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committer: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-14 20:08:56 -0700
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+<!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"
+ xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type"
+ content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chimneysmoke,
+ by Christopher Morley.</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+
+body {
+margin-left: 10%;
+margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
+text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+clear: both;
+}
+
+p {
+margin-top: .75em;
+text-align: justify;
+margin-bottom: .75em;
+}
+
+hr {
+width: 80%;
+margin-top: 2em;
+margin-bottom: 2em;
+margin-left: auto;
+margin-right: auto;
+clear: both;
+}
+
+table {
+margin-left: auto;
+margin-right: auto;
+}
+
+.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+/* visibility: hidden; */
+position: absolute;
+left: 92%;
+font-size: smaller;
+text-align: right;
+}
+
+p .caption {text-align:left; padding-left:2em;}
+.center {text-align: center;}
+.dropcap {float: left; padding-right: 3px; padding-top: 3px; font-size: 250%; line-height: 83%; width: auto;}
+.large {font-size: 200%; vertical-align: top; }
+.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
+.u {text-decoration: underline;}
+.caption {font-weight: bold;}
+
+/* Images */
+.figcover {
+margin-top: 1em;
+margin-bottom: 1em;
+margin-left: auto;
+margin-right: auto;
+text-align: center;
+}
+
+/* Poetry */
+.line_in_1  {margin-left: 1em;}
+.line_in_2  {margin-left: 2em;}
+</style>
+</head>
+
+<body>
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chimneysmoke, by Christopher Morley
+
+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: Chimneysmoke
+
+Author: Christopher Morley
+
+Illustrator: Thomas Fogarty
+
+Release Date: October 26, 2011 [EBook #37852]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIMNEYSMOKE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Steven Brown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+</pre>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="cover"></a>[cover]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover Page" /></div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_i"></a>[i]</span></p>
+<h1><i>Chimneysmoke</i></h1>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus001.jpg" alt="Chimneysmoke" /></div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><i>By Christopher
+Morley</i></div>
+<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><br />
+<small>CHIMNEYSMOKE<br />
+HIDE AND SEEK<br />
+THE ROCKING HORSE<br />
+SONGS FOR A LITTLE HOUSE<br />
+MINCE PIE
+</small></div>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+<br />
+<i>New York: George H. Doran Company</i></div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus004.jpg" alt="This hearth was built for thy delight" /></div>
+<table style="width: 90%; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td style="width: 50%;"></td>
+<td align="left" valign="middle">
+<p class="caption"><i>This
+hearth was built for thy delight,</i><br />
+<i>For thee the logs were sawn,</i><br />
+<i>For thee the largest chair, at night,</i><br />
+<i>Is to the chimney drawn.</i><br />
+<br />
+<i>For thee, dear lass, the match was lit,</i><br />
+<i>To yield the ruddy blaze&#8212;</i><br />
+<i>May Jack Frost give us joy of it</i><br />
+<i>For many, many days.</i><br />
+</p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p>
+<h1><i><big>Chimneysmoke</big></i></h1>
+<h3><i>by</i></h3>
+<h2><i>Christopher Morley</i></h2>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus005.jpg" alt="Fireside Chair" />
+</div>
+<h4><i>Illustrated by</i></h4>
+<h4> <i>Thomas Fogarty</i></h4>
+<table style="width: 40%; text-align: center; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td> <i>Garden City, New York</i></td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<table style="width: 30%; text-align: center; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td style="width: 15%;"><big><i>Doubleday,
+Page &amp; Co.</i></big><br />
+<small><i>1927</i></small>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_v"></a>[v]</span></p>
+<p> COPYRIGHT, 1917, 1919, 1920, 1921<br />
+BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY.<br />
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN<br />
+THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY<br />
+LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
+</p>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p>
+<table style="width: 35%; text-align: center; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td align="center"><i>"How can I turn from any
+fire</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>On any
+man's hearthstone?</i></span><br />
+<i>I know the wonder and desire</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>That went
+to build my own.</i>"</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8212;<span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>; "<i>The
+Fires</i>"
+</span></td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p>
+<h2><i>Author's Note</i></h2>
+<p>There are a number of poems in this collection that have not
+previously
+appeared in book form. But, as a few readers may discern, many of the
+verses are reprinted from <i>Songs for a Little House</i>
+(1917),
+<i>The Rocking Horse</i> (1919) and <i>Hide and Seek</i>
+(1920). There is
+also one piece revived from the judicious obscurity of an early
+escapade,
+<i>The Eighth Sin</i>, published in Oxford in 1912. It is
+on Mr. Thomas
+Fogarty's delightful and sympathetic drawings that this book rests its
+real claim to be considered a new venture. To Mr. Fogarty, and to
+Mr. George H. Doran, whose constant kindness and generosity contradict
+all the traditions about publishers and minor poets, the author
+expresses
+his permanent gratitude.</p>
+<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Roslyn,
+Long Island</i>.</span></p>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_ix"></a>[ix]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus011.jpg" alt="Boat on Lake" /></div>
+<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a><i>Contents</i></h2>
+<table style="width: 90%; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td style="width: 75%;"></td>
+<td align="center">PAGE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_19">TO
+THE LITTLE HOUSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_19">19</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_20">A
+GRACE BEFORE WRITING</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_20">20</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_21">DEDICATION
+FOR A FIREPLACE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_21">21</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_22">TAKING
+TITLE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_22">22</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_25">THE
+SECRET</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_25">25</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_26">ONLY
+A MATTER OF TIME</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_26">26</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_28">AT
+THE MERMAID CAFETERIA</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_28">28</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_29">OUR
+HOUSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_29">29</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_31">ON
+NAMING A HOUSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_31">31</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_32">A
+HALLOWE'EN MEMORY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_32">32</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_35">REFUSING
+YOU IMMORTALITY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_35">35</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_36">BAYBERRY
+CANDLES</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_36">36</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_37">SECRET
+LAUGHTER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_37">37</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_38">SIX
+WEEKS OLD</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_38">38</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_41">A
+CHARM</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_41">41</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_42">MY
+PIPE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_42">42</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_44">THE
+5:42</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_44">44</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_48">PETER
+PAN</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_48">48</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_49">IN
+HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_49">49</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_50">THE
+CEDAR CHEST</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_50">50</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_51">READING
+ALOUD</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_51">51</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_52">ANIMAL
+CRACKERS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_52">52</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_55">THE
+MILKMAN</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_55">55</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_56">LIGHT
+VERSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_56">56</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_57">THE
+FURNACE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_57">57</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_58">WASHING
+THE DISHES</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_58">58</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_61">THE
+CHURCH OF UNBENT KNEES</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_61">61</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_62">ELEGY
+WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COAL-BIN</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_62">62</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_66">THE
+OLD SWIMMER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_66">66</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_70">THE
+MOON-SHEEP</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_70">70</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_71">SMELLS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_71">71</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_72">SMELLS
+(JUNIOR)</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_72">72</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_75">MAR
+QUONG, CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_75">75</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_76">THE
+FAT LITTLE PURSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_76">76</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_80">THE
+REFLECTION</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_80">80</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_82">THE
+BALLOON PEDDLER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_82">82</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_86">LINES
+FOR AN ECCENTRIC'S BOOK PLATE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_86">86</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_89">TO A
+POST-OFFICE INKWELL</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_89">89</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_90">THE
+CRIB</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_90">90</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_94">THE
+POET</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_94">94</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_97">TO A
+DISCARDED MIRROR</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_97">97</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_98">TO A
+CHILD</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_98">98</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_100">TO A
+VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_100">100</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_104">TO
+AN OLD-FASHIONED POET</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_104">104</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_105">BURNING
+LEAVES IN SPRING</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_105">105</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_106">BURNING
+LEAVES, NOVEMBER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_106">106</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_107">A
+VALENTINE GAME</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_107">107</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_108">FOR
+A BIRTHDAY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_108">108</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_111">KEATS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_111">111</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_113">TO
+H. F. M., A SONNET IN SUNLIGHT</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_113">113</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_114">QUICKENING</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_114">114</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_115">AT A
+WINDOW SILL</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_115">115</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_116">THE
+RIVER OF LIGHT</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_116">116</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_118">OF
+HER GLORIOUS MADNESS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_118">118</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_119">IN
+AN AUCTION ROOM</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_119">119</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_120">EPITAPH
+FOR A POET WHO WROTE NO POETRY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_120">120</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_121">SONNET
+BY A GEOMETER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_121">121</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_122">TO A
+VAUDEVILLE TERRIER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_122">122</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_125">TO
+AN OLD FRIEND</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_125">125</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_126">TO A
+BURLESQUE SOUBRETTE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_126">126</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_129">THOUGHTS
+WHILE PACKING A TRUNK</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_129">129</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_130">STREETS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_130">130</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_131">TO
+THE ONLY BEGETTER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_131">131</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_133">PEDOMETER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_133">133</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_134">HOSTAGES</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_134">134</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_137">ARS
+DURA</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_137">137</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_138">O.
+HENRY&#8212;APOTHECARY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_138">138</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_139">FOR
+THE CENTENARY OF KEATS'S SONNET</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_139">139</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_140">TWO
+O'CLOCK</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_140">140</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_141">THE
+COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_141">141</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_142">THE
+WEDDED LOVER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_142">142</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_143">TO
+YOU, REMEMBERING THE PAST</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_143">143</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_144">CHARLES
+AND MARY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_144">144</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_145">TO A
+GRANDMOTHER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_145">145</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_146">DIARISTS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_146">146</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_147">THE
+LAST SONNET</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_147">147</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_148">THE
+SAVAGE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_148">148</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_149">ST.
+PAUL'S AND WOOLWORTH</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_149">149</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_150">ADVICE
+TO A CITY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_150">150</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_151">THE
+TELEPHONE DIRECTORY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_151">151</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_153">GREEN
+ESCAPE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_153">153</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_157">VESPER
+SONG FOR COMMUTERS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_157">157</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_158">THE
+ICE WAGON</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_158">158</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_161">AT A
+MOVIE THEATRE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_161">161</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_163">SONNETS
+IN A LODGING HOUSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_163">163</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_167">THE
+MAN WITH THE HOE (PRESS)</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_167">167</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_168">DO
+YOU EVER FEEL LIKE GOD?</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_168">168</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_170">RAPID
+TRANSIT</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_170">170</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_171">CAUGHT
+IN THE UNDERTOW</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_171">171</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_172">TO
+HIS BROWN-EYED MISTRESS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_172">172</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_173">PEACE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_173">173</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_175">SONG,
+IN DEPRECATION OF PULCHRITUDE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_175">175</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_176">MOUNTED
+POLICE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_176">176</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_179">TO
+HIS MISTRESS, DEPLORING THAT HE IS NOT AN ELIZABETHAN GALAXY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_179">179</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_181">THE
+INTRUDER</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_181">181</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_182">TIT
+FOR TAT</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_182">182</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_185">SONG
+FOR A LITTLE HOUSE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_185">185</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_186">THE
+PLUMPUPPETS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_186">186</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_190">DANDY
+DANDELION</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_190">190</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_192">THE
+HIGH CHAIR</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_192">192</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_193">LOVE
+AT FIRST SIGHT</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_193">193</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_197">AUTUMN
+COLORS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_197">197</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_198">THE
+LAST CRICKET</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_198">198</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_199">TO
+LOUISE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_199">199</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_203">CHRISTMAS
+EVE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_203">203</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_204">EPITAPH
+ON THE PROOFREADER OF THE ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_204">204</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_205">THE
+MUSIC BOX</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_205">205</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_209">TO
+LUATH</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_209">209</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_212">THOUGHTS
+ON REACHING LAND</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_212">212</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_214">A
+SYMPOSIUM</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_214">214</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_218">TO A
+TELEPHONE OPERATOR WHO HAS A BAD COLD</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_218">218</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_219">NURSERY
+RHYMES FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_219">219</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_227">THE
+TWINS</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_227">227</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_228">A
+PRINTER'S MADRIGAL</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_228">228</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_230">THE
+POET ON THE HEARTH</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_230">230</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_231">O
+PRAISE ME NOT THE COUNTRY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_231">231</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_235">A
+STONE IN ST. PAUL'S GRAVEYARD</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_235">235</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_236">THE
+MADONNA OF THE CURB</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_236">236</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_240">THE
+ISLAND</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_240">240</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_242">SUNDAY
+NIGHT</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_242">242</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_246">ENGLAND,
+JULY, 1913</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_246">246</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_250">CASUALTY</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_250">250</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_251">A
+GRUB STREET RECESSIONAL</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_251">251</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_253">PRELIMINARY
+INSTRUCTIONS FOR A FUNERAL SERVICE</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_253">253</a></td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_xv"></a>[xv]</span></p>
+<table style="width: 90%; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td style="width: 45%;">
+<h2><a name="illustrations" id="illustrations"></a><i>Illustrations</i></h2>
+</td>
+<td align="right">
+<div class="figcover"><img src="images/illus017.jpg" alt="Girl on Stool" /></div>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<table style="width: 90%; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" summary="" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2">
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+<td style="width: 75%;"></td>
+<td align="center">PAGE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_iii"><i>This
+hearth was built for thy delight</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_iii"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_23"><i>And
+by a friend's bright gift of wine,</i><br />
+<i>I dedicate this house of mine</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_23">23</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_33"><i>And
+of all man's felicities</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_33">33</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_39"><i>A
+little world he feels and sees:</i><br />
+<i>His mother's arms, his mother's knees</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_39">39</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_47"><i>The
+5:42</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_47">47</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_53"><i>And
+Daddy once said he would like to be me</i><br />
+<i>Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_53">53</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_59"><i>But
+heavy feeding complicates</i><br />
+<i>The task by soiling many plates</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_59">59</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_65"><i>How
+ill avail, on such a frosty night</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_65">65</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_69"><i>The
+old swimmer</i></a>
+</td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_69">69</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_73"><i>But
+Katie, the cook, is more splendid than all</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_73">73</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_79"><i>Perhaps
+it's a ragged child crying</i></a>
+</td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_79">79</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_85"><i>The
+Balloon Peddler</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_85">85</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_87"><i>If
+you appreciate it more</i><br />
+<i>Than I&#8212;why don't return it!</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_87">87</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_93"><i>And
+then one night</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_93">93</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_95"><i>The
+human cadence and the subtle chime</i><br />
+<i>Of little laughters</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_95">95</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_103"><i>What
+years of youthful ills and pangs and bumps</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_103">103</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_109"><i>A
+Birthday</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_109">109</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_123"><i>You
+must be rigid servant of your art!</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_123">123</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_127"><i>You
+came, and impudent and deuce-may-care</i><br />
+<i>Danced where the gutter flamed with footlight fire</i></a>
+</td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_127">127</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_135"><i>Hostages</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_135">135</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_155"><i>My
+eyes still pine for the comely line</i><br />
+<i>Of an outbound vessel's hull</i></a>
+</td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_155">155</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_165"><i>A
+man ain't so secretive, never cares</i><br />
+<i>What kind of private papers he leaves lay</i>&#8212;</a>
+</td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_165">165</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_177"><i>Mounted
+Police</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_177">177</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_183"><i>Courtesy</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_183">183</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_189"><i>The
+Plumpuppets</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_189">189</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_195">... <i>It's
+hard to have to tell</i><br />
+<i>How unresponsive I have found her</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_195">195</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_201">... <i>When
+you see, this Great First Time,</i><br />
+<i>Lit candles on a Christmas Tree!</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_201">201</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_207"><i>The
+music box</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_207">207</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_217"><i>Solugubrious</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_217">217</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_221"><i>In
+the midnight, like yourself,</i><br />
+<i>I explore the pantry shelf!</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_221">221</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_227"><i>The
+Twins</i></a>
+</td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_227">227</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_233"><i>O
+praise me not the country</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_233">233</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_239"><i>The
+wail of sickly children</i>&#8212;</a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_239">239</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><a href="#pg_245"><i>Ah,
+does the butcher&#8212;heartless clown&#8212;</i><br />
+<i>Beget that shadow on her brow?</i></a></td>
+<td align="center"><a href="#pg_245">245</a></td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_xvii"></a>[xvii]</span></p>
+<h1><i><big>Chimneysmoke</big></i></h1>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus019.jpg" alt="Girl by Gate" title="" height="408" width="306" /></div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_19"></a>[19]</span></p>
+<h1><big><i><b>Chimneysmoke</b></i></big></h1>
+<h3>TO THE LITTLE HOUSE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+<span class="dropcap">D</span><span class="smcap">ear</span>
+little house, dear shabby street,<br />
+Dear books and beds and food to eat!<br />
+How feeble words are to express<br />
+The facets of your tenderness.<br />
+<br />
+How white the sun comes through the pane!<br />
+In tinkling music drips the rain!<br />
+How burning bright the furnace glows!<br />
+What paths to shovel when it snows!<br />
+<br />
+O dearly loved Long Island trains!<br />
+O well remembered joys and pains....<br />
+How near the housetops Beauty leans<br />
+Along that little street in Queens!<br />
+<br />
+Let these poor rhymes abide for proof<br />
+Joy dwells beneath a humble roof;<br />
+Heaven is not built of country seats<br />
+But little queer suburban streets!<br />
+<br />
+March, 1917.</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_20"></a>[20]</span></p>
+<h3>A GRACE BEFORE WRITING</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+<span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">his</span>
+is a sacrament, I think!
