GIFT OF GTPT Burlingarne Ballads... WHEATON HALE BREWER i V Burlingame Ballads By WHEATON HALE BREWER Burlingame, California Burlingame Publishing Company 1920 These verses have appeared from time to time in The Burlingame Advance, and the author desires to thank the publisher of that journal for his courtesy in allowing them to be reprinted. WHEATON HALE BREWER. Burlingame, California, Deoerfiber 1 GTPT Copyright 1920 By Burlingame Publishing Company We have built our homes in Burlingame be cause we believe that it is the most beautiful spot in the most beautiful country in the world. We know it, but all the world does not, and it .should know. One poem by Bret Harte did more for San Francisco than all the railroad folders that were ever scattered over the continent. And more may be done for Beautiful Bur lingame by these lyrics of Wheaton H. Brewer than might be done by a lifetime of boosting. This is an almost irreverently practical view to take of a book of poems, but we live in a practical age, and I am appealing for this little volume as a souvenir to be scattered broad cast. As for this work, it speaks for itself. You who read these poems must instantly recog nize their truth and beauty. They are some thing more than the homespun rhymes of the home-town bard. They are the voice of youth 42805S in rapturous praise of beauties that are apt to be overlooked simply because they are every where about us. Burlingame should be as proud of her poet as her poet is proud of Burlingame. GEORGE DOUGLAS. BURLINGAME BALLADS "GOOD MORNING, BURLINGAME" By sunbeams on the wall, I see, It s past sunrise, and time for me To turn and stretch, and sleepily Bid Burlingame, "Good Morning." The curling smoke, the breakfasts frying, The chickens clucking, pigeons flying, The milkmen, and the busses plying, Bid Burlingame, "Good Morning." And down the flower-bordered street Some strolling slowly, some most fleet, I hear the first commuters feet Bid Burlingame, "Good Morning." And all I wish and hope and pray Is that I may find out a way To wake at sunrise, and each day Bid Burlingame, "Good Morning." BURLINGAME BALLADS IN MY GARDEN In my garden, peonies Flaunt their crimson blazonries. Hollyhock and climbing rose, Contesting in my garden close, Strive to lift a flowered head Highest from the garden bed. Hourly from house to house Of Mr. Mole and Mr. Mouse Sedately ride the garden snails Delivering the springtime mails. And teetering from leaf to leaf The caterpillars come to grief. In my garden, darkness brings Unconventional whisperings. Speckled tree frogs come and croak Serenades beneath the oak. Little breezes, stealing through, Set leaves rustling, two by two. Love and spring are everywhere; In the trees, the ground, the air. Violets brush their pretty lips Over snow-drop finger tips. Every flower has heard the song Beloved, why delay so long? BURLINGAME BALLADS THE MEADOW LARKS Though nightingales have charmed the dreams Of poets by Elysian streams, Such singing cannot be the same As meadow larks in Burlingame. Though doves and skylarks sing for hours In gardens full of blooming flowers, With a single call they re put to shame By meadow larks in Burlingame. Clearer, sweeter than a fairy horn, There bursts the canticle of morn, When the brown hills are tipped with flame, From meadow larks in Burlingame. BURLINGAME BALLADS BY MORNING LIGHT By morning light, the daffodils Bloom golden on the green foothills. And at the garden s flowered plinth Glow even lines of hyacinth. The garden temple, crypt and nave, Reveals its lilac architrave. The congregation, in their places, Lift their pensive, pansy faces To their dim priest in purple gloom, The mystic, hooded iris bloom. And steaming in the sun, the clods Burn precious incense to spring s Gods. BURUNGAME BALLADS LILAC, LILAC Lilac, lilac, lavender and white, Incense of the spring; No wonder that the birds alight On your boughs to sing. Lilac, lilac, beautiful and sweet Green and dim and fair; My grandmother loved to meet My grandfather there. Lilac, lilac, wonderful to me Was the love they knew. Old-fashioned I would gladly be Such love to renew. Lilac, lilac, lavender and white, Blossom-crowned above; I shall come to you tonight There to meet my love. 10 BURLING AME BALLADS HOME SONG Gold and chrysoprase a setting make Oh little home of mine, Where meadowlarks sing happily all day; Where sparrows twitter in the vine, And by the blue bay s gleaming line The children laugh and play. I leave you in the early morning light When dewdrops sparkle clear And the flowers wave a shy, aloof goodbye. Yet through the day you seem so near, I almost turn around to hear The busses bumble by. And every night when I come home I simply have to race Across the buttercups and grass to see That you are safely in your place. And when I see my garden s face Home just smiles back at me. BURLINGAME BALLADS 1 1 AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN There s a little street in Burlingame Where old-fashioned flowers grow; Red poppies, vivid as a flame, Hollyhocks in a row. Heliotrope and marigolds Beside the privet hedge, And pink Sweet William proudly holds The boxed-in window ledge. I love to go along that street When evening settles down, And Burlingame, at the foothills feet, Rests in her flowered gown. The little breezes of evening stir, And I never shall forget The fragrance of the lavender The scent of mignonette. 