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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Arthur Macy
+
+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: Poems
+
+Author: Arthur Macy
+
+Release Date: November 13, 2011 [EBook #37999]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, David E. Brown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: _Photo. by A. Marshall_
+  Arthur Macy.]
+
+
+
+
+  POEMS
+
+  BY ARTHUR MACY
+
+  _With an Introduction by
+  WILLIAM ALFRED HOVEY_
+
+  W. B. CLARKE CO.
+  BOSTON
+  1905
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT 1905 BY MARY T. MACY
+
+  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+
+
+The Editors of _The Youth's Companion_, _St. Nicholas_, and _The Smart
+Set_, The H. B. Stevens Company, The Oliver Ditson Company, and Messrs.
+G. Schirmer & Company, have kindly permitted the republication of
+several poems in this collection.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+Arthur Macy was a Nantucket boy of Quaker extraction. His name alone is
+evidence of this, for it is safe to say that a Macy, wherever found in
+the United States, is descended from that sturdy old Quaker who was one
+of those who bought Nantucket from the Indians, paid them fairly for it,
+treated them with justice, and lived on friendly terms with them. In
+many ways Arthur Macy showed that he was a Nantucketer and, at least by
+descent, a Quaker. He often used phrases peculiar to our island in the
+sea, and was given, in conversation at least, to similes which smacked
+of salt water. Almost the last time I saw him he said, "I'm coming round
+soon for a good long gam."
+
+He was a many-sided man. In his intercourse with a friend like myself he
+would show the side which he thought would interest me, and that only.
+He was above all things cheery, and, to his praise be it said, he hated
+a bore. I remember that a mutual friend was talking baseball to me by
+the yard. Arthur was sitting by, listening. It was a subject in which he
+was much interested. Nevertheless, turning to our mutual friend, he
+said, "Don't talk baseball to _him_. He don't care anything about it, he
+don't know anything about it, and he don't want to." On the other hand,
+although little given to telling of his war experiences, he was always
+ready to talk over the old days with me. Of what he did himself, he
+modestly said but little, but of the services of others, more especially
+of the men in the ranks, he was generous in his praise.
+
+Early in the war Macy enlisted in Company B, 24th Michigan Volunteer
+Infantry. He was twice wounded on the first day at Gettysburg, and
+managed to crawl into the town and get as far as the steps of the Court
+House, which was fast filling with wounded from both sides. His sense of
+humor was in evidence even at such a time. A Confederate officer rode up
+and asked, "Have those men in there got arms?" Quick as a flash Macy
+answered: "Some of them have and some of them haven't." He remained in
+this Court-House hospital, a prisoner within the Confederate lines,
+until the battle was over and Lee's army retreated. All wounded
+prisoners who could walk were forced to go with them, but Macy's wound
+was in the foot, and, fortunately for him, he was spared the horrors of
+a Southern prison.
+
+He was on duty later at the Naval Academy Hospital in Annapolis,
+presided over by Dr. Vanderkieft, perhaps as efficient a general
+hospital administrator as the army had. I knew Dr. Vanderkieft very
+well, and was on duty at his hospital when the exchanged prisoners came
+back from Andersonville. Although Macy and I never met there, it came
+out in our talk that we were there at the same time. He served his full
+three years, and was honorably discharged about the close of the war.
+
+It is given to but few to have the keen sense of humor which he
+possessed. Quick and keen at repartee, he never practised it save when
+worth while. He never said the clearly obvious thing. Failing something
+better than that, he held his peace.
+
+Had it not been for his disinclination to publish his verses, he long
+ago would have had a national reputation. His reason for this
+disinclination, as I gathered from many talks with him, was that he did
+not consider his work of sufficiently high _poetic_ standard. Every one
+praised his choice of words, his wonderful facility in rhyme, the
+perfection of his metre, and the daintiness and delicacy of his verse.