+<div class="line_in_1"> Holding the bottle toward
+the light,</div>
+As blue as lupin gleams the ink;
+<div class="line_in_1">May Truth be with me as I
+write!</div>
+<br />
+That small dark cistern may afford
+<div class="line_in_1">Reunion with some vanished
+friend,&#8212;</div>
+And with this ink I have just poured
+<div class="line_in_1">May none but honest words
+be penned!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_21"></a>[21]</span></p>
+<h3>DEDICATION FOR A FIREPLACE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">his</span> hearth was
+built for thy delight,
+<div class="line_in_1">For thee the logs were sawn,</div>
+For thee the largest chair, at night,
+<div class="line_in_1">Is to the chimney drawn.</div>
+<br />
+For thee, dear lass, the match was lit
+<div class="line_in_1">To yield the ruddy blaze&#8212;</div>
+May Jack Frost give us joy of it
+<div class="line_in_1">For many, many days</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_22"></a>[22]</span></p>
+<h3>TAKING TITLE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+<span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">o</span>
+make this house my very own<br />
+Could not be done by law alone.<br />
+Though covenant and deed convey<br />
+Absolute fee, as lawyers say,<br />
+There are domestic rites beside<br />
+By which this house is sanctified.<br />
+<br />
+By kindled fire upon the hearth,<br />
+By planted pansies in the garth,<br />
+By food, and by the quiet rest<br />
+Of those brown eyes that I love best,<br />
+And by a friend's bright gift of wine,<br />
+I dedicate this house of mine.<br />
+<br />
+When all but I are soft abed<br />
+I trail about my quiet stead<br />
+A wreath of blue tobacco smoke<br />
+(A charm that evil never broke)<br />
+And bring my ritual to an end<br />
+By giving shelter to a friend.<br />
+<br />
+These done, O dwelling, you become<br />
+Not just a house, but truly Home!
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_23"></a>[23]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus025.jpg" alt="And by a friend's bright gift of wine,"/>
+<br />
+<p class="caption"><i>And by a friend's
+bright gift of wine,</i><br />
+<i>I dedicate this house of mine</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_25"></a>[25]</span></p>
+<h3>THE SECRET</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">t</span>
+was the House of Quietness
+<div class="line_in_1">To which I came at dusk;</div>
+The garth was lit with roses
+<div class="line_in_1">And heavy with their musk.</div>
+<br />
+The tremulous tall poplar trees
+<div class="line_in_1">Stood whispering around,</div>
+The gentle flicker of their plumes
+<div class="line_in_1">More quiet than no sound.</div>
+<br />
+And as I wondered at the door
+<div class="line_in_1">What magic might be there,</div>
+The Lady of Sweet Silences
+<div class="line_in_1">Came softly down the stair.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_26"></a>[26]</span></p>
+<h3>ONLY A MATTER OF TIME</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">D</span><span class="smcap">own-slipping</span>
+Time,
+sweet, swift, and shallow stream,<br />
+Here, like a boulder, lies this afternoon<br />
+Across your eager flow. So you shall stay,<br />
+Deepened and dammed, to let me breathe and be.<br />
+Your troubled fluency, your running gleam<br />
+Shall pause, and circle idly, still and clear:<br />
+The while I lie and search your glassy pool<br />
+Where, gently coiling in their lazy round,<br />
+Unseparable minutes drift and swim,<br />
+Eddy and rise and brim. And I will see<br />
+How many crystal bubbles of slack Time<br />
+The mind can hold and cherish in one <i>Now</i>!<br />
+<br />
+Now, for one conscious vacancy of sense,<br />
+The stream is gathered in a deepening pond,<br />
+Not a mere moving mirror. Through the sharp<br />
+Correct reflection of the standing scene<br />
+The mind can dip, and cleanse itself with rest,<br />
+And see, slow spinning in the lucid gold,<br />
+Your liquid motes, imperishable Time.<br />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_27"></a>[27]</span></p>
+It cannot be. The runnel slips away:<br />
+The clear smooth downward sluice begins again,<br />
+More brightly slanting for that trembling pause,<br />
+Leaving the sense its conscious vague unease<br />
+As when a sonnet flashes on the mind,<br />
+Trembles and burns an instant, and is gone.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_28"></a>[28]</span></p>
+<h3>AT THE MERMAID CAFETERIA</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">ruth</span> is enough
+for
+prose:<br />
+Calmly it goes<br />
+To tell just what it knows.<br />
+<br />
+For verse, skill will suffice&#8212;<br />
+Delicate, nice<br />
+Casting of verbal dice.<br />
+<br />
+Poetry, men attain<br />
+By subtler pain<br />
+More flagrant in the brain&#8212;<br />
+<br />
+An honesty unfeigned,<br />
+A heart unchained,<br />
+A madness well restrained.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_29"></a>[29]</span></p>
+<h3>OUR HOUSE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">t</span> should be
+yours,
+if I could build<br />
+The quaint old dwelling I desire,<br />
+With books and pictures bravely filled<br />
+And chairs beside an open fire,<br />
+White-panelled rooms with candles lit&#8212;<br />
+I lie awake to think of it!<br />
+<br />
+A dial for the sunny hours,<br />
+A garden of old-fashioned flowers&#8212;<br />
+Say marigolds and lavender<br />
+And mignonette and fever-few,<br />
+And Judas-tree and maidenhair<br />
+And candytuft and thyme and rue&#8212;<br />
+All these for you to wander in.<br />
+<br />
+A Chinese carp (called <i>Mandarin</i>)<br />
+Waving a sluggish silver fin<br />
+Deep in the moat: so tame he comes<br />
+To lip your fingers offering crumbs.<br />
+Tall chimneys, like long listening ears,<br />
+White shutters, ivy green and thick,<br />
+And walls of ruddy Tudor brick<br />
+Grown mellow with the passing years.<br />
+<br />
+And windows with small leaded panes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_30"></a>[30]</span><br />
+Broad window-seats for when it rains;<br />
+A big blue bowl of pot pourri<br />
+And&#8212;yes, a Spanish chestnut tree<br />
+To coin the autumn's minted gold.<br />
+A summer house for drinking tea&#8212;<br />
+All these (just think!) for you and me.<br />
+<br />
+A staircase of the old black wood<br />
+Cut in the days of Robin Hood,<br />
+And banisters worn smooth as glass<br />
+Down which your hand will lightly pass;<br />
+A piano with pale yellow keys<br />
+For wistful twilight melodies,<br />
+And dusty bottles in a bin&#8212;<br />
+All these for you to revel in!<br />
+<br />
+But when? Ah well, until that time<br />
+We'll habit in this house of rhyme.<br />
+1912</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_31"></a>[31]</span></p>
+<h3>ON NAMING A HOUSE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> I a
+householder
+became<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I had to give my house a
+name.</div>
+<br />
+I thought I'd call it "Poplar Trees,"<br />
+Or "Widdershins" or "Velvet Bees,"
+<div class="line_in_1">Or "Just Beneath a Star."</div>
+I thought of "House Where Plumbings Freeze,"<br />
+Or "As You Like it," "If You Please,"<br />
+Or "Nicotine" or "Bread and Cheese,"
+<div class="line_in_1">"Full Moon" or "Doors Ajar."</div>
+<br />
+But still I sought some subtle charm,<br />
+Some rune to guard my roof from harm
+<div class="line_in_1">And keep the devil far;</div>
+I thought of this, and I was saved!<br />
+I had my letter-heads engraved
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>The House Where
+Brown Eyes Are.</i></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_32"></a>[32]</span></p>
+<h3>A HALLOWE'EN MEMORY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">D</span><span class="smcap">o</span> you remember,
+Heart's Desire,
+<div class="line_in_1">The night when Hallowe'en
+first came?</div>
+The newly dedicated fire,
+<div class="line_in_1">The hearth unsanctified by
+flame?</div>
+<br />
+How anxiously we swept the bricks
+<div class="line_in_1">(How tragic, were the
+draught not right!)</div>
+And then the blaze enwrapped the sticks
+<div class="line_in_1">And filled the room with
+dancing light.</div>
+<br />
+We could not speak, but only gaze,
+<div class="line_in_1">Nor half believe what we
+had seen&#8212;</div>
+<i>Our</i> home, <i>our</i> hearth, <i>our</i>
+golden blaze,
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>Our</i>
+cider mugs, <i>our</i> Hallowe'en!</div>
+<br />
+And then a thought occurred to me&#8212;
+<div class="line_in_1">We ran outside with sudden
+shout</div>
+And looked up at the roof, to see
+<div class="line_in_1">Our own dear smoke come
+drifting out.</div>
+<br />
+And of all man's felicities
+<div class="line_in_1">The very subtlest one, say
+I,</div>
+Is when, for the first time, he sees
+<div class="line_in_1">His hearthfire smoke
+against the sky.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_33"></a>[33]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus035.jpg" alt="And of all man's felicities" />
+<p class="caption"><i>And of all man's felicities</i><br />
+<i>The very subtlest one, say I,</i><br />
+<i>Is when, for the first time, he sees</i><br />
+<i>His hearthfire smoke against the sky.</i></p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_35"></a>[35]</span></p>
+<h3>REFUSING YOU IMMORTALITY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">f</span> I should tell,
+unstinted,
+<div class="line_in_1">Your beauty and your grace,</div>
+All future lads would whisper
+<div class="line_in_1">Traditions of your face;</div>
+If I made public tumult
+<div class="line_in_1">Your mirth, your queenly
+state,</div>
+Posterity would grumble
+<div class="line_in_1">That it was born too late.</div>
+<br />
+I will not frame your beauty
+<div class="line_in_1">In bright undying phrase,</div>
+Nor blaze it as a legend
+<div class="line_in_1">For unborn men to praise&#8212;</div>
+For why should future lovers
+<div class="line_in_1">Be saddened and depressed?</div>
+Deluded, let them fancy
+<div class="line_in_1">Their own girls loveliest!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_36"></a>[36]</span></p>
+<h3>BAYBERRY CANDLES</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">D</span><span class="smcap">ear</span> sweet, when
+dusk comes up the hill,
+<div class="line_in_1">The fire leaps high with
+golden prongs;</div>
+I place along the chimneysill
+<div class="line_in_1">The tiny candles of my
+songs.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_2">And though unsteadily they
+burn,
+<div class="line_in_1">As evening shades from gray
+to blue</div>
+Like candles they will surely learn
+<div class="line_in_1">To shine more clear, for
+love of you.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_37"></a>[37]</span></p>
+<h3>SECRET LAUGHTER</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">"I had a secret laughter."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">&#8212;Walter de la Mare.</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">here</span> is a secret
+laughter
+<div class="line_in_1">That often comes to me,</div>
+And though I go about my work<br />
+As humble as can be,<br />
+There is no prince or prelate
+<div class="line_in_1">I envy&#8212;no, not one.</div>
+No evil can befall me&#8212;
+<div class="line_in_1">By God, I have a son!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_38"></a>[38]</span></p>
+<h3>SIX WEEKS OLD</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">e</span> is so small, he
+does not know<br />
+The summer sun, the winter snow;<br />
+The spring that ebbs and comes again,<br />
+All this is far beyond his ken.<br />
+<br />
+A little world he feels and sees:<br />
+His mother's arms, his mother's knees;<br />
+He hides his face against her breast,<br />
+And does not care to learn the rest.
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_39"></a>[39]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus041.jpg" alt="Babe in Arms" />
+<p class="caption">
+<i>A little world he feels and sees:</i><br />
+<i>His mother's arms, his mother's knees</i>&#8212;</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_41"></a>[41]</span></p>
+<h3>A CHARM</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">For Our New Fireplace,<br />
+To Stop Its Smoking
+<br />
+<br/></p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap"> wood</span>, burn
+bright;
+O flame, be quick;<br />
+O smoke, draw cleanly up the flue&#8212;<br />
+My lady chose your every brick<br />
+And sets her dearest hopes on you!<br />
+<br />
+Logs cannot burn, nor tea be sweet,<br />
+Nor white bread turn to crispy toast,<br />
+Until the charm be made complete<br />
+By love, to lay the sooty ghost.<br />
+<br />
+And then, dear books, dear waiting chairs,<br />
+Dear china and mahogany,<br />
+Draw close, for on the happy stairs<br />
+My brown-eyed girl comes down for tea!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_42"></a>[42]</span></p>
+<h3>MY PIPE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">y pipe</span> is old<br />
+And caked with soot;<br />
+My wife remarks:<br />
+"How can you put<br />
+That horrid relic,<br />
+So unclean,<br />
+Inside your mouth?<br />
+The nicotine<br />
+Is strong enough<br />
+To stupefy<br />
+A Swedish plumber."<br />
+I reply:<br />
+<br />
+"This is the kind<br />
+Of pipe I like:<br />
+I fill it full<br />
+Of Happy Strike,<br />
+Or Barking Cat<br />
+Or Cabman's Puff,<br />
+Or Brooklyn Bridge<br />
+(That potent stuff)<br />
+Or Chaste Embraces,<br />
+Knacker's Twist,<br />
+Old Honeycomb<br />
+Or Niggerfist.<br />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_43"></a>[43]</span></p>
+I clamp my teeth<br />
+Upon its stem&#8212;<br />
+It is my bliss,<br />
+My diadem.<br />
+Whatever Fate<br />
+May do to me,<br />
+This is my favorite<br />
+<div style="margin-left: 0.5em;">B</div>
+B B.<br />
+For this dear pipe<br />
+You feign to scorn<br />
+I smoked the night<br />
+The boy was born."
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_44"></a>[44]</span></p>
+<h3>THE 5:42</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">L</span><span class="smcap">ilac</span>, violet, and
+rose<br />
+Ardently the city glows;<br />
+Sunset glory, purely sweet,<br />
+Gilds the dreaming byway-street,<br />
+And, above the Avenue,<br />
+Winter dusk is deepening blue.<br />
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_2"> (Then, across Long Island
+meadows,<br />
+Darker, darker, grow the shadows:<br />
+Patience, little waiting lass!<br />
+Laggard minutes slowly pass;<br />
+Patience, laughs the yellow fire:<br />
+Homeward bound is heart's desire!)
+</div>
+<br />
+Hark, adown the canyon street<br />
+Flows the merry tide of feet;<br />
+High the golden buildings loom<br />
+Blazing in the purple gloom;<br />
+All the town is set with stars,<br />
+<i>Homeward</i> chant the Broadway cars!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_46"></a>[46]</span></p>
+<div style="margin-left: 4em;">All down Thirty-second
+Street<br />
+<i>Homeward, Homeward</i>, say the feet!<br />
+Tramping men, uncouth to view,<br />
+Footsore, weary, thrill anew;<br />
+Gone the ringing telephones,<br />
+Blessed nightfall now atones,<br />
+Casting brightness on the snow<br />
+Golden the train windows go.<br />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_2">Then (how long it seems) at
+last<br />
+All the way is overpast.<br />
+Heart that beats your muffled drum,<br />
+Lo, your venturer is come!<br />
+Wide the door! Leap high, O fire!<br />
+Home at length is heart's desire!<br />
+Gone is weariness and fret,<br />
+At the sill warm lips are met.<br />
+Once again may be renewed<br />
+The conjoined beatitude.<br />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_47"></a>[47]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus047.jpg" alt="The 5:42" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The 5:42</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_48"></a>[48]</span></p>
+<h3>PETER PAN</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2">"The boy for whom Barrie
+wrote Peter Pan&#8212;the original of
+Peter Pan&#8212;has died in battle."</div>
+<div style="margin-left: 20em;">&#8212;New York Times.<br />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">nd</span> Peter Pan is
+dead? Not so!<br />
+When mothers turn the lights down low<br />
+And tuck their little sons in bed,<br />
+They know that Peter is not dead....<br />
+<br />
+That little rounded blanket-hill;<br />
+Those prayer-time eyes, so deep and still&#8212;<br />
+However wise and great a man<br />
+He grows, he still is Peter Pan.<br />
+<br />
+And mothers' ways are often queer:<br />
+They pause in doorways, just to hear<br />
+A tiny breathing; think a prayer;<br />
+And then go tiptoe down the stair.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_49"></a>[49]</span></p>
+<h3>IN HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">affy</span>, the
+topaz-colored cat,<br />
+Thinks now of this and now of that,<br />
+But chiefly of his meals.<br />
+Asparagus, and cream, and fish,<br />
+Are objects of his Freudian wish;<br />
+What you don't give, he steals.<br />
+<br />
+His gallant heart is strongly stirred<br />
+By clink of plate or flight of bird,<br />
+He has a plumy tail;<br />
+At night he treads on stealthy pad<br />
+As merry as Sir Galahad<br />
+A-seeking of the Grail.<br />
+<br />
+His amiable amber eyes<br />
+Are very friendly, very wise;<br />
+Like Buddha, grave and fat,<br />
+He sits, regardless of applause,<br />
+And thinking, as he kneads his paws,<br />
+What fun to be a cat!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_50"></a>[50]</span></p>
+<h3>THE CEDAR CHEST</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">er</span> mind is like
+her
+cedar chest<br />
+Wherein in quietness do rest<br />
+The wistful dreamings of her heart<br />
+In fragrant folds all laid apart.<br />
+<br />
+There, put away in sprigs of rhyme<br />
+Until her life's full blossom-time,<br />
+Flutter (like tremulous little birds)<br />
+Her small and sweet maternal words.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_51"></a>[51]</span></p>
+<h3>READING ALOUD</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap">nce</span> we read
+Tennyson aloud<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In our great fireside chair;</div>
+Between the lines, my lips could touch<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her April-scented hair.</div>
+<br />
+How very fond I was, to think<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The printed poems fair,</div>
+When close within my arms I held<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A living lyric there!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_52"></a>[52]</span></p>
+<h3>ANIMAL CRACKERS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">nimal</span> crackers,
+and
+cocoa to drink,<br />
+That is the finest of suppers, I think;<br />
+When I'm grown up and can have what I please<br />
+I think I shall always insist upon these.<br />
+<br />
+What do <i>you</i> choose when you're offered a treat?<br />
+When Mother says, "What would you like best to eat?"<br />
+Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?<br />
+It's cocoa and animals that <i>I</i> love most!<br />
+<br />
+The kitchen's the cosiest place that I know:<br />
+The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,<br />
+And there in the twilight, how jolly to see<br />
+The cocoa and animals waiting for me.<br />
+<br />
+Daddy and Mother dine later in state,<br />
+With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;<br />
+But they don't have nearly as much fun as I<br />
+Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by;<br />
+And Daddy once said, he would like to be me<br />
+Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_53"></a>[53]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus055.jpg" alt="Animal Crackers" />
+<p style="padding-left: 50px;"><br />
+<br />
+</p>
+<p class="caption"><i>And Daddy once said he would like to be me</i><br />
+<i>Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_55"></a>[55]</span></p>
+<h3>THE MILKMAN</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">E</span><span class="smcap">arly</span> in the
+morning, when the dawn is on the roofs,<br />
+You hear his wheels come rolling, you hear his horse's hoofs;<br />
+You hear the bottles clinking, and then he drives away:<br />
+You yawn in bed, turn over, and begin another day!<br />
+<br />
+The old-time dairy maids are dear to every poet's heart&#8212;<br />
+I'd rather be the dairy <i>man</i> and drive a little cart,<br />
+And bustle round the village in the early morning blue,<br />
+And hang my reins upon a hook, as I've seen Casey do.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_56"></a>[56]</span></p>
+<h3>LIGHT VERSE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">t</span> night the gas
+lamps light our street,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Electric bulbs our homes;</div>
+The gas is billed in cubic feet,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Electric light in ohms.</div>
+<br />
+But one illumination still<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Is brighter far, and
+sweeter;</div>
+It is not figured in a bill,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Nor measured by a meter.</div>
+<br />
+More bright than lights that money buys,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">More pleasing to discerners,</div>
+The shining lamps of Helen's eyes,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Those lovely double burners!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_57"></a>[57]</span></p>
+<h3>THE FURNACE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">t</span> night I opened<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The furnace door:</div>
+The warm glow brightened<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The cellar floor.</div>
+<br />
+The fire that sparkled<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Blue and red,</div>
+Kept small toes cosy<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In their bed.</div>
+<br />
+As up the stair<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">So late I stole,</div>
+I said my prayer:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>Thank God for coal!</i></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_58"></a>[58]</span></p>
+<h3>WASHING THE DISHES</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> we on simple
+rations sup<br />
+How easy is the washing up!<br />
+But heavy feeding complicates<br />
+The task by soiling many plates.<br />
+<br />
+And though I grant that I have prayed<br />
+That we might find a serving-maid,<br />
+I'd scullion all my days, I think,<br />
+To see Her smile across the sink!<br />
+<br />
+I wash, She wipes. In water hot<br />
+I souse each dish and pan and pot;<br />
+While Taffy mutters, purrs, and begs,<br />
+And rubs himself against my legs.<br />
+<br />
+The man who never in his life<br />
+Has washed the dishes with his wife<br />
+Or polished up the silver plate&#8212;<br />
+He still is largely celibate.<br />
+<br />
+One warning: there is certain ware<br />
+That must be handled with all care:<br />
+The Lord Himself will give you up<br />
+If you should drop a willow cup!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_59"></a>[59]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus061.jpg" alt="Washing Dishes" />
+<p class="caption"><i>But heavy feeding complicates</i><br />
+<i>The task by soiling many plates.</i><br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_61"></a>[61]</span></p>
+<h3>THE CHURCH OF UNBENT KNEES</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">s</span> I went by the
+church to-day<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"> I heard the organ cry;</div>
+And goodly folk were on their knees,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">But I went striding by.</div>
+<br />
+My minster hath a roof more vast:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My aisles are oak trees
+high;</div>
+My altar-cloth is on the hills,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My organ is the sky.</div>
+<br />
+I see my rood upon the clouds,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The winds, my chanted choir;</div>
+My crystal windows, heaven-glazed,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Are stained with sunset
+fire.</div>
+<br />
+The stars, the thunder, and the rain,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">White sands and purple seas&#8212;</div>
+These are His pulpit and His pew,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"> My God of Unbent Knees!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_62"></a>[62]</span></p>
+<h3>ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COAL-BIN</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> furnace tolls
+the knell of falling steam,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The coal supply is
+virtually done,</div>
+And at this price, indeed it does not seem<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">As though we could afford
+another ton.</div>
+<br />
+Now fades the glossy, cherished anthracite;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The radiators lose their
+temperature:</div>
+How ill avail, on such a frosty night,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The "short and simple
+flannels of the poor."</div>
+<br />
+Though in the icebox, fresh and newly laid,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The rude forefathers of the
+omelet sleep,</div>
+No eggs for breakfast till the bill is paid:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">We cannot cook again till
+coal is cheap.</div>
+<br />
+Can Morris-chair or papier-m�ch� bust<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Revivify the failing
+pressure-gauge?</div>
+Chop up the grand piano if you must,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And burn the East Aurora
+parrot-cage!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_63"></a>[63]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">Full many a can of purest
+kerosene<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The dark unfathomed tanks
+of Standard Oil</div>
+Shall furnish me, and with their aid I mean<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To bring my morning coffee
+to a boil.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_65"></a>[65]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus065.jpg" alt="Frosty Night" />
+<p class="caption"><i>How ill avail, on such a frosty night</i>....
+<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_66"></a>[66]</span></p>
+<h3>THE OLD SWIMMER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> often</span> wander on
+the beach<br />
+Where once, so brown of limb,<br />
+The biting air, the roaring surf<br />
+Summoned me to swim.<br />
+<br />
+I see my old abundant youth<br />
+Where combers lean and spill,<br />
+And though I taste the foam no more<br />
+Other swimmers will.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, good exultant strength to meet<br />
+The arching wall of green,<br />
+To break the crystal, swirl, emerge<br />
+Dripping, taut, and clean.<br />
+<br />
+To climb the moving hilly blue,<br />
+To dive in ecstasy<br />
+And feel the salty chill embrace<br />
+Arm and rib and knee.<br />
+<br />
+What brave and vanished laughter then<br />
+And tingling thighs to run,<br/>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_67"></a>[67]</span>
+What warm and comfortable
+sands<br />
+Dreaming in the sun.<br />
+<br />
+The crumbling water spreads in snow,<br />
+The surf is hissing still,<br />
+And though I kiss the salt no more<br />
+Other swimmers will.
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_69"></a>[69]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus069.jpg" alt="The Old Swimmer" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The Old Swimmer</i>
+<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_70"></a>[70]</span></p>
+<h3>THE MOON-SHEEP</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> moon seems
+like
+a docile sheep,<br />
+She pastures while all people sleep;<br />
+But sometimes, when she goes astray,<br />
+She wanders all alone by day.<br />
+<br />
+Up in the clear blue morning air<br />
+We are surprised to see her there,<br />
+Grazing in her woolly white,<br />
+Waiting the return of night.<br />
+<br />
+When dusk lets down the meadow bars<br />
+She greets again her lambs, the stars!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_71"></a>[71]</span></p>
+<h3>SMELLS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hy</span> is it that the
+poets tell<br />
+So little of the sense of smell?<br />
+These are the odors I love well:<br />
+<br />
+The smell of coffee freshly ground;<br />
+Or rich plum pudding, holly crowned;<br />
+Or onions fried and deeply browned.<br />
+<br />
+The fragrance of a fumy pipe;<br />
+The smell of apples, newly ripe;<br />
+And printers' ink on leaden type.<br />
+<br />
+Woods by moonlight in September<br />
+Breathe most sweet; and I remember<br />
+Many a smoky camp-fire ember.<br />
+<br />
+Camphor, turpentine, and tea,<br />
+The balsam of a Christmas tree,<br />
+These are whiffs of gramarye ...<br />
+<i>A ship smells best of all to me!</i>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_72"></a>[72]</span></p>
+<h3>SMELLS (JUNIOR)</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">y</span> Daddy smells
+like
+tobacco and books,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Mother, like lavender and
+listerine;</div>
+Uncle John carries a whiff of cigars,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Nannie smells starchy and
+soapy and clean.</div>
+<br />
+Shandy, my dog, has a smell of his own<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(When he's been out in the
+rain he smells most);</div>
+But Katie, the cook, is more splendid than all&#8212;
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_1">She smells exactly like hot
+buttered toast!</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_73"></a>[73]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus075.jpg" alt="Katie the Cook" />
+<p class="caption"><i>But Katie, the cook, is more splendid than all</i>&#8212;</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_75"></a>[75]</span></p>
+<h3>MAR QUONG, CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> like</span> the Chinese
+laundryman:<br />
+He smokes a pipe that bubbles,<br />
+And seems, as far as I can tell,<br />
+A man with but few troubles.<br />
+He has much to do, no doubt,<br />
+But also much to think about.<br />
+<br />
+Most men (for instance I myself)<br />
+Are spending, at all times,<br />
+All our hard-earned quarters,<br />
+Our nickels and our dimes:<br />
+With Mar Quong it's the other way&#8212;<br />
+He takes in small change every day.<br />
+<br />
+Next time you call for collars<br />
+In his steamy little shop,<br />
+Observe how tight his pigtail<br />
+Is coiled and piled on top.<br />
+But late at night he lets it hang<br />
+And thinks of the Yang-tse-kiang.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_76"></a>[76]</span></p>
+<h3>THE FAT LITTLE PURSE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap">n</span> Saturdays,
+after
+the baby<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Is bathed, fed, and
+sleeping serene,</div>
+His mother, as quickly as may be,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Arranges the household
+routine.</div>
+She rapidly makes herself pretty<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And leaves the young limb
+with his nurse,</div>
+Then gaily she starts for the city,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And with her the fat little
+purse.</div>
+<br />
+She trips through the crowd at the station,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To the rendezvous spot
+where we meet,</div>
+And keeping her eyes from temptation,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She avoids the most windowy
+street!</div>
+She is off for the Weekly Adventure;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To her comrade for better
+and worse</div>
+She says, "Never mind, when you've spent your<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Last bit, here's the fat
+little purse."</div>
+<br />
+Apart, in her thrifty exchequer,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She has hidden what must
+not be spent:</div>
+Enough for the butcher and baker,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Katie's wages, and milkman,
+and rent;</div>
+But the rest of her brave
+little treasure<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She is gleeful and prompt
+to disburse&#8212;</div>
+What a richness of innocent pleasure<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Can come from her fat
+little purse!</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_77"></a>[77]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">But either by giving or buying,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The little purse does not
+stay fat&#8212;</div>
+Perhaps it's a ragged child crying,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Perhaps it's a "pert little
+hat."</div>
+And the bonny brown eyes that were brightened<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By pleasures so quaint and
+diverse,</div>
+Look up at me, wistful and frightened,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To see such a thin little
+purse.</div>
+<br />
+The wisest of all financiering<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Is that which is done by
+our wives:</div>
+By some little known profiteering<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They add twos and twos and
+make fives;</div>
+And, husband, if you would be learning<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The secret of thrift, it is
+terse:</div>
+Invest the great part of your earning<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In her little, fat little
+purse.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="figcover">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_79"></a>[79]</span></p>
+<img src="images/illus079.jpg" alt="crying child" />
+<p class="caption"><i>Perhaps it's a ragged child crying</i><br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_80"></a>[80]</span></p>
+<h3>THE REFLECTION<br />
+(To N. B. D.)
+</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> have</span> not heard
+her
+voice, nor seen her face,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Nor touched her hand;</div>
+And yet some echo of her woman's grace<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I understand.</div>
+<br />
+I have no picture of her lovelihood,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her smile, her tint;</div>
+But that she is both beautiful and good<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I have true hint.</div>
+<br />
+In all that my friend thinks and says, I see<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her mirror true;</div>
+His thought of her is gentle; she must be<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">All gentle too.</div>
+<br />
+In all his grief or laughter, work or play,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Each mood and whim,</div>
+How brave and tender, day by common day,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She speaks through him!</div>
+<br />
+Therefore I say I know her, be her face&gt;<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_81"></a>[81]</span><br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Or dark or fair&#8212;</div>
+For when he shows his heart's most secret place<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I see her there!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_82"></a>[82]</span></p>
+<h3>THE BALLOON PEDDLER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">ho</span> is the man on
+Chestnut street<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With colored toy balloons?</div>
+I see him with his airy freight<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">On sunny afternoons&#8212;</div>
+A peddler of such lovely goods!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The heart leaps to behold</div>
+His mass of bubbles, red and green<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And blue and pink and gold.</div>
+<br />
+For sure that noble peddler man<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Hath antic merchandise:</div>
+His toys that float and swim in air<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Attract my eager eyes.</div>
+Perhaps he is a changeling prince<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Bewitched through magic
+moons</div>
+To tempt us solemn busy folk<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With meaningless balloons.</div>
+<br />
+Beware, oh, valiant merchantman,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Tread cautious on the pave!</div>
+Lest some day come some realist,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Some haggard soul and grave,</div>
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_2">A puritan efficientist<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_83"></a>[83]</span><br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Who deems thy toys a sin&#8212;</div>
+He'll stalk thee madly from behind<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And prick them with a pin!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_85"></a>[85]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus085.jpg" alt="Balloon Peddlar" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The Balloon Peddler</i>
+</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_86"></a>[86]</span></p>
+<h3>LINES FOR AN ECCENTRIC'S BOOK PLATE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">o</span> use my books
+all
+friends are bid:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My shelves are open for 'em;</div>
+And in each one, as Grolier did,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I write <i>Et
+Amicorum</i>.</div>
+<br />
+All lovely things in truth belong<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To him who best employs
+them;</div>
+The house, the picture and the song<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Are his who most enjoys
+them.</div>
+<br />
+Perhaps this book holds precious lore,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And you may best discern it.</div>
+If you appreciate it more<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Than I&#8212;why don't return it!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_87"></a>[87]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus089.jpg" alt="Library" />
+<p class="caption"><i>If you appreciate it more</i> <i>Than
+I&#8212;why don't return it!</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_89"></a>[89]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A POST-OFFICE INKWELL</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">ow</span> many humble
+hearts have dipped<br />
+In you, and scrawled their manuscript!<br />
+Have shared their secrets, told their cares,<br />
+Their curious and quaint affairs!<br />
+<br />
+Your pool of ink, your scratchy pen,<br />
+Have moved the lives of unborn men,<br />
+And watched young people, breathing hard,<br />
+Put Heaven on a postal card.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_90"></a>[90]</span></p>
+<h3>THE CRIB</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> sought</span>
+immortality<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Here and there&#8212;</div>
+I sent my rockets<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Into the air:</div>
+I gave my name<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A hostage to ink;</div>
+I dined a critic<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And bought him drink.</div>
+<br />
+I spurned the weariness<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of the flesh;</div>
+Denied fatigue<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And began afresh&#8212;</div>
+If men knew all,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">How they would laugh!</div>
+I even planned<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My epitaph....</div>
+<br />
+And then one night<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">When the dusk was thin</div>
+I heard the nursery<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Rites begin:</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_91"></a>[91]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">I heard the tender<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Soothings said</div>
+Over a crib, and<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A small sweet head.</div>
+<br />
+Then in a flash<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">It came to me</div>
+That there was my<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Immortality!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_93"></a>[93]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus093.jpg" alt="Nursery" />
+<p class="caption"><i>And then one night</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>When the dusk was
+thin</i></span><br />
+<i>I heard the nursery</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"> <i>Rites begin&#8212;</i></span>
+<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_94"></a>[94]</span></p>
+<h3>THE POET</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> barren music
+of
+a word or phrase,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The futile arts of syllable
+and stress,</div>
+He sought. The poetry of common days<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">He did not guess.</div>
+<br />
+The simplest, sweetest rhythms life affords&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Unselfish love, true effort
+truly done,</div>
+The tender themes that underlie all words&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">He knew not one.</div>
+<br />
+The human cadence and the subtle chime<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of little laughters, home
+and child and wife,</div>
+He knew not. Artist merely in his rhyme,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Not in his life.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_95"></a>[95]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus097.jpg" alt="Children at play" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The human cadence and the subtle chime</i><br />
+<i>Of little laughters</i>&#8212;</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_97"></a>[97]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A DISCARDED MIRROR</h3>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus099.jpg" alt="Mirror Image" /></div>
+<p>[TN: Mirror Image Translated below.]
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">D</span><span class="smcap">ear</span> glass, before
+your silver pane<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My lady used to tend her
+hair;</div>
+And yet I search your disc in vain<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To find some shadow of her
+there.</div>
+<br />
+I thought your magic, deep and bright,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Might still some dear
+reflection hold:</div>
+Some glint of eyes or shoulders white,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Some flash of gowns she
+wore of old.</div>
+<br />
+Your polished round must still recall<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The laughing face, the neck
+like snow&#8212;</div>
+Remember, on your lonely wall,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That Helen used you long
+ago!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_98"></a>[98]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A CHILD</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> greatest poem
+ever known<br />
+Is one all poets have outgrown:<br />
+The poetry, innate, untold,<br />
+Of being only four years old.<br />
+<br />
+Still young enough to be a part<br />
+Of Nature's great impulsive heart,<br />
+Born comrade of bird, beast and tree<br />
+And unselfconscious as the bee&#8212;<br />
+<br />
+And yet with lovely reason skilled<br />
+Each day new paradise to build;<br />
+Elate explorer of each sense,<br />
+Without dismay, without pretence!<br />
+<br />
+In your unstained transparent eyes<br />
+There is no conscience, no surprise:<br />
+Life's queer conundrums you accept,<br />
+Your strange divinity still kept.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_99"></a>[99]</span>
+Being, that now absorbs you, all<br />
+Harmonious, unit, integral,<br />
+Will shred into perplexing bits,&#8212;<br />
+Oh, contradictions of the wits!<br />
+<br />
+And Life, that sets all things in rhyme,<br />
+May make you poet, too, in time&#8212;<br />
+But there were days, O tender elf,<br />
+When you were Poetry itself!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_100"></a>[100]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">y</span> child, what
+painful vistas are before you!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">What years of youthful ills
+and pangs and bumps&#8212;</div>
+Indignities from aunts who "just adore" you,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And chicken-pox and
+measles, croup and mumps!</div>
+I don't wish to dismay you,&#8212;it's not fair to,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Promoted now from bassinet
+to crib,&#8212;</div>
+But, O my babe, what troubles flesh is heir to<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Since God first made so
+free with Adam's rib!</div>
+<br />
+Laboriously you will proceed with teething;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">When teeth are here, you'll
+meet the dentist's chair;</div>
+They'll teach you ways of walking, eating, breathing,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That stoves are hot, and
+how to brush your hair;</div>
+And so, my poor, undaunted little stripling,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By bruises, tears, and
+trousers you will grow,</div>
+And, borrowing a leaf from Mr. Kipling,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I'll wish you luck, and
+moralize you so:</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_101"></a>[101]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+If you can think up seven thousand methods<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of giving cooks and parents
+heart disease;</div>
+Can rifle pantry-shelves, and then give death odds<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By water, fire, and falling
+out of trees;</div>
+If you can fill your every boyish minute<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With sixty seconds' worth
+of mischief done,</div>
+Yours is the house and everything that's in it,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And, which is more, you'll
+be your father's son!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_103"></a>[103]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus103.jpg" alt="Grandparents and Grandson" />
+<p class="caption"><i>What years of youthful ills and pangs and bumps</i>&#8212;
+</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_104"></a>[104]</span></p>
+<h3>TO AN OLD-FASHIONED POET</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(Lizette Woodworth Reese)
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">ost</span> tender poet,
+when the gods confer<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They save your gracile
+songs a nook apart,</div>
+And bless with Time's untainted lavender<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The ageless April of your
+singing heart.</div>
+<br />
+You, in an age unbridled, ne'er declined<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The appointed patience that
+the Muse decrees,</div>
+Until, deep in the flower of the mind<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The hovering words alight,
+like bridegroom bees.</div>
+<br />
+By casual praise or casual blame unstirred<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The placid gods grant gifts
+where they belong:</div>
+To you, who understand, the perfect word,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The recompensed necessities
+of song.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_105"></a>[105]</span></p>
+<h3>BURNING LEAVES IN SPRING</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> withered
+leaves
+are lost in flame<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Their eddying ghosts, a
+thin blue haze,</div>
+Blow through the thickets whence they came<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">On amberlucent autumn days.</div>
+<br />
+The cool green woodland heart receives<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Their dim, dissolving,
+phantom breath;</div>
+In young hereditary leaves<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They see their happy
+life-in-death.</div>
+<br />
+My minutes perish as they glow&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Time burns my crazy bonfire
+through;</div>
+But ghosts of blackened hours still blow,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Eternal Beauty, back to you!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_106"></a>[106]</span></p>
+<h3>BURNING LEAVES, NOVEMBER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hese</span> are folios
+of
+April,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">All the library of spring,</div>
+Missals gilt and rubricated<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With the frost's illumining.</div>
+<br />
+Ruthless, we destroy these treasures,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Set the torch with hand
+profane&#8212;</div>
+Gone, like Alexandrian vellums,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Like the books of burnt
+Louvain!
