation, 
 
 All shall perish. "When and where?" 
 
 This you ask me, comrade, rightly! 
 
 When the shackled Soul of Man, 
 Now dumb-driven, inert, unsightly, 
 
 Dares its clarion call, "I can !" 
 "Where?" Wherever, unifying, 
 
 Toilers take their stand at last 
 Stanch in fellowship, defying 
 
 Their grim tyrants of the past. 
 
 It shall come ! A new creation 
 
 For mankind shall be unrolled, 
 And in Christ-like consecration 
 
 Souls shall count for more than gold. 
 Then our dreams of God the Father 
 
 And the Brotherhood of Man 
 We shall find not dreams, but rather 
 
 Pentecost on earth again ! 
 
 Ignorance, greed, and lust outspoken, 
 Fetters all that bind mankind, 
 
 Shall in that good time be broken, 
 Freeing body, spirit, mind- 
 
 141 
 
THH NEW EARTH. 
 
 "When will this relief be given," 
 
 Would you ask me, brothers dumb? 
 
 Not in some far-distant heaven, 
 
 Strive we here on earth t will come ! 
 
 142 
 
"THE QUICK AND THE DEAD. 
 
 Who with his fellows hath no lot, 
 No potency for good or ill, 
 No place another might not fill, 
 
 Is dead, although he knows it not. 
 
 But he who shared the common lot, 
 Some little place was glad to fill, 
 And moved some heart for good or ill, 
 
 Though dead, lives on, long unforgot. 
 
 143 
 
A PRAYER. 
 
 These things I covet, Lord, and pray 
 That thou wilt grant them me some day: 
 The will to do and the strength to bear, 
 High hope in man, firm faith in prayer; 
 Work s joy, home s peace when work is through, 
 With love of a woman, leal and true; 
 And children, too, if thy will it be, 
 To prattle upon their father s knee; 
 And a heart where love shall be all in all. 
 If these things may to my fortune fall, 
 No more at thy bounteous hands I ll crave 
 But a clean, strong life and an honored grave ; 
 That I may be mourned by my fellows, Lord, 
 As a good man gone to his just reward. 
 
 144 
 
WHEN I LIE DYING. 
 
 When I lie dying, I would have no tears, 
 
 No noiseful wailing nor the wringing of hands 
 To mark my setting forth to unknown lands, 
 
 For all must go with passing of the years. 
 
 Rather a word of cheer from each to all, 
 Congratulatory, as of one who fares 
 On brave adventures bent and gladly dares 
 
 Dire perils if but noble occasions call. 
 
 Still, if one doth hold fast persistent grief 
 At loss of me, nor aught may ease his pain, 
 This would I urge could I but speak again: 
 
 "Haste thou to bring some brother man relief. 
 So shalt most soon thy sore wound cease to feel 
 Who heals another s hurt, his own doth heal." 
 
 145 
 
THE ANSWER. 
 
 "What art thou, Life?" The query ceasless went 
 From lip to lip, unsolved, in ages past. 
 That riddle to the dumb, unanswering vast 
 Of desert night the Hebrew patriarchs sent. 
 In restless Athens wise men curious sought 
 To solve the same enigma. Caesars proud, 
 O er all their imperial splendors felt the cloud 
 Brooding, of whence and whither. They had bought 
 Gladly an answer, at expense of all 
 That glorious pomp of Rome for which they strove , 
 But pondered vainly. Then in Bethlehem s stall 
 Was born the Babe, of lowliest parentage, 
 Who to the mystery that perplexed the sage 
 For myriad years, made answer: "Life is Love!" 
 
 146 
 
EVEN AS A MOTHER. 
 
 Even as a mother oft is fain to hide 
 
 Herself sometimes from her beloved child, 
 Who, missing the dear face that on him smiled. 
 
 First seeks, then fears, then wholly terrified 
 
 Runs here and there, and, without her to guide, 
 Stumbles and falls then feels himself entwined 
 Suddenly by her arms and sees her kind, 
 
 Sweet face above him, and is satisfied; 
 
 Even so, our Father, thou dost oft conceal 
 Thyself from us a little while, and lo! 
 Thy children stumble blindly to and fro, 
 
 And weep, or curse (O God!), or cease to feel. 
 Why fail they, Lord, to see thou art not gone, 
 But merely prov st, in thy great Love, their own ? 
 
 147 
 
MORS IMPOTENS. 
 
 *.!.-, \ 
 
 Could I but write some word that should recall 
 One driven from the harbor of his hope, 
 Enheartening him more valiantly to cope 
 Against the spiritual bufferings that befall ; 
 Or by one act of mine inspire a sense 
 Of love and of love s everlastingness, 
 Thus quelling hatreds that so oft suppress 
 Faith in the Holy Spirit s immanence; 
 Could I bequeath, though through long sufferings. 
 That which would lift our sordid world along 
 To life more holy and diviner song. 
 And trust in Him whose law encompasseth 
 This seeming lawless clash and swirl of things- 
 Then were thy terrors impotent, O Death! 
 
 148 
 
ALPHA AND OMEGA. 
 
 " Fecisti nos ad (e, et cor nostrum inquietum est donee rtquiescat in te." 
 
