-> 
 
 Morrison 
 
 FROM THE PEESIDENT S OFFICE 
 TO THE UNIVERSITY LIBRAET 
 
GIFT OF 
 
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 Morrison 
 
 Author of "Earlier Poems of Anna M. Morrison: 
 The "Later Poems of Anna Morrison Reed," 
 and "The Latest and Later, Poems, 1.396. 
 
 Engravings by the Si<_rra -Art s*r.g.* , 
 
 , t 5*r. Francisco .- J *.:* I I . ". 
 
 Petaluma, California: 
 
 ^4orthern Crown Publishing Company 
 
 1915 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 
 1915 
 
 By Anna M. Reed 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
DEDICATION M 
 
 To Him 
 
 11 There is something in each of us, that does 
 not belong to the family, or to society not even to 
 ourselves. 
 
 Sometimes it is given in marriage, and some 
 times it is given in love, but oftener it is never 
 given at all. 
 
 We have nothing to do, with giving or with 
 holding it. 
 
 It is a wild thing that sings in us once, and 
 flies away, and never comes back and mine has 
 flown to you. 
 
 When one loves like that, it is enough some 
 how. The other things can go if they must. 
 
 That is why I can live without you, and die, 
 without you." 
 
 The Gull s Road. 
 
 324863 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Gethsemane 1 
 
 Your Life and Mine 2 
 
 Sunset. The Angels 3 
 
 Spring 4 
 
 Blue Cornflowers. Fragment 5 
 
 Mother--A Reverie 6 
 
 Love Me, Beloved. My Heart 8 
 
 Her King. Dusk on the Columbia 9 
 
 If It Is To Be. To Him 10 
 
 A Child of the King 11 
 
 Johanna, The Suicide 12 
 
 Death of President Garfield 13 
 
 Empty Rooms. In Dreams 16 
 
 To The University of California. To Joaquin Miller 17 
 
 One Easter Day 18 
 
 In October 19 
 
 At the Threshold of June 20 
 
 Memorial Poem General U. S. Grant 21 
 
 My Shrine. "My Life Is Devoted to Memories of You" 24 
 
 To My Children 25 
 
 The Lyre of Greece 26 
 
 Good Friday 27 
 
 Alone 28 
 
 "Afterwards" 29 
 
 At The Cliff. Summerland 30 
 
 Eilene 31 
 
 A Letter 32 
 
 Ante Mortem... 33 
 
 Death of President McKinley 34 
 
 Surrender 35 
 
 Meanwhile 36 
 
 Queen Victoria From a Woman s Scandpoint 37 
 
 They Too, Are But Human, A Monotone 38 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Autographed Portrait of Anna Morrison Reed, Frontispiece 
 Autograph Letter of Oscar Wilde, to Face Page 4 
 Autograph Letter of Mrs. Frank Leslie, to Face Page 8 
 Autograph Letter of Lucretia R. Garfield to Face page 12 
 Autograph Letter of Joaquin Miller, to Face Page 16 
 Autograph Letter of Julia D. Grant, to Face Page 20 
 
KNEEL within the walls of my Geth- 
 
 semane, 
 Above the cold, bare stones a sparrow 
 
 builds, 
 
 A rose blooms over, and a linnet sings 
 They all are His. 
 
 And so I know that Paradise has been, 
 And Heaven is. 
 
your Cife and mine 
 
 HARDS and lees after meat and wine 
 Such is your life, my own! and mine 
 After the feast, the "husks and swine." 
 
 The idle word and the careless smile; 
 The endless tasks that the days beguile, 
 And hearts that almost break, meanwhile. 
 
 Then tasteless pleasures, so poor and tame, 
 The ties that gall --that are halt and lame, 
 Where love risks neither life nor fame. 
 
 But you remember, and so do I, 
 
 The fond red lip and the loving eye 
 
 These and the thoughts that never die. 
 
 Of the twilight hush which fell so soon, 
 Your darling presence within the room, 
 A brief, sweet hour, and then the gloom. 
 
 How do I live? because I dare, 
 Make my days but a living prayer, 
 That I shall find you again, somewhere. 
 
 After the storms that around us sweep, 
 After the toil, and the tears I weep, 
 Into yours arms 1 shall sometime creep. 
 
 Hurt by the waves as they toss and swell, 
 Tired of the things I have done so well, 
 With only strength at the last to tell. 
 
 How I have loved you; throughout all time 
 How I have suffered, and made no sign, 
 True to a passion sublime divine. 
 
 Husks and dregs after fruit and wine, 
 Pearls that are cast to the hungry swine, 
 Such is your life, my own! and mine. 
 
 (2) 
 
Sunset 
 
 HE evening s genius with his sword of 
 
 flame, 
 
 Guards well the portal of the dying day; 
 His lance of light he strikes against the hills, 
 Upon the highest breaks its glancing ray; 
 He marshals grandly on a crimson sea 
 His cloudship navy s golden argosy, 
 Whose flaunting banner in the sunset glow 
 Bids brave defiance to the dark ning foe; 
 Who, swift advancing, o er him softly flings 
 The purple shadow of the twilight s wing s 
 Till war s red flush before the night wind s 
 
 breath 
 
 Fades out into the sullen gray of death, 
 And star-eyed night, prevailing all too soon, 
 Hangs out the silver sickle of the moon. 
 
 Cfce flngels 
 
 URE, and untouched by the flame of 
 
 sin, 
 
 Must be the hosts of the Cherubim. 
 Mothers bereaved, with cheeks tear-wet 
 Your love, the heavens with jewels set 
 With empty arms and longing eyes, 
 Hopefully turn to your paradise. 
 
 With folded hands on each stainless breast, 
 You have laid your innocent babes to rest, 
 But with spirits, in legions undefiled, 
 Gathers in glory, each sinless child. 
 And in that bright realm, that seems afar, 
 The souls of the children, the Angels are. 
 
 (3) 
 
Spring 
 
 PRING and the blackbirdscall 
 
 Where the rushes are thick in the 
 
 swale, 
 
 And the world is all a-bloom, 
 With the things that never fail. 
 But my heart is all forlorn, 
 
 And I live because I must; 
 
 It is Spring and your heart is dust. 
 
 On the green wild olive tree 
 
 The bloom is thick and white, 
 The branches wave, and a spiced perfume 
 
 Fills every fragrant night. 
 And a thousand radiant flowers 
 
 Awake in the warm, rich mold; 
 
 It is spring and your heart is cold. 
 