+</div>
+Yet these classics are immortal:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">O collectors, have no fear,</div>
+For the publisher will issue<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">New editions every year.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_107"></a>[107]</span></p>
+<h3>A VALENTINE GAME</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(<i>For Two Players</i>)
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hey</span> have a game,
+thus played:<br />
+He says unto his maid<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>What are those
+shining things</i><br />
+<i>So brown, so golden brown?</i></div>
+And she, in doubt, replies<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>How now, what
+shining things</i><br />
+<i>So brown?</i></div>
+<br />
+But then, she coming near,<br />
+To see more clear,<br />
+He looks again, and cries<br />
+(All startled with surprise)<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>Sweet wretch, they
+are your eyes,</i><br />
+<i>So brown, so brown!</i></div>
+<br />
+The climax and the end consist<br />
+In kissing, and in being kissed.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_108"></a>[108]</span></p>
+<h3>FOR A BIRTHDAY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">t two</span> years old
+the
+world he sees<br />
+Must seem expressly made to please!<br />
+Such new-found words and games to try,<br />
+Such sudden mirth, he knows not why,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">So many curiosities!</div>
+<br />
+As life about him, by degrees<br />
+Discloses all its pageantries<br />
+He watches with approval shy<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">At two years old.</div>
+<br />
+With wonders tired he takes his ease<br />
+At dusk, upon his mother's knees:<br />
+A little laugh, a little cry,<br />
+Put toys to bed, then "seepy-bye"&#8212;<br />
+The world is made of such as these<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"> At two years old.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_109"></a>[109]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus111.jpg" alt="Birthday" />
+<p class="caption"><i>A Birthday</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_111"></a>[111]</span></p>
+<h3>KEATS</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(1821-1921)</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> sometimes, on
+a
+moony night, I've passed<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A street-lamp, seen my
+doubled shadow flee,</div>
+I've noticed how much darker, clearer cast,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The full moon poured her
+silhouette of me.</div>
+<br />
+Just so of spirits. Beauty's silver light<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Limns with a ray more pure,
+and tenderer too:</div>
+Men's clumsy gestures, to unearthly sight,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Surpass the shapes they
+show by human view.</div>
+<br />
+On this brave world, where few such meteors fell,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her youngest son, to save
+us, Beauty flung.</div>
+He suffered and descended into hell&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And comforts yet the ardent
+and the young.</div>
+<br />
+Drunken of moonlight, dazed by draughts of sky,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Dizzy with stars, his
+mortal fever ran:</div>
+His utterance a moon-enchanted cry<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Not free from folly&#8212;for he
+too was man.</div>
+<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_112"></a>[112]</span>
+And now and here, a hundred years away,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where topless towers shadow
+golden streets,</div>
+The young men sit, nooked in a cheap caf�,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Perfectly happy ... talking
+about Keats.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_113"></a>[113]</span></p>
+<h3>TO H. F. M.<br />
+<span class="smcap">a sonnet in sunlight</span></h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">his</span> is a day for
+sonnets: Oh how clear<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Our splendid cliffs and
+summits lift the gaze&#8212;</div>
+If all the perfect moments of the year<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Were poured and gathered in
+one sudden blaze,<br />
+Then, then perhaps, in some endowered phrase</div>
+My flat strewn words would rise and come more near<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To tell of you. Your beauty
+and your praise</div>
+Would fall like sunlight on this paper here.<br />
+<br />
+Then I would build a sonnet that would stand<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Proud and perennial on this
+pale bright sky;</div>
+So tall, so steep, that it might stay the hand<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of Time, the dusty wrecker.
+He would sigh</div>
+To tear my strong words down. And he would say:<br />
+"That song he built for her, one summer day."
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_114"></a>[114]</span></p>
+<h3>QUICKENING</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">S</span><span class="smcap">uch</span> little, puny
+things are words in rhyme:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Poor feeble loops and
+strokes as frail as hairs;</div>
+You see them printed here, and mark their chime,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And turn to your more
+durable affairs.<br />
+Yet on such petty tools the poet dares</div>
+To run his race with mortar, bricks and lime,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And draws his frail stick
+to the point, and stares</div>
+To aim his arrow at the heart of Time.<br />
+<br />
+Intangible, yet pressing, hemming in,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">This measured emptiness
+engulfs us all,</div>
+And yet he points his paper javelin<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And sees it eddy, waver,
+turn, and fall,</div>
+And feels, between delight and trouble torn,<br />
+The stirring of a sonnet still unborn.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_115"></a>[115]</span></p>
+<h3>AT A WINDOW SILL</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap"><i>T</i></span><span class="smcap"><i>o
+write</i></span>
+<i> a sonnet needs a quiet mind....</i><br />
+I paused and pondered, tried again. <i>To write....</i><br />
+Raising the sash, I breathed the winter night:<br />
+Papers and small hot room were left behind.<br />
+Against the gusty purple, ribbed and spined<br />
+With golden slots and vertebr� of light<br />
+Men's cages loomed. Down sliding from a height<br />
+An elevator winked as it declined.<br />
+<br />
+Coward! There is no quiet in the brain&#8212;<br />
+If pity burns it not, then beauty will:<br />
+Tinder it is for every blowing spark.<br />
+Uncertain whether this is bliss or pain<br />
+The unresting mind will gaze across the sill<br />
+From high apartment windows, in the dark.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_116"></a>[116]</span></p>
+<h3>THE RIVER OF LIGHT</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">I. Broadway, 103rd to 96th.</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">L</span><span class="smcap">ights</span> foam and
+bubble down the gentle grade:<br />
+Bright shine chop sueys and r�tisseries;<br />
+In pink translucence glowingly displayed<br />
+See camisole and stocking and chemise.<br />
+Delicatessen windows full of cheese&#8212;<br />
+Above, the chimes of church-bells toll and fade&#8212;<br />
+And then, from off some distant Palisade<br />
+That gluey savor on the Jersey breeze!<br />
+<br />
+The burning bulbs, in green and white and red,<br />
+Spell out a <i>Change of Program Sun., Wed., Fri.</i>,<br />
+A clicking taxi spins with ruby spark.<br />
+There is a sense of poising near the head<br />
+Of some great flume of brightness, flowing by<br />
+To pour in gathering torrent through the dark.
+</div>
+<p style="text-align: center;">II. Below 96th<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_117"></a>[117]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> current
+quickens, and in golden flow<br />
+Hurries its flotsam downward through the night&#8212;<br />
+Here are the rapids where the undertow<br />
+Whirls endless motors in a gleaming flight.<br />
+From blazing tributaries, left and right,<br />
+Influent streams of blue and amber grow.<br />
+Columbus Circle eddies: all below<br />
+Is pouring flame, a gorge of broken light.<br />
+<br />
+See how the burning river boils in spate,<br />
+Channeled by cliffs of insane jewelry,<br />
+Painting a rosy roof on cloudy air&#8212;<br />
+And just about ten minutes after eight,<br />
+Tossing a surf of color to the sky<br />
+It bursts in cataracts upon Times Square!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_118"></a>[118]</span></p>
+<h3>OF HER GLORIOUS MADNESS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> city's mad:
+through her prodigious veins<br />
+What errant, strange, eccentric humors thrill:<br />
+Day, when her cataracts of sunlight spill&#8212;<br />
+Night, golden-panelled with her window panes;<br />
+The toss of wind-blown skirts; and who can drill<br />
+Forever his fierce heart with checking reins?<br />
+Cruel and mad, my statisticians say&#8212;<br />
+Ah, but she raves in such a gallant way!<br />
+<br />
+Brave madness, built for beauty and the sun&#8212;<br />
+In such a town who can be sane? Not I.<br />
+Of clashing colors all her moods are spun&#8212;<br />
+A scarlet anger and a golden cry.<br />
+This frantic town where madcap mischiefs run<br />
+They ask to take the veil, and be a nun!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_119"></a>[119]</span></p>
+<h3>IN AN AUCTION ROOM</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(<i>Letter of John
+Keats to Fanny Browne, Anderson Galleries, March 15, 1920.</i>)</p>
+<p style="text-align: center;">To Dr. A. S. W. Rosenbach.</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap"><i>H</i>
+</span><span class="smcap"><i>ow</i></span><i>
+about this lot?</i>
+said the auctioneer;<br />
+<i>One hundred, may I say, just for a start?</i><br />
+Between the plum-red curtains, drawn apart,<br />
+A written sheet was held.... And strange to hear<br />
+(Dealer, would I were steadfast as thou art)<br />
+The cold quick bids. (<i>Against you in the rear!</i>)<br />
+The crimson salon, in a glow more clear<br />
+Burned bloodlike purple as the poet's heart.<br />
+<br />
+Song that outgrew the singer! Bitter Love<br />
+That broke the proud hot heart it held in thrall;<br />
+Poor script, where still those tragic passions move&#8212;<br />
+<i>Eight hundred bid: fair warning: the last call:</i><br />
+The soul of Adonais, like a star....<br />
+<i>Sold for eight hundred dollars&#8212;Doctor R.!</i>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_120"></a>[120]</span></p>
+<h3>EPITAPH FOR A POET WHO WROTE NO POETRY</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">"It is said that a poet has
+died young in the breast
+of the most stolid."&#8212;Robert Louis Stevenson.</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hat</span> was the
+service
+of this poet? He
+Who blinked the blinding dazzle-rays that run<br />
+Where life profiles its edges to the sun,<br />
+And still suspected much he could not see.<br />
+Clay-stopped, yet in his taciturnity<br />
+There lay the vein of glory, known to none;<br />
+And moods of secret smiling, only won<br />
+When peace and passion, time and sense, agree.<br />
+<br />
+Fighting the world he loved for chance to brood,<br />
+Ignorant when to embrace, when to avoid<br />
+His loves that held him in their vital clutch&#8212;<br />
+This was his service, his beatitude;<br />
+This was the inward trouble he enjoyed<br />
+Who knew so little, and who felt so much.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_121"></a>[121]</span></p>
+<h3>SONNET BY A GEOMETER</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">the
+circle</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">F</span><span class="smcap">ew</span> things are
+perfect: we bear Eden's scar;<br />
+Yet faulty man was godlike in design<br />
+That day when first, with stick and length of twine,<br />
+He drew me on the sand. Then what could mar<br />
+His joy in that obedient mystic line;<br />
+And then, computing with a zeal divine,<br />
+He called &#960; 3-point-14159<br />
+And knew my lovely circuit 2 &#960; r!<br />
+<br />
+A circle is a happy thing to be&#8212;<br />
+Think how the joyful perpendicular<br />
+Erected at the kiss of tangency<br />
+Must meet my central point, my avatar!<br />
+They talk of 14 points: yet only 3<br />
+Determine every circle: <b>Q. E. D.</b>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_122"></a>[122]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A VAUDEVILLE TERRIER SEEN ON A LEASH, IN THE PARK</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hree</span> times a
+day&#8212;at
+two, at seven, at nine&#8212;<br />
+O terrier, you play your little part:<br />
+Absurd in coat and skirt you push a cart,<br />
+With inner anguish walk a tight-rope line.<br />
+Up there, before the hot and dazzling shine<br />
+You must be rigid servant of your art,<br />
+Nor watch those fluffy cats&#8212;your doggish heart<br />
+Might leap and then betray you with a whine!<br />
+<br />
+But sometimes, when you've faithfully rehearsed,<br />
+Your trainer takes you walking in the park,<br />
+Straining to sniff the grass, to chase a frog.<br />
+The leash is slipped, and then your joy will burst&#8212;<br />
+Adorable it is to run and bark,<br />
+To be&#8212;alas, how seldom&#8212;just a dog!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_123"></a>[123]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus125.jpg" alt="Terrier Begging" />
+<p class="caption"><i>You must be rigid servant of your art!</i>
+</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_125"></a>[125]</span></p>
+<h3>TO AN OLD FRIEND</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(For Lloyd Williams.)