 A ugustine. 
 
 Long had I pondered over many things, 
 For men once men may not at rest remain. 
 I strove to calm my riotous heart in vain, 
 
 All clamorous with importunate questionings ; 
 
 So many problems that perforce arise. 
 So many mysteries of life and time. 
 Perplexities and conflicts, thoughts sublime 
 
 And thoughts ignoble must it harmonize. 
 
 Doctrines and dogmas tossed it to and fro, 
 The direful strife between free will and fate, 
 The fond desire to know the ultimate 
 
 Futile today as in the long ago. 
 
 But now, dear Lord, that old unrest hath died ; 
 Since I have found thee, there is naught beside. 
 
 149 
 
"SHALL THE IMMORTAL DIE?" 
 
 Before the heavens, O thou Soul of mine, 
 
 Were star-bestudded, ere, from chaos planned, 
 God summoned forth the waters and the land. 
 Didst thou exist, immortal and divine. 
 Behind the memories of this earthly strife 
 Thou hadst thy being in infinity 
 And only as infinite can I think of thee, 
 Whose very self affirms eternal life. 
 What then, O Soul, if Death relentlessly 
 Doth ready make to hurl his fatal dart, 
 Shalt thou in that dread peril have thy part, 
 Or shalt unharmed follow thy flying goal ? 
 My body he may vanquish. But, O Soul, 
 Defy thou Time, nor fear Mortality. 
 
 150 
 
U IF IT WERE ONLY A DREAM." 
 
 If it were only a dream, 
 
 Were it not well to cherish 
 Faith which refuses to deem 
 
 Us one with the beasts that perish? 
 If it were only a dream, 
 
 Were it not well to keep 
 Hope which illumes with its gleam 
 
 The murk where the death mists creep ? 
 
 If it were only a dream 
 
 This of the riven tomtH 
 Should we not foster the beam 
 
 Lighting the grave and its gloom ? 
 If it were only a dream 
 
 Ah, but it is not so ! 
 In our best moments we seem 
 
 Not merely to trust, but to know ! 
 
 151 
 
HORIZONS. 
 
 "Whither?" I asked of the laughing child, 
 As he danced along by some dream beguiled. 
 "Nay, hinder me not," was his eager call, 
 "For Fairyland lies just over the wall!" 
 
 "Whither?" I asked of the stalwart youth. 
 As he jostled the throng without pause or ruth. 
 "Who climbs to yon mountain s topmost rim. 
 El Dorados there are awaiting him !" 
 
 "Whither?" I questioned the aged saint, 
 
 W 7 ayfarer still, though bent and faint. 
 
 "I follow the light of yon setting star. 
 
 And beyond, where the loved of the Homeland are !" 
 
 152 
 
EVEN AS HERE, SO THERE. 
 
 Just a little longer 
 
 Here I have to stay 
 Ere the Voice shall call me, 
 
 Call me far away. 
 
 Whither, Lord, I wonder 
 Shall Thy new mission be, 
 
 To what strange dominion, 
 What untraversed sea? 
 
 What credentials given. 
 Or chart to keep from fear ; 
 
 Or will it be yonder 
 Even as twas here : 
 
 Strength not found but fought for, 
 Grace hard-earned, not given. 
 
 Vigilance our only hope 
 Even there in heaven? 
 
 Under sealed orders. 
 
 Faith our only word. 
 Sailing blithely forward, 
 
 Lo, we trust thee, Lord ! 
 153 
 
EVEN AS HERE, SO THERE 
 
 Seek we not as guerdon 
 Rest, although well-won : 
 
 Grant us still the will to strive 
 On, and always on! 
 
 154 
 
I MUST GO SOFTLY. 
 
 I must go softly all my days. 
 No more the ready leap 
 To breast the storm, or brave the deep, 
 Or scale the unconquered steep, 
 
 But strengthless o er life s flat monotonous ways, 
 
 I must go softly all my days. 
 
 I must go softly all my days. 
 
 Never again for me 
 
 The splendid glory of the free 
 
 Brave life that used to be, 
 Glad effort s thrill that for all effort pays. 
 I must go softly all my days. 
 
 I must go softly all my days. 
 O heart, keep strong and sweet, 
 Nor fear, save cowardly retreat! 
 Lord, guide my laggard feet, 
 
 And lead them still in thine appointed ways. 
 
 I must go softly all my days. 
 
 155 
 
IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Ofttimes at sea, across the waters gray, 
 
 I ve watched the wavering far horizon line 
 Where the calm sky meets the unresting brine, 
 
 How ever at fixed distance it doth stay ! 
 
 Hour after hour the good ship ploughs her way, 
 With quivering prow and engines pulsing fast, 
 Yet never is that dim line overpast. 
 
 Nor is that space diminished day by day. 
 
 And thus methought: When this our life s rough 
 
 stream 
 With death s calm dome shall seem to meet and 
 
 merge, 
 May we not find that meeting all a dream, 
 
 And o er some vast and immemorial surge, 
 
 While yet beyond our ken great waters gleam, 
 
 Sail on, and on, nor find an utmost verge ! 
 
YB 11801