 Spring and the linnets sing 
 
 To their mates as they build and weave, 
 And they waken me every morn 
 
 As they gather under the eave, 
 And the days are bright and a-song 
 
 With the voice of robin and lark; 
 
 But your grave is silent and dark. 
 
 I stand near the end of the way, 
 
 At a threshold I may not pass, 
 
 And my heart is weary with pain, 
 
 And the cares that my life harass, 
 
 And my eyes are dim with tears, 
 And I live because I must 
 
 And the spring is a winter day, 
 Since your heart is dust. 
 
 (4) 
 
ie blackbirdscall 
 
 
 
 e thick in the 
 
 
 
 dust. 
 
 On the green wild olive tree 
 
 The bloom is thick and white, 
 The branches wave, and a spiced perfume 
 
 Fills every fragrant night, 
 
 j a thousand radiant flowers 
 Awake in the warm, rich mold; 
 It is spring and your heart is cold. 
 
 Spring and the linnets sing 
 
 To their mates as they build and weave, 
 And they waken me every morn 
 
 As they g- .ider the eave, 
 
 And the days are bright and a-song 
 
 With the voice of robin and lark; 
 
 But your grave is silent and dark. 
 
 1 stand near the end of the \v 
 
 At a threshold I may not pass, 
 And my heart is wfeary with 
 
 A ; a that my life I: 
 
 And my eyes are. dim with tea 
 
 Ai: c a use 1 must-- 
 
 And tli 
 
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 Autograph Letter From Oscar Wilde. 
 
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Blue Cornflowers 
 
 |g? HEY are crying "Cornflowers" in the 
 
 street, 
 
 Blue as my darling s eyes 
 To poppy fields, and fields of wheat, 
 
 Spread under azure skies, 
 iMy heart turns backward suddenly 
 
 Rent by impassioned pain, 
 Where Cornflowers blossomed long ago, 
 
 That may not bloom again. 
 Where lark and linnet sing by day, 
 
 At dusk the thrushes call, 
 Along the hedgerows by the sea, 
 
 Where evening s shadows fall. 
 "Blue Cornflowers," cry the vendors here, 
 
 Along the city s pave 
 My eyes are dim with sudden tears, 
 
 As one weeps o er a grave, 
 Alas! that love should recreant be, 
 
 Alas! that flowers should fade, 
 Alas! the face I never see, 
 
 That once my sunshine made. 
 So, still the larks and linnets sing, 
 
 And still the thrushes call, 
 While dark ning all the dreams of youth, 
 
 Life s lengthening shadows fall 
 
 fragment 
 
 Tn an ftibuni 
 
 will not wish you gold, or love, or fame, 
 Too many sins committed in their name, 
 Sweep through the ages, and with dark 
 
 surprise 
 
 Their annals blast the light of artless eyes. 
 Virtue alone can bless and crown your youth, 
 Therefore I consecrate its days to truth. 
 
 (5) 
 
-fl Reverie 
 
 N the brush fence by the lane 
 I hear the Stormbirds crying, 
 
 And I know the winter rain 
 
 Soon will beat where thou art lying; 
 
 For the wind and rain are near, 
 
 When the stormbirds are a-crying. 
 A brave bright winter rose 
 
 Taps the window where I m sitting; 
 It s heart with beauty glows, 
 
 While the autumn hours are flitting; 
 It taps the silent pane 
 
 Of the window where I m sitting. 
 The south wind kisses light 
 
 Its petals, curved and folded, 
 Like a picture warm and bright, 
 
 Close in the heart enfolded 
 Like a dream of love and youth, 
 
 In the heart of age enfolded. 
 And it speaks to me of thee, 
 
 While the stormbirds are a-crying, 
 Though thy face I cannot see, 
 
 Thy memory is lying 
 In the winter of my heart, 
 
 Best, brightest, and undying. 
 I dream of thee so dear, 
 
 Before the woodfire glowing; 
 I hear the herd-bells clear, 
 
 And the cattle softly lowing; 
 The sounds foretell the rain, 
 
 While the fire is softly glowing. 
 In thought I pass the lane 
 
 Where stormbirds are a-crying 
 As to some sacred fane, 
 
 To the grave where thou art lying, 
 
 (6) 
 
Through fragrant pine-wood aisles 
 
 Where the sunset glow is dying. 
 Where one can not hear the noise 
 
 Of a footfall on the mosses; 
 Where the pine leaves lightly poise 
 
 Like a pile of russet flosses; 
 Where the rabbit or the squirrel, 
 
 With silent footstep, crosses. 
 Where the brake, with quiv ring fronds, 
 
 Beside the gravestone whispers 
 The earliest matin songs. 
 
 And at eve the sadder vespers, 
 That the night wind softly taught 
 
 The leaves to chant in whispers. 
 There so quietly you sleep, 
 
 While restless winds are sighing. 
 In the grave so dark and deep, 
 
 Nor heed the stormbirds crying, 
 Nor the tears that fall like rain, 
 
 And my heart within me dying. 
 The rose taps on the pane, 
 
 And the stormbirds are a-crying, 
 And I soon will hear the rain 
 
 Beat through the wind s low sighing, 
 While rose leaves flutter down 
 
 On the grave where thou art lying. 
 
 (7) 
 
Cove me, Beloved 
 
 OVE me, my darling! a week or a day 
 I ask no allegiance enduring for aye, 
 For God, in His wisdom, all changing 
 
 has made 
 The blossoms of spring, are destined to fade. 
 
 In the blue of your eyes, I mirrored have seen, 
 The heaven, of which, every soul has it s dream, 
 And through the long years, my solace shall 
 
 be, 
 
 That sometimes, my darling, you re think 
 ing of me. 
 
 Love me, beloved a week or a day, 
 I ask no allegiance enduring for aye, 
 For God in His wisdom all changing has 
 
 made, 
 The flowers of the summer are blooming to 
 
 fade. 
 
 my ficart 
 
 Y heart is like a harp, dear love, 
 A harp with broken strings, 
 And under every hand but yours, 
 
 Its sound discordant rings. 
 But to your touch responds again, 
 
 The songs of earlier years, 
 When with its happier music came, 
 No undertone of tears. 
 
 You waken all the olden themes, 
 That slumber in its strings 
 
 When life was one long day of dreams 
 Of fairer better, things, 
 
 I know by this, these broken chords, 
 In some far realm unite, 
 
 In perfect melody and words, 
 Tuned with the Infinite. 
 
 (8) 
 
fier King 
 
 WINSOME maiden planned her life 
 How, when she was her hero s wife, 
 He should be royal among men, 
 And -worthy of a diadem. 
 Through all the devious \vays of earth 
 
 She sought her king; 
 The snows of Winter fell before 
 
 She walked o er flowers of vanished Spring 
 Into the Summer s fragrant heat; 
 She bent her quest, with rapid feet, 
 Then saddened; still she journeyed down 
 The Autumn hillsides, bare and brown, 
 Through shadowy eves and golden morns; 
 And lo! she found Him crowned with thorns. 
 
 Dusk on the Columbia 
 
 HE smouldering fires of the sunset, 
 
 Die in the western sky, 
 
 The shadows of twilight are falling, 
 
 Away from the evening s \vings, 
 A robin his mate is calling, 
 With the song of a thousand springs. 
 
 As your heart called and is calling, 
 Through all the changing years, 
 To mine; whose only answer, 
 Must be but silent tears. 
 
 Here on the breast of the river, 
 That flows to a wider sea, 
 Hushed in a dream of longing, 
 The dusk has folded me. 
 
 (9) 
 
If II is to Be 
 
 F it is to be O, Love! beside the chang 
 ing sea 
 We yet may meet; and hand in hand 
 
 Wander across the matchless strand, 
 
 And find again in answering eyes 
 The light of our lost paradise. 
 
 If it is to be then each the other s face may 
 
 see; 
 
 The silence of the sorrowing years 
 May break at last in happier tears, 
 And tired heart folded close to heart 
 So tempest-tossed no more shall part. 
 
 Co Rim 
 
 LL laughter has been madness, since 
 
 I laughed with you, 
 
 And love a mockery, and life an irony, 
 In all the past, your heart alone rang 
 
 true, 
 Of all the things that did environ me. 
 
 I know at last, you taught me all the truth 
 Life has afforded, in those earlier years, 
 I only feel your presence blessed my youth, 
 And memory hallows all these later tears. 
 
 And so, I am so glad that you have lived, 
 Though in this world; no longer you abide, 
 I cannot find it, in my heart to grieve, 
 Or hopelessly lament that you have died. 
 
 (10) 
 
ft ehiia of CIK King 
 
 OU ask of my title, my signet and ring 
 My birthright is noble I m child of 
 
 the King, 
 Who came to His own, who knew Him 
 
 not then, 
 But wait for His coming, in glory, again. 
 
 I love his creation His flowers, and the song, 
 
 Of the tiniest bird that sings the day long, 
 
 The snow of the winter the bloom of the 
 
 spring, 
 
 In sunshine and starbeam. I m child of 
 the King. 
 
 The kiss of the summer is sweet, and the wind, 
 Is soft and perfumed, where the Jasmine 
 
 is twined. 
 And the bright hues of autumn, they gladden 
 
 and bring, 
 New treasures of gold to the child of the King. 
 
 A world that is beautiful, wondrous, sublime, 
 Through His power He has made indi 
 sputably mine. 
 
 Exulting in sight, sound and touch, while I sing, 
 I reign o er my heritage child of the 
 King. 
 
 (11) 
 
tbe Suicide 
 
 IFE was a burden, and love was cold, 
 So she lies with her hair like a coil of 
 
 gold. 
 
 Over her breast, and down to her knee, 
 And people are saying she died for rne. 
 
 Why? I wooed her when dreams of truth, 
 Dwelt in the heart of our radiant youth, 
 And time has broken faith s golden bowl, 
 As it rent the garment of this fair soul. 
 
 Time and the complex and changing years, 
 Where laughter is silenced and drowned in 
 
 tears. 
 
 In a world of madness a world of lies, 
 Where we follow a mirage of Paradise. 
 
 Time who robs us of everything sweet, 
 While cowards and slaves we cringe at his 
 
 feet, 
 
 She has defied him, and fled from his care, 
 And I would follow, but do not dare. 
 
 I knew her better than all beside, 
 And 1 know the reason that she has died, 
 Whatever is said, or however it seems, 
 I know she would not out-live her dreams. 
 
 Fearless she passed, beyond the reach, 
 Of all heart-hunger, and passioned speech, 
 Life was a burden she could not bear, 
 So she lies in a shroud of her golden hair. 
 
 (12) 
 
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 7; 
 
Death of President Sarfield 
 n monody 
 
 Read by tfte Hutbor at tbe memorial Services at Ukiab, 
 California, Ittenflay, September 26, i$$i 
 
 OLL all the bells! a great soul s passed 
 
 away 
 From clouds and shadows to the per- 
 
 fecl: day; 
 
 The wasted garment that is left behind 
 Must be to ashes and to dust consigned. 
 The tears of suffering death has wiped away, 
 But who shall dry the eyes of those who stay 
 The aged mother and the faithful wife? 
 The children wailing for that ended life? 
 The nation calling for the leader slain, 
 Who long weeks languished on his bed of 
 
 pain? 
 
 Toll all the bells, beat low the muffled drum; 
 In long procession mourning millions come 
 To honor him who, in a land of laws, 
 By lav/less hand has died, without a cause. 
 Beside the ocean, that, with measured surge, 
 Chanted his first and grandest funeral dirge 
 Sublimest minstrel at the feet of God; 
 It still sang on, while fell the mystic rod 
 And moaned a requiem for the parting soul 
 Soaring beyond this little world s control. 
 No human voice may sing of him so well, 
 Nor all the grandeur of his hi^lory tell; 
 But to his memory, out of many lands, 
 Will struggling genius lift aspiring hands. 
 To him who fortune s darkest frowns with 
 stood 
 And kept his every aim still great and good 
 
 (13) 
 
Who reached the summit of the hill of fame, 
 With life unblemished and unsullied name. 
 A grand rebuke to every weaker heart 
 That tempted, turneth from the better part; 
 Reproaching those who, like the one of old, 
 Their birthright for a "mess of pottage* sold. 
 His mind, untrammeled, was as broad as earth; 
 His heart was centered at his family hearth 
 He made his home a type of all things seem 
 Of which the honest Christian soul can dream, 
 Fit emblem of that home in fairer lands 
 Where mansions wait, not built by human 
 hands. 
 
 The annals of the past one truth repeat, 
 
 Of those whose lives with greatness were 
 
 replete 
 
 This fact more eloquent than all beside, 
 What er their history, they all have died. 
 Sceptre or crown, the pride of place or power 
 To frail mortality loaned but for an hour, 
 When death had pointed to the solemn bier, 
 They learned the mockery of all things here. 
 Sowing that others might the harvest reap, 
 Along the wayside they have gone to sleep 
 Tired of the treasures that the years may rust, 
 Tired of the things that are but sordid dust, 
 Tired of the gold that thieves break through 
 
 and steal, 
 
 Tired of the wrongs successive years reveal 
 The graves of such, like landmarks, strew the 
 
 sod, 
 Pointing submission to the will of God. 
 
 But though the souls of men like him we 
 mourn, 
 
 (14) 
 
On waves of mystery are beyond us borne, 
 A grateful world their names perpetuate, 
 And well may strive their deeds to emulate. 
 For though they drift beyond the tides of pain 
 We feel indeed they have not lived in vain. 
 A proud inheritance has this one left 
 To all his loved ones, and the land bereft, 
 His pure example may the world defy, 
 His glorious principles can never die; 
 Nor that so blessed and so heaven-sent, 
 On which its authors based our government, 
 Where earnest manhood by its simple worth, 
 Depends not on the accident of birth 
 By honest labor without gold to buy, 
 May earn and reach its stations proud and 
 
 high. 
 
 Oh! let the flags droop low toll all the bells; 
 We lay him down amid our last farewells, 
 Under the earth, with loving tributes dressed, 
 Do v/e resign him to his lasting rest; 
 And to Columbia, still safe and free, 
 We trust the honor of his memory; 
 As turns his sacred clay to kindred sod, 
 His martyred spirit finds repose with God. 
 
 (15) 
 
empty Rooms 
 
 UR best beloved have journej ed on, 
 Through winter s snow, and sum 
 mer blooms, 
 And left us only empty rooms. 
 
 Familiar nooks, and silent stairs, 
 
 With memories like faint perfumes, 
 Are haunted yet; in empty rooms. 
 
 A pillow where some head has lain, 
 
 In recent hours of evening s gloom, 
 
 Lies dented by the dear impress, within the 
 room. 
 
 A book once held in fragile hands, 
 
 Has fallen at the touch of doom, 
 Prone, in the silent, empty room. 
 
 A dainty gown across the couch. 
 
 A graceful outline still assumes, 
 But empty as the empty rooms. 
 
 Time, cruel and relentless steals, 
 
 Remorselessly life s dearest boons, 
 And leaves us only empty rooms 
 
 In Breams 
 
 LEAN my head upon your breast 
 The passion and the pain are o er. 
 
 Within your arms at last I rest, 
 
 Regretting nothing gone before. 
 
 I am at peace with life, it seems, 
 You love me but alas! in dreams. 
 
 (16) 
 
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 Autograph Letter from Joaquin Miller. 
 
Co tftc University of California 
 
 OST mecca of my youth, 
 
 Between thy shrine and my sad 
 
 heart, 
 
 1 he years with pallid faces stand 
 And hold us far apart. 
 
 I reached aspiring hands 
 
 Hung ring toward thy "mount of light;" 
 God filled them, measuring not my plans 
 
 He doeth all things right. 
 
 His tasks appointed well, 
 
 To idle heart-break not allied, 
 
 Gave nature as my "Alma Mater" 
 And duty for my guide. 
 
 But echoes of thy fame 
 
 Waft by on wings of memory, 
 And day by day my constant thoughts 
 
 Like prilgrims go to thee. 
 
 Co 3oaqum Iflilkr 
 
 PON The Heights he sings today - 
 i The first light of a dawn which brings 
 The morning of Eternity, 
 Has turned his golden locks to gray. 
 As noontides glow, and evenings pale, 
 He dreams; and watches while he sings, 
 The ships white sail; the gull s white wings. 
 He strikes his hand across the strings 
 The song of birds, the sound of rills 
 Wakes from his lyre, and sweetly thrills 
 Each listening heart with Strange desire, 
 To turn from sordid things away, 
 Where far from traffic, toil and strife, 
 He dares to live a poet s life. 
 
 (17) 
 
One Easter Day 
 
 NE Easter Day my sweetheart took my 
 
 hand 
 And led me back to youth s bewitching 
 
 land; 
 
 He said: "Forget the sorrows you have known, 
 Forget that grief has left you sad and lone; 
 Turn from the shadows of the silent tomb, 
 Come back with me, among the flowers that 
 
 bloom, 
 
 Hope s star has risen let your heart respond 
 To every impulse that is pure and fond; 
 Be glad that midway on lifes s journey met, 
 My love can make you all your cares forget, 
 This Easier Day." 
 
 I turned and looked into his eyes of blue, 
 I saw a soul so steadfast and so true, 
 A nature loving, and so sweet and rare, 
 That none with him in this world can com 
 pare; 
 
 I learned that I may all my woes forget 
 That life for me, indeed, holds gladness yet. 
 Sweetheart sweetheart! Then keep my 
 
 heart and hand, 
 I walk with you through time s most wond - 
 
 rous land, 
 The sunshine of your smile makes glad my 
 
 heart, 
 
 The storms are over, and all fears depart, 
 Dear eyes sweet lips come close, and 
 
 closer yet, 
 All else forgotton yes, I do forget 
 
 This Easter Day. 
 
 (18) 
 
Tn October 
 
 WALK with bland October 
 The forest she attires, 
 
 With golden leaf, and scarlet leaf, 
 And russets she admires. 
 
 Far down the dusky canyon, 
 
 Where all should be so sere, 
 I catch the gleam of forest fires 
 
 The incense of the year, 
 Burning before the altar, 
 
 Where stands the chaliced wine 
 Of all the days the perfect days, 
 
 Of your dear life and mine. 
 
 I walk with bland October 
 
 The forest she adorns, 
 With a thousand shades of evening, 
 
 And the light of golden morns, 
 The quail calls from the thicket, 
 
 And the wild canaries sing, 
 Their plaintive song the dearest song, 
 
 The song of vanished spring. 
 The year is almost gone, dear heart, 
 
 But I bless these later days 
 While I walk with bland October, 
 
 Through all her wondrous ways. 
 
 (19) 
 
Jit the Threshold or 3unc 
 
 N a riot of fragrance and blossoms, 
 At the wonderful threshold of June, 
 I am here; with the blooms all about me, 
 And the wind, just a wave of perfume. 
 
 A robin calls, down in the hollow, 
 Where the shade is so grateful and deep, 
 And the swale grass bends over the water, 
 That seems, in the silence, asleep. 
 
 Far up in a stately madrone, 
 
 Where branch and bough, summerlong swings, 
 
 So glad, with exultant existence, 
 
 By its nest, an oriole sings. 
 
 The bee hovers over the mallow, 
 
 And hums as he gathers his tithe 
 
 In the heart of the flowers, sure of treasure, 
 
 That he garners away in his hive. 
 
 The things that fail not are around me, 
 The long years have brought them no loss, 
 And the days, like a chain linked between us, 
 Time and distance, is reaching across. 
 
 And 1 count them, to measure their fullness, 
 With sudden tears dimming my sight; 
 For they bring me to these, that are empty, 
 In spite of things fragrant and bright. 
 
 And the song of the bird is a burden, 
 And the flowers sweet with perfume and dew, 
 Break my heart, with their sense of perfection, 
 Because I want you only you. 
 
 All else seems to have its fulfillment, 
 And to be but to bless and adorn, 
 But without you, the world is a desert, 
 And my life, incomplete and forlorn. 
 
 (20) 
 
f. , s?/ 
 
memorial Poem Upon the Death of General 
 
 U. S. Grant 
 
 Fcad by the Jfutbor at the Services at Ukiab, mendocino County, 
 California, JJugust $, iws 
 
 HO has not stood within the chilling 
 
 gloom, 
 Where some bright pathway ended at 
 
 the tomb, 
 
 And from its portal could no longer trace 
 A future-blank, for want of one loved face? 
 Then dazed and broken, blindly faltering back, 
 Resumed the round of life s repellent track? 
 What family circle has not broken been 
 By this decree, provoked by man s firs! sin? 
 This awful mystery; whose fingers cold 
 Can touch impartially the young or old, 
 Point out the fairesl: for the fatal dart, 
 And still the beating of the noblest heart. 
 No pride of station and no boast of power 
 Prolongs a life for even one short hour. 
 The cottager, or claimant of a throne, 
 On God s great mercy both depend alone; 
 No other power, at last, endures to save. 
 And all distinctions level in the grave. 
 Toil s implement the monarch s royal crown, 
 At that dark threshold are alike laid down. 
 We come as beggars from the Master s hand, 
 And at life s close, we still as suppliant s 
 
 stand 
 
 Oh ! may His mercy, like a mantle fall 
 At that dread hour, in charity, on all. 
 What, though our burdens be of pain and 
 
 care, 
 So great they seem, more than the heart can 
 
 bear; 
 
 (21) 
 
Be patient still, we all will lay them soon 
 Down by the portals of the quiet tomb; 
 And in the silence of that awful shade, 
 How many a fault to nothingness will fade. 
 The hoarded treasures of the countless years 
 Have been resigned before that shrine of tears. 
 For there, each heart has said a last "good-by," 
 And broken there is every earthly tie 
 And when we hold the wreaths that triumph 
 
 gave, 
 We all turn back to lay them on some grave. 
 
 What meed of praise what tribute shall we 
 
 pay 
 
 To him the nation meets to mourn today? 
 Who danger s gauntlet oft in safety ran; 
 Who lived a hero, but to die a man. 
 He was but human but his faults were few; 
 His life was honest, and his purpose true. 
 Blame not that noble one, that fortune led 
 His feet where war had made the pathway 
 
 red 
 
 His country called; he did her grief assuage, 
 And saved America her heritage. 
 Where wrong has been, alone, God knoweth 
 
 best, 
 
 And there alone His punishment will rest. 
 But no just thought confuses now with him 
 That awful scourging of a people s sin. 
 Over his coffin sorrowing today, 
 Bow d are the vet rans of the blue and gray, 
 Over his grave, unworthy strife will cease, 
 And North and South clasp hands in lasting 
 
 peace. 
 The flag, whose honor he has saved, hangs 
 
 low; 
 And all the land is draped in signs of woe; 
 
 (22) 
 
And many a cheek with honest tsars is v/et, 
 
 Now, that at last his star of life is set. 
 
 But though the flowers we bring be doomed 
 
 to fade, 
 And loving hands that weave them shall be 
 
 laid 
 
 I o moulder back into the common clay, 
 Forgotten like the tributes of this day 
 He leaves one thing, that will not be forgot, 
 To live immortal in the people s thought. 
 When liberty, enlightening the world, 
 All false usurpers from their thrones has 
 
 hurled; 
 
 When creeds no more perplex fanatic fools, 
 Who live by rote, and worship God by rules; 
 When parties die and prejudice is dead 
 And igorance, and in their narrow stead, 
 A people live, by truth and reason led 
 A Christian people o er the whole earth spread, 
 Then will the greatness of this man be known; 
 Though back to dust the monumental stone 
 Has crumbled, his memory will shine 
 Throughout the ages of all coming time. 
 So fear not now, within the Nation s sight, 
 This glorious epitaph of him to write: 
 
 He leaves, emblazoned on the scroll of fame, 
 The matchless splendor of a deathless name. 
 
 (23) 
 
my Sbrinc 
 
 ROSE, and the red wine there beside 
 And the waxen taper burning slow, 
 With the olden flame of long ago, 
 Before the Face of the Crucified. 
 
 The fume of incense within the room, 
 An echo of music pulsing through, 
 While thronging memories of you, 
 People the purple twilight s gloom. 
 
 Why bend the knee? When here apart, 
 The soul is bowed; and bending low, 
 Over the dreams of long ago, 
 Broods a broken and contrite heart. 
 
 Here in the waxen taper s shine, 
 
 I guard my shrine through the waning years, 
 
 Where the offerings are silent tears 
 
 The Face, and the rose and the chaliced wine. 
 