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> like</span> to dream of
+some established spot<br />
+Where you and I, old friend, an evening through<br />
+Under tobacco's fog, streaked gray and blue,<br />
+Might reconsider laughters unforgot.<br />
+Beside a hearth-glow, golden-clear and hot,<br />
+I'd hear you tell the oddities men do.<br />
+The clock would tick, and we would sit, we two&#8212;<br />
+Life holds such meetings for us, does it not?<br />
+<br />
+Happy are men when they have learned to prize<br />
+The sure unvarnished virtue of their friends,<br />
+The unchanged kindness of a well-known face:<br />
+On old fidelities our world depends,<br />
+And runs a simple course in honest wise,<br />
+Not a mere taxicab shot wild through space!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_126"></a>[126]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A BURLESQUE SOUBRETTE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">U</span><span class="smcap">pstage</span> the great
+high-shafted beefy choir<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Squawked in 2000 watts of
+orange glare&#8212;<br />
+You came, and impudent and deuce-may-care</div>
+Danced where the gutter flamed with footlight fire.<br />
+<br />
+Flung from the roof, spots red and yellow burned<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And followed you. The
+blatant brassy clang<br />
+Of instruments drowned out the words you sang,</div>
+But goldenly you capered, twirled and turned.<br />
+<br />
+Boyish and slender, child-limbed, quick and proud,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A sprite of irresistible
+disdain,<br />
+Fair as a jonquil in an April rain,</div>
+You seemed too sweet an imp for that dull crowd....<br />
+<br />
+And then, behind the scenes, I heard you say,<br />
+"<i>O Gawd, I got a hellish cold to-day!</i>"
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_127"></a>[127]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus129.jpg" alt="Dancer on Stage" />
+<p class="caption"><i>You came, and impudent and deuce-may-care</i><br />
+<i>Danced where the gutter flamed with footlight fire.</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_129"></a>[129]</span></p>
+<h3>THOUGHTS WHILE PACKING A TRUNK</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> sonnet is a
+trunk, and you must pack<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With care, to ship frail
+baggage far away;<br />
+The octet is the trunk; sestet, the tray;</div>
+Tight, but not overloaded, is the knack.<br />
+First, at the bottom, heavy thoughts you stack,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And in the chinks your
+adjectives you lay&#8212;<br />
+Your phrases, folded neatly as you may,</div>
+Stowing a syllable in every crack.<br />
+<br />
+Then, in the tray, your daintier stuff is hid:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The tender quatrain where
+your moral sings&#8212;</div>
+Be careful, though, lest as you close the lid<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">You crush and crumple all
+these fragile things.</div>
+Your couplet snaps the hasps and turns the key&#8212;<br />
+Ship to The Editor, marked C. O. D.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_130"></a>[130]</span></p>
+<h3>STREETS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> have</span> seen
+streets
+where strange enchantment broods:<br />
+Old ruddy houses where the morning shone<br />
+In seemly quiet on their tranquil moods,<br />
+Across the sills white curtains outward blown.<br />
+Their marble steps were scoured as white as bone<br />
+Where scrubbing housemaids toiled on wounded knee&#8212;<br />
+And yet, among all streets that I have known<br />
+These placid byways give least peace to me.<br />
+<br />
+In such a house, where green light shining through<br />
+(From some back garden) framed her silhouette<br />
+I saw a girl, heard music blithely sung.<br />
+She stood there laughing, in a dress of blue,<br />
+And as I went on, slowly, there I met<br />
+An old, old woman, who had once been young.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_131"></a>[131]</span></p>
+<h3>TO THE ONLY BEGETTER</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">i</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> have</span> no hope to
+make you live in rhyme<br />
+Or with your beauty to enrich the years&#8212;<br />
+Enough for me this now, this present time;<br />
+The greater claim for greater sonneteers.<br />
+But O how covetous I am of NOW&#8212;<br />
+Dear human minutes, marred by human pains&#8212;<br />
+I want to know your lips, your cheek, your brow,<br />
+And all the miracles your heart contains,<br />
+I wish to study all your changing face,<br />
+Your eyes, divinely hurt with tenderness;<br />
+I hope to win your dear unstinted grace<br />
+For these blunt rhymes and what they would express.<br />
+Then may you say, when others better prove:&#8212;<br />
+"<i>Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.</i>"
+</div>
+<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">ii</span></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_132"></a>[132]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> all my
+trivial
+rhymes are blotted out,<br />
+Vanished our days, so precious and so few,<br />
+If some should wonder what we were about<br />
+And what the little happenings we knew:<br />
+I wish that they might know how, night by night,<br />
+My pencil, heavy in the sleepy hours,<br />
+Sought vainly for some gracious way to write<br />
+How much this love is ours, and only ours.<br />
+How many evenings, as you drowsed to sleep,<br />
+I read to you by tawny candle-glow,<br />
+And watched you down the valley dim and deep<br />
+Where poppies and the April flowers grow.<br />
+Then knelt beside your pillow with a prayer,<br />
+And loved the breath of pansies in your hair.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_133"></a>[133]</span></p>
+<h3>PEDOMETER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">y</span> thoughts beat
+out
+in sonnets while I walk,<br />
+And every evening on the homeward street<br />
+I find the rhythm of my marching feet<br />
+Throbs into verses (though the rhyme may balk).<br />
+I think the sonneteers were walking men:<br />
+The form is dour and rigid, like a clamp,<br />
+But with the swing of legs the tramp, tramp, tramp<br />
+Of syllables begins to thud, and then&#8212;<br />
+Lo! while you seek a rhyme for <i>hook</i> or <i>crook</i><br />
+shed your shabby coat, and you are kith<br />
+To all great walk-and-singers&#8212;Meredith,<br />
+And Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, and Rupert Brooke!<br />
+Free verse is poor for walking, but a sonnet&#8212;<br />
+O marvellous to stride and brood upon it!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_134"></a>[134]</span></p>
+<h3>HOSTAGES</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+"He that hath wife and children hath given
+hostages to fortune."&#8212;<span class="smcap">Bacon.</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">ye</span>, Fortune, thou
+hast hostage of my best!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I, that was once so
+heedless of thy frown,<br />
+Have armed thee cap-�-pie to strike me down,</div>
+Have given thee blades to hold against my breast.<br />
+My virtue, that was once all self-possessed,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Is parceled out in little
+hands, and brown<br />
+Bright eyes, and in a sleeping baby's gown:</div>
+To threaten these will put me to the test.<br />
+<br />
+Sure, since there are these pitiful poor chinks<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Upon the makeshift armor of
+my heart,</div>
+<div class="line_in_2">For thee no honor lies in
+such a fight!</div>
+And thou wouldst shame to vanquish one, me-thinks,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Who came awake with such a
+painful start</div>
+<div class="line_in_2">To hear the coughing of a
+child at night.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_135"></a>[135]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus137.jpg" alt="Hostage Scene" />
+<p class="caption"><i>Hostages.</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_137"></a>[137]</span></p>
+<h3>ARS DURA</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">ow</span> many evenings,
+walking soberly<br />
+Along our street all dappled with rich sun,<br />
+I please myself with words, and happily<br />
+Time rhymes to footfalls, planning how they run;<br />
+And yet, when midnight comes, and paper lies<br />
+Clean, white, receptive, all that one can ask,<br />
+Alas for drowsy spirit, weary eyes<br />
+And traitor hand that fails the well loved task!<br />
+<br />
+Who ever learned the sonnet's bitter craft<br />
+But he had put away his sleep, his ease,<br />
+The wine he loved, the men with whom he laughed<br />
+To brood upon such thankless tricks as these?<br />
+And yet, such joy does in that craft abide<br />
+He greets the paper as the groom the bride!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_138"></a>[138]</span></p>
+<h3>O. HENRY&#8212;APOTHECARY</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+("O. Henry" once worked in a drug-store in Greensboro, N. C.)</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">here</span> once he
+measured camphor, glycerine,<br />
+Quinine and potash, peppermint in bars,<br />
+And all the oils and essences so keen<br />
+That druggists keep in rows of stoppered jars&#8212;<br />
+Now, blender of strange drugs more volatile,<br />
+The master pharmacist of joy and pain<br />
+Dispenses sadness tinctured with a smile<br />
+And laughter that dissolves in tears again.<br />
+<br />
+O brave apothecary! You who knew<br />
+What dark and acid doses life prefers<br />
+And yet with friendly face resolved to brew<br />
+These sparkling potions for your customers&#8212;<br />
+In each prescription your Physician writ<br />
+You poured your rich compassion and your wit!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_139"></a>[139]</span></p>
+<h3>FOR THE CENTENARY OF KEATS'S SONNET</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(1816)</p>
+<p style="text-align: center;">"On First Looking Into
+Chapman's Homer."</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> knew</span> a
+scientist,
+an engineer,<br />
+Student of tensile strengths and calculus,<br />
+A man who loved a cantilever truss<br />
+And always wore a pencil on his ear.<br />
+My friend believed that poets all were queer,<br />
+And literary folk ridiculous;<br />
+But one night, when it chanced that three of us<br />
+Were reading Keats aloud, he stopped to hear.<br />
+<br />
+Lo, a new planet swam into his ken!<br />
+His eager mind reached for it and took hold.<br />
+Ten years are by: I see him now and then,<br />
+And at alumni dinners, if cajoled,<br />
+He mumbles gravely, to the cheering men:&#8212;<br />
+<i>Much have I travelled in the realms of gold.</i>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_140"></a>[140]</span></p>
+<h3>TWO O'CLOCK</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">N</span><span class="smcap">ight</span> after night
+goes by: and clocks still chime<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And stars are changing
+patterns in the dark,</div>
+And watches tick, and over-puissant Time<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Benumbs the eager brain.
+The dogs that bark,</div>
+The trains that roar and rattle in the night,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The very cats that prowl,
+all quiet find</div>
+And leave the darkness empty, silent quite:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Sleep comes to chloroform
+the fretting mind.</div>
+<br />
+So all things end: and what is left at last?<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Some scribbled sonnets
+tossed upon the floor,</div>
+A memory of easy days gone past,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A run-down watch, a pipe,
+some clothes we wore&#8212;</div>
+And in the darkened room I lean to know<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">How warm her dreamless
+breath does pause and flow.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_141"></a>[141]</span></p>
+<h3>THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">h</span> very sweet! If
+news should come to you<br />
+Some afternoon, while waiting for our eve,<br />
+That the great Manager had made me leave<br />
+To travel on some territory new;<br />
+And that, whatever homeward winds there blew,<br />
+I could not touch your hand again, nor heave<br />
+The logs upon our hearth and bid you weave<br />
+Some wistful tale before the flames that grew....<br />
+<br />
+Then, when the sudden tears had ceased to blind<br />
+Your pansied eyes, I wonder if you could<br />
+Remember rightly, and forget aright?<br />
+Remember just your lad, uncouthly good,<br />
+Forgetting when he failed in spleen or spite?<br />
+Could you remember him as always kind?
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_142"></a>[142]</span></p>
+<h3>THE WEDDED LOVER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> read</span> in our old
+journals of the days<br />
+When our first love was April-sweet and new,<br />
+How fair it blossomed and deep-rooted grew<br />
+Despite the adverse time; and our amaze<br />
+At moon and stars and beauty beyond praise<br />
+That burgeoned all about us: gold and blue<br />
+The heaven arched us in, and all we knew<br />
+Was gentleness. We walked on happy ways.<br />
+<br />
+They said by now the path would be more steep,<br />
+The sunsets paler and less mild the air;<br />
+Rightly we heeded not: it was not true.<br />
+We will not tell the secret&#8212;let it keep.<br />
+I know not how I thought those days so fair<br />
+These being so much fairer, spent with you.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_143"></a>[143]</span></p>
+<h3>TO YOU, REMEMBERING THE PAST</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> we were
+parted,
+sweet, and darkness came,<br />
+I used to strike a match, and hold the flame<br />
+Before your picture and would breathless mark<br />
+The answering glimmer of the tiny spark<br />
+That brought to life the magic of your eyes,<br />
+Their wistful tenderness, their glad surprise.<br />
+<br />
+Holding that mimic torch before your shrine<br />
+I used to light your eyes and make them mine;<br />
+Watch them like stars set in a lonely sky,<br />
+Whisper my heart out, yearning for reply;<br />
+Summon your lips from far across the sea<br />
+Bidding them live a twilight hour with me.<br />
+<br />
+Then, when the match was shrivelled into gloom,<br />
+Lo&#8212;you were with me in the darkened room.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_144"></a>[144]</span></p>
+<h3>CHARLES AND MARY</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(December 27, 1834.)</p>
+<div class="line_in_2">Lamb died just before I
+left town, and Mr. Ryle of
+the E. India House, one of his extors., notified it to me....
+He said Miss L. was resigned and composed at the
+event, but it was from her malady, then in mild type, so
+that when she saw her brother dead, she observed on his
+beauty when asleep and apprehended nothing further.<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">&#8212;Letter of John Rickman, 24
+January, 1835.</div><br />
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> hear</span> their
+voices
+still: the stammering one<br />
+Struggling with some absurdity of jest;<br />
+Her quiet words that puzzle and protest<br />
+Against the latest outrage of his fun.<br />
+So wise, so simple&#8212;has she never guessed<br />
+That through his laughter, love and terror run?<br />
+For when her trouble came, and darkness pressed,<br />
+He smiled, and fought her madness with a pun.<br />
+<br />
+Through all those years it was his task to keep<br />
+Her gentle heart serenely mystified.<br />
+If Fate's an artist, this should be his pride&#8212;<br />
+When, in that Christmas season, he lay dead,<br />
+She innocently looked. "I always said<br />
+That Charles is really handsome when asleep."
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_145"></a>[145]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A GRANDMOTHER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">t</span> six o'clock in
+the evening,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The time for lullabies,</div>
+My son lay on my mother's lap<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With sleepy, sleepy eyes!</div>
+(<i>O drowsy little manny boy,</i><br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>With sleepy,
+sleepy eyes!</i>)</div>
+<br />
+I heard her sing, and rock him,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And the creak of the
+swaying chair,</div>
+And the old dear cadence of the words<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Came softly down the stair.</div>
+<br />
+And all the years had vanished,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">All folly, greed, and stain&#8212;</div>
+The old, old song, the creaking chair,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The dearest arms again!</div>
+(<i>O lucky little manny boy,</i><br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>To feel those arms
+again!</i>)</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_146"></a>[146]</span></p>
+<h3>DIARISTS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hey</span> catalogue
+their
+minutes: Now, now, now,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Is Actual, amid the
+fugitive;</div>
+Take ink and pen (they say) for that is how<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">We snare this flying life,
+and make it live.</div>
+So to their little pictures, and they sieve<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Their happinesses: fields
+turned by the plough,</div>
+The afterglow that summer sunsets give,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The razor concave of a
+great ship's bow.</div>
+<br />
+O gallant instinct, folly for men's mirth!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Type cannot burn and
+sparkle on the page.</div>
+No glittering ink can make this written word<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Shine clear enough to speak
+the noble rage</div>
+And instancy of life. All sonnets blurred<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The sudden mood of truth
+that gave them birth.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_147"></a>[147]</span></p>
+<h3>THE LAST SONNET</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">S</span><span class="smcap">uppose</span> one knew
+that never more might one<br />
+Put pen to sonnet, well loved task; that now<br />
+These fourteen lines were all he could allow<br />
+To say his message, be forever done;<br />
+How he would scan the word, the line, the rhyme,<br />
+Intent to sum in dearly chosen phrase<br />
+The windy trees, the beauty of his days,<br />
+Life's pride and pathos in one verse sublime.<br />
+How bitter then would be regret and pang<br />
+For former rhymes he dallied to refine,<br />
+For every verse that was not crystalline....<br />
+And if belike this last one feebly rang,<br />
+Honor and pride would cast it to the floor<br />
+Facing the judge with what was done before.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_148"></a>[148]</span></p>
+<h3>THE SAVAGE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">C</span><span class="smcap">ivilization</span>
+causes
+me<br />
+Alternate fits: disgust and glee.<br />
+<br />
+Buried in piles of glass and stone<br />
+My private spirit moves alone,<br />
+<br />
+Where every day from eight to six<br />
+I keep alive by hasty tricks.<br />
+<br />
+But I am simple in my soul;<br />
+My mind is sullen to control.<br />
+<br />
+At dusk I smell the scent of earth,<br />
+And I am dumb&#8212;too glad for mirth.<br />
+<br />
+I know the savors night can give,<br />
+And then, and then, I live, I live!<br />
+<br />
+No man is wholly pure and free,<br />
+For that is not his destiny,<br />
+<br />
+But though I bend, I will not break:<br />
+And still be savage, for Truth's sake.<br />
+<br />
+God damns the easily convinced<br />
+(Like Pilate, when his hands he rinsed).
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_149"></a>[149]</span></p>
+<h3>ST. PAUL'S AND WOOLWORTH</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> stood</span> on the
+pavement<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where I could admire</div>
+Behind the brown chapel<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The cream and gold spire.</div>
+<br />
+Above, gilded Lightning<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Swam high on his ball&#8212;</div>
+I saw the noon shadow<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The church of St. Paul.</div>
+<br />
+And was there a meaning?<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(My fancy would run),</div>
+Saint Paul in the shadow,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Saint Frank in the sun!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_150"></a>[150]</span></p>
+<h3>ADVICE TO A CITY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap"> city</span>, cage your
+poets! Hem them in<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And roof them over from the
+April sky&#8212;</div>
+Clatter them round with babble, ceaseless din,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And drown their voices with
+your thunder cry.</div>
+<br />
+Forbid their free feet on the windy hills,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And harness them to daily
+ruts of stone&#8212;</div>
+(In florists' windows lock the daffodils)<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And never, never let them
+be alone!</div>
+<br />
+For they are curst, said poets, curst and lewd,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And freedom gives their
+tongues uncanny wit,</div>
+And granted silence, thought and solitude<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They (<i>absit omen!</i>)
+might make Song of it.</div>
+<br />
+So cage them in, and stand about them thick,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And keep them busy with
+their daily bread;</div>
+And should their eyes seem strange, ah, then be quick<br />
+<div style="margin-left: 3em;">To interrupt them ere the
+word be said....</div>
+<br />
+For, if their hearts burn with sufficient rage,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With wasted sunsets and
+frustrated youth,</div>
+Some day they'll cry, on some disturbing page,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The savage, sweet,
+unpalatable truth!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_151"></a>[151]</span></p>
+<h3>THE TELEPHONE DIRECTORY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">N</span><span class="smcap">o Malory</span> of old
+romance,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">No Crusoe tale, it seems to
+me,</div>
+Can equal in rich circumstance<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">This telephone directory.</div>
+<br />
+No ballad of fair ladies' eyes,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">No legend of proud knights
+and dames,</div>
+Can fill me with such bright surmise<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">As this great book of
+numbered names!</div>
+<br />
+How many hearts and lives unknown,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Rare damsels pining for a
+squire,</div>
+Are waiting for the telephone<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To ring, and call them to
+the wire.</div>
+<br />
+Some wait to hear a loved voice say<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The news they will rejoice
+to know</div>
+At Rome 2637 J<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Or Marathon 1450!</div>
+<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_152"></a>[152]</span>
+And some, perhaps, are stung with fear<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And answer with reluctant
+tread:</div>
+The message they expect to hear<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Means life or death or
+daily bread.</div>
+<br />
+A million hearts here wait our call,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">All naked to our distant
+speech&#8212;</div>
+I wish that I could ring them all<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And have some welcome news
+for each!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_153"></a>[153]</span></p>
+<h3>GREEN ESCAPE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">t</span> three o'clock
+in
+the afternoon<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">On a hot September day,</div>
+I began to dream of a highland stream<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And a frostbit russet tree;</div>
+Of the swashing dip of a clipper ship<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(White canvas wet with
+spray)</div>
+And the swirling green and milk-foam clean<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Along her canted lee.</div>
+<br />
+I heard the quick staccato click<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of the typist's pounding
+keys,</div>
+And I had to brood of a wind more rude<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Than that by a motor fanned&#8212;</div>
+And I lay inert in a flannel shirt<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To watch the rhyming seas</div>
+Deploy and fall in a silver sprawl<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">On a beach of sun-blanched
+sand.</div>
+<br />
+There is no desk shall tame my lust<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">For hills and windy skies;</div>
+My secret hope of the sea's blue slope<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">No clerkly task shall dull;</div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_154"></a>[154]</span>And
+though I print no echoed hint<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of adventures I devise,</div>
+My eyes still pine for the comely line<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of an outbound vessel's
+hull.</div>
+<br />
+When I elope with an autumn day<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And make my green escape,</div>
+I'll leave my pen to tamer men<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Who have more docile souls;</div>
+For forest aisles and office files<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Have a very different shape,</div>
+And it's hard to woo the ocean blue<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In a row of pigeon holes!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="figcover">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_155"></a>[155]</span></p>
+<img src="images/illus157.jpg" alt="Rocky Outcrop" />
+<p class="caption"><i>My eyes still pine for the comely line</i><br />
+<i>Of an outbound vessel's hull.</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_157"></a>[157]</span></p>
+<h3>VESPER SONG FOR COMMUTERS</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+(<i>Instead of "Marathon" the commuter may substitute the name of
+his favorite suburb</i>)
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> stars are kind
+to Marathon,<br />
+How low, how close, they lean!<br />
+They jostle one another<br />
+And do their best to please&#8212;<br />
+Indeed, they are so neighborly<br />
+That in the twilight green<br />
+One reaches out to pick them<br />
+Behind the poplar trees.<br />
+<br />
+The stars are kind to Marathon,<br />
+And one particular<br />
+Bright planet (which is Vesper)<br />
+Most lucid and serene,<br />
+Is waiting by the railway bridge,<br />
+The Good Commuter's Star,<br />
+The Star of Wise Men coming home<br />
+On time, at 6:15!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_158"></a>[158]</span></p>
+<h3>THE ICE WAGON</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">'d</span> like to split
+the sky that roofs us down,<br />
+Break through the crystal lid of upper air,<br />
+And tap the cool still reservoirs of heaven.<br />
+I'd empty all those unseen lakes of freshness<br />
+Down some vast funnel, through our stifled streets.<br />
+<br />
+I'd like to pump away the grit, the dust,<br />
+Raw dazzle of the sun on garbage piles,<br />
+The droning troops of flies, sharp bitter smells,<br />
+And gush that bright sweet flood of unused air<br />
+Down every alley where the children gasp.<br />
+<br />
+And then I'd take a fleet of ice wagons&#8212;<br />
+Big yellow creaking carts, drawn by wet horses,&#8212;<br />
+And drive them rumbling through the blazing slums.<br />
+In every wagon would be blocks of coldness,<br />
+Pale, gleaming cubes of ice, all green and silver,<br />
+With inner veins and patterns, white and frosty;<br />
+Great lumps of chill would drip and steam and shimmer,<br />
+And spark like rainbows in their little fractures.<br />
+<br />
+And where my wagons stood there would be puddles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_159"></a>[159]</span><br />
+A wetness and a sparkle and a coolness.<br />
+My friends and I would chop and splinter open<br />
+The blocks of ice. Bare feet would soon come pattering,<br />
+And some would wrap it up in Sunday papers,<br />
+And some would stagger home with it in baskets,<br />
+And some would be too gay for aught but sucking,<br />
+Licking, crunching those fast melting pebbles,<br />
+Gulping as they slipped down unexpected&#8212;<br />
+Laughing to perceive that secret numbness<br />
+Amid their small hot persons!<br />
+<br />
+At every stop would be at least one urchin<br />
+Would take a piece to cool the sweating horses<br />
+And hold it up against their silky noses&#8212;<br />
+And they would start, and then decide they liked it.<br />
+<br />
+Down all the sun-cursed byways of the town<br />
+Our wagons would be trailed by grimy tots,<br />
+Their ragged shirts half off them with excitement!<br />
+Dabbling toes and fingers in our leakage,<br />
+A lucky few up sitting with the driver,<br />
+All clambering and stretching grey-pink palms.<br />
+<br />
+And by the time the wagons were all empty
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_160"></a>[160]</span><br />
+Our arms and shoulders would be lame with chopping,<br />
+Our backs and thighs pain-shot, our fingers frozen.<br />
+But how we would recall those eager faces,<br />
+Red thirsty tongues with ice-chips sliding on them,<br />
+The pinched white cheeks, and their pathetic gladness.<br />
+Then we would know that arms were made for aching&#8212;<br />
+<br />
+I wish to God that I could go tomorrow!