12 BVRL1NGAME BALLADS MOWING TIME IN BURLINGAME Oh have you smelled the new-mown hay As you went swiftly to the train? I always hate to go away, For I shan t walk for one long day Across that field again. The neighbor s cow with dewy hide Looks pityingly at envious me, Cause I must go while she may bide With scented stacks on every side As far as she can see. Oh placid cow, I envy you Your hours by the hay-heaped rack. But still , and this is oh so true, Perhaps you really never knew The joy of coming back. BVRLINGAME BALLADS 13 ROBIN, ROBIN Robins in my garden all the winter time, Draggle-feathered, hunted angle worms. Through the cold of early frost and rime They tackled every kind of thing that squirms. And I often wondered, coming in at dusk, Why those robins chose to winter here, When their fellows flew through groves of orange musk Where summer lasts the whole long year. Now the early summer sets the world in tune, And I know at last what made the robins stay. For they ve built themselves a nest in bridal June, And their song grows clearer, sweeter every day. They ve nested in the cypress near the climbing rose, And three blue eggs are cuddled to the breast Of the little mother, as each summer breeze that blows Rocks the cradle and its precious freight, to rest. 14 BURLING AME BALLADS SUPPER I ve cut the lawn and hosed the walk; (How sweet the roses are!) The air seems full of drowsy neighbor talk; (And there s the evening star!) I ve trimmed the hedge and scattered ash; (The snails are bad this year!) It s time now yes, up comes the kitchen sash And supper time is here. Oh this is good; the day s work through, The garden put to bed; A whole long evening just between us two; To dream and plan ahead. BURLINGAME BALLADS 15 BRODIAEA TIME IN BURLINGAME Pussywillow time has come and gone; The johnny-jump-ups all are dead; And in the summer s dewy dawn No pale calchortus lifts a flowered head. But in the fields of browning, seeded grass, One flower blooms, bright, sturdy, and serene; For, as the singing trade winds pass, The brodiaeas reflect the blue sky s sheen. Oh, gardens are most beautiful, And daisy laws are fair; But the brodiaeas in Burlingame, When summer hills are bare, Have caught the shadow of the sky When not a cloud will pass, And the brodiaeas in Burlingame, Hide heaven in the grass. 16 BVRLINGAME BALLADS SUMMER I went a-field when Burlingame Wore spring s new scarf of green and gold And poppy meadows were aflame With beauty that cannot grow old. The lion-hided summer hills Crouch silent by the laughing bay A silence that the trade wind fills As the blue waters steal away. The poppy fires of spring, I knew, Were wonderful. But oh, to me The tawn hills by the bay s still blue Are more than spring could ever be. BURLING AME BALLADS 17 BURLINGAME Stillness, and the cool of dew; Dawn-freshness over dahlia plots; Roosters laughing as they see Commuters run cross-lots. Hills lovelier than Gilead, All modest, fringed with trees, With scarves of fog about their crests The Georgette of the breeze. Whimsey smoke that steals aloft On highways of thin air For Burlingame, as all men know, Has good roads everywhere. Oh Burlingame, home of my home, Your eucalyptus trees, like men, March proudly up the county road, And then march home again. 18 BURLING AME BALLADS COME DOWN TO BURLINGAME Come down, come down, to Burlingame, When dahlias paint the ways, Starring the homeward paths with flame, And golden, sunshot haze; And banks of dawn-pink, hiding rays Of dark Black Beauty s light, And collarettes, dim disks of praise; Oh what a rainbow sight ! Come down, come down, when dahlias grow And proudly stand to raise Large, floppy heads in row on row Of beauty-light arrays Of Sea Bright, Tevis, with a glaze From Copper King s dull blooms, And rhythmic patterns, through the maze, From Golden Rod s gay looms. Come down, come down, when Twin Sixteen Its maiden homage pays To Jupiter s imperious sheen Beneath Seduction s gaze, Or Mercy s floret-tinsled sprays, Or Sweet Remembrance, without stint, Lovely as far-heard roundelays; Or Delices, tipped with a second tint. Come down, come down, when flowers flame In row on vivid row. Come down, come down to Burlingame Come down when dahlias grow. BURLING AME BALLADS 19 HOME TO BURLINGAME It s getting darker every night, And I like to come home in the dusk. How many roses have bloomed today I can smell their fragrant musk. The street is peaceful and quiet now; The evening star is my guide. The children have gone to supper and bed, As I hurry by outside. Yes, there s a light in the parlor, And the baby s awake, I see. I wonder if I seem as good to home As home seems good to me? 8058 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY