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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:47:40 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:47:40 -0700 |
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diff --git a/15862-h/15862-h.htm b/15862-h/15862-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22938e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/15862-h/15862-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5210 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Afterwhiles, by James Whitcomb Riley + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:15%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Afterwhiles, by James Whitcomb Riley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Afterwhiles + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: May 19, 2005 [EBook #15862] +Last Updated: December 29, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTERWHILES *** + + + + +Etext produced by "Teary Eyes" Anderson + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Most of this etext was made with a "Top Scan" text scanner, with a bit +of correcting here and there. Mr. Riley does spell pretty=purty and +such things and have been left as printed, including the first poem +in this book listed as "Proem" on both the contents page and the +page headers, even though in later editions this poem is simply called +"Afterwhiles." In "The South Wind and the Sun" the line is 'Laughed out in +every look.' while in later versions it has the word 'nook', replacing +'look.' The poem "Old Aunt Mary's" is later retitled "Out To Old Aunt +Mary's" and later enlarged by 13 verses. The "In Dalect" section has the ' +to replace a letter that he left out, to make the word sound a certain way, +including words like sure-enuff he writes as sho'-nuff, or He'pless as +helpless and ect. This etext is based on the 1898 edition Published by The +Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis Publishers. "Teary Eyes" Anderson*** + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + AFTERWHILES + </h1> + <h2> + By James Whitcomb Riley + </h2> + <h3> + DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER ELIZABETH + </h3> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>PROEM (AKA "Afterwhiles")</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <i>Herr Weiser</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <i>The Beautiful City</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <i>Lockerbie Street</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <i>Das Krist Kindel</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <i>Anselmo</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <i>A Home-Made Fairy Tale</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <i>The South Wind and the Sun</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <i>The Lost Kiss</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> <i>The Sphinx</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <i>If I knew What Poets Know</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <i>Ike Walton's Prayer</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <i>A Rough Sketch</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> <i>Our Kind of a Man</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> <i>The Harper</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> <i>Old Aunt Mary's</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <i>Illileo</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> <i>The King</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <i>A Bride</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <i>The Dead Lover</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> <i>A Song</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> <i>When Bessie Died</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> <i>The Shower</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> <i>A Life Lesson</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <i>A Scrawl</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> <i>Away</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> <i>Who Bides His Time</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> <i>From the Headboard of a Grave in Paraguay</i> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> <i>Laughter Holding Both His Sides</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> <i>Fame</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> <i>The Ripest Peach</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> <i>A Fruit Piece</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> <i>Their Sweet Sorrow</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> <i>John McKeen</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> <i>Out of Nazareth</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> <i>September Dark</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> <i>We To Sigh Instead of Sing</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> <i>The Blossoms on the Trees</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> <i>Last Night— And This</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> <i>A Discouraging Model</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> <i>Back From a Two-years' Sentence</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> <i>The Wandering Jew</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> <i>Becalmed</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> <i>To Santa Claus</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> <i>Where the Children used to Play</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> <i>A Glimpse of Pan</i> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> <b>SONNETS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> <i>Pan</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> <i>Dusk</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> <i>June</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> <i>Silence</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> <i>Sleep</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> <i>Her Hair</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> <i>Dearth</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> <i>A Voice From the Farm</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> <i>The Serenade</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> <i>Art and Love</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> <i>Longfellow</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> <i>Indiana</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> <i>Time</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> <i>Grant</i> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> <b>IN DIALECT</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> <i>Old Fashioned Roses</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> <i>Griggsby's Station</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> <i>Knee Deep in June</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> <i>When The Hearse Comes Back</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> <i>A Canary At the Farm</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> <i>A Liz Town Humorist</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> <i>Kingry's Mill</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> <i>Joney</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> <i>Like His Mother Used To Make</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> <i>The Train Misser</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> <i>Granny</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> <i>Old October</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> <i>Jim</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> <i>To Robert Burns</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> <i>A New Year's Time at Willards's</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> <i>The Town Karnteel</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> <i>Regardin' Terry Hut</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> <i>Leedle Dutch Baby</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> <i>Down On Wriggle Crick</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> <i>When De Folks Is Gone</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> <i>The Little Town O' Tailholt</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> <i>Little Orphant Annie</i> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROEM (AKA "Afterwhiles") + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Where are they— the Afterwhiles— + Luring us the lengthening miles + Of our lives? Where is the dawn + With the dew across the lawn + Stroked with eager feet the far + Way the hills and valleys are? + Were the sun that smites the frown + Of the eastward-gazer down? + Where the rifted wreaths of mist + O'er us, tinged with amethyst, + Round the mountain's steep defiles? + Where are the afterwhiles? + + Afterwhile— and we will go + Thither, yon, and too and fro— + From the stifling city streets + To the country's cool retreats— + From the riot to the rest + Were hearts beat the placidest: + Afterwhile, and we will fall + Under breezy trees, and loll + In the shade, with thirsty sight + Drinking deep the blue delight + Of the skies that will beguile + Us as children— afterwhile. + + Afterwhile— and one intends + To be gentler to his friends—, + To walk with them, in the hush + Of still evenings, o'er the plush + Of home-leading fields, and stand + Long at parting, hand in hand: + One, in time, will joy to take + New resolves for some one's sake, + And wear then the look that lies + Clear and pure in other eyes— + We will soothe and reconcile + His own conscience— afterwhile. + + Afterwhile— we have in view + A far scene to journey to—, + Where the old home is, and where + The old mother waits us there, + Peering, as the time grows late, + Down the old path to the gate—. + How we'll click the latch that locks + In the pinks and hollyhocks, + And leap up the path once more + Where she waits us at the door—! + How we'll greet the dear old smile, + And the warm tears— afterwhile! + + Ah, the endless afterwhiles—! + Leagues on leagues, and miles on miles, + In distance far withdrawn, + Stretching on, and on, and on, + Till the fancy is footsore + And faints in the dust before + The last milestone's granite face, + Hacked with: Here Beginneth Space. + O far glimmering worlds and wings, + Mystic smiles and beckonings, + Lead us through the shadowy aisles + Out into the afterwhiles. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Herr Weiser</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Herr Weiser—! Three-score-years-and-ten—, + A hale white rose of his country-men, + Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam, + And blossomy as his German home— + As blossomy and as pure and sweet + As the cool green glen of his calm retreat, + Far withdrawn from the noisy town + Where trade goes clamoring up and down, + Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife, + May not trouble his tranquil life! + + Breath of rest, what a balmy gust—! + Quite of the city's heat and dust, + Jostling down by the winding road, + Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode—. + Tether the horse, as we onward fare + Under the pear-trees trailing there, + And thumping the wood bridge at night + With lumps of ripeness and lush delight, + Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn, + Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon. + + Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face, + And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace + Of unassuming honesty, + Be there to welcome you and me! + And what though the toil of the farm be stopped + And the tireless plans of the place be dropped, + While the prayerful master's knees are set + In beds of pansy and mignonette + And lily and aster and columbine, + Offered in love, as yours and mine—? + + What, but a blessing of kindly thought, + Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not—! + What, but a spirit of lustrous love + White as the aster he bends above—! + What, but an odorous memory + Of the dear old man, made known to me + In days demanding a help like his—, + As sweet as the life of the lily is— + As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise + Born of a lily in paradise. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Beautiful City</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Beautiful City! Forever + Its rapturous praises resound; + We fain would behold it— but never + A glimpse of its dory is found: + We slacken our lips at the tender + White breasts of our mothers to hear + Of its marvellous beauty and splendor—; + We see— but the gleam of a tear! + + Yet never the story may tire us— + First graven in symbols of stone— + Rewritten on scrolls of papyrus + And parchment, and scattered and blown + By the winds of the tongues of all nations, + Like a litter of leaves wildly whirled + Down the rack of a hundred translations, + From the earliest lisp of the world. + + We compass the earth and the ocean, + From the Orient's uttermost light, + To where the last ripple in motion + Lips hem of the skirt of the night—, + But the Beautiful City evades us— + No spire of it glints in the sun— + No glad-bannered battlement shades us + When all our Journey is done. + + Where lies it? We question and listen; + We lean from the mountain, or mast, + And see but dull earth, or the glisten + Of seas inconceivably vast: + The dust of the one blurs our vision, + The glare of the other our brain, + Nor city nor island Elysian + In all of the land or the main! + + We kneel in dim fanes where the thunders + Of organs tumultuous roll, + And the longing heart listens and wonders, + And the eyes look aloft from the soul: + But the chanson grows fainter and fainter, + Swoons wholly away and is dead; + AND our eyes only reach where the painter + Has dabbled a saint overhead. + + The Beautiful City! O mortal, + Fare hopefully on in thy quest, + Pass down through the green grassy portal + That leads to the Valley of Rest; + There first passed the One who, in pity + Of all thy great yearning, awaits + To point out The Beautiful City, + And loosen the trump at the gates. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Lockerbie Street</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Such a dear little street it is, nestled away + From the noise of the city and heat of the day, + In cool shady coverts of whispering trees, + With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze + Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet + With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street! + + There is such a relief, from the clangor and din + Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in + Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering shade + Of the trees waving over the long promenade, + And littering lightly the ways of our feet + With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street. + + And the nights that come down the dark pathways of dusk, + With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk + In their moon-woven raiments, bespangled with dews, + And looped up with lilies for lovers to use + In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat + Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street. + + O my Lockerbie street! You are fair to be seen— + Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene + Afternoon of the night— you are one to my heart, + And I love you above all the phrases of art, + For no language could frame and no lips could repeat + My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Das Krist Kindel</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight + Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night; + And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne—" + The old split-bottomed rocker— and was musing all alone. + + I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door, + And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor; + But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream + That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream. + + Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar, + With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star—; + And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away, + With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh. + + And in a vision, painted like a picture in the air, + I saw the elfish figure, of a man with frosty hair— + A quaint old man that chuckled with a laugh as he appeared, + And with ruddy cheeks like embers in the ashes of his beard. + + He poised himself grotesquely, in an attitude of mirth, + On a damask-covered hassock that was sitting on the hearth; + And at a magic signal of his stubbly little thumb, + I saw the fireplace changing to a bright proscenium. + + And looking there, I marvelled as I saw a mimic stage + Alive with little actors of a very tender age; + And some so very tiny that they tottered as they walked, + And lisped and purled and gurgled like the brooklets, when they talked. + + And their faces were like lilies, and their eyes like purest dew, + And their tresses like the shadows that the shine is woven through; + And they each had little burdens, and a little tale to tell + Of fairy lore, and giants, and delights delectable. + + And they mixed and intermingled, weaving melody with joy, + Till the magic circle clustered round a blooming baby-boy; + And they threw aside their treasures in an ecstasy of glee, + And bent, with dazzled faces and with parted lips, to see. + + 'Twas a wondrous little fellow, with a dainty double-chin + And chubby-cheeks, and dimples for the smiles to blossom in; + And he looked as ripe and rosy, on his bed of straw and reeds, + As a mellow little pippin that had tumbled in the weeds. + + And I saw the happy mother, and a group surrounding her + That knelt with costly presents of frankincense and myrrh; + And I thrilled with awe and wonder, as a murmur on the air + Came drifting o'er the hearing in a melody of prayer—: + + By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, + And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee, + We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee + And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee. + + Thy messenger has spoken, and our doubts have fled and gone + As the dark and spectral shadows of the night before the dawn; + And in kindly shelter of the light around us drawn, + We would nestle down forever in the breast we lean upon. + + You have given us a shepherd— You have given us a guide, + And the light of Heaven grew dimmer when You sent him from Your side—, + But he comes to lead Thy children where the gates will open wide + To welcome his returning when his works are glorified. + + By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, + And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee—, + We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee + And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee. + + Then the vision, slowly failing, with the words of the refrain, + Fell swooning in the moonlight through the frosty window-pane; + And I heard the clock proclaiming, like an eager sentinel + Who brings the world good tidings—, "It is Christmas— all is well!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Anselmo</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Years did I vainly seek the good Lord's grace—, + Prayed, fasted, and did penance dire and dread; + Did kneel, with bleeding knees and rainy face, + And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head; + Yea, still with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed, + Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked insanely; + And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made, + And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly! + + A time, from out of swoon I lifted eye, + To find a wretched outcast, gray and grim, + Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh, + And I did pray God's grace might rest on him—. + Then, lo! A gentle voice fell on mine ears— + "Thou shalt not sob in suppliance hereafter; + Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears, + And lift them, white and pure with love and laughter!" + + So is it now for all men else I pray; + So is it I am blest and glad alway. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Home-Made Fairy Tale</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bud, come here to your uncle a spell, + And I'll tell you something you mustn't tell— + For it's a secret and shore-'nuf true, + And maybe I oughtn't to tell it to you—! + But out in the garden, under the shade + Of the apple-trees, where we romped and played + Till the moon was up, and you thought I'd gone + Fast asleep—, That was all put on! + For I was a-watchin' something queer + Goin' on there in the grass, my dear—! + 'Way down deep in it, there I see + A little dude-Fairy who winked at me, + And snapped his fingers, and laughed as low + And fine as the whine of a mus-kee-to! + I kept still— watchin' him closer— and + I noticed a little guitar in his hand, + Which he leant 'ginst a little dead bee— and laid + His cigarette down on a clean grass-blade, + And then climbed up on the shell of a snail— + Carefully dusting his swallowtail— + And pulling up, by a waxed web-thread, + This little guitar, you remember. I said! + And there he trinkled and trilled a tune—, + "My Love, so Fair, Tans in the Moon!" + Till presently, out of the clover-top + He seemed to be singing to, came k'pop! + The purtiest, daintiest Fairy face + In all this world, or any place! + Then the little ser'nader waved his hand, + As much as to say, "We'll excuse you!" and + I heard, as I squinted my eyelids to, + A kiss like the drip of a drop of dew! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The South Wind and the Sun</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O The South Wind and the Sun! + How each loved the other one + Full of fancy—- full folly— + Full of jollity and fun! + How they romped and ran about, + Like two boys when school is out, + With glowing face, and lisping lip, + Low laugh, and lifted shout! + + And the South Wind— he was dressed + With a ribbon round his breast + That floated, flapped and fluttered + In a riotous unrest, + And a drapery of mist + From the shoulder and the wrist + Flowing backward with the motion + Of the waving hand he kissed. + + And the Sun had on a crown + Wrought of gilded thistle-down, + And a scarf of velvet vapor, + And a ravelled-rainbow gown; + And his tinsel-tangled hair, + Tossed and lost upon the air, + Was glossier and flossier + Than any anywhere. + + And the South Wind's eyes were two + Little dancing drops of dew, + As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips, + And blew and blew and blew! + And the Sun's— like diamond-stone, + Brighter yet than ever known, + As he knit his brows and held his breath, + And shone and shone and shone! + + And this pair of merry fays + Wandered through the summer days; + Arm-in-arm they went together + Over heights of morning haze— + Over slanting slopes of lawn + They went on and on and on, + Where the daisies looked like star-tracks + Trailing up and down the dawn. + + And where'er they found the top + Of a wheat-stalk droop and lop + They chucked it underneath the chin + And praised the lavish crop, + Till it lifted with the pride + Of the heads it grew beside, + And then the South Wind and the Sun + Went onward satisfied. + + Over meadow-lands they tripped, + Where the dandelions dipped + In crimson foam of clover-bloom, + And dripped and dripped and dripped; + And they clinched the bumble-stings, + Gauming honey on their wings, + And bundling them in lily-bells, + With maudlin murmurings. + + And the humming-bird that hung + Like a jewel up among + The tilted honeysuckle-horns, + They mesmerized, and swung + In the palpitating air, + Drowsed with odors strange and rare, + And with whispered laughter, slipped away, + And left him hanging there. + + And they braided blades of grass + Where the truant had to pass; + And they wriggled through the rushes + And the reeds of the morass, + Where they danced, in rapture sweet, + O'er the leaves that laid a street + Of undulant mosaic for + The touches of their feet. + + By the brook with mossy brink + Where the cattle came to drink. + They trilled and piped and whistled + With the thrush and bobolink, + Till the kine in listless pause, + Switched their tails in mute applause, + With lifted heads and dreamy eyes, + And bubble-dripping jaws. + + And where the melons grew, + Streaked with yellow, green and blue + These jolly sprites went wandering + Through spangled paths of dew; + And the melons, here and there, + They made love to, everywhere + Turning their pink souls to crimson + With caresses fond and fair. + + Over orchard walls they went, + Where the fruited boughs were bent + Till they brushed the sward beneath them + Where the shine and shadow blent; + And the great green pear they shook + Till the sallow hue forsook + Its features, and the gleam of gold + Laughed out in every look. + + And they stroked the downy cheek + Of the peach, and smoothed it sleek, + And flushed it into splendor; + And with many an elfish freak, + Gave the russet's rust a wipe— + Prankt the rambo with a stripe, + And the wine-sap blushed its reddest + As they spanked the pippins ripe. + + Through the woven ambuscade + That the twining vines had made, + They found the grapes, in clusters, + Drinking up the shine and shade— + Plumpt like tiny skins of wine, + With a vintage so divine + That the tongue of fancy tingled + With the tang of muscadine. + + And the golden-banded bees, + Droning o'er the flowery leas, + They bridled, reigned, and rode away + Across the fragrant breeze, + Till in hollow oak and elm + They had groomed and stabled them + In waxen stalls oozed with dews + Of rose and lily-stem. + + Where the dusty highway leads, + High above the wayside weeds + They sowed the air with butterflies + Like blooming flower-seeds, + Till the dull grasshopper sprung + Half a man's height up, and hung + Tranced in the heat, with whirring wings, + And sung and sung and sung! + + And they loitered, hand in hand, + Where the snipe along the sand + Of the river ran to meet them + As the ripple meets the land, + Till the dragon-fly, in light + Gauzy armor, burnished bright, + Came tilting down the waters + In a wild, bewildered flight. + + And they heard the killdee's call, + And afar, the waterfall, + But the rustle of a falling leaf + They heard above it all; + And the trailing willow crept + Deeper in the tide that swept + The leafy shallop to the shore, + And wept and wept and wept! + + And the fairy vessel veered + From its moorings— tacked and steered + For the centre of the current + Sailed away and disappeared: + And the burthen that it bore + From the long-enchanted shore— + "Alas! The South Wind and the Sun!" + I murmur evermore. + + For the South Wind and the Sun, + Each so loves the other one, + For all his jolly folly + And frivolity and fun, + That our love for them they weigh + As their fickle fancies may, + And when at last we love them most, + They laugh and sail away. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Lost Kiss</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I put by the half-written poem, + While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, + Writes on—, "Had I words to complete it, + Who'd read it, or who'd understand?" + But the little bare feet on the stairway, + And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, + And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, + Cry up to me over it all. + + So I gather it up— where was broken + The tear-faded thread of my theme, + Telling how, as one night I sat writing, + A fairy broke in on my dream, + A little inquisitive fairy— + My own little girl, with the gold + Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy + Blue eyes of the fairies of old. + + 'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded— + "For was it a moment like this," + I said, "when she knew I was busy, + To come romping in for a kiss—? + Come rowdying up from her mother, + And clamoring there at my knee + For 'One 'ittle kiss for my dolly, + And one 'ittle uzzer for me!" + + God pity, the heart that repelled her, + And the cold hand that turned her away, + And take, from the lips that denied her, + This answerless prayer of to-day! + Take Lord, from my mem'ry forever + That pitiful sob of despair, + And the patter and trip of the little bare feet, + And the one piercing cry on the stair! + + I put by the half-written poem, + While the pen, idly trailed in my hand + Writes on—, "Had I words to complete it + Who'd read it, or who'd understand?" + But the little bare feet on the stairway, + And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, + And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, + Cry up to me over it all. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Sphinx</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I know all about the Sphinx— + I know even what she thinks, + Staring with her stony eyes + Up forever at the skies. + + For last night I dreamed that she + Told me all the mystery— + Why for aeons mute she sat—: + She was just cut out for that! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>If I knew What Poets Know</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If I knew what poets know, + Would I write a rhyme + Of the buds that never blow + In the summer-time ? + Would I sing of golden seeds + Springing up in ironweeds? + And of raindrops turned to snow, + If I knew what poets know? + + Did I know what poets do, + Would I sing a song + Sadder than the pigeon's coo + When the days are long? + Where I found a heart in pain, + I would make it glad again; + And the false should be the true, + Did I know what poets do. + + If I knew what poets know, + I would find a theme + Sweeter than the placid flow + Of the fairest dream: + I would sing of love that lives + On the errors it forgives; + And the world would better grow + If I knew what poets know. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Ike Walton's Prayer</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I crave, dear Lord, + No boundless hoard + Of gold and gear, + Nor jewels fine, + Nor lands, nor kine, + Nor treasure-heaps of anything—. + Let but a little hut be mine + Where at the hearthstone I may hear + The cricket sing, + And have the shine + Of one glad woman's eyes to make, + For my poor sake, + Our simple home a place divine—; + Just the wee cot— the cricket's chirr— + Love and the smiling face of her. + + I pray not for + Great riches, nor + For vast estates and castle-halls—, + Give me to hear the bare footfalls + Of children o'er + An oaken floor + New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread + With but the tiny coverlet + And pillow for the baby's head; + And pray Thou, may + The door stand open and the day + Send ever in a gentle breeze, + With fragrance from the locust-trees, + And drowsy moan of doves, and blur + Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, + With after-hushes of the stir + Of intermingling sounds, and then + The good-wife and the smile of her + Filling the silences again— + The cricket's call + And the wee cot, + Dear Lord of all, + Deny me not! + + I pray not that + Men tremble at + My power of place + And lordly sway—, + I only pray for simple grace + To look my neighbor in the face + Full honestly from day to day— + Yield me his horny palm to hold. + And I'll not pray + For gold—; + The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, + It hath the kingliest smile on earth; + The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, + Hath never need of coronet. + And so I reach, + Dear Lord, to Thee, + And do beseech + Thou givest me + The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr, + Love and the glad sweet face of her! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Rough Sketch</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I caught, for a second, across the crowd— + Just for a second, and barely that— + A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed, + Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim'd hat— + With small gray eyes, of a look as keen + As the long, sharp nose that grew between. + + And I said: 'Tis a sketch of Nature's own, + Drawn i' the dark o' the moon, I swear, + On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown + Hither and thither and everywhere— + With its keen little sinister eyes of gray, + And nose like the beak of a bird of prey! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Our Kind of a Man</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + The kind of a man for you and me! + He faces the world unflinchingly, + And smites, as long as the wrong resists, + With a knuckled faith and force like fists: + He lives the life he is preaching of, + And loves where most is the need of love; + His voice is clear to the deaf man's ears, + And his face sublime through the blind man's tears; + The light shines out where the clouds were dim, + And the widow's prayer goes up for him; + The latch is clicked at the hovel door + And the sick man sees the sun once more, + And out o'er the barren fields he sees + Springing blossoms and waving trees, + Feeling as only the dying may, + That God's own servant has come that way, + Smoothing the path as it still winds on + Through the golden gate where his loved have gone. + + 2 + The kind of a man for me and you! + However little of worth we do + He credits full, and abides in trust + That time will teach us how more is just. + He walks abroad, and he meets all kinds + Of querulous and uneasy minds, + And sympathizing, he shares the pain + Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain; + And knowing this, as we grasp his hand + We are surely coming to understand! + He looks on sin with pitying eyes— + E'en as the Lord, since Paradise—, + Else, should we read, Though our sins should glow + As scarlet, they shall be white as snow—? + And feeling still, with a grief half glad, + That the bad are as good as the good are bad, + He strikes straight out for the Right— and he + Is the kind of a man for you and me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Harper</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Like a drift of faded blossoms + Caught in a slanting rain, + His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp + In a tremulous refrain: + + Patter and tinkle, and drip and drip! + Ah! But the chords were rainy sweet! + And I closed my eyes and I bit my lip, + As he played there in the street. + + Patter, and drip, and tinkle! + And there was the little bed + In the corner of the garret, + And the rafters overhead! + + And there was the little window— + Tinkle, and drip, and drip—! + The rain above, and a mother's love, + And God's companionship! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Old Aunt Mary's</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine, + In those old days of the lost sunshine + Of youth— when the Saturday's chores were through, + And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen too, + And we went visiting, "me and you," + Out to Old Aunt Mary's? + + It all comes back so clear to-day! + Though I am as bald as you are gray— + Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane, + We patter along in the dust again, + As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, + Out to Old Aunt Mary's! + + We cross the pasture, and through the wood + Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, + Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry, + And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing" sky + And lolled and circled, as we went by + Out to Old Aunt Mary's. + + And then in the dust of the road again; + And the teams we met, and the countrymen; + And the long highway, with sunshine spread + As thick as butter on country bread, + Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead + Out to Old Aunt Mary's. + + Why, I see her now in the open door, + Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er + The clapboard roof—! And her face— ah, me! + Wasn't it good for a boy to see— + And wasn't it good for a boy to be + Out to Old Aunt Mary's? + + The jelly— the Jam and the marmalade, + And the cherry and quince "preserves'' she made! + And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, + With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare—! + And the more we ate was the more to spare, + Out to Old Aunt Mary's! + + And the old spring-house in the cool green gloom + Of the willow-trees—, and the cooler room + Where the swinging-shelves and the crocks were kept— + Where the cream in a golden languor slept + While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept— + Out to Old Aunt Mary's. + + And O my brother, so far away, + This is to tell you she waits to-day + To welcome us—: Aunt Mary fell + Asleep this morning, whispering— "Tell + The boys to come!" And all is well + Out to Old Aunt Mary's. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Illileo</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Illileo, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales— + The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scattered scales; + The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails, + And all your words were sweeter than the notes of nightingales. + + Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, + With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved of stone, + There came to me no murmur of the fountain's undertone + So mystically, musically mellow as your own. + + You whispered low, Illileo— so low the leaves were mute, + And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's vain pursuit; + And there died the distant dalliance of the serenader's lute: + And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the fruit. + + Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, + What were all the worlds above me since I found you thus in this—? + Let them reeling reach to win me— even Heaven I would miss, + Grasping earthward—! I would cling here, though I clung by just a kiss. + + And blossoms should grow odorless— and lilies all aghast— + And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast, + Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last—. + So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past. + + IIlileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws + Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, + A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose + Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The King</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They rode right out of the morning sun— + A glimmering, glittering cavalcade + Of knights and ladies and every one + In princely sheen arrayed; + And the king of them all, O he rode ahead, + With a helmet of gold, and a plume of red + That spurted about in the breeze and bled + In the bloom of the everglade. + + And they rode high over the dewy lawn, + With brave, glad banners of every hue + That rolled in ripples, as they rode on + In splendor, two and two; + And the tinkling links of the golden reins + Of the steeds they rode rang such refrains + As the castanets in a dream of Spain's + Intensest gold and blue. + + And they rode and rode; and the steeds they neighed + And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides + Flickered and lightened and glanced and played + Like the moon on rippling tides; + + And their manes were silken, and thick and strong, + And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long, + And jostled in time to the teeming throng, + And their knightly song besides. + + Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur, + And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild + In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her + As one at a wilful child—, + And as knight and lady away they flew, + And the banners flapped, and the falcon too, + And the lances flashed and the bugle blew, + He kissed his hand and smiled. + + And then, like a slanting sunlit shower, + The pageant glittered across the plain, + And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower + Was only a crimson stain. + And a dreamer's eyes they are downward cast, + As he blends these words with the wailing blast: + "It is the King of the Year rides past!" + And Autumn is here again. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Bride</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O I am weary!" she sighed, as her billowy + Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold + That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy, + Graceful and fair as a goddess of old: + Over her jewels she flung herself drearily, + Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast, + Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearily + Clung in her hair like a dove in its nest—. + And naught but her shadowy form in the mirror + To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her! + + "Weary—?" Of what? Could we fathom the mystery—? + Lift up the lashes weighed down by her tears + And wash with their dews one white face from her history, + Set like a gem in the red rust of years? + Nothing will rest her— unless he who died of her + Strayed from his grave, and in place of the groom, + Tipping her face, kneeling there by the side of her, + Drained the old kiss to the dregs of his doom—. + And naught but that shadowy form in the mirror + To heel in dumb agony down and weep near her! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Dead Lover</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Time is so long when a man is dead! + Some one sews; and the room is made + Very clean; and the light is shed + Soft through the window-shade. + + Yesterday I thought: "I know + Just how the bells will sound, and how + The friends will talk, and the sermon go, + And the hearse-horse bow and bow!" + + This is to-day; and I have no thing + To think of— nothing whatever to do + But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing + That wants to fly back to you. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Song</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; + There is ever a something sings alway: + There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, + And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. + The sunshine showers across the grain, + And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree; + And in and out, when the eaves dip rain, + The swallows are twittering ceaselessly. + + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, + Be the skies above or dark or fair, + There is ever a song that our hearts may hear— + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear + There is ever a song somewhere! + + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, + In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue: + The robin pipes when the sun is here, + And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. + The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, + And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; + But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. + + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, + Be the skies above or dark or fair, + There is ever a song that our hearts may hear— + There is ever a song somewhere, my dear— + There is ever a song somewhere! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>When Bessie Died</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, + And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; + If the white feet into the grave had tripped—" + + When Bessie died— + We braided the brown hair, and tied + It just as her own little hands + Had fastened back the silken strands + A thousand times— the crimson bit + Of ribbon woven into it + That she had worn with childish pride— + Smoothed down the dainty bow— and cried + When Bessie died. + + When Bessie died— + We drew the nursery blinds aside, + And as the morning in the room + Burst like a primrose into bloom, + Her pet canary's cage we hung + Where she might hear him when he sung— + And yet not any note he tried, + Though she lay listening folded-eyed. + + When Bessie died— + We writhed in prayer unsatisfied: + We begged of God, and He did smile + In silence on us all the while; + And we did see Him, through our tears, + Enfolding that fair form of hers, + She laughing back against His love + The kisses had nothing of— + And death to us He still denied, + When Bessie died— + When Bessie died. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Shower</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The landscape, like the awed face of a child, + Grew curiously blurred; a hush of death + Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild + The zephyr held its breath. + + No wavering glamour-work of light and shade + Dappled the shivering surface of the brook; + The frightened ripples in their ambuscade + Of willows thrilled and shook. + + The sullen day grew darker, and anon + Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky; + With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling on + The storm's artillery. + + The cloud above put on its blackest frown, + And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, + The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down + In ravelled shreds of rain: + + While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, + Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, + My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart + Drenched with the love of God. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Life Lesson</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There! Little girl; don't cry! + They have broken your doll, I know; + And your tea-set blue, + And your play-house too, + Are things of the long ago; + But childish troubles will soon pass by—. + There! Little girl; don't cry! + + There! Little girl; don't cry! + They have broken your slate, I know; + And the glad, wild ways + Of your school-girl days + Are things of the long ago; + But life and love will soon come by—. + There! Little girl; don't cry! + + There! Little girl; don't cry! + They have broken your heart, I know; + And the rainbow gleams + Of your youthful dreams + Are things of the long ago; + But heaven holds all for which you sigh—. + There! Little girl; don't cry! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Scrawl</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I want to sing something— but this is all— + I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull + As though they were damp, and the echoes fall + Limp and unlovable. + + Words will not say what I yearn to say— + They will not walk as I want them to, + But they stumble and fall in the path of the way + Of my telling my love for you. + + Simply take what the scrawl is worth— + Knowing I love you as sun the sod + On the ripening side of the great round earth + That swings in the smile of God. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Away</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I cannot say, and I will not say + That he is dead—. He is just away! + + With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand + He has wandered into an unknown land, + + And left us dreaming how very fair + It needs must be, since he lingers there. + + And you— O you, who the wildest yearn + For the old-time step and the glad return—, + + Think of him faring on, as dear + In the love of There as the love of Here; + + And loyal still, as he gave the blows + Of his warrior-strength to his country's foes—. + + Mild and gentle, as he was brave—, + When the sweetest love of his life he gave + + To simple things—: Where the violets grew + Blue as the eyes they were likened to, + + The touches of his hands have strayed + As reverently as his lips have prayed: + + When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred + Was dear to him as the mocking-bird; + + And he pitied as much as a man in pain + A writhing honey-bee wet with rain—. + + Think of him still as the same, I say: + He is not dead— he is just away! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Who Bides His Time</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who bides his time, and day by day + Faces defeat full patiently, + And lifts a mirthful roundelay, + However poor his fortunes be—, + He will not fail in any qualm + Of poverty— the paltry dime + It will grow golden in his palm, + Who bides his time. + + Who bides his time— he tastes the sweet + Of honey in the saltest tear; + And though he fares with slowest feet, + Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; + The birds are heralds of his cause; + And like a never-ending rhyme, + The roadsides bloom in his applause, + Who bides his time. + + Who bides his time, and fevers not + In the hot race that none achieves, + Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought + With crimson berries in the leaves; + And he shall reign a goodly king, + And sway his hand o'er every clime, + With peace writ on his signet-ring, + Who bides his time. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>From the Headboard of a Grave in Paraguay</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A troth, and a grief, and a blessing, + Disguised them and came this way—, + And one was a promise, and one was a doubt, + And one was a rainy day. + + And they met betimes with this maiden, + And the promise it spake and lied, + And the doubt it gibbered and hugged itself, + And the rainy day— she died. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Laughter Holding Both His Sides</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ay, thou varlet! Laugh away! + All the world's a holiday! + Laugh away, and roar and shout + Till thy hoarse tongue lolleth out! + Bloat thy cheeks, and bulge thine eyes + Unto bursting; pelt thy thighs + With thy swollen palms, and roar + As thou never hast before! + Lustier! Wilt thou! Peal on peal! + Stiflest? Squat and grind thy heel— + Wrestle with thy loins, and then + Wheeze thee whiles, and whoop again! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Fame</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Once, in a dream, I saw a man, + With haggard face and tangled hair, + And eyes that nursed as wild a care + As gaunt Starvation ever can; + And in his hand he held a wand + Whose magic touch gave life and thought + Unto a form his fancy wrought + And robed with coloring so grand, + It seemed the reflex of some child + Of Heaven, fair and undefiled— + A face of purity and love— + To woo him into worlds above: + And as I gazed with dazzled eyes, + A gleaming smile lit up his lips + As his bright soul from its eclipse + Went flashing into Paradise. + Then tardy Fame came through the door + And found a picture— nothing more. + + 2 + And once I saw a man alone, + In abject poverty, with hand + Uplifted o'er a block of stone + That took a shape at his command + And smiled upon him, fair and good— + A perfect work of womanhood, + Save that the eyes might never weep, + Nor weary hands be crossed in sleep, + Nor hair that fell from crown to wrist, + Be brushed away, caressed and kissed. + And as in awe I gazed on her, + I saw the sculptor's chisel fall— + I saw him sink, without a moan, + Sink life less at the feet of stone, + And lie there like a worshipper. + Fame crossed the threshold of the hall, + And found a statue— that was all. + + 3 + And once I saw a man who drew + A gloom about him like cloak, + And wandered aimlessly. The few + Who spoke of him at all, but spoke + Disparagingly of a mind + The Fates had faultily designed: + Too indolent for modern times— + Too fanciful, and full of whims— + For talking to himself in rhymes, + And scrawling never-heard-of hymns, + The idle life to which he clung + Was worthless as the songs he sung! + I saw him, in my vision, filled + With rapture o'er a spray of bloom + The wind threw in his lonely room; + And of the sweet perfume it spilled + He drank to drunkenness, and flung + His long hair back, and laughed and sung + And clapped his hands as children do + At fairy tales they listen to, + While from his flying quill there dripped + Such music on his manuscript + That he who listens to the words + May close his eyes and dream the birds + Are twittering on every hand + A language he can understand. + He journeyed on through life unknown, + Without one friend to call his own; + He tired. No kindly hand to press + The cooling touch of tenderness + Upon his burning brow, nor lift + To his parched lips God's freest gift— + No sympathetic sob or sigh + Of trembling lips— no sorrowing eye + Looked out through tears to see him die. + And Fame her greenest laurels brought + To crown a head that heeded not. + + And this is Fame! A thing indeed, + That only comes when least the need: + The wisest minds of every age + The book of life from page to page + Have searched in vain; each lesson conned + Will promise it the page beyond— + Until the last, when dusk of night + Falls over it, and reason's light + Is smothered by that unknown friend + Who signs his nom de plume, The End. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Ripest Peach</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The ripest peach is highest on the tree— + And so her love, beyond the reach of me, + Is dearest in my sight. Sweet breezes bow + Her heart down to me where I worship now! + + She looms aloft where every eye may see + The ripest peach is highest on the tree. + Such fruitage as her love I know, alas! + I may not reach here from the orchard grass. + + I drink the sunshine showered past her lips + As roses drain the dewdrop as it drips. + The ripest peach is highest on the tree, + And so mine eyes gaze upward eagerly. + + Why— why do I not turn away in wrath + And pluck some heart here hanging in my path—? + Lover's lower boughs bend with them— but, ah me! + The ripest peach is highest on the tree! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Fruit Piece</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The afternoon of summer folds + Its warm arms round the marigolds, + + And with its gleaming fingers, pets + The watered pinks and violets + + That from the casement vases spill, + Over the cottage window-sill, + + Their fragrance down the garden walks + Where droop the dry-mouthed hollyhocks. + + How vividly the sunshine scrawls + The grape-vine shadows on the walls! + + How like a truant swings the breeze + In high boughs of the apple-trees! + + The slender "free-stone" lifts aloof, + Full languidly above the roof, + + A hoard of fruitage, stamped with gold + And precious mintings manifold. + + High up, through curled green leaves, a pear + Hangs hot with ripeness here and there. + + Beneath the sagging trellisings, + In lush, lack-lustre clusterings, + + Great torpid grapes, all fattened through + With moon and sunshine, shade and dew, + + Until their swollen girths express + But forms of limp deliciousness— + + Drugged to an indolence divine + With heaven's own sacramental wine. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Their Sweet Sorrow</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They meet to say farewell: Their way + Of saying this is hard to say—. + He holds her hand an Instant, wholly + Distressed— and she unclasps it slowly, + + He lends his gaze evasively + Over the printed page that she + Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder + Glimpsed from the lace-mists that infold her. + + The clock, beneath its crystal cup, + Discreetly clicks— "Quick! Act! Speak up!" + A tension circles both her slender + Wrists— and her raised eyes flash in splendor, + + Even as he feels his dazzled own—. + Then blindingly, round either thrown, + They feel a stress of arms that ever + Strain tremblingly— and "Never! Never!" + + Is whispered brokenly, with half + A sob, like a belated laugh—, + While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes—, + Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>John McKeen</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + John McKeen, in his rusty dress, + His loosened collar, and swarthy throat, + His face unshaven, and none the less, + His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness, + And the wealth of a workman's vote! + + Bring him, O Memory, here once more, + And tilt him back in his Windsor chair + By the kitchen stove, when the day is o'er + And the light of the hearth is across the floor, + And the crickets everywhere! + + And let their voices be gladly blent + With a watery jingle of pans and spoons, + And a motherly chirrup of sweet content, + And neighborly gossip and merriment, + And old-time fiddle-tunes! + + Tick the clock with a wooden sound, + And fill the hearing with childish glee + Of rhyming riddle, or story found + In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound + Old book of the Used-to-be! + + John McKeen of the Past! Ah John, + To have grown ambitious in worldly ways—! + To have rolled your shirt-sleeves down, to don + A broadcloth suit, and forgetful, gone + Out on election days! + + John ah, John! Did it prove your worth + To yield you the office you still maintain—? + To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth + Of all the happier things on earth + To the hunger of heart and brain? + + Under the dusk of your villa trees, + Edging the drives where your blooded span + Paw the pebbles and wait your ease—, + Where are the children about your knees, + And the mirth, and the happy man? + + The blinds of your mansion are battened to; + Your faded wife is a close recluse; + And your "finished" daughters will doubtless do + Dutifully all that is willed of you, + And marry as you shall choose—! + + But O for the old-home voices, blent + With the watery jingle of pans and spoons, + And the motherly chirrup of glad content, + And neighborly gossip and merriment, + And the old-time fiddle-tunes! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Out of Nazareth</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "He shall sleep unscathed of thieves + Who loves Allah and believes." + Thus heard one who shared the tent, + In the far-off Orient, + Of the Bedouin ben Ahrzz— + Nobler never loved the stars + Through the palm-leaves nigh the dim + Dawn his courser neighed to him! + + He said: "Let the sands be swarmed + With such thieves as I, and thou + Shalt at morning rise unharmed, + Light as eyelash to the brow + Of thy camel amber-eyed, + Ever munching either side, + Striding still, with nestled knees, + Through the midnight's oases." + + "Who can rob thee an thou hast + More than this that thou hast cast + At my feet— this dust of gold? + Simply this and that, all told! + Hast thou not a treasure of + Such a thing as men call love?" + + "Can the dusky band I lead + Rob thee of thy daily need + Of a whiter soul, or steal + What thy lordly prayers reveal? + Who could be enriched of thee + By such hoard of poverty + As thy niggard hand pretends + To dole me— thy worst of friends? + Therefore shouldst thou pause to bless + One indeed who blesses thee: + Robbing thee, I dispossess + But myself—. Pray thou for me!" + + He shall sleep unscathed of thieves + Who loves Allah and believes. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>September Dark</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + The air falls chill; + The whippoorwill + Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill: + The dusk grows dense, + The silence tense; + And lo, the katydids commence. + + 2 + Through shadowy rifts + Of woodland lifts + The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, + While left and right + The fireflies' light + Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. + + 3 + O Cloudland gray + And level lay + Thy mists across the face of Day! + At foot and head, + Above the dead + O Dews, weep on uncomforted! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>We To Sigh Instead of Sing</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Rain and rain! And rain and rain!" + Yesterday we muttered + Grimly as the grim refrain + That the thunders uttered: + All the heavens under cloud— + All the sunshine sleeping; + All the grasses limply bowed + With their weight of weeping. + + Sigh and sigh! And sigh and sigh! + Never end of sighing; + Rain and rain for our reply— + Hopes half drowned and dying; + Peering through the window-pane, + Naught but endless raining— + Endless sighing, and as vain, + Endlessly complaining, + + Shine and shine! And shine and shine! + Ah! To-day the splendor—! + All this glory yours and mine— + God! But God is tender! + We to sigh instead of sing, + Yesterday, in sorrow, + While the Lord was fashioning + This for our To-morrow! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Blossoms on the Trees</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, + Purple, pink, and every hue, + From sunny skies, to tintings drowned + In dusky drops of dew, + I praise you all, wherever found, + And love you through and through—; + But, Blossoms On The Trees, + With your breath upon the breeze + There's nothing all the world around + As half as sweet as you! + + Could the rhymer only wring + All the sweetness to the lees + Of all the kisses clustering + In juicy Used-to-bes, + To dip his rhymes therein and sing + The blossoms on the trees—, + "O Blossoms on the Trees," + He would twitter, trill, and coo, + "However sweet, such songs as these + Are not as sweet as you—: + For you are blooming melodies + The eyes may listen to!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Last Night— And This</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Last night— how deep the darkness was! + And well I knew its depths, because + I waded it from shore to shore, + Thinking to reach the light no more. + + She would not even touch my hand—-. + The winds rose and the cedars fanned + The moon out, and the stars fled back + In heaven and hid— and all was black! + + But ah! To-night a summons came, + Signed with a tear-drop for a name, + For as I wondering kissed it, lo + A line beneath it told me so. + + And now— the moon hangs over me + A disk of dazzling brilliancy, + And every star-tip stabs my sights + With splintered glitterings of light! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Discouraging Model</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, + With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, + Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, + And a knot of red roses sown in under there + Where the shadows are lost in her hair. + + Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground + Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; + And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint + And as sweet as the master of old used to paint + Round the lips of their favorite saint! + + And that lace at her throat— and fluttering hands + Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands, + The flakes of their touches— first fluttering at + The bow— then the roses— the hair and then that + Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat. + + Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this, + Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, + Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair + Nor the gold of her smile— O what artist could dare + To expect a result half so fair? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Back From a Two-years' Sentence</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Back from a two-years' sentence! + And though it had been ten, + You think, I were scarred no deeper + In the eyes of my fellow-men. + "My fellow-men—?" Sounds like a satire, + You think— and I so allow, + Here in my home since childhood, + Yet more than a stranger now! + + Pardon—! Not wholly a stranger—, + For I have a wife and child: + That woman has wept for two long years, + And yet last night she smiled—! + Smiled, as I leapt from the platform + Of the midnight train, and then— + All that I knew was that smile of hers, + And our babe in my arms again! + + Back from a two-years' sentence— + But I've thought the whole thing through—, + A hint of it came when the bars swung back + And I looked straight up in the blue + Of the blessed skies with my hat off! + O-ho! I've a wife and child: + That woman has wept for two long years, + And yet last night she smiled! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Wandering Jew</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The stars are falling, and the sky + Is like a field of faded flowers; + The winds on weary wings go by; + The moon hides, and the tempest lowers; + And still through every clime and age + I wander on a pilgrimage + That all men know an idle quest, + For that the goal I seek is— Rest! + + I hear the voice of summer streams, + And following, I find the brink + Of cooling springs, with childish dreams + Returning as I bend to drink— + But suddenly, with startled eyes, + My face looks on its grim disguise + Of long gray beard; and so, distressed, + I hasten on, nor taste of rest. + + I come upon a merry group + Of children in the dusky wood, + Who answer back the owlet's whoop, + That laughs as it had understood; + And I would pause a little space, + But that each happy blossom-face + Is like to one His hands have blessed + Who sent me forth in search of rest. + + Sometimes I fain would stay my feet + In shady lanes, where huddled kine + Couch in the grasses cool and sweet, + And lift their patient eyes to mine; + But I, for thoughts that ever then + Go back to Bethlehem again, + Must needs fare on my weary quest, + And weep for very need of rest. + + Is there no end? I plead in vain: + Lost worlds nor living answer me. + Since Pontius Pilate's awful reign + Have I not passed eternity? + Have I not drunk the fetid breath + Of every fevered phase of death, + And come unscathed through every pest + And scourge and plague that promised rest? + + Have I not seen the stars go out + That shed their light o'er Galilee, + And mighty kingdoms tossed about + And crumbled clod-like in the sea? + Dead ashes of dead ages blow + And cover me like drifting snow, + And time laughs on as 'twere a jest + That I have any need of rest. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Becalmed</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Would that the winds might only blow + As they blew in the golden long ago—! + Laden with odors of Orient isles + Where ever and ever the sunshine smiles, + And the bright sands blend with the shady trees, + And the lotus blooms in the midst of these. + + 2 + Warm winds won from the midland vales + To where the tress of the Siren trails + O'er the flossy tip of the mountain phlox + And the bare limbs twined in the crested rocks, + High above as the seagulls flap + Their lopping wings at the thunder-clap. + + 3 + Ah! That the winds might rise and blow + The great surge up from the port below, + Bloating the sad, lank, silken sails + Of the Argo out with the swift, sweet gales + That blew from Colchis when Jason had + His love's full will and his heart was glad— + When Medea's voice was soft and low. + Ah! That the winds might rise and blow! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>To Santa Claus</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Most tangible of all the gods that be, + O Santa Claus— our own since Infancy! + As first we scampered to thee— now, as then, + Take us as children to thy heart again. + + Be wholly good to us, just as of old: + As a pleased father, let thine arms infold + Us, homed within the haven of thy love, + And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof. + + Thou lone reality, when O so long + Life's unrealities have wrought us wrong: + Ambition hath allured us—, fame likewise, + And all that promised honor in men's eyes. + + Throughout the world's evasions, wiles, and shifts, + Thou only bidest stable as thy gifts—: + A grateful king re-ruleth from thy lap, + Crowned with a little tinselled soldier-cap: + + A mighty general— a nation's pride— + Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride, + And wildly glad he groweth as the grim + Old jurist with the drum thou givest him: + + The sculptor's chisel, at thy mirth's command, + Is as a whistle in his boyish hand; + The painters model fadeth utterly, + And there thou standest—, and he painteth thee—: + + Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine + And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine, + Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin + As midst the snows the thaws of spring set in. + + Ho! Santa Claus— our own since Infancy— + Most tangible of all the gods that be—! + As first we scampered to thee— now, as then, + Take us as children to thy heart again. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Where the Children used to Play</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, + And filled it is with plenty and to spare—, + But we are lonely here in life's decline, + Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: + We look across the gold + Of the harvests, as of old— + The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay; + But most we turn our gaze, + As with eyes of other days, + To the orchard where the children used to play. + + O from our life's full measure + And rich hoard of worldly treasure + We often turn our weary eyes away, + And hand in hand we wander + Down the old path winding yonder + To the orchard where the children used to play. + + Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds; + The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'ver; + The grove's a paradise of singing birds— + The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door; + Yet lonely, lonely still, + Let us prosper as we will, + Our old hearts seem so empty everyway— + We can only through a mist + See the faces we have kissed + In the orchard where the children used to play. + + O from our life's full measure + And rich hoard of worldly treasure + We often turn our weary eyes away, + And hand in hand we wander + Down the old path winding yonder + To the orchard where the children used to play. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Glimpse of Pan</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I caught but a glimpse of him. Summer was here. + And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat. + And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, + Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere + Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet + From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer + Of the grasses, green and sweet. + + And I peered through a vista of leaning tree, + Tressed with long tangles of vines that swept + To the face of a river, that answered these + With vines in the wave like the vines in the breeze, + Till the yearning lips of the ripples crept + And kissed them, with quavering ecstasies, + And wistfully laughed and wept + + And there, like a dream in swoon, I swear + I saw Pan lying—, his limbs in the dew + And the shade, and his face in the dazzle and glare + Of the glad sunshine; while everywhere, + Over across, and around him blew + Filmy dragon-flies hither and there, + And little white butterflies, two and two, + In eddies of odorous air. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SONNETS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Pan</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This Pan is but an idle god, I guess, + Since all the fair midsummer of my dreams + He loiters listlessly by woody streams, + Soaking the lush glooms up with laziness; + Or drowsing while the maiden-winds caress + Him prankishly, and powder him with gleams + Of sifted sunshine. And he ever seems + Drugged with a joy unutterable— unless + His low pipes whistle hints of it far out + Across the ripples to the dragon-fly + That like a wind-born blossom blown about, + Drops quiveringly down, as though to die— + Then lifts and wavers on, as if in doubt + Whether to fan his wings or fly without. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Dusk</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The frightened herds of clouds across the sky + Trample the sunshine down, and chase the day + Into the dusky forest-lands of gray + And sombre twilight. Far and faint, and high, + The wild goose trails his harrow, with a cry + Sad as the wail of some poor castaway + Who sees a vessel drifting far astray + Of his last hope, and lays him down to die. + The children, riotous from school, grow bold + And quarrel with the wind whose angry gust + Plucks off the summer-hat, and flaps the fold + Of many a crimson cloak, and twirls the dust + In spiral shapes grotesque, and dims the gold + Of gleaming tresses with the blur of rust. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>June</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O queenly month of indolent repose! + I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, + As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom + I nestle like a drowsy child and doze + The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws + The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom + And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom + Before thy listless feet. The lily blows + A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade; + And wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear, + Thy harvest-armies gather on parade; + While faint and far away, yet pure and clear, + A voice calls out of alien lands of shade—: + All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Silence</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thousands of thousands of hushed years ago, + Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone + I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown + Above a sea that knew nor ebb nor flow, + Nor any motion won of winds that blow, + Nor any sound of watery wail or moan, + Nor lisp of wave, nor wandering undertone + Of any tide lost in the night below. + So still it was, I mind me, as I laid + My thirsty ear against mine own faint sigh + To drink of that, I sipped it, half afraid + 'Twas but the ghost of a dead voice spilled by + The one starved star that tottered through the shade + And came tiptoeing toward me down the sky. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Sleep</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eyes, half awink + Muse on me—, drifting out upon thy dreams, + I lave my soul as in enchanted streams + Where revelling satyrs pipe along the brink, + And tipsy with the melody they drink, + Uplift their dangling hooves, and down the beams + Of sunshine dance like motes. Thy languor seems + An ocean-depth of love wherein I sink + Like some fond Argonaut, right willingly—, + Because of wooing eyes upturned to mine, + And siren-arms that coil their sorcery + About my neck, with kisses so divine, + The heavens reel above me, and the sea + Swallows and licks its wet lips over me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Her Hair</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The beauty of her hair bewilders me— + Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide + Swirling about the ears on either side + And storming round the neck tumultuously: + Or like the lights of old antiquity + Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide + Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified + In chastest marble, nude of drapery. + And so I love it—. Either unconfined; + Or plaited in close braidings manifold; + Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined + In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled + At any lightest kiss; or by the wind + Whipped out in flossy ravellings of gold. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Dearth</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I hold your trembling hand to-night— and yet + I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine, + My heart is such a curious design + Of trust and jealousy! Your eyes are wet— + So must I think they jewel some regret—, + And lo, the loving arms that round me twine + Cling only as the tendrils of a vine + Whose fruit has long been gathered: I forget, + While crimson clusters of your kisses press + Their wine out on my lips, my royal fair + Of rapture, since blind fancy needs must guess + They once poured out their sweetness otherwhere, + With fuller flavoring of happiness + Than e'en your broken sobs may now declare. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Voice From the Farm</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is my dream to have you here with me, + Out of the heated city's dust and din— + Here where the colts have room to gambol in, + And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. + I want to see your wan face happily + Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not been + In use since the old games you used to win + When we pitched horseshoes: And I want to be + At utter loaf with you in this dim land + Of grove and meadow, while the crickets make + Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields + His bulky flight, as we cease converse and + In a dusk like velvet smoothly take + Our way toward home across the dewy fields. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Serenade</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The midnight is not more bewildering + To her drowsed eyes, than to her ears, the sound + Of dim, sweet singing voices, interwound + With purl of flute and subtle twang of string, + Strained through the lattice, where the roses cling + And, with their fragrance, waft the notes around + Her haunted senses. Thirsting beyond bound + Of her slow-yielding dreams, the lilt and swing + Of the mysterious delirious tune, + She drains like some strange opiate, with awed eyes + Upraised against her casement, where aswoon, + The stars fail from her sight, and up the skies + Of alien azure rolls the full round moon + Like some vast bubble blown of summer noon. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Art and Love</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken + Pierces the crust of this existence through) + And smiled beyond on that his genius knew + Ere mated with his being. Conscious then + Of his high theme alone, he smiled again + Straight back upon himself in many a hue + And tint, and light and shade, which slowly grew + Enfeatured of a fair girl's face, as when + First time she smiles for love's sake with no fear. + So wrought he, witless that behind him leant + A woman, with old features, dim and sear, + And glamoured eyes that felt the brimming tear, + And with a voice, like some sad instrument, + That sighing said, "I'm dead there; love me here!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Longfellow</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The winds have talked with him confidingly; + The trees have whispered to him; and the night + Hath held him gently as a mother might, + And taught him all sad tones of melody: + The mountains have bowed to him; and the sea, + In clamorous waves, and murmurs exquisite, + Hath told him all her sorrow and delight— + Her legends fair— her darkest mystery. + His verse blooms like a flower, night and day; + Bees cluster round his rhymes; and twitterings + Of lark and swallow, in an endless May, + Are mingling with the tender songs he sings—. + Nor shall he cease to sing— in every lay + Of Nature's voice he sings— and will alway. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Indiana</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Our Land— our Home— the common home indeed + Of soil-born children and adopted ones— + The stately daughters and the stalwart sons + Of Industry—: All greeting and godspeed! + O home to proudly live for, and if need + Be proudly die for, with the roar of guns + Blent with our latest prayer—. So died men once... + Lo Peace...! As we look on the land They freed— + Its harvests all in ocean-over flow + Poured round autumnal coasts in billowy gold— + Its corn and wine and balmed fruits and flow'rs—, + We know the exaltation that they know + Who now, steadfast inheritors, behold + The Land Elysian, marvelling "This is ours?" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Time</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + The ticking— ticking— ticking of the clock—! + That vexed me so last night—! "For though Time keeps + Such drowsy watch," I moaned, "he never sleeps, + But only nods above the world to mock + Its restless occupant, then rudely rock + It as the cradle of a babe that weeps!" + I seemed to see the seconds piled in heaps + Like sand about me; and at every shock + O' the bell, the piled sands were swirled away + As by a desert-storm that swept the earth + Stark as a granary floor, whereon the gray + And mist-bedrizzled moon amidst the dearth + Came crawling, like a sickly child, to lay + Its pale face next mine own and weep for day. + + 2 + Wait for the morning! Ah! We wait indeed + For daylight, we who toss about through stress + Of vacant-armed desires and emptiness + Of all the warm, warm touches that we need, + And the warm kisses upon which we feed + Our famished lips in fancy! May God bless + The starved lips of us with but one caress + Warm as the yearning blood our poor hearts bleed...! + A wild prayer—! Bite thy pillow, praying so— + Toss this side, and whirl that, and moan for dawn; + Let the clock's seconds dribble out their woe, + And Time be drained of sorrow! Long ago + We heard the crowing cock, with answer drawn + As hoarsely sad at throat as sobs... Pray on! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Grant + At Rest— August 8, 1885 + + Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest, and held no + path but as wild adventure led him... And he returned and came again to his + horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture; and + unlaced his helm, and ungirdled his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon + his shield before the cross. —Age of Chivalary +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Grant</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What shall we say of the soldier. Grant, + His sword put by and his great soul free? + How shall we cheer him now or chant + His requiem befittingly? + The fields of his conquest now are seen + Ranged no more with his armed men— + But the rank and file of the gold and green + Of the waving grain is there again. + + Though his valiant life is a nation's pride, + And his death heroic and half divine, + And our grief as great as the world is wide, + There breaks in speech but a single line—: + We loved him living, revere him dead—! + A silence then on our lips is laid: + We can say no thing that has not been said, + Nor pray one prayer that has not been prayed. + + But a spirit within us speaks: and lo, + We lean and listen to wondrous words + That have a sound as of winds that blow, + And the voice of waters and low of herds; + And we hear, as the song flows on serene, + The neigh of horses, and then the beat + Of hooves that skurry o'er pastures green, + And the patter and pad of a boy's bare feet. + + A brave lad, wearing a manly brow, + Knit as with problems of grave dispute, + And a face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, + Pink and pallid, but resolute; + And flushed it grows as the clover-bloom, + And fresh it gleams as the morning dew, + As he reins his steed where the quick quails boom + Up from the grasses he races through. + + And ho! As he rides what dreams are his? + And what have the breezes to suggest—? + Do they whisper to him of shells that whiz + O'er fields made ruddy with wrongs redressed? + Does the hawk above him an Eagle float? + Does he thrill and his boyish heart beat high, + Hearing the ribbon about his throat + Flap as a Flag as the winds go by? + + And does he dream of the Warrior's fame— + This Western boy in his rustic dress? + For in miniature, this is the man that came + Riding out of the Wilderness—! + The selfsame figure— the knitted brow— + The eyes full steady— the lips full mute— + And the face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, + Pink and pallid, but resolute. + + Ay, this is the man, with features grim + And stoical as the Sphinx's own, + That heard the harsh guns calling him, + As musical as the bugle blown, + When the sweet spring heavens were clouded o'er + With a tempest, glowering and wild, + And our country's flag bowed down before + Its bursting wrath as a stricken child. + + Thus, ready mounted and booted and spurred, + He loosed his bridle and dashed away—! + Like a roll of drums were his hoof-beats heard, + Like the shriek of the fife his charger's neigh! + And over his shoulder and backward blown, + We heard his voice, and we saw the sod + Reel, as our wild steeds chased his own + As though hurled on by the hand of God! + + And still, in fancy, we see him ride + In the blood-red front of a hundred frays, + His face set stolid, but glorified + As a knight's of the old Arthurian days: + And victor ever as courtly too, + Gently lifting the vanquished foe, + And staying him with a hand as true + As dealt the deadly avenging blow. + + So brighter than all of the cluster of stars + Of the flag enshrouding his form to-day, + His face shines forth from the grime of wars + With a glory that shall not pass away: + He rests at last: he has borne his part + Of salutes and salvos and cheers on cheers— + But O the sobs of his country's heart, + And the driving rain of a nations tears! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN DIALECT + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Old Fashioned Roses</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They ain't no style about 'em, + And they're sorto' pale and faded, + Yit the doorway here, without 'em, + Would be lonesomer, and shaded + With a good 'eal blacker shudder + Than the morning-glories makes, + And the sunshine would look sadder + Fer their good old-fashion' sakes. + + I like 'em 'cause they kindo'— + Sorto' make a feller like 'em! + And I tell you, when I find a + Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, + It allus sets me thinkin' + O' the ones 'at used to grow + And peek in thro' the chinkin' + O' the cabin, don't you know! + + And then I think o' mother, + And how she ust to love 'em— + When they wuzn't any other, + 'Less she found 'em up above 'em! + And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, + Whispered with a smile and said + We must pick a bunch and putt 'em + In her hand when she wuz dead. + + But as I wuz a-sayin', + They ain't no style about 'em + Very gaudy er displayin', + But I wouldn't be without 'em—, + 'Cause I'm happier in these posies, + And the hollyhawks and sich, + Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses + In the roses of the rich. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Griggsby's Station</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pap's got his patent-right, and rich is all creation; + But where's the peace and comfort that we all had before? + Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station— + Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! + + The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity + To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stairs, + And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! City! City + And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres! + + Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, + And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree! + And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people, + And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and see! + + Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station— + Back where the latch-strings a-hangin' from the door, + And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a relation— + Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! + + I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', + A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday through; + And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and pilin' + Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do! + + I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin'; + And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired hand, + And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh a-takin', + Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his land. + + Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station— + Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, + Shet away safe in the woods around the old location— + Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! + + I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin', + And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and gone, + And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's growin', + And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her mournin' on. + + And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty, + Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried— for + His own sake and Katy's—, and I want to cry with Katy + As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War. + + What's in all this grand life and high situation, + And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the door—? + Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station— + Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Knee Deep in June</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Tell you what I like the best— + 'Long about knee-deep in June, + 'Bout the time strawberries melts + On the vine—, some afternoon + Like to jes' git out and rest, + And not work at nothin' else! + + 2 + Orchard's where I'd ruther be— + Needn't fence it in fer me—! + Jes' the whole sky overhead, + And the whole airth underneath— + Sorto' so's a man kin breathe + Like he ort, and kindo' has + Elbow-room to keerlessly + Sprawl out len'thways on the grass + Where the shadders thick and soft + As the kivvers on the bed + Mother fixes in the loft + Allus, when they's company! + + 3 + Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there— + S'lazy, 'at you peeks and peer + Through the wavin' leaves above, + Like a feller 'ats in love + And don't know it, ner don't keer! + Ever'thing you hear and see + Got some sort o' interest— + Maybe find a bluebird's nest + Tucked up there conveenently + Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be + Up some other apple-tree! + Watch the swallers skootin' past + 'Bout as peert as you could ast; + Er the Bob-white raise and whiz + Where some other's whistle is. + + 4 + Ketch a shadder down below, + And look up to find the crow— + Er a hawk—, away up there + 'Pearantly froze in the air—! + Hear the old hen squawk, and squat + Over ever' chick she's got, + Suddent-like—! And she knows where + That-air hawk is, well as you—! + You jes' bet yer life she do—! + Eyes a-glittern' like glass, + Waitin' till he makes a pass! + + 5 + Pee-wees' singin', to express + My opinion, 's second class, + Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; + Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, + Weedin' out the lonesomeness; + Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, + In them base-ball clothes o' his, + Sportin' round the orchard jes' + Life he owned the premises! + Sun out in the fields kin sizz, + But flat on yer back, I guess, + In the shade's where glory is! + That's jes' what I'd like to do + Stiddy fer a year er two! + + 6 + Plague! Ef they ain't somepin' in + Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' + My convictions—! 'Long about + Here in June especially—! + Under some old apple-tree, + Jes' a-restin' through and through, + I could git along without + Nothin' else at all to do + Only jes' a-wishin' you + Wuz a-gittin' there like me, + And June was eternity! + + 7 + Lay out there and try to see + Jes' how lazy you kin be—! + Tumble round and souse yer head + In the clover-bloom, er pull + Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes + And peek through it at the skies, + Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, + Maybe, smilin' back at you + In betwixt the 'beautiful + Clouds o' gold and white and blue—! + Month a man kin railly love + June, you know, I'm talkin' of! + + 8 + March ain't never nothin' new—! + Aprile's altogether too + Brash fer me! And May— I jes' + 'Bominate its promises—, + Little hints o' sunshine and + Green around the timber-land— + A few blossoms, and a few + Chip-birds, and a sprout er two—, + Drap asleep, and it turns in + 'Fore daylight and snows ag'in—! + But when June comes— Clear my th'oat + With wild honey—! Rench my hair + In the dew! And hold my coat! + Whoop out loud! And th'ow my hat—! + June wants me, and I'm to spare! + Spread them shadders anywhere, + I'll git down and waller there, + And obleeged to you at that! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>When The Hearse Comes Back</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet + Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street: + The slow hearse and the hosses— slow enough, to say at least, + Fer to even tax the patience of gentleman deceased! + The low scrunch of the gravel— and the slow grind of the wheels—, + The slow, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody feels! + So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whip-lash crack + A quickstep fer the hosses, + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + Meet it goin' to'rds the cimet'ry, you'll want to drap yer eyes— + But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you otherwise— + You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to look away + And 'conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day! + Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from his rest— + Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze acrost his breast! + And this is why— when airth and sky's a gittin blurred and black— + I like the flash and hurry + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + It's not 'cause I don't 'preciate it ain't no time fer jokes, + Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin' fer the folks—; + I've went to funerals myse'f, and tuk on some, perhaps— + Fer my hearth's 'bout as mal'able as any other chap's—, + I've buried father, mother— But I'll haf to jes' git you + To "excuse me," as the feller says—. The p'int I'm drivin' to + Is simply when we're plum broke down and all knocked out o' whack, + It he'ps to shape us up like, + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + The idy! Wadin round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe, + When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine don't you know! + When evening strikes the pastur', cows'll pull out fer the bars, + And skittish-like from out the night'll prance the happy stars. + And so when my time comes to die, and I've got ary friend + 'At wants expressed my last request— I'll mebby, rickommend + To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin' 'long the out'ard track, + But I'll smile and say, "You speed 'em + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Canary At the Farm</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Folks has be'n to town, and Sahry + Fetched 'er home a pet canary—, + And of all the blame', contrary, + Aggervatin' things alive! + I love music— that I love it + When it's free— and plenty of it—; + But I kindo' git above it, + At a dollar-eighty-five! + + Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin'—, + Jes' the idy, now, o' layin' + Out yer money, and a-payin' + Fer a willer-cage and bird, + When the medder-larks is wingin' + Round you, and the woods is ringin' + With the beautifullest singin' + That a mortal ever heard! + + Sahry's sot, tho'—. So I tell her + He's a purty little feller, + With his wings o' creamy-yeller, + And his eyes keen as a cat; + And the twitter o' the critter + 'Pears to absolutely glitter! + Guess I'll haf to go and git her + A high-priceter cage 'n that! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A Liz Town Humorist</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Settin' round the stove, last night, + Down at Wess's store, was me + And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White, + And Doc Bills, and two er three + Fellers o' the Mudsock tribe + No use tryin' to describe! + And says Doc, he says, says he—, + "Talkin' 'bout good things to eat, + Ripe mushmillon's hard to beat!" + + I chawed on. And Mart he 'lowed + Wortermillon beat the mush—. + "Red," he says, "and juicy— Hush—! + I'll jes' leave it to the crowd!" + Then a Mudsock chap, says he—, + "Punkin's good enough fer me— + Punkin pies, I mean," he says—, + Them beats millons—! What say, Wess? + + I chawed on. And Wess says—, "Well, + You jes' fetch that wife of mine + All yer wortermillon-rine—, + And she'll bile it down a spell— + In with sorghum, I suppose, + And what else, Lord only knows—! + But I'm here to tell all hands + Them p'serves meets my demands!" + + I chawed on. And White he says—, + "Well, I'll jes' stand, in with Wess— + I'm no hog!" And Tunk says—, "I + Guess I'll pastur' out on pie + With the Mudsock boys!" says he; + "Now what's yourn?" he says to me: + I chawed on— fer— quite a spell + Then I speaks up, slow and dry—, + Jes' tobacker!" I-says-I—. + And you'd ort o' heerd 'em yell! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Kingry's Mill</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On old Brandywine— about + Where White's Lots is now laid out, + And the old crick narries down + To the ditch that splits the town—, + Kingry's Mill stood. Hardly see + Where the old dam ust to be; + Shallor, long, dry trought o' grass + Where the old race ust to pass! + + That's be'n forty years ago— + Forty years o' frost and snow— + Forty years o' shade and shine + Sence them boyhood-days o' mine—! + All the old landmarks o' town. + Changed about, er rotted down! + Where's the Tanyard? Where's the Still? + Tell me where's old Kingry's Mill? + + Don't seem furder back, to me, + I'll be dogg'd! Than yisterd'y, + Since us fellers, in bare feet + And straw hats, went through the wheat, + Cuttin' 'crost the shortest shoot + Fer that-air old ellum root + Jest above the mill-dam— where + The blame' cars now crosses there! + + Through the willers down the crick + We could see the old mill stick + Its red gable up, as if + It jest knowed we'd stol'd the skiff! + See the winders in the sun + Blink like they wuz wonderun' + What the miller ort to do + With sich boys as me and you! + + But old Kingry—! Who could fear + That old chap, with all his cheer—? + Leanin' at the window-sill, + Er the half-door o' the mill, + Swoppin' lies, and pokin' fun, + 'N jigglin' like his hoppers done— + Laughin' grists o' gold and red + Right out o' the wagon-bed! + + What did he keer where we went—? + "Jest keep out o' devilment, + And don't fool around the belts, + Bolts, ner burrs, ner nothin' else + 'Bout the blame machinery, + And that's all I ast!" says-ee. + Then we'd climb the stairs, and play + In the bran-bins half the day! + + Rickollect the dusty wall, + And the spider-webs, and all! + Rickollect the trimblin' spout + Where the meal come josslln' out— + Stand and comb yer fingers through + The fool-truck an hour er two— + Felt so sorto' warm-like and + Soothin' to a feller's hand! + + Climb, high up above the stream, + And "coon" out the wobbly beam + And peek down from out the lof' + Where the weather-boards was off— + Gee-mun-nee! w'y, it takes grit + Even jest to think of it—! + Lookin' 'way down there below + On the worter roarin' so! + + Rickollect the flume, and wheel, + And the worter slosh and reel + And jest ravel out in froth + Flossier'n satin cloth! + Rickollect them paddles jest + Knock the bubbles galley-west, + And plunge under, and come up + Drippin' like a worter-pup! + + And to see them old things gone + That I onc't was bettin' on, + In rale p'int o' fact, I feel + kindo' like that worter-wheel—, + Sorto' drippy-like and wet + Round the eyes— but paddlin' yet, + And in mem'ry, loafin' still + Down around old Kingry's Mill! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Joney</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Had a hare-lip— Joney had: + Spiled his looks, and Joney knowed it: + Fellers tried to bore him, bad— + But ef ever he got mad, + He kep' still and never showed it. + 'Druther have his mouth all pouted + And split up, and like it wuz, + Than the ones 'at laughed about it. + Purty is as purty does! + + Had to listen ruther clos't + 'Fore you knowed "what he wuz givin' + You; and yet, without no boast, + Joney he wuz jest the most + Entertainin' talker livin'! + Take the Scriptur's and run through 'em, + Might say, like a' auctioneer, + And 'ud argy and review 'em + 'At wuz beautiful to hear! + + Hare-lip and inpediment, + Both wuz bad, and both ag'in' him— + But the old folks where he went, + 'Preared like, knowin' his intent, + 'Scused his mouth fer what wuz in him. + And the childern all loved Joney— + And he loved 'em back, you bet—! + Putt their arms around him— on'y + None had ever kissed him yet! + + In young company, someway, + Boys 'ud grin at one another + On the sly; and girls 'ud lay + Low, with nothin' much to say, + Er leave Joney with their mother. + Many and many a time he's fetched 'em + Candy by the paper sack, + And turned right around and ketched 'em + Makin mouths behind his back! + + S'prised sometimes, the slurs he took—. + Chap said onc't his mouth looked sorter + Like a fish's mouth 'ud look + When he'd be'n jerked off the hook + And plunked back into the worter—. + Same durn feller— it's su'prisin', + But it's facts— 'at stood and cherred + From the bank that big babtizin' + 'Pike-bridge accident occurred—! + + Cherred for Joney while he give + Life to little childern drowndin'! + Which wuz fittenest to live— + Him 'at cherred, er him 'at div' + And saved thirteen lives...? They found one + Body, three days later, floated + Down the by-o, eight mile' south, + All so colored-up and bloated— + On'y knowed him by his mouth! + + Had a hare-lip— Joney had— + Folks 'at filed apast all knowed it—. + Them 'at ust to smile looked sad, + But ef he thought good er bad, + He kep' still and never showed it. + 'Druther have that mouth, all pouted + And split up, and like it wuz, + Than the ones 'at laughed about it—. + Purty is as purty does! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Like His Mother Used To Make</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo, Mo., 1874 + + "I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim, + As us fellers in the restarunt was kindo' guyin' him, + And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another punkin pie + And a' extry cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye. + "I was born in Indiany— more'n forty year' ago— + I hain't be'n back in twenty— and I'm workin' back'ards slow; + But I've et in ever' restarunt 'twixt here and Santy Fee, + And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin' home, to me!" + + "Pour us out another, Daddy," says the feller, warmin' up, + A-speakin' 'cost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup—, + "When I seed yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake- -, + "'Come in and git some coffee like yer mother used to make'— + I thought of my old mother, and the Posey County farm, + And me a little kid ag'in, a-hangin' in her arm, + As she set the pot: a-bilin', broke the eggs and poured 'em in—" + And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in his chin: + + And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood + As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker would; + Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen door— and nex', + Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs— + And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him—! + Thank God we've met him comin'—! Don't you know, yer mother, Jim?" + And the feller, as he grabbed her, says—, "You bet I hain't forgot— + But," wipin' of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee's mighty hot!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Train Misser</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At Union Station + + 'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin— + Ef I hain't missed that train ag'in! + Chuff! And whistle! And toot! And ring! + But blast and blister the dasted train—! + How it does it I can't explain! + Git here thirty-five minutes before + The durn things due—! And, drat the thing + It'll manage to git past-shore! + + The more I travel around, the more + I got no sense—! To stand right here + And let it beat me! 'Ll ding my melts! + I got no gumption, ner nothin' else! + Ticket Agent's a dad-burned bore—! + Sell you a tickets all they keer—! + Ticket Agents ort to all be + + Prosecuted— and that's jes what—! + How'd I know which train's fer me? + And how'd I know which train was not—? + Goern and comin' and gone astray, + And backin' and switchin' ever'-which-way! + + Ef I could jes sneak round behind + Myse'f, where I could git full swing, + I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing! + Till I jes got jerked up and fined—! + Fer here I stood, as a durn fool's apt + To, and let that train jes chuff and choo + Right apast me— and mouth jes gapped + Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Granny</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Granny's come to our house, + And ho! My lawzy-daisy! + All the childern round the place + Is ist a-runnin' crazy! + Fetched a cake fer little Jake, + And fetched a pie fer Nanny, + And fetched a pear fer all the pack + That runs to kiss their Granny! + + Lucy Ellen's in her lap, + And Wade and Silas Walker + Both's a ridin' on her foot, + And 'Pollos on the rocker; + And Marthy's twins, from Aunt Marinn's + And little Orphant Annie, + All's a-eatin' gingerbread + And giggle-un at Granny! + + Tells us all the fairy tales + Ever thought er wundered— + And 'bundance o' other stories— + Bet she knows a hunderd—! + + Bob's the one fer "Whittington," + And "Golden Locks" fer Fanny! + Hear 'em laugh and clap their hands, + Listenin' at Granny! + + "Jack the Giant-Killer" 's good; + And "Bean-Stalk" 's another—! + So's the one of "Cinderell'" + And her old godmother—; + That-un's best of all the rest— + Bestest one of any—, + Where the mices scampers home + Like we runs to Granny! + + Granny's come to our house, + Ho! My lawzy-daisy! + All the childern round the place + Is ist a runnin' crazy! + Fetched a cake fer little Jake, + And fetched a pie fer Nanny, + And fetched a pear fer all the pack + That runs to kiss their Granny! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Old October</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Old October's purt' nigh gone, + And the frosts is comin' on + Little heavier every day— + Like our hearts is thataway! + Leaves is changin' overhead + Back from green to gray and red, + Brown and yeller, with their stems + Loosenin' on the oaks and e'ms; + And the balance of the trees + Gittin' balder every breeze— + Like the heads we're scratchin' on! + Old October's purt' nigh gone. + + I love Old October so, + I can't bear to see her go— + Seems to me like losin' some + Old-home relative er chum— + 'Pears like sorto' settin' by + Some old friend 'at sigh by sigh + Was a-passin' out o' sight + Into everlastin' night! + Hickernuts a feller hears + Rattlin' down is more like tears + Drappin' on the leaves below— + I love Old October so! + + Can't tell what it is about + Old October knock me out—! + I sleep well enough at night— + And the blamedest appetite + Ever mortal man possessed—, + Last thing et, it tastes the best—! + Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, + 'Iles and limbers up my jaws + Fer raal service, sich as new + Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too—. + Yit fer all, they's somepin' 'bout + Old October knocks me out! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Jim</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He was jes a plain ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour., + Consumpted-Iookin'— but la! + The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest + Feller you ever saw! + Worked at jes coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk, + And his feelin's too! + Lordy! Ef he was on'y back on his bench ag'in to-day, a- carryin' on + Like he ust to do! + + Any shopmate'll tell you there never was, on top o' dirt, + A better feller'n Jim! + You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres else— + You could git it o' him! + Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess! + Give up ever' nickel he's worth— + And ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his, + He'd a-give you the earth! + + Allus a reachin' out, Jim was, and a-he'ppin' some + Pore feller onto his feet— + He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f, + So's the feller got somepin' to eat! + Didn't make no differ'nce at all to him how he was dressed, + He ust to say to me—, + "You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, a huntin' a job, + And he'll git along!" says he. + + Jim didn't have, ner never could git ahead, so overly much + O' this world's goods at a time—. + 'Fore now I've saw him, more'n onc't, lend a dollar, and haf to, more'n + likely, + Turn round and borry a dime! + Mebby laugh and joke about it hisse'f fer awhile— then jerk his coat, + And kindo' square his chin, + Tie on his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe-bench, + And go to peggin' ag'in! + + Patientest feller too, I reckon, 'at ever jes natchurly + Coughed hisse'f to death! + Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh in a whisper and say + He could git ever'thing but his breath— + "You fellers," he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say, + "Is a-pilin' onto me + A mighty big debt fer that-air little weak-chested ghost o' mine to pack + Through all Eternity!" + + Now there was a man 'at jes 'peared-like, to me, + 'At ortn't a-never a-died! + "But death hain't a-showin' no favors," the old boss said— + "On'y to Jim!" and cried: + And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work in the shop— + Er the whole blame neighborhood—, + He says, "When God made Jim, I bet you He didn't do anything else that day + But jes set around and feel good!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>To Robert Burns</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweet Singer that I loe the maist + O' ony, sin' wi' eager haste + I smacket bairn-lips ower the taste + O' hinnied sang, + I hail thee, though a blessed ghaist + In Heaven lang! + + For weel I ken, nae cantie phrase, + Nor courtly airs, nor lairdly ways, + Could gar me freer blame, or praise, + Or proffer hand, + Where "Rantin' Robbie" and his lays + Thegither stand. + + And sae these hamely lines I send, + Wi' jinglin' words at ilka end, + In echo o' the sangs that wend + Frae thee to me + Like simmer-brooks, wi mony a bend + O' wimplin' glee. + + In fancy, as wi' dewy een, + I part the clouds aboon the scene + Where thou wast born, and peer atween, + I see nae spot + In a' the Hielands half sae green + And unforgot? + + I see nae storied castle-hall, + Wi' banners flauntin' ower the wall + And serf and page in ready call, + Sae grand to me + As ane puir cotter's hut, wi' all + Its poverty. + + There where the simple daisy grew + Sae bonnie sweet, and modest too, + Thy liltin' filled its wee head fu' + O' sic a grace, + It aye is weepin' tears o' dew + Wi' droopit face. + + Frae where the heather bluebells fling + Their sangs o' fragrance to the Spring, + To where the lavrock soars to sing, + Still lives thy strain, + For' a' the birds are twittering + Sangs like thine ain. + + And aye, by light o' sun or moon, + By banks o' Ayr, or Bonnie Doon, + The waters lilt nae tender tune + But sweeter seems + Because they poured their limpid rune + Through a' thy dreams. + + Wi' brimmin' lip, and laughin' ee, + Thou shookest even Grief wi' glee, + Yet had nae niggart sympathy + Where Sorrow bowed, + But gavest a' thy tears as free + As a' thy gowd. + + And sae it is we be thy name + To see bleeze up wi' sic a flame, + That a' pretentious stars o' fame + Maun blink asklent, + To see how simple worth may shame + Their brightest glent. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>A New Year's Time at Willards's</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + The Hired Man Talks + + There's old man Willards; an' his wife; + An' Marg'et— S'repty's sister—; an' + There's me— an' I'm the hired man; + An' Tomps McClure, you better yer life! + + Well now, old Willards hain't so bad, + Considerin' the chance he's had. + Of course, he's rich, an' sleeps an' eats + Whenever he's a mind to: Takes + An' leans back in the Amen-seats + An' thanks the Lord fer all he makes—. + That's purty much all folks has got + Ag'inst the old man, like as not! + But there's his woman— jes the turn + Of them-air two wild girls o' hern— + Marg'et an' S'repty— allus in + Fer any cuttin'-up concern— + Church festibals, and foolishin' + Round Christmas-trees, an' New Year's sprees— + Set up to watch the Old Year go + An' New Year come— sich things as these; + An' turkey-dinners, don't you know! + S'repty's younger, an' more gay, + An' purtier, an' finer dressed + Than Marg'et is— but, lawzy-day! + She hain't the independentest! + "Take care!" old Willards used to say, + "Take care—! Let Marg'et have her way, + An' S'repty, you go off an' play + On your melodeum—!" But, best + Of all, comes Tomps! An' I'll be bound, + Ef he hain't jes the beatin'est + Young chap in all the country round! + Ef you knowed Tomps you'd like him, shore! + They hain't no man on top o' ground + Walks into my affections more—! + An' all the Settlement'll say + That Tomps was liked jes thataway + By ever'body, till he tuk + A shine to S'repty Willards—. Then + You'd ort'o see the old man buck + An' h'ist hisse'f, an' paw the dirt, + An' hint that "common workin'-men + That didn't want their feelin's hurt + 'Ud better hunt fer 'comp'ny' where + The folks was pore an' didn't care—!" + The pine-blank facts is—, the old man, + Last Christmas was a year ago, + Found out some presents Tomps had got + Fer S'repty, an' hit made him hot— + Set down an' tuk his pen in hand + An' writ to Tomps an' told him so + On legal cap, in white an' black, + An' give him jes to understand + "No Christmas-gifts o' 'lily-white' + An' bear's-ile could fix matters right," + An' wropped 'em up an' sent 'em back! + Well, S'repty cried an' snuffled round + Consid'able. But Marg'et she + Toed out another sock, an' wound + Her knittin' up, an' drawed the tea, + An' then set on the supper-things, + An' went up in the loft an' dressed— + An' through it all you'd never guessed + What she was up to! An' she brings + Her best hat with her an her shawl, + An' gloves, an' redicule, an' all, + An' injirubbers, an' comes down + An' tells 'em she's a-goin' to town + To he'p the Christmas goin's-on + Her Church got up. An' go she does— + The best hosswoman ever was! + "An" what'll We do while you're gone?" + The old man says, a-tryin' to be + Agreeable. "Oh! You?" says she—, + "You kin jaw S'repty, like you did, + An' slander Tomps!" An' off she rid! + + Now, this is all I'm goin' to tell + Of this-here story— that is, I + Have done my very level best + As fur as this, an' here I "dwell," + As auctioneers says, winkin' sly: + Hit's old man Willards tells the rest. + + 2 + The Old Man Talks + + Adzackly jes one year ago, + This New Year's day, Tomps comes to me— + In my own house, an' whilse the folks + Was gittin' dinner—, an' he pokes + His nose right in, an' says, says he: + "I got yer note— an' read it slow! + You don't like me, ner I don't you," + He says—, "we're even there, you know! + But you've said, furder that no gal + Of yourn kin marry me, er shall, + An' I'd best shet off comin', too!" + An' then he says—, "Well, them's Your views—; + But havin' talked with S'repty, we + Have both agreed to disagree + With your peculiar notions— some; + An', that s the reason, I refuse + To quit a-comin' here, but come— + Not fer to threat, ner raise no skeer + An' spile yer turkey-dinner here—, + But jes fer S'repty's sake, to sheer + Yer New Year's. Shall I take a cheer?" + + Well, blame-don! Ef I ever see + Sich impidence! I couldn't say + Not nary word! But Mother she + Sot out a cheer fer Tomps, an' they + Shuk hands an' turnt their back on me. + Then I riz— mad as mad could be—! + But Marg'et says—, "Now, Pap! You set + Right where you're settin'—! Don't you fret! + An' Tomps— you warm yer feet!" says she, + "An throw yer mitts an' comfert on + The bed there! Where is S'repty gone! + The cabbage is a-scortchin'! Ma, + Stop cryin' there an' stir the slaw!" + Well—! What was Mother cryin' fer—? + I half riz up— but Marg'et's chin + Hit squared— an' I set down ag'in— + I allus was afeard o' her, + I was, by jucks! So there I set, + Betwixt a sinkin'-chill an' sweat, + An' scuffled with my wrath, an' shet + My teeth to mighty tight, you bet! + An' yit, fer all that I could do, + I eeched to jes git up an' whet + The carvin'-knife a rasp er two + On Tomps's ribs— an' so would you—! + Fer he had riz an' faced around, + An' stood there, smilin', as they brung + The turkey in, all stuffed an' browned— + Too sweet fer nose, er tooth, er tongue! + With sniffs o' sage, an' p'r'aps a dash + Of old burnt brandy, steamin'-hot + Mixed kindo' in with apple-mash + An' mince-meat, an' the Lord knows what! + Nobody was a-talkin' then, + To 'filiate any awk'ardness— + No noise o' any kind but jes + The rattle o' the dishes when + They'd fetch 'em in an' set 'em down, + An' fix an' change 'em round an' round, + Like women does— till Mother says—, + "Vittels is ready; Abner, call + Down S'repty— she's up-stairs, I guess—." + And Marg'et she says, "Ef you bawl + Like that, she'll not come down at all! + Besides, we needn't wait till she + Gits down! Here Temps, set down by me, + An' Pap: say grace...!" Well, there I was—! + What could I do! I drapped my head + Behind my fists an' groaned; an' said—: + "Indulgent Parent! In Thy cause + We bow the head an' bend the knee + An' break the bread, an' pour the wine, + Feelin'—" (The stair-door suddently + Went bang! An' S'repty flounced by me—) + "Feelin'," I says, "this feast is Thine— + This New Year's feast—" an' rap-rap-rap! + Went Marg'ets case-knife on her plate— + An' next, I heerd a sasser drap—, + Then I looked up, an' strange to state, + There S'repty set in Tomps lap— + An' huggin' him, as shore as fate! + An' Mother kissin' him k-slap! + An' Marg'et— she chips in to drap + The ruther peert remark to me—: + "That 'grace' o' yourn," she says, "won't 'gee'— + This hain't no 'New Year's feast,'" says she—, + "This is a' Infair-Dinner, Pap!" + + An' so it was—! Be'n married fer + Purt' nigh a week—! 'Twas Marg'et planned + The whole thing fer 'em, through an' through. + I'm rickonciled; an' understand, + I take things jes as they occur—, + Ef Marg'et liked Tomps, Tomps 'ud do—! + But I-says-I, a-holt his hand—, + "I'm glad you didn't marry Her— + 'Cause Marg'et's my guardeen— yes-sir—! + An' S'repty's good enough fer you!" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Town Karnteel</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Town Karnteel—! It's who'll reveal + Its praises jushtifiable? + For who can sing av anything + So lovely and reliable? + Whin Summer, Spring, or Winter lies + From Malin's Head to Tipperary, + There's no such town for interprise + Bechuxt Youghal and Londonderry! + + There's not its likes in Ireland— + For twic't the week, be gorries! + They're playing jigs upon the band, + And joomping there in sacks— and— and— + And racing, wid wheelborries! + + Kanteel— it's there, like any fair, + The purty gurrls is plinty, sure—! + And man-alive! At forty-five + The leg's av me air twinty, sure! + I lave me cares, and hoein' too, + Behint me, as is sinsible, + And it's Karnteel I'm goin' to, + To cilebrate in principle! + + For there's the town av all the land! + And twic't the week, be-gorries! + They're playing jigs upon the band, + And joomping there in sacks— and— and— + And racing, wid wheelborries! + + And whilst I feel for owld Karnteel + That I've no phrases glorious, + It stands above the need av love + That boasts in voice uproarious—! + Lave that for Cork, and Dublin too, + And Armagh and Killarney thin—, + And Karnteel won't be troublin' you + Wid any jilous blarney, thin! + + For there's the town av all the land + Where twic't the week, be-gorries! + They're playing jigs upon the band, + And joomping there in sacks— and— and— + And racing, wid wheelborries! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Regardin' Terry Hut</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sence I tuk holt o' Gibbses' Churn + And be'n a-handlin' the concern, + I've travelled round the grand old State + Of Indiany, lots, o' late—! + I've canvassed Crawferdsville and sweat + Around the town o' Layfayette; + I've saw a many a County-seat + I ust to think was hard to beat: + At constant dreenage and expense + I've worked Greencastle and Vincennes— + Drapped out o' Putnam into Clay, + Owen, and on down thataway + Plum into Knox, on the back-track + Fer home ag'in— and glad I'm back—! + I've saw these towns, as I say— but + They's none 'at beats old Terry Hut! + + It's more'n likely you'll insist + I claim this 'cause I'm prejudist, + Bein' born'd here in ole Vygo + In sight o' Terry Hut—; but no, + Yer clean dead wrong—! And I maintain + They's nary drap in ary vein + O' mine but what's as free as air + To jest take issue with you there—! + 'Cause, boy and man, fer forty year, + I've argied ag'inst livin' here, + And jawed around and traded lies + About our lack o' enterprise, + And tuk and turned in and agreed + All other towns was in the lead, + When— drat my melts—! They couldn't cut + No shine a-tall with Terry Hut! + + Take even, statesmanship, and wit, + And ginerel git-up-and-git, + Old Terry Hut is sound clean through—! + Turn old Dick Thompson loose, er Dan + Vorehees— and where's they any man + Kin even hold a candle to + Their eloquence—? And where's as clean + A fi-nan-seer as Rile' McKeen— + Er puorer, in his daily walk, + In railroad er in racin' stock! + And there's 'Gene Debs— a man 'at stands + And jest holds out in his two hands + As warm a heart as ever beat + Betwixt here and the Jedgement Seat—! + All these is reasons why I putt + Sich bulk o' faith in Terry Hut. + + So I've come back, with eyes 'at sees + My faults, at last—, to make my peace + With this old place, and truthful' swear— + Like Gineral Tom Nelson does—, + "They hain't no city anywhere + On God's green earth lays over us!" + Our city government is grand— + "Ner is they better farmin'-land + Sun-kissed—" as Tom goes on and says— + "Er dower'd with sich advantages!" + And I've come back, with welcome tread, + From journeyin's vain, as I have said, + To settle down in ca'm content, + And cuss the towns where I have went, + And brag on ourn, and boast and strut + Around the streets o' Terry Hut! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Leedle Dutch Baby</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Leedle Dutch baby haff come ter town! + Jabber und jump till der day gone down— + Jabber und sphlutter und sphlit hees jaws— + Vot a Dutch baby dees Londsmon vas! + I dink dose mout' vas leedle too vide + Ober he laugh fon dot altso-side! + Haff got blenty off deemple und vrown—? + Hey! Leedle Dutchman come ter town! + + Leedle Dutch baby, I dink me proud + Ober your fader can schquall dot loud + Ven he vas leedle Dutch baby like you + Und yoost don't gare, like he alvays do—! + Guess ven dey vean him on beer, you bet + Dot's der because dot he aind veaned yet—! + Vot you said off he dringk you down—? + Hey! Leedle Dutchman come ter town! + + Leedle Dutch baby, yoost schquall avay— + Schquall fon preakfast till gisterday! + Better you all time gry und shout + Dan shmile me vonce fon der coffin out! + Vot I gare off you keek my nose + Downside-up mit your heels und toes— + Downside, oder der oopside-down—? + Hey! Leedle Dutchman come ter town! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Down On Wriggle Crick</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Best time to kill a hog's when he's fat." —Old Saw. + + Mostly folks is law-abidin' + Down on Wriggle Crick—, + Seein' they's no Squire residin' + In our bailywick; + No grand juries, no suppeenies, + Ner no vested rights to pick + Out yer man, jerk up and jail ef + He's outragin' Wriggle Crick! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wriggle Crick hain't got no lawin', + Ner no suits to beat; + Ner no court-house gee-and-hawin' + Like a County-seat; + Hain't no waitin' round fer verdick, + Ner non-gittin' witness-fees; + Ner no thiefs 'at gits "new heain's," + By some lawyer slick as grease! + + Wriggle Cricks's leadin' spirit + Is old Johnts Culwell—, + Keeps post-office, and right near it + Owns what's called "The Grand Hotel—" + (Warehouse now—) buys wheat and ships it; + Gits out ties, and trades in stock, + And knows all the high-toned drummers + 'Twixt South Bend and Mishawauk' + + Last year comes along a feller— + Sharper 'an a lance— + Stovepipe-hat and silk umbreller, + And a boughten all-wool pants—, + Tinkerin of clocks and watches: + Says a trial's all he wants— + And rents out the tavern-office + Next to Uncle Johnts. + + Well—. He tacked up his k'dentials, + And got down to biz—. + Captured Johnts by cuttin' stenchils + Fer them old wheat-sacks o' his—. + + Fixed his clock, in the post-office— + Painted fer him, clean and slick, + 'Crost his safe, in gold-leaf letters, + "J. Culwells's Wriggle Crick." + + Any kindo' job you keered to + Resk him with, and bring, + He'd fix fer you— jest appeared to + Turn his hand to anything—! + Rings, er earbobs, er umbrellers— + Glue a cheer er chany doll—, + W'y, of all the beatin' fellers, + He Jest beat 'em all! + + Made his friends, but wouldn't stop there—, + One mistake he learnt, + That was, sleepin' in his shop there—. + And one Sund'y night it burnt! + Come in one o' jest a-sweepin' + All the whole town high and dry— + And that feller, when they waked him, + Suffocatin', mighty nigh! + + Johnts he drug him from the buildin', + He'pless— 'peared to be—, + And the women and the childern + Drenchin' him with sympathy! + But I noticed Johnts helt on him + With a' extry lovin' grip, + And the men-folks gethered round him + In most warmest pardership! + + That's the whole mess, grease-and-dopin'! + Johnt's safe was saved—, + But the lock was found sprung open, + And the inside caved. + Was no trial— ner no jury— + Ner no jedge ner court-house-click—. + Circumstances alters cases + Down on Wriggle Crick! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>When De Folks Is Gone</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What dat scratchin' at de kitchin do'? + Done heah'n dat foh an hour er mo'! + Tell you Mr. Niggah, das sho's yo' bo'n, + Hit's mighty lonesome waitin' when de folks is gone! + + Blame my trap! How de wind do blow! + An' dis is das de night foh de witches, sho'! + Dey's trouble gon' to waste when de old slut whine, + An' you heah de cat a-spittin' when de moon don't shine! + + Chune my fiddle, an' de bridge go "bang!" + An' I lef' 'er right back whah she allus hang, + An' de tribble snap short an' de apern split + When dey no mortal man wah a-tetchin' hit! + + Dah! Now, what? How de ole j'ice cracks! + 'Spec' dis house, ef hit tell plain fac's, + 'Ud talk about de ha'nts wid dey long tails on + What das'n't on'y come when de folks is gone! + + What I tuk an' done ef a sho'-nuff ghos' + Pop right up by de ole bed-pos'? + What dat shinin' fru de front do' crack...? + God bress de Lo'd! Hit's de folks got back! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>The Little Town O' Tailholt</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You kin boast about yer cities, and their stiddy growth and size, + And brag about yer County-seats, and business enterprise, + And railroads, and factories, and all sich foolery— + But the little Town o' Tailholt is big enough fer me! + + You kin harp about yer churches, with their steeples in the clouds, + And gas about yer graded streets, and blow about yer crowds; + You kin talk about yer "theaters," and all you've got to see— + But the little Town o' Tailholt is show enough fer me! + + They hain't no style in our town— hit's little-like and small— + They hain't no "churches," nuther—, jes' the meetin' house is all; + They's no sidewalks, to speak of— but the highway's allus free, + And the little Town o' Tailholt is wide enough fer me! + + Some find it discommodin'-like, I'm willin' to admit, + To hev but one post-office, and a womern keepin' hit, + And the drug-store, and shoe-shop, and grocery, all three— + But the little Town o' Tailholt is handy 'nough fer me! + + You kin smile and turn yer nose up, and joke and hev yer fun, + And laugh and holler "Tail-holts is better holts'n none! + Ef the city suits you better w'y, hit's where you'd ort'o be— + But the little Town o' Tailholt's good enough fer me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Little Orphant Annie</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, + An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, + An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, + An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep; + An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done, + We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun + A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, + An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers—, + An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, + His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl, + An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! + An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press, + An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess; + But all they found was thist his pants an' roundabout—: + An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh and grin, + An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin; + An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there, + She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! + An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, + They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, + An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! + An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, + An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! + An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, + An' the lightn'-bugs in dew is all squenched away—, + You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, + An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, + An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about + Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! +</pre> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Afterwhiles, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTERWHILES *** + +***** This file should be named 15862-h.htm or 15862-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/8/6/15862/ + +Etext produced by "Teary Eyes" Anderson + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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