 "IWy Eifels Devoted to memories of Son" 
 
 SAILED beneath a burning sun, 
 By coral reefs and isles of balm, 
 Where orange groves and silvery palm 
 By faint spice winds were gently fanned, 
 Until I readied a tropic land. 
 And with three thousand miles between 
 The shores, whereon two oceans fret, 
 I bravely said, "I will forget," 
 And there beneath the Southern Cross 
 I crept out in the breathless night; 
 My heart was breaking, and the 3lars 
 Shone dimly on my fevered sight 
 Ah! vain is change of time or place; 
 In heaven itself I see thy face! 
 
 (24) 
 
Co my Children 
 
 FLOWERS! that on the stream of life, 
 
 So recklessly I cast; 
 
 To drift upon the tide of time, 
 
 Beneath skies overcast. 
 Helpless I stand upon the shore, 
 The current will not stay, 
 Beyond my reach beyond my sight, 
 I watch you drift away. 
 The arms that held you once, with joy, 
 Are empty now, and all 
 The treasures that the years have left, 
 Are touched by rust and gall, 
 The yew tree stands where roses bloomed, 
 In ways we journeyed through, 
 I drank your laughter then, like wine 
 Your tears are myrrh and rue. 
 Your tiny bodies were so dear, 
 Held close against my heart, 
 But time has racked them with it s pain, 
 And we are far apart, 
 It seemed the sunshine on your hair, 
 Could never fade away 
 The cruel years have dimmed the light, 
 And touched the curls with gray. 
 Your little hands so soft and sweet, 
 Touched all the chords of life, 
 Till wakened was the wondrous song, 
 That silenced every strife, 
 But now those hands are worn by toil, 
 Along life s busy ways 
 I cannot kiss the hurts away, 
 As in those happier days. 
 But at your feet, in thought, I kneel, 
 In silent, abject woe 
 
 (25) 
 
The deepest sorrow life can give, 
 And only mothers know 
 Remembering that because of me, 
 You suffer and you live, 
 O er time and space that separate, 
 I ask you to forgive. 
 
 Cbe Eyre of Sreece 
 
 airmen lifter a Uisit to tbe 6reek Pavilion at tbe 
 Panama-Pacific exposition 
 
 WENT to Greece and saw its broken 
 shrines, 
 
 Where all its splendor lies prone in the 
 
 dust, 
 
 Mute witness to the wrongs of other years, 
 In cruel tracery of blood and tears, 
 Recorded by the hands of Greed and Lust. 
 And every broken image seemed to bleed, 
 From wounds that reach into the heart of things, 
 Where ages have not cured, 
 Pain and silence long endured, 
 Where lies the Lyre of Greece with broken 
 
 strings. 
 
 For in this Classic Clime, the lovliest and best, 
 Were broken on the wheel of baser things, 
 At deep and tragic cost, 
 Its Sapphic Verse was lost, 
 Where lies the Lyre of Greece with broken 
 
 strings. 
 
 But may the dream of one* who loved her well, 
 And died; where even desolation sings 
 Inspire the hands that build, 
 The fanes restored and filled, 
 With the music from that Lyre of broken 
 
 strings. 
 
 * Byron 
 
 (26) 
 
Good Triday 
 
 HIS day the Savior died suffered the 
 
 Crucified, 
 
 Yet could His failing eyes see the re- 
 pentant s tear, 
 
 Saying: "In Paradise thou shalt with Me 
 
 appear." 
 "Father, forgive!" He prayed; such blessed 
 
 words He said; 
 "They know not what they do." This in the 
 
 face of death, 
 This for His enemies, asked with His latest 
 
 breath. 
 Yet do His children now, turn from His face 
 
 and bow, 
 Not to this lowly one; down to strange gods 
 
 beside, 
 And in their lust and pride, still is He cruci 
 
 fied. 
 
 How long will they profane His pure and 
 
 sacred name? 
 
 Placing His holy sign, His emblems so divine, 
 In midst of mockery, on each unhallowed 
 
 shrine? 
 
 "I thirst !" to each poor heart, struck by some 
 
 poisoned dart, 
 Treading the narrow way ready to faint and 
 
 fall, 
 To the parched lips that cry, earth gives her 
 
 bitter gall. 
 Oh, let us kneel today; kneel in the dust and 
 
 Close to His bleeding feet; seeking our soul s 
 relief 
 
 (27) 
 
In deep repentant grief e en like the dying 
 thief: 
 
 Jesus, the "Prince of Peace ," ivhen shall the 
 striving cease? 
 
 Dark roll the waves of death; can we the cur 
 rent stem? 
 
 Seeing at last Thy face touching Thy gar 
 ment s hem? 
 
 Forgive each idle word, Thy outraged ears 
 have heard, 
 
 Each sinful act forgive; into Thy hands re 
 ceive 
 
 At death our sorrowing souls, that they may 
 live. 
 
 This day the Savior died suffered the Cruci 
 fied; 
 
 Yet He, the suppliant, heard, and He could 
 pitying see; 
 
 Saying: "In Paradise, today, thou shalt be 
 with Me." 
 
 fllosie 
 
 WATCH a schooner steam out to the 
 west 
 
 Far out, to the sunset lands 
 
 But you are away, and my heart s unrest, 
 Shadows the sea and sands. 
 The golden glory fades from the sky, 
 And the waves are a sullen gray, 
 And I miss you so, and the future gives, 
 No pledge of a brighter day. 
 I love the changing, yet steadfast sea, 
 Soundless, or tossed to foam, 
 In moods so like the faithful heart, 
 That, for your sake, is alone. 
 
 (28) 
 
"fllterwards" 
 
 PALE, sweet face! Believe me I 
 
 know I understand 
 Even though ocean-parted, and parted 
 
 by the land, 
 Longing and broken-hearted for touch of lip 
 or hand. 
 
 O, voice! to me the sweetest that I have ever 
 heard 
 
 And dearer than the music of wind or sing 
 ing bird, 
 
 You need not break the silence, e en by a 
 written word. 
 
 You have blest me, and forever, by look and 
 
 touch and tone, 
 And time can rob me never, nor make you 
 
 less my own, 
 Although without your presence, I am bereft 
 
 alone. 
 
 I trust you; ocean-parted, and parted by the 
 land, 
 
 Wild for the old caresses, of cheek, or lip, or 
 hand 
 
 I love you O, I love you ! I know and under 
 stand. 
 