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_161"></a>[161]</span></p>
+<h3>AT A MOVIE THEATRE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">ow</span> well he spoke
+who coined the phrase<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>The picture palace!</i>
+Aye, in sooth</div>
+A palace, where men's weary days<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Are crowned with kingliness
+of youth.</div>
+<br />
+Strange palace! Crowded, airless, dim,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where toes are trod and
+strained eyes smart,</div>
+We watch a wand of brightness limn<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The old heroics of the
+heart.</div>
+<br />
+Romance again hath us in thrall<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And Love is sweet and
+always true,</div>
+And in the darkness of the hall<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Hands clasp&#8212;as they were
+meant to do.</div>
+<br />
+Remote from peevish joys and ills<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Our souls, <i>pro tem</i>,
+are purged and free:</div>
+We see the sun on western hills,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The crumbling tumult of the
+sea.</div>
+<br />
+We are the blond that maidens crave,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_162"></a>[162]</span><br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Well balanced at a dozen
+banks;</div>
+By sleight of hand we haste to save<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A brown-eyed life, nor stay
+for thanks!</div>
+<br />
+Alas, perhaps our instinct feels<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Life is not all it might
+have been,</div>
+So we applaud fantastic reels<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of shadow, cast upon a
+screen!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_163"></a>[163]</span></p>
+<h3>SONNETS IN A LODGING HOUSE</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">i</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">E</span><span class="smcap">ach</span> morn she
+crackles upward, tread by tread,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">All apprehensive of some
+hideous sight:</div>
+Perhaps the Fourth Floor Back, who reads in bed,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Forgot his gas and let it
+burn all night&#8212;</div>
+The Sweet Young Thing who has the middle room,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She much suspects: for once
+some ink was spilled,</div>
+And then the plumber, in an hour of gloom,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Found all the bathroom
+pipes with tea-leaves filled.</div>
+<br />
+<br />
+<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">ii</span></p>
+<br />
+No League of Nations scheme can make her gay&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She knows the rank
+duplicity of man;</div>
+Some folks expect clean towels every day,
+<div class="line_in_1">They'll get away with
+murder if they can!</div>
+She tacks a card (alas, few roomers mind it)<br />
+<i>Please leave the tub as you would wish to find it!</i>
+<br />
+<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">iii</span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_164"></a>[164]</span>
+</p>
+<br />
+Men lodgers are the best, the Mrs. said:<br />
+They don't use my gas jets to fry sardines,<br />
+They don't leave red-hot irons on the spread,<br />
+They're out all morning, when a body cleans.<br />
+A man ain't so secretive, never cares<br />
+What kind of private papers he leaves lay,<br />
+So I can get a line on his affairs<br />
+And dope out whether he is likely pay.<br />
+But women! Say, they surely get my bug!<br />
+They stop their keyholes up with chewing gum,<br />
+Spill grease, and hide the damage with the rug,<br />
+And fry marshmallows when their callers come.<br />
+They always are behindhand with their rents&#8212;<br />
+Take my advice and let your rooms to gents!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_165"></a>[165]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus167.jpg" alt="Cleaning Bedroom" />
+<p class="caption"><i>A man ain't so secretive, never cares</i><br />
+<i>What kind of private papers he leaves lay</i>&#8212;</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_167"></a>[167]</span></p>
+<h3>THE MAN WITH THE HOE (PRESS)</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">bout</span> these
+roaring
+cylinders<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where leaping words and
+paper mate,</div>
+A sudden glory moves and stirs&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">An inky cataract in spate!</div>
+<br />
+What voice for falsehood or for truth,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">What hearts attentive to be
+stirred&#8212;</div>
+How dimly understood, in sooth,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The power of the printed
+word!</div>
+<br />
+These flashing webs and cogs of steel<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Have shaken empires, routed
+kings,</div>
+Yet never turn too fast to feel<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The tragedies of humble
+things.</div>
+<br />
+O words, be strict in honesty,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Be just and simple and
+serene;</div>
+O rhymes, sing true, or you will be<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Unworthy of this great
+machine!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_168"></a>[168]</span></p>
+<h3>DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE GOD?</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">cross</span> the court
+there rises the back wall<br />
+Of the Magna Carta Apartments.<br />
+The other evening the people in the apartment opposite<br />
+Had forgotten to draw their curtains.<br />
+I could see them dining: the well-blanched cloth,<br />
+The silver and glass, the crystal water jug,<br />
+The meat and vegetables; and their clean pink hands<br />
+Outstretched in busy gesture.<br />
+<br />
+It was pleasant to watch them, they were so human;<br />
+So gay, innocent, unconscious of scrutiny.<br />
+They were four: an elderly couple,<br />
+A young man, and a girl&#8212;with lovely shoulders<br />
+Mellow in the glow of the lamp.<br />
+They were sitting over coffee, and I could see their hands talking.<br />
+<br />
+At last the older two left the room.<br />
+The boy and girl looked at each other....<br />
+Like a flash, they leaned and kissed.<br />
+<br />
+Good old human race that keeps on multiplying!
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_169"></a>[169]</span><br />
+A little later I went down the street to the movies,<br />
+And there I saw all four, laughing and joking together.<br />
+And as I watched them I felt like God&#8212;<br />
+Benevolent, all-knowing, and tender.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_170"></a>[170]</span></p>
+<h3>RAPID TRANSIT</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">(To Stephen Vincent Ben�t.)</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">C</span><span class="smcap">limbing</span> is easy
+and
+swift on Parnassus!<br />
+Knocking my pipe out, I entered a bookshop;<br />
+There found a book of verse by a young poet.<br />
+Comrades at once, how I saw his mind glowing!<br />
+Saw in his soul its magnificent rioting&#8212;<br />
+Then I ran with him on hills that were windy,<br />
+Basked and laughed with him on sun-dazzled beaches,<br />
+Glutted myself on his green and blue twilights,<br />
+Watched him disposing his planets in patterns,<br />
+Tumbling his colors and toys all before him.<br />
+I questioned life with him, his pulses my pulses;<br />
+Doubted his doubts, too, and grieved for his anguishes.<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"></div>
+Salted long kinship and knew him from boy-hood&#8212;<br />
+Pulled out my own sun and stars from my knapsack,<br />
+Trying my trinkets with those of his finding&#8212;<br />
+<i>And as I left the bookshop</i><br />
+<i>My pipe was still warm in my hand.</i>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_171"></a>[171]</span></p>
+<h3>CAUGHT IN THE UNDERTOW</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">C</span><span class="smcap">olin</span>, worshipping
+some frail,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By self-deprecation sways
+her:</div>
+Calls himself unworthy male,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Hardly even fit to praise
+her.</div>
+<br />
+But this tactic insincere<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In the upshot greatly
+grieves him</div>
+When he finds the lovely dear<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Quite implicitly believes
+him.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_172"></a>[172]</span></p>
+<h3>TO HIS BROWN-EYED MISTRESS</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+<i>Who Rallied Him for Praising Blue Eyes in His Verses</i>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">f sometimes</span>, in a
+random phrase<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(For variation in my ditty),</div>
+I chance blue eyes, or gray, to praise<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And seem to intimate them
+pretty&#8212;</div>
+<br />
+It is because I do not dare<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With too unmixed reiteration</div>
+To sing the browner eyes and hair<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That are my true
+intoxication.</div>
+<br />
+Know, then, that I consider brown<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">For ladies' eyes, the only
+color;</div>
+And deem all other orbs in town<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(Compared to yours),
+opaquer, duller.</div>
+<br />
+I pray, perpend, my dearest dear;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">While blue-eyed maids the
+praise were drinking,</div>
+How insubstantial was their cheer&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">It was of yours that I was
+thinking!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_173"></a>[173]</span></p>
+<h3>PEACE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hat</span> is this Peace<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That statesmen sign?</div>
+How I have sought<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To make it mine.</div>
+<br />
+Where groaning cities<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Clang and glow</div>
+I hunted, hunted,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Peace to know.</div>
+<br />
+And still I saw<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where I passed by</div>
+Discarded hearts,&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Heard children cry.</div>
+<br />
+By willowed waters<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Brimmed with rain</div>
+I thought to capture<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Peace again.</div>
+<br />
+I sat me down<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My Peace to hoard,</div>
+But Beauty pricked me<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With a sword.</div>
+<br />
+For in the stillness
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_174"></a>[174]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Something stirred,</div>
+And I was crippled<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">For a word.</div>
+<br />
+There is no peace<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A man can find;</div>
+The anguish sits<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His heart behind.</div>
+<br />
+The eyes he loves,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The perfect breast,</div>
+Too exquisite<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To give him rest.</div>
+<br />
+This is his curse<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Since brain began.</div>
+His penalty<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">For being man.</div>
+</div>
+<p>May, 1919</p>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_175"></a>[175]</span></p>
+<h3>SONG, IN DEPRECATION OF PULCHRITUDE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">B</span><span class="smcap">eauty</span> (so the
+poets
+say),<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Thou art joy and solace
+great;</div>
+Long ago, and far away<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Thou art safe to
+contemplate,</div>
+<br />
+Beauty. But when now and here,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Visible and close to touch,</div>
+All too perilously near,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Thou tormentest us too much!</div>
+<br />
+In a picture, in a song,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In a novel's conjured
+scenes,</div>
+Beauty, that's where you belong,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where perspective
+intervenes.</div>
+<br />
+But, my dear, in rosy fact<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Your appeal I have to shirk&#8212;</div>
+You disturb me, and distract<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">My attention from my work!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_176"></a>[176]</span></p>
+<h3>MOUNTED POLICE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">atchful</span>, grave,
+he
+sits astride his horse,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Draped with his rubber
+poncho, in the rain;</div>
+He speaks the pungent lingo of "The Force,"<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And those who try to bluff
+him, try in vain.</div>
+<br />
+Inured to every mood of fool and crank,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Shrewdly and sternly all
+the crowd he cons:</div>
+The rain drips down his horse's shining flank,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A figure nobly fit for
+sculptor's bronze.</div>
+<br />
+O knight commander of our city stress,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Little you know how
+picturesque you are!</div>
+We hear you cry to drivers who transgress:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">"<i>Say, that's a
+helva place to park your car!</i>"</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_177"></a>[177]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus179.jpg" alt="Mounted Police." />
+<p class="caption"><i>Mounted Police</i>.</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_179"></a>[179]</span></p>
+<h3>TO HIS MISTRESS, DEPLORING THAT HE IS NOT AN ELIZABETHAN
+GALAXY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hy</span> did not Fate
+to
+me bequeath an Utterance Elizabethan?<br />
+It would have been delight to me<br />
+If <i>natus ante</i> 1603.<br />
+<br />
+My stuff would not be soon forgotten<br />
+If I could write like Harry Wotton.<br />
+<br />
+I wish that I could wield the pen<br />
+Like William Drummond of Hawthornden.<br />
+<br />
+I would not fear the ticking clock<br />
+If I were Browne of Tavistock.<br />
+<br />
+For blithe conceits I would not worry<br />
+If I were Raleigh, or the Earl of Surrey.<br />
+<br />
+I wish (I hope I am not silly?)<br />
+That I could juggle words like Lyly.<br />
+<br />
+I envy many a lyric champion,<br />
+I. e., viz., e. g., Thomas Campion.<br />
+<br />
+I creak my rhymes up like a derrick,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_180"></a>[180]</span>
+<br />
+I ne'er will be a Robin Herrick.<br />
+<br />
+My wits are dull as an old Barlow&#8212;<br />
+I wish that I were Christopher Marlowe.<br />
+<br />
+In short, I'd like to be Philip Sidney,<br />
+Or some one else of that same kidney.<br />
+<br />
+For if I were, my lady's looks<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And all my lyric special
+pleading</div>
+Would be in all the future books,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And called, at college, <i>Required
+Reading</i>.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_181"></a>[181]</span></p>
+<h3>THE INTRUDER</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">s</span> I sat, to sift
+my
+dreaming<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To the meet and needed word,</div>
+Came a merry Interruption<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With insistence to be heard.</div>
+<br />
+Smiling stood a maid beside me,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Half alluring and half shy;</div>
+Soft the white hint of her bosom&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Escapade was in her eye.</div>
+<br />
+"I must not be so invaded,"<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(In an anger then I cried)&#8212;</div>
+"Can't you see that I am busy?<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Tempting creature, stay
+outside!</div>
+<br />
+"Pearly rascal, I am writing:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I am now composing verse&#8212;</div>
+Fie on antic invitation:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Wanton, vanish&#8212;fly&#8212;disperse!</div>
+<br />
+"Baggage, in my godlike moment<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">What have I to do with
+thee?"</div>
+And she laughed as she departed&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"> "I am Poetry," said she.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_182"></a>[182]</span></p>
+<h3>TIT FOR TAT</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> often</span> pass a
+gracious tree<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Whose name I can't identify,</div>
+But still I bow, in courtesy<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">It waves a bough, in kind
+reply.</div>
+<br />
+I do not know your name, O tree<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(Are you a hemlock or a
+pine?)</div>
+But why should that embarrass me?<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Quite probably you don't
+know mine.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_183"></a>[183]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus185.jpg" alt="Tit for Tat" />
+<p class="caption"><i>Courtesy</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_185"></a>[185]</span></p>
+<h3>SONG FOR A LITTLE HOUSE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">'m</span> glad our house
+is a little house,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Not too tall nor too wide:</div>
+I'm glad the hovering butterflies<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Feel free to come inside.</div>
+<br />
+Our little house is a friendly house.<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">It is not shy or vain;</div>
+It gossips with the talking trees,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And makes friends with the
+rain.</div>
+<br />
+And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Against our whited walls,</div>
+And in the phlox, the courteous bees<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Are paying duty calls.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_186"></a>[186]</span></p>
+<h3>THE PLUMPUPPETS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> little heads
+weary have gone to their bed,<br />
+When all the good nights and the prayers have been said,<br />
+Of all the good fairies that send bairns to rest<br />
+The little Plumpuppets are those I love best.<br />
+<br />
+<i>If your pillow is lumpy, or hot, thin and flat,</i><br />
+<i>The little Plumpuppets know just what they're at;</i><br />
+<i>They plump up the pillow, all soft, cool and fat&#8212;</i><br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>The little
+Plumpuppets plump-up it!</i></div>
+<br />
+The little Plumpuppets are fairies of beds:<br />
+They have nothing to do but to watch sleepy heads;<br />
+They turn down the sheets and they tuck you in tight,<br />
+And they dance on your pillow to wish you good night!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_187"></a>[187]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">No matter what troubles
+have bothered the day,
+<br />
+Though your doll broke her arm or the pup ran away;<br />
+Though your handies are black with the ink that was spilt&#8212;<br />
+Plumpuppets are waiting in blanket and quilt.<br />
+<br />
+<i>If your pillow is lumpy, or hot, thin and flat,<br />
+The little Plumpuppets know just what they're at;<br />
+They plump up the pillow, all soft, cool and fat&#8212;</i><br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>The little
+Plumpuppets plump-up it!</i></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_189"></a>[189]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus189.jpg" alt="The Plumpuppets" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The Plumpuppets</i>
+<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_190"></a>[190]</span></p>
+<h3>DANDY DANDELION</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> Dandy
+Dandelion
+wakes<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And combs his yellow hair,</div>
+The ant his cup of dewdrop takes<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And sets his bed to air;</div>
+The worm hides in a quilt of dirt<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To keep the thrush away,</div>
+The beetle dons his pansy shirt&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They know that it is day!</div>
+<br />
+And caterpillars haste to milk<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The cowslips in the grass;</div>
+The spider, in his web of silk,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Looks out for flies that
+pass.</div>
+These humble people leap from bed,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They know the night is done:</div>
+When Dandy spreads his golden head<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">They think he is the sun!</div>
+<br />
+Dear Dandy truly does not smell
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_191"></a>[191]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">As sweet as some bouquets;</div>
+No florist gathers him to sell,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">He withers in a vase;</div>
+Yet in the grass he's emperor,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And lord of high renown;</div>
+And grateful little folk adore<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His bright and shining
+crown.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_192"></a>[192]</span></p>
+<h3>THE HIGH CHAIR</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">G</span><span class="smcap">rimly</span> the parent
+matches wit and will:<br />
+Now, Weesy, three more spoons! See Tom the cat,<br />
+<i>He'd</i> drink it. You want to be big and fat<br />
+Like Daddy, don't you? (Careful now, don't spill!)<br />
+Yes, Daddy'll dance, and blow smoke through his nose,<br />
+But you must finish first. Come, drink it up&#8212;<br />
+(<i>Splash</i>!) Oh, you <i>must</i> keep both
+hands on the cup.<br />
+All gone? Now for the prunes....<br />
+<div style="margin-left: 10em;"> And so it goes.</div>
+<br />
+This is the battlefield that parents know,<br />
+Where one small splinter of old Adam's rib<br />
+Withstands an entire household offering spoons.<br />
+No use to gnash your teeth. For she will go<br />
+Radiant to bed, glossy from crown to bib<br />
+With milk and cereal and a surf of prunes.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_193"></a>[193]</span></p>
+<h3>LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">N</span><span class="smcap">ot</span> long ago I
+fell
+in love,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">But unreturned is my
+affection&#8212;</div>
+The girl that I'm enamored of<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Pays little heed in my
+direction.</div>
+<br />
+I thought I knew her fairly well:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In fact, I'd had my arm
+around her;</div>
+And so it's hard to have to tell<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">How unresponsive I have
+found her.</div>
+<br />
+For, though she is not frankly rude,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her manners quite the wrong
+way rub me:</div>
+It seems to me ingratitude<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To let me love her&#8212;and then
+snub me!</div>
+<br />
+Though I'm considerate and fond,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She shows no gladness when
+she spies me&#8212;</div>
+She gazes off somewhere beyond<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And doesn't even recognize
+me.</div>
+<br />
+Her eyes, so candid, calm and blue,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_194"></a>[194]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Seem asking if I can
+support her</div>
+In the style appropriate to<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A lady like her father's
+daughter.</div>
+<br />
+Well, if I can't then no one can&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And let me add that I
+intend to:</div>
+She'll never know another man<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">So fit for her to be a
+friend to.</div>
+<br />
+Not love me, eh? She better had!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By Jove, I'll make her love
+me one day;</div>
+For, don't you see, I am her Dad,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And she'll be three weeks
+old on Sunday!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_195"></a>[195]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus197.jpg" alt="Babe in arms" />
+<p class="caption"><i> ... It's hard to have to tell</i><br />
+<i>How unresponsive I have found her.</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_197"></a>[197]</span></p>
+<h3>AUTUMN COLORS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span> chestnut trees
+turned yellow,<br />
+The oak like sherry browned,<br />
+The fir, the stubborn fellow,<br />
+Stayed green the whole year round.<br />
+<br />
+But O the bonny maple<br />
+How richly he does shine!<br />
+He glows against the sunset<br />
+Like ruddy old port wine.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_198"></a>[198]</span></p>
+<h3>THE LAST CRICKET</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> the bulb of
+the
+moon with white fire fills<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And dead leaves crackle
+under the feet,</div>
+When men roll kegs to the cider mills<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And chestnuts roast on
+every street;</div>
+<br />
+When the night sky glows like a hollow shell<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of lustered emerald and
+pearl,</div>
+The kilted cricket knows too well<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His doom. His tiny bagpipes
+skirl.</div>
+<br />
+Quavering under the polished stars<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In stubble, thicket, and
+frosty copse</div>
+The cricket blows a few choked bars,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And puts away his pipe&#8212;and
+stops.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_199"></a>[199]</span></p>
+<h3>TO LOUISE</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+(A Christmas Baby, Now One Year Old.)
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">U</span><span class="smcap">ndaunted</span> by a
+world
+of grief<br />
+You came upon perplexing days,<br />
+And cynics doubt their disbelief<br />
+To see the sky-stains in your gaze.<br />
+<br />
+Your sudden and inclusive smile<br />
+And your emphatic tears, admit<br />
+That you must find this life worth while,<br />
+So eagerly you clutch at it!<br />
+<br />
+Your face of triumph says, brave mite,<br />
+That life is full of love and luck&#8212;<br />
+Of blankets to kick off at night,<br />
+And two soft rose-pink thumbs to suck.<br />
+<br />
+O loveliest of pioneers<br />
+Upon this trail of long surprise,<br />
+May all the stages of the years<br />
+Show such enchantment in your eyes!<br />
+<br />
+By parents' patient buttonings,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_200"></a>[200]</span>
+<br />
+And endless safety pins, you'll grow<br />
+To ribbons, garters, hooks and things,<br />
+Up to the Ultimate Trousseau&#8212;<br />
+<br />
+But never, in your dainty prime,<br />
+Will you be more adored by me<br />
+Than when you see, this Great First Time,<br />
+Lit candles on a Christmas Tree!<br />
+<br />
+December, 1919.
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_201"></a>[201]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus203.jpg" alt="First Christmas" />
+<p class="caption"><i>... When you see, this Great First Time,</i><br />
+<i>Lit candles on a Christmas Tree!</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_203"></a>[203]</span></p>
+<h3>CHRISTMAS EVE</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap">ur</span> hearts
+to-night
+are open wide,<br />
+The grudge, the grief, are laid aside:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The path and porch are
+swept of snow,<br />
+The doors unlatched; the hearthstones glow&#8212;</div>
+No visitor can be denied.<br />
+<br />
+All tender human homes must hide<br />
+Some wistfulness beneath their pride:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Compassionate and humble
+grow</div>
+<div class="line_in_2">Our hearts to-night.</div>
+<br />
+Let empty chair and cup abide!<br />
+Who knows? Some well-remembered stride<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">May come as once so long
+ago&#8212;<br />
+Then welcome, be it friend or foe!</div>
+There is no anger can divide<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">Our hearts to-night.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_204"></a>[204]</span></p>
+<h3>EPITAPH ON THE PROOFREADER OF THE ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">ajestic</span> tomes,
+you
+are the tomb<br />
+Of Aristides Edward Bloom,<br />
+Who labored, from the world aloof,<br />
+In reading every page of proof.<br />
+<br />
+From A to And, from Aus to Bis<br />
+Enthusiasm still was his;<br />
+From Cal to Cha, from Cha to Con<br />
+His soft-lead pencil still went on.<br />
+<br />
+But reaching volume Fra to Gib,<br />
+He knew at length that he was sib<br />
+To Satan; and he sold his soul<br />
+To reach the section Pay to Pol.<br />
+<br />
+Then Pol to Ree, and Shu to Sub<br />
+He staggered on, and sought a pub.<br />
+And just completing Vet to Zym,<br />
+The motor hearse came round for him.<br />
+<br />
+He perished, obstinately brave:<br />
+They laid the Index on his grave.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_205"></a>[205]</span></p>
+<h3>THE MUSIC BOX</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap">t six</span>&#8212;long ere
+the
+wintry dawn&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">There sounded through the
+silent hall</div>
+To where I lay, with blankets drawn<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Above my ears, a plaintive
+call.</div>
+<br />
+The Urchin, in the eagerness<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of three years old, could
+not refrain;</div>
+Awake, he straightway yearned to dress<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And frolic with his
+clockwork train.</div>
+<br />
+I heard him with a sullen shock.<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His sister, by her usual
+plan,</div>
+Had piped us aft at 3 o'clock&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I vowed to quench the
+little man.</div>
+<br />
+I leaned above him, somewhat stern,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And spoke, I fear, with
+emphasis&#8212;</div>
+Ah, how much better, parents learn,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To seal one's censure with
+a kiss!</div>
+<br />
+Again the house was dark and still,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Again I lay in slumber's
+snare,</div>
+When down the hall I heard a trill,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A tiny, tinkling, tuneful
+air&#8212;</div>
+<br />
+His music-box! His best-loved toy,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_206"></a>[206]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His crib companion every
+night;</div>
+And now he turned to it for joy<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">While waiting for the
+lagging light.</div>
+<br />
+How clear, and how absurdly sad<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Those tingling pricks of
+sound unrolled;</div>
+They chirped and quavered, as the lad<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His lonely little heart
+consoled.</div>
+<br />
+<i>Columbia, the Ocean's Gem</i>&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(Its only tune) shrilled
+sweet and faint.</div>
+He cranked the chimes, admiring them<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In vigil gay, without
+complaint.</div>
+<br />
+The treble music piped and stirred,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The leaping air that was
+his bliss;</div>
+And, as I most contritely heard,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I thanked the
+all-unconscious Swiss!</div>
+<br />
+The needled jets of melody<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Rang slowlier and died away&#8212;</div>
+The Urchin slept; and it was I<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Who lay and waited for the
+day.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_207"></a>[207]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus209.jpg" alt="Music Box" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The Music Box</i></p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_209"></a>[209]</span></p>
+<h3>TO LUATH</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+(<i>Robert Burns's Dog</i>)
+</p>
+<p><i>"Darling Jean" was Jean Armour, a "comely country
+lass" whom Burns
+met at a penny wedding at Mauchline. They chanced to be dancing in the
+same quadrille when the poet's dog sprang to his master and almost
+upset some of the dancers. Burns remarked that he wished he could get
+any of the lasses to like him as well as his dog did.</i></p>
+<p><i>Some days afterward, Jean, seeing him pass as she was
+bleaching clothes
+on the village green, called to him and asked him if he had yet got any
+of the lasses to like him as well as his dog did.</i></p>
+<p><i>That was the beginning of an acquaintance that
+coloured all of Burns's life.</i>
+&#8212;<span class="smcap">Nathan Haskell Dole.</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">ell</span>, Luath, man,
+when you came prancing<br />
+All glee to see your Robin dancing,<br />
+His partner's muslin gown mischancing<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">You leaped for joy!</div>
+And little guessed what sweet romancing<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">You caused, my boy!</div>
+<br />
+With happy bark, that moment jolly,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_210"></a>[210]</span>
+<br />
+You frisked and frolicked, faithful collie;<br />
+His other dog, old melancholy,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Was put to flight&#8212;</div>
+But what a tale of grief and folly<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">You wagged that night!</div>
+<br />
+Ah, Luath, tyke, your bonny master<br />
+Whose lyric pulse beat ever faster<br />
+Each time he saw a lass and passed her<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His breast went bang!</div>
+In many a woful heart's disaster<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">He felt the pang!</div>
+<br />
+Poor Robin's heart, forever burning,<br />
+Forever roving, ranting, yearning,<br />
+From you that heart might have been learning<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To be less fickle!</div>
+Might have been spared so many a turning<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And grievous prickle!</div>
+<br />
+Your collie heart held but one notion&#8212;
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_211"></a>[211]</span>
+<br />
+When Robbie jigged in sprightly motion<br />
+You ran to show your own devotion<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And gambolled too,</div>
+And so that tempest on love's ocean<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Was due to you!</div>
+<br />
+Well, it is ower late for preaching<br />
+And hearts are aye too hot for teaching!<br />
+When Robin with his eye beseeching<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By greenside came,</div>
+Jeanie&#8212;poor lass&#8212;forgot her bleaching<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And yours the blame!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_212"></a>[212]</span></p>
+<h3>THOUGHTS ON REACHING LAND</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> had</span> a friend
+whose
+path was pain&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Oppressed by all the cares
+of earth</div>
+Life gave him little chance to drain<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His secret cisterns of rich
+mirth.</div>
+<br />
+His work was hasty, harassed, vexed:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His dreams were laid aside,
+perforce,</div>
+Until&#8212;in this world, or the next....<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(His trade? Newspaper man,
+of course!)</div>
+<br />
+What funded wealth of tenderness,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">What ingots of the heart
+and mind</div>
+He must uneasily repress<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Beneath the rasping daily
+grind.</div>
+<br />
+But now and then, and with my aid,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">For fear his soul be wholly
+lost,</div>
+His devoir to the grape he paid<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To call soul back, at any
+cost!</div>
+<br />
+Then, liberate from discipline,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Undrugged by caution and
+control,</div>
+Through all his veins came flooding in<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The virtued passion of his
+soul!</div>
+<br />
+His spirit bared, and felt no shame:
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_213"></a>[213]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With holy light his eyes
+would shine&#8212;</div>
+See Truth her acolyte reclaim<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">After the second glass of
+wine!</div>
+<br />
+The self that life had trodden hard<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Aspired, was generous and
+free:</div>
+The glowing heart that care had charred<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Grew flame, as it was meant
+to be.</div>
+<br />
+A pox upon the canting lot<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Who call the glass the
+Devil's shape&#8212;</div>
+A greater pox where'er some sot<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Defiles the honor of the
+grape.</div>
+<br />
+Then look with reverence on wine<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That kindles human brains
+uncouth&#8212;</div>
+There must be something part divine<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In aught that brings us
+nearer Truth!</div>
+<br />
+So&#8212;continently skull your fumes<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(Here let our little sermon
+end)</div>
+And bless this X-ray that illumes<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The secret bosom of your
+friend!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_214"></a>[214]</span></p>
+<h3>A SYMPOSIUM</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">here</span> was a
+Russian
+novelist<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Whose name was Solugubrious,</div>
+The reading circles took him up,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(They'd heard he was
+salubrious.)</div>
+<br />
+The women's club of Cripple Creek<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Soon held a kind of seminar</div>
+To learn just what his message was&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">You know what bookworms
+women are.</div>
+<br />
+The tea went round. After five cups<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(You should have seen them
+bury tea)</div>
+Dear Mrs. Brown said what she liked<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Was the great man's <i>sincerity</i>.</div>
+<br />
+Sweet Mrs. Jones (how free she was<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">From all besetting vanity)</div>
+Declared that she loved even more<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">His broad and deep <i>humanity</i>.</div>
+<br />
+Good Mrs. Smith, though she disclaimed<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">All thought of being
+critical,</div>
+Protested that she found his work<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A wee bit <i>analytical</i>.</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_215"></a>[215]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">But Mrs. Black, the
+President,
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of wisdom found the
+pinnacle:</div>
+She said, "Dear me, I always think<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Those Russians are so <i>cynical</i>."</div>
+<br />
+Well, poor old Solugubrious,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">It's true that they had
+heard of him;</div>
+But neither Brown, Jones, Smith, nor Black<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Had ever read a word of him!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_217"></a>[217]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus217.jpg" alt="Tea Drinker" />
+<p class="caption"><i>Solugubrious</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_218"></a>[218]</span></p>
+<h3>TO A TELEPHONE OPERATOR WHO HAS A BAD COLD</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">ow</span> hoarse and
+husky
+in my ear<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Your usually cheerful
+chirrup:</div>
+You have an awful cold, my dear&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Try aspirin or bronchial
+syrup.</div>
+<br />
+When I put in a call to-day<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Compassion stirred my
+humane blood red</div>
+To hear you faintly, sadly, say<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The number: <i>Burray
+Hill dide hudred!</i></div>
+<br />
+I felt (I say) quick sympathy<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To hear you croak in the
+receiver&#8212;</div>
+Will you be sorry too for me<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A month hence, when I have
+hay fever?</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_219"></a>[219]</span></p>
+<h3>NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+(Dedicated to Don Marquis.)
+</p>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+<span class="smcap">I</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">S</span><span class="smcap">cuttle</span>, scuttle,
+little roach&#8212;<br />
+How you run when I approach:<br />
+Up above the pantry shelf.<br />
+Hastening to secrete yourself.<br />
+<br />
+Most adventurous of vermin,<br />
+How I wish I could determine<br />
+How you spend your hours of ease,<br />
+Perhaps reclining on the cheese.<br />
+<br />
+Cook has gone, and all is dark&#8212;<br />
+Then the kitchen is your park:<br />
+In the garbage heap that she leaves<br />
+Do you browse among the tea leaves?<br />
+<br />
+How delightful to suspect<br />
+All the places you have trekked:<br />
+Does your long antenna whisk its<br />
+Gentle tip across the biscuits?<br />
+<br />
+Do you linger, little soul,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_220"></a>[220]</span>
+<br />
+Drowsing in our sugar bowl?<br />
+Or, abandonment most utter,<br />
+Shake a shimmy on the butter?<br />
+<br />
+Do you chant your simple tunes<br />
+Swimming in the baby's prunes?<br />
+Then, when dawn comes, do you slink<br />
+Homeward to the kitchen sink?<br />
+<br />
+Timid roach, why be so shy?<br />
+We are brothers, thou and I.<br />
+In the midnight, like yourself,<br />
+I explore the pantry shelf!
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_221"></a>[221]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus223.jpg" alt="Midnight Snack" />
+<p class="caption"><i>In the midnight, like yourself,</i><br />
+<i>I explore the pantry shelf!</i>
+</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+<span class="smcap">II</span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_223"></a>[223]</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">R</span><span class="smcap">ockabye</span>, insect,
+lie low in thy den,<br />
+Father's a cockroach, mother's a hen.<br />
+And Betty, the maid, doesn't clean up the sink,<br />
+So you shall have plenty to eat and to drink.<br />
+<br />
+Hushabye, insect, behind the mince pies:<br />
+If the cook sees you her anger will rise;<br />
+She'll scatter poison, as bitter as gall,<br />
+Death to poor cockroach, hen, baby and all.
+</div>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+<span class="smcap">III</span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_224"></a>[224]</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">here</span> was a gay
+henroach, and what do you think,<br />
+She lived in a cranny behind the old sink&#8212;<br />
+Eggshells and grease were the chief of her diet;<br />
+She went for a stroll when the kitchen was quiet.<br />
+<br />
+She walked in the pantry and sampled the bread,<br />
+But when she came back her old husband was dead:<br />
+Long had he lived, for his legs they were fast,<br />
+But the kitchen maid caught him and squashed him at last.