 (29) 
 
m Oe giiff 
 
 ETWEEN the sand dunes and the sea, 
 Clasped in his arms my love kissed me, 
 Back of us far the city lay, 
 Before us dashed the salt sea spray. 
 
 Dim was the moon with the trailing mist, 
 Creeping inland silver-kissed, 
 What did the wild night mean for me, 
 Between the sand dunes and the sea! 
 
 Only this my love, my own 
 Sad and deep as the ocean s tone, 
 Dashed like the w r aves in the breaker s strife 
 Tossed and wasted, and worn my life. 
 
 At the base of a cliff as merciless, 
 As this one touched by the foam s caress, 
 Where waves of feeling on life s long strand, 
 Have died unheeded, on barren sand. 
 
 Blame me not, that I drifted back, 
 Forgetting all that my life must lack, 
 A brief sweet while, on the tide of time, 
 Touching, and blending your life and mine. 
 
 Heart of my heart I love you so, 
 How shall I tell you? How can you know? 
 All that evening has meant to me, 
 Between the sand dunes and the sea. 
 
 SurirnierfancS 
 
 SEE the fields of Summerland, 
 Flower-spangled through the fragrant 
 
 green, 
 
 1 long to reach the fair expanse, 
 But something lies between 
 Between my heart and Summerland, 
 Lost youth, and all my dreams of truth, 
 
 (30) 
 
Between my heart and Summerland. 
 
 I see the fields of Summerland, 
 
 I hear the lark s clear song of love, 
 
 Where on the waves of perfume comes, 
 
 The soft call of the dove 
 
 But something lies between, 
 
 A grief untold, the grave s dark mould, 
 
 Between my heart and Summerland. 
 
 I see the fields of Summerland, 
 
 And you are there O, you are there, 
 
 Of all so beautiful, the best; 
 
 You beckon, but I do not dare, 
 
 To cross the things that lie between, 
 
 A cruel fate, has closed the gate 
 
 Between my heart and Summerland. 
 
 esiene 
 
 WONDERFUL soul and a heart of 
 
 flame, 
 
 Dwelt for a time in an earthly frame; 
 I saw the soul in the shining eyes, 
 And knew that it longed for Paradise. 
 
 Graceful and slender beyond compare 
 Was the winsome garment it used to wear; 
 Too frail for the conflict of worldy strife, 
 And the barren years of our common life. 
 
 For the problem of living is tangled yet, 
 The pathways hedged, and the haunts beset, 
 By cruel things, that when defied, 
 Swell the ranks of the crucified. 
 
 So the wonderful soul with consuming pain 
 Rent the garment and heart of flame, 
 But somewhere in Heaven I know is seen, 
 The spirit that here was called Eilene. 
 
 (31) 
 
J\ Ectter 
 
 WAY from you, dear-heart, I do not live, 
 Time only drags upon a broken 
 
 wing, 
 
 The dove that cleft, so soon, my cloud 
 ed sky, 
 Brings back to me, no peaceful offering. 
 
 Along the way, the lark sang through the 
 
 morn, 
 And grape, and wild rose blooms were 
 
 sweet with dew, 
 
 Of all the world, I seemed the most forlorn, 
 Because I wanted you just only you. 
 
 I am as tired tonight, as any child, 
 
 And long to nestle near a faithful heart, 
 
 Within the clasp of arms that evermore, 
 
 Henceforth, should hold me from the 
 world apart. 
 
 There is no peace, in life, for me again, 
 
 A restless round must fill declining days, 
 
 Because you loved me, and I loved you so, 
 
 While time, relentless, brought the part 
 ing ways. 
 
 Away from you, dearheart, I do not live, 
 
 Though all the world is radiant with the 
 
 spring, 
 
 The dove that cleft, for aye, my troubled sky 
 Left but the phantom of her peaceful 
 wing. 
 
 (32) 
 
flntc mortem 
 
 HEN this strange garment that my soul 
 
 has worn 
 Has burned away beneath the fitful 
 
 flashes, 
 Of that wild fever that no cure has known, 
 
 Until the heart consumes to coldest ashes, 
 "Life s fitful fever," burning with such loss 
 Of thought and feeling earth s diviner 
 
 treasure, 
 So many precious things among the dross, 
 
 Their value would a life-time take to 
 
 measure. 
 When "dust to dust" a strange voice softly 
 
 says, 
 
 And sadly drop the valley clods above me, 
 While telling o er the events of my days, 
 
 Amid the tears of those who think they 
 
 love me; 
 If they could know the seeming endless pain, 
 
 That I had passed beyond and died, 
 They would not, surely, wish me back again, 
 Where all that s Christ-like still is cruci 
 fied. 
 
 That priceless debt the world cannot repay 
 A child s lost faith in all its vain assur 
 ance, 
 
 The hope that turns toward a brighter day, 
 Through months of toil, and patience, 
 and endurance, 
 
 This is the sum, too oft, through changing 
 
 years, 
 Of sacrifice no words may fitly tell; 
 
 And so, despite the most regretful tears, 
 We sleep, "after life s fitful fever," well. 
 
 (33) 
 
I have so suffered thus a glad relief 
 
 Seems possible; and now, as time is 
 
 fleeting, 
 I look where Death stands, just beyond my 
 
 grief, 
 And know that there no pulse of pain is 
 
 beating; 
 
 Where sin, ingratitude, and pride and lust, 
 That have so marred the frail thing I am 
 
 wearing, 
 Lying beside that poor handful of dust, 
 
 Are left at last, while I go on uncaring. 
 
 Death of President 
 
 "Tt T$ 6od $ Ulav" 
 
 HE roll of drums, the tolling of the bells, 
 The frailty of life sublimely tells 
 How vain how transient and how 
 
 brief is power; 
 It all is vanquished in death s solemn hour. 
 "I cannot let him go." Love, shrinking cried; 
 "God s will, not ours be done," he said, and 
 
 died. 
 
 O, brave, true heart! Such faith can time defy, 
 All else may change, but truth can never die. 
 
 Wise is that Providence he trusted in, 
 Wiser and mightier than wrong and sin. 
 Living, the country that he served, he blest; 
 Dying, he left it, as his last bequest, 
 The proud example of man s noblest aim, 
 A Christian patriot in life and name. 
 
 (34) 
 
Surrender 
 
 NE who had fled along the way of life, 
 Holding the blossoms of a radiant youth, 
 Lost one by one, the flowers of hope 
 
 and truth, 
 
 Reaching at last the borders of despair. 
 
 Deep in her heart a single crimson rose, 
 
 Hidden and cherished through the lengthen 
 ing days, 
 
 Still had she kept; through all earth s devious 
 ways, 
 
 Fragrant dew-pearled, and still divinely fair. 
 
 Some of its red was folded in her lips, 
 Some of its dew was mingled with her tears, 
 And all its perfume lingered through the 
 
 years, 
 In the bright meshes of her shining hair. 
 
 Until rose-fragrant was her daily life, 
 Filled with all things, that love, and even death 
 Make so immortal; and like the rose s breath, 
 She was herself, still sweet beyond compare. 
 
 And to a land of silence and of dreams, 
 She went forth, finding one she longed to find, 
 Tender and true, and best of all his kind, 
 And her last treasure laid within his hands. 
 
 "Crushed it may be, and even cast aside, 
 
 In life s turmoil, for merciless the noon, 
 
 Of work and strife, but neath this magic 
 
 moon, 
 
 I yield the talisman of love and life." 
 "Fear not," he said, "though long we ve slray- 
 
 ed apart, 
 
 No knight of old more leal than I shall be, 
 This priceless favor that you bring to me, 
 Crushed it shall be; but crushed against my 
 
 heart." 
 
 (35) 
 
BOVE the sounds of strife and care 
 
 Confused and jangled everywhere, 
 
 I hear in tenderest refrain 
 
 The promise that you d come again, 
 The soft winds blow across the world, 
 And sails are filled, and sails are furled; 
 A thousand suns arise and set, 
 Meanwhile in May I m waiting yet. 
 
 (36) 
 
Queen Uictoria from a Olostiaii s Standpoint 
 
 Given by the flutbor at tbe memorial Services field by the 
 Residents of Oroviile, Butte County, California, Tefcruary 2, 
 
 TN contemplating the life and character of 
 Qiieen Victoria from a woman s standpoint 
 we are not so much impressed by the grandeur of 
 her career as a sovereign and her reign as the rul 
 er of a great nation equal at all times to every 
 diplomatic and executive emergency as we are 
 by the tender graces of her exalted womanhood 
 and the example of her brilliant mission as queenly 
 wife and mother; and the ideal and harmonious 
 blending by her of public and private duties, that 
 the world has deemed impossible, because less no 
 ble and more coldly ambitious women have made 
 them seem antagonistic, when they were called to 
 places of great power. As queen, wife and moth 
 er, she has lived a blameless life. With cool head 
 and warm heart, she was equal to all the occasions 
 of human existence. A womanly woman, she fol 
 lowed the dictates of her better impulse, and 
 sought early the protection and counsel of a good 
 and manly man, her equal intellectually, morally 
 and spiritually, and to his companionship she 
 owed much of the perfection of her nature and 
 character. 
 
 CJShe realized, as all wise, good women realize that 
 there is no higher destiny for any woman than to 
 be queen of the heart and home, and mother of the 
 children of the man she respects and loves, and 
 who loves her in truth and honor. The highest 
 compliment that life afforded her was that she 
 was universally beloved by women, being too no 
 ble for their envy, and sweet and simple enough 
 for their emulation. 
 SJThe splendor of her royal crown was dim to 
 
 (37) 
 
her beside the halo of the little golden heads that 
 nestled on her breast; the plaudits of the crowd 
 less precious than her husband s adoring praise. 
 JBy her life and character, royal womanhood 
 has been so exalted, that all coming queens for 
 very shame will not dare to fall below the stand 
 ard she has set. And so the whole wide world 
 is better that she has lived. To time s oblivion, 
 her memory will not pass. That heart which held 
 her own so dear, beat warm for all humanity, with 
 a broad sympathy greater than all pride of place 
 or power greater than even genius and because 
 of suffering and war it has broken, and is sudden 
 ly silent, in the tomb to which we tenderly and 
 tearfully consign her. 
 
 Oey, Coo, flrc But 
 
 J\ monotone 
 
 BEYOND even the control of, "Our Father 
 who art in Heaven/ 9 are those who break, 
 by selfish uses of stolen knowledge, the harmony 
 of wisdom that should have been attained. At 
 war with God and man, they cannot say: "Hal 
 lowed be Thy name. " The conflict between the 
 human and the divine, goes on, and will, until 
 the whole world learns to pray: "^hy kingdom 
 come, Thy will he done, on earth as it is in Heaven. " 
 fJWe know the world is round, and turning 
 on to time s relentless ending. Above us space, 
 and stars and far below illimitable space, and 
 other stars. An instant s loosening of the mighty 
 hand the thought and power that holds us in our 
 course call it attraction if you please and falling 
 
 (38) 
 
worlds would crash through endless space, in 
 chaos indescribable. 
 
 SJThe most intelligent believe that all things 
 tangible must pass away, and only the intangible 
 endure. And yet we strive for the fleeting power 
 that comes with material possessions, and pile up 
 treasures for the moth and rust, where thieves 
 break through and steal. 
 
 Sjjlf perfect faith and trust were ours, we 
 would seek first His kingdom asking only: "Give 
 us this day our daily bread, " and the rest would 
 follow, and be given us. We need, indeed, to 
 cry: "and forgive us our trespasses as We forgive them 
 u)ho trespass against us. " "And lead us not into tempt 
 ation/ for day by day, upon this changing, dying 
 world, the sweat of toil, the tears of agony, the 
 blood of breaking hearts, falls upon the gold that 
 ruthless men accumulate, and history repeats 
 again, and yet again, the stoiy of man s inhuman 
 ity to man. 
 
 jjA.nd yet all are but human. Upon the 
 brow that wears an earthly crown, will gather 
 soon, the dews of death. The proud heart beat 
 ing strong with pride and ambition must fail 
 some day, and faint into silence. The pitiful de 
 pendence of the dying, and the humiliation of 
 dissolution awaits us all, and after the inequalities 
 of life, the level of the grave. And oh, the loss 
 the awful loss, of those who never waken here, but 
 only in eternity. 
 
 CjLet us remember then, with what pitying 
 tenderness we can, those blind to truth, and that 
 the selfish, and the cruel, and the wicked, are also 
 human, and pray God to keep us all nor to for 
 get, "hut deliver us from evil. Amen!" 
 
 (39) 
 
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