+</div>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+<span class="smcap">IV</span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_225"></a>[225]</span>
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap"> knew</span> a black
+beetle, who lived down a drain,<br />
+And friendly he was though his manners were plain;<br />
+When I took a bath he would come up the pipe,<br />
+And together we'd wash and together we'd wipe.<br />
+<br />
+Though mother would sometimes protest with a sneer<br />
+That my choice of a tub-mate was wanton and queer,<br />
+A nicer companion I never have seen:<br />
+He bathed every night, so he must have been clean.<br />
+<br />
+Whenever he heard the tap splash in the tub<br />
+He'd dash up the drain-pipe and wait for a scrub,<br />
+And often, so fond of ablution was he,<br />
+I'd find him there floating and waiting for me.<br />
+<br />
+But nurse has done something that seems a great shame:
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_226"></a>[226]</span>
+<br />
+She saw him there, waiting, prepared for a game:<br />
+She turned on the hot and she scalded him sore<br />
+And he'll never come bathing with me any more.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_227"></a>[227]</span></p>
+<h3>THE TWINS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">C</span><span class="smcap"> on</span> was a thorn
+to
+brother Pro&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">On Pro we often sicked him:</div>
+Whatever Pro would claim to know<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Old Con would contradict
+him!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus229.jpg" alt="Twins" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The Twins</i>
+</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_228"></a>[228]</span></p>
+<h3>A PRINTER'S MADRIGAL</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+(<i>Extremely technical</i>)
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">'d</span> like to have
+you
+meet my wife!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I simply cannot keep from
+hinting</div>
+I've never seen, in all my life,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">So fine a specimen of
+printing.</div>
+<br />
+Her type is not some <b>bold-face</b> font,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Set solid. Nay! And I will
+say out</div>
+That no typographer could want<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To see a better balanced
+layout.</div>
+<br />
+A nice proportion of white space<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">There is for brown eyes to
+look large in,</div>
+And not a feature in her face<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Comes anywhere too near the
+margin.</div>
+<br />
+Locked up with all her sweet display<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her form will never pi.
+She's like a</div>
+Corrected proof marked <i>stet, O. K.</i>&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And yet she loves me,
+fatface <span class="large"><b>Pica!</b></span></div>
+<br />
+She has a fine one-column head,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_229"></a>[229]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And like a comma curves
+each eyebrow&#8212;</div>
+Her forehead has an extra lead<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Which makes her seem a
+trifle highbrow.</div>
+<br />
+Her nose, <small><i>italicized brevier</i></small>,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Too lovely to describe by
+penpoint;</div>
+Her mouth is set in <small>pearl:</small> her ear<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And chin are comely Caslon
+ten-point.</div>
+<br />
+Her cheeks (a pink parenthesis)<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Make my pulse beat 14-em
+measure,</div>
+And such typography as this<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Would make <small><b>De
+Vinne</b></small> scream with pleasure.</div>
+<br />
+And so, of all typefounder chaps<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her father's best, in my
+opinion;</div>
+She is my <span class="smcap">nonpareil (in caps)</span><br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And I (in lower case) her <small>minion.</small></div>
+<br />
+I hope you will not stand aloof<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Because my metaphors are
+shoppy;</div>
+Of her devotion I've a proof&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I tell the urchin, <i>Follow
+Copy</i>!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_230"></a>[230]</span></p>
+<h3>THE POET ON THE HEARTH</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hen</span> fire is
+kindled
+on the dogs,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">But still the stubborn oak
+delays,</div>
+Small embers laid above the logs<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Will draw them into sudden
+blaze.</div>
+<br />
+Just so the minor poet's part:<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">(A greater he need not
+desire)</div>
+The charcoals of his burning heart<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">May light some Master into
+fire!</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_231"></a>[231]</span></p>
+<h3>O PRAISE ME NOT THE COUNTRY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap"> praise</span> me not
+the
+country&#8212;<br />
+The meadows green and cool,<br />
+The solemn glow of sunsets, the hidden silver pool!<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">The city for my craving,<br />
+Her lordship and her slaving,<br />
+The hot stones of her paving<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">For me, a city fool!</div>
+</div>
+<br />
+O praise me not the leisure<br />
+Of gardened country seats,<br />
+The fountains on the terrace against the summer heats&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">The city for my yearning,<br />
+My spending and my earning.<br />
+Her winding ways for learning,<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">Sing hey! the city streets!</div>
+</div>
+<br />
+O praise me not the country,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_232"></a>[232]</span>
+<br />
+Her sycamores and bees,<br />
+I had my youthful plenty of sour apple trees!<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">The city for my wooing,<br />
+My dreaming and my doing;<br />
+Her beauty for pursuing,<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">Her deathless mysteries.</div>
+</div>
+<br />
+O praise me not the country,<br />
+Her evenings full of stars,<br />
+Her yachts upon the water with the wind among their spars&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">The city for my wonder,<br />
+Her glory and her blunder,<br />
+And O the haunting thunder<br />
+<div class="line_in_2">Of the Elevated cars!</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_233"></a>[233]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus235.jpg" alt="Seascape" />
+<p class="caption"><i>O praise me not the country</i></p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_235"></a>[235]</span></p>
+<h3>A STONE IN ST. PAUL'S GRAVEYARD</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+(New York)
+</p>
+<div style="margin-left: 12em;"> <i>Here Lyes the
+Body of</i><br />
+<i>Iohn Jones the Son of</i><br />
+<i>Iohn Jones Who Departed</i><br />
+<i>This Life December the 13</i><br />
+<i>1768 Aged 4 Years &amp; 4 Months &amp; 2 Days</i>
+<br />
+<br />
+</div>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">ere</span>, where
+enormous
+shadows creep,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">He casts his childish
+shadow too:</div>
+How small he seems, beneath the steep<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Great walls; his tender
+days, so few,</div>
+Lovingly numbered, every one&#8212;<br />
+John Jones, John Jones's little son.<br />
+<br />
+O sunlight on the Lightning's wings!<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Yet though our buildings
+skyward climb</div>
+Our heartbreaks are but little things<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">In the equality of Time.</div>
+The sum of life, for all men's stones:<br />
+He was John Jones, son of John Jones.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_236"></a>[236]</span></p>
+<h3>THE MADONNA OF THE CURB</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap">n</span> the curb of a
+city pavement,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">By the ash and garbage cans,</div>
+In the stench and rolling thunder<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Of motor trucks and vans,</div>
+There sits my little lady,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With brave but troubled
+eyes,</div>
+And in her arms a baby<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That cries and cries and
+cries.</div>
+<br />
+She cannot be more than seven;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">But years go fast in the
+slums,</div>
+And hard on the pains of winter<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The pitiless summer comes.</div>
+The wail of sickly children<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She knows; she understands</div>
+The pangs of puny bodies,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The clutch of small hot
+hands.</div>
+<br />
+In the deadly blaze of August,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That turns men faint and
+mad,</div>
+She quiets the peevish urchins
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_237"></a>[237]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">
+<div class="line_in_1">By telling a dream she had&#8212;</div>
+A heaven with marble counters,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And ice, and a singing fan;</div>
+And a God in white, so friendly,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Just like the drug-store
+man.</div>
+<br />
+Her ragged dress is dearer<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Than the perfect robe of a
+queen!</div>
+Poor little lass, who knows not<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The blessing of being clean.</div>
+And when you are giving millions<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">To Belgian, Pole and Serb,</div>
+Remember my pitiful lady&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Madonna of the Curb!</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_239"></a>[239]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus239.jpg" alt="Child on Kerbside" />
+<p class="caption"><i>The wail of sickly children</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She knows; she
+understands</i></span><br />
+<i>The pangs of puny bodies,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The clutch of
+small hot hands.</i></span>
+</p>
+<br />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_240"></a>[240]</span></p>
+<h3>THE ISLAND</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap"><i>A</i></span><span class="smcap"><i>
+song</i></span><i>
+for England?</i><br />
+<div class="line_in_1"><i>Nay, what is a
+song for England?</i></div>
+<br />
+Our hearts go by green-cliffed Kinsale<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Among the gulls' white
+wings,</div>
+Or where, on Kentish forelands pale<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The lighthouse beacon
+swings:</div>
+Our hearts go up the Mersey's tide,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Come in on Suffolk foam&#8212;</div>
+The blood that will not be denied<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Moves fast, and calls us
+home!</div>
+<br />
+Our hearts now walk a secret round<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">On many a Cotswold hill,</div>
+For we are mixed of island ground,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The island draws us still:</div>
+Our hearts may pace a windy turn<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Where Sussex downs are high,</div>
+Or watch the lights of London burn,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A bonfire in the sky!</div>
+<br />
+What is the virtue of that soil
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_241"></a>[241]</span>
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">That flings her strength so
+wide?</div>
+Her ancient courage, patient toil,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Her stubborn wordless pride?</div>
+A little land, yet loved therein<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">As any land may be,</div>
+Rejoicing in her discipline,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The salt stress of the sea.</div>
+<br />
+Our hearts shall walk a Sherwood track,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Our lips taste English rain,</div>
+We thrill to see the Union Jack<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Across some deep-sea lane;</div>
+Though all the world be of rich cost<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And marvellous with worth,</div>
+Yet if that island ground were lost<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">How empty were the earth!</div>
+<br />
+<i>A song for England?</i><br />
+<i>Lo, every word we speak's a song for England.</i>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_242"></a>[242]</span></p>
+<h3>SUNDAY NIGHT</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">wo</span> grave brown
+eyes, severely bent<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Upon a memorandum book&#8212;</div>
+A sparkling face, on which are blent<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">A hopeful and a pensive
+look;</div>
+A pencil, purse, and book of checks<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">With stubs for varying
+amounts&#8212;</div>
+Elaine, the shrewdest of her sex,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1"> Is busy balancing accounts.</div>
+<br />
+Sedately, in the big armchair,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">She, all engrossed, the
+audit scans&#8212;</div>
+Her pencil hovers here and there<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">The while she calculates
+and plans;</div>
+What's this? A faintly pensive frown<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Upon her forehead gathers
+now&#8212;</div>
+Ah, does the butcher&#8212;heartless clown&#8212;<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Beget that shadow on her
+brow?</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_243"></a>[243]</span></p>
+<div class="line_in_2">A murrain on the tradesman
+churl
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Who caused this fair
+accountant's gloom!</div>
+Just then&#8212;a baby's cry&#8212;my girl<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">Arose and swiftly left the
+room.</div>
+Then in her purse by stratagem<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">I thrust some bills of
+small amounts&#8212;</div>
+She'll think she had forgotten them,<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">And smile again at her
+accounts!</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_245"></a>[245]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus245.jpg" alt="Women reading" />
+<p class="caption"><i>Ah, does the butcher&#8212;heartless clown&#8212;</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Beget that shadow
+on her brow?</i></span>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_246"></a>[246]</span></p>
+<h3>ENGLAND, JULY 1913</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center;">
+To Rupert Brooke
+</p>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap"> England</span>, England
+... that July<br />
+How placidly the days went by!<br />
+<br />
+Two years ago (how long it seems)<br />
+In that dear England of my dreams<br />
+I loved and smoked and laughed amain<br />
+And rode to Cambridge in the rain.<br />
+A careless godlike life was there!<br />
+To spin the roads with <i>Shotover</i>,<br />
+To dream while punting on the Cam,<br />
+To lie, and never give a damn<br />
+For anything but comradeship<br />
+And books to read and ale to sip,<br />
+And shandygaff at every inn<br />
+When <i>The Gorilla</i> rode to Lynn!<br />
+O world of wheel and pipe and oar<br />
+In those old days before the War.<br />
+<br />
+O poignant echoes of that time!<br />
+I hear the Oxford towers chime,<br />
+The throbbing of those mellow bells<br />
+And all the sweet old English smells&#8212;<br />
+<br />
+The Deben water, quick with salt,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_247"></a>[247]</span>
+<br />
+The Woodbridge brew-house and the malt;<br />
+The Suffolk villages, serene<br />
+With lads at cricket on the green,<br />
+And Wytham strawberries, so ripe,<br />
+And <i>Murray's Mixture</i> in my pipe!<br />
+<br />
+In those dear days, in those dear days,<br />
+All pleasant lay the country ways;<br />
+The echoes of our stalwart mirth<br />
+Went echoing wide around the earth<br />
+And in an endless bliss of sun<br />
+We lay and watched the river run.<br />
+And you by Cam and I by Isis<br />
+Were happy with our own devices.<br />
+<br />
+Ah, can we ever know again<br />
+Such friends as were those chosen men,<br />
+Such men to drink, to bike, to smoke with,<br />
+To worship with, or lie and joke with?<br />
+Never again, my lads, we'll see<br />
+The life we led at twenty-three.<br />
+Never again, perhaps, shall I<br />
+Go flashing bravely down the High<br />
+To see, in that transcendent hour,<br />
+The sunset glow on Magdalen Tower.<br />
+<br />
+Dear Rupert Brooke, your words recall
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_248"></a>[248]</span>
+<br />
+Those endless afternoons, and all<br />
+Your Cambridge&#8212;which I loved as one<br />
+Who was her grandson, not her son.<br />
+O ripples where the river slacks<br />
+In greening eddies round the "backs";<br />
+Where men have dreamed such gallant things<br />
+Under the old stone bridge at <i>King's</i>.<br />
+Or leaned to feed the silver swans<br />
+By the tennis meads at <i>John's</i>.<br />
+O Granta's water, cold and fresh,<br />
+Kissing the warm and eager flesh<br />
+Under the willow's breathing stir&#8212;<br />
+The bathing pool at <i>Grantchester</i>....<br />
+What words can tell, what words can praise<br />
+The burly savor of those days!<br />
+<br />
+Dear singing lad, those days are dead<br />
+And gone for aye your golden head;<br />
+And many other well-loved men<br />
+Will never dine in Hall again.<br />
+I too have lived remembered hours<br />
+In Cambridge; heard the summer showers<br />
+Make music on old <i>Heffer's</i> pane<br />
+While I was reading Pepys or Taine.<br />
+Through <i>Trumpington</i> and <i>Grantchester</i><br />
+<br />
+I used to roll on <i>Shotover</i>;
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_249"></a>[249]</span>
+<br />
+At <i>Hauxton Bridge</i> my lamp would light<br />
+And sleep in <i>Royston</i> for the night.<br />
+Or to <i>Five Miles from Anywhere</i><br />
+I used to scull; and sit and swear<br />
+While wasps attacked my bread and jam<br />
+Those summer evenings on the Cam.<br />
+(O crispy English cottage-loaves<br />
+Baked in ovens, not in stoves!<br />
+O white unsalted English butter<br />
+O satisfaction none can utter!)...<br />
+<br />
+To think that while those joys I knew<br />
+In Cambridge, I did not know you.<br />
+<br />
+<div class="line_in_1">July, 1915.</div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_250"></a>[250]</span></p>
+<h3>CASUALTY</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">A</span><span class="smcap"> well-sharp'd</span>
+pencil leads one on to write:<br />
+When guns are cocked, the shot is guaranteed;<br />
+The primed occasion puts the deed in sight:<br />
+Who steals a book who knows not how to read?<br />
+<br />
+Seeing a pulpit, who can silence keep?<br />
+A maid, who would not dream her ta'en to wife?<br />
+Men looking down from some sheer dizzy steep<br />
+Have (quite impromptu) leapt, and ended life.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_251"></a>[251]</span></p>
+<h3>A GRUB STREET RECESSIONAL</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="smcap"> noble</span> gracious
+English tongue<br />
+Whose fibers we so sadly twist,<br />
+For caitiff measures he has sung<br />
+Have pardon on the journalist.<br />
+<br />
+For mumbled meter, leaden pun,<br />
+For slipshod rhyme, and lazy word,<br />
+Have pity on this graceless one&#8212;<br />
+Thy mercy on Thy servant, Lord!<br />
+<br />
+The metaphors and tropes depart,<br />
+Our little clippings fade and bleach:<br />
+There is no virtue and no art<br />
+Save in straightforward Saxon speech.<br />
+<br />
+Yet not in ignorance or spite,<br />
+Nor with Thy noble past forgot<br />
+We sinned: indeed we had to write<br />
+To keep a fire beneath the pot.<br />
+<br />
+Then grant that in the coming time,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_252"></a>[252]</span>
+<br />
+With inky hand and polished sleeve,<br />
+In lucid prose or honest rhyme<br />
+Some worthy task we may achieve&#8212;<br />
+<br />
+Some pinnacled and marbled phrase,<br />
+Some lyric, breaking like the sea,<br />
+That we may learn, not hoping praise,<br />
+The gift of Thy simplicity.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_253"></a>[253]</span></p>
+<h3>PRELIMINARY INSTRUCTIONS FOR A FUNERAL SERVICE: BEING A POEM
+IN FOUR STANZAS</h3>
+<div class="line_in_2"><span class="dropcap">S</span><span class="smcap">ay</span> this poor fool
+misfeatured all his days,<br />
+And could not mend his ways;<br />
+And say he trod<br />
+Most heavily upon the corns of God.<br />
+<br />
+But also say that in his clabbered brain<br />
+There was the essential pain&#8212;<br />
+The idiot's vow<br />
+To tell his troubled Truth, no matter how.<br />
+<br />
+Unhappy fool, you say, with pitiful air:<br />
+Who was he, then, and where?<br />
+Ah, you divine<br />
+He lives in your heart, as he lives in mine.
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_254"></a>[254]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/illus256.jpg" alt="To bed" />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_255"></a>[255]</span></p>
+<div class="figcover">
+<img src="images/endpaper.jpg" alt="end paper" />
+</div>
+<hr />
+<p>Transcribers notes</p>
+<p>Kept to original format</p>
+<p>Page 97 to a discarded mirror - image added and text
+translated from mirror image</p>
+
+<pre>
+
+
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 20:08:56 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 20:08:56 -0700
commit	cacba05378bb89d7fd37ef20db83f6b55eee5eb2 (patch)
tree	7bf683a3f98641d557d6d64728b5ba38c8dcc78b /37852-h