+"All right," he would say, "but that is not Poetry with a big P, and
+that is the only kind that should be published. And there is mighty
+little of it." It is fortunate that this severe judgment, creditable as
+it was to him, is not to prevail. Lovers of the beautiful are not to be
+robbed of "Sit Closer, Friends," nor of "A Poet's Lesson," and many who
+never heard of that remarkable Spanish pachyderm will take delight in
+the story of "The Rollicking Mastodon," whose home was "in the trunk of
+a Tranquil Tree." The greater part of his verses with which I am
+familiar I heard at Papyrus Club dinners. He was an early member, and
+one of the most esteemed. He was fairly sure to have something in his
+pocket, and the presiding officer never called upon him in vain.
+
+It was so at the Saint Botolph Club, of which he was long a member.
+Whenever there was an "occasion" when the need of verse seemed
+indicated, Arthur Macy could be counted on. His "Saint Botolph," which
+has become the Club song, and will be sung as long as the Club endures,
+was written for a Twelfth Night revel at my request. It has a peculiarly
+old English flavor. He makes of the Saint, not the jolly friar nor yet
+the severe recluse, but just a good, kind old man who "was loved by the
+sinners and loved by the good," one who was certain that there must be
+sin so long as
+
+  "A few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,
+  And some are born fingers and some are born thumbs."
+
+And here we get a glimpse of Arthur Macy's view of life, which was
+certainly broad and generous, with a philosophic flavor.
+
+Arthur Macy had a business side of which his Club intimates had but
+slight knowledge. He represented, in New England, one of the great
+commercial agencies of the country. His knowledge of business men, of
+their standing, commercially and financially, was extended and intimate,
+and was relied upon by our merchants and others as a basis for giving
+credit. His office work required the closest attention to details and
+the exercise of the most careful judgment. The whole success of such a
+company as that which he represented depends upon the reliability of the
+information which it gives. Without this it has no reason for existence.
+It was to Arthur Macy that the merchants of Boston largely turned for
+information concerning their customers scattered throughout New England,
+and it was because of his success in obtaining such information and his
+thorough knowledge of the business in all its details that the superior
+officers of the company placed such implicit confidence in his judgment
+and so high a value upon his advice. And in the conduct of this business
+he showed his Quaker straightforwardness. His work was not at all of the
+"detective" sort. If information was wanted concerning a man's business
+by those who had dealings with him, Macy went directly to the man
+himself, and told him that it was for his own best interest to show just
+where he stood, and, above all things, to tell the exact truth. Honest
+men had the truth told about them, and profited by it. Dishonest men and
+secretive men were passed over in severe silence, and their credit
+suffered accordingly. Few of those who sought Arthur Macy for business
+information ever suspected that they were talking to a poet and man of
+letters.
+
+I have not sought to tell Arthur Macy's life story. Neither have I
+entered upon any detailed consideration of his verse. It is for the
+reader to peruse the pages that follow and draw his own conclusion. I
+have merely tried to give a glimpse of the characteristics of one of the
+most charming personalities I ever knew.
+
+                                                   WILLIAM ALFRED HOVEY.
+
+  ST. BOTOLPH CLUB,
+    _Boston, June 7, 1905_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  FRONTISPIECE                                 _Portrait of Arthur Macy_
+
+  INTRODUCTION                                                         v
+
+
+POEMS
+
+  In Remembrance                                                       1
+
+  The Old Café                                                         4
+
+  At Marliave's                                                        8
+
+  The Passing of the Rose                                              9
+
+  A Valentine                                                         10
+
+  Disenchantment                                                      12
+
+  Constancy                                                           15
+
+  A Poet's Lesson                                                     17
+
+  "Place aux Dames"                                                   19
+
+  All on a Golden Summer Day                                          20
+
+  Prismatic Boston                                                    21
+
+  The Book Hunter                                                     25
+
+  The Three Voices                                                    27
+
+  Easy Knowledge                                                      28
+
+  Susan Scuppernong                                                   29
+
+  The Hatband                                                         30
+
+  The Oyster                                                          31
+
+  Wind and Rain                                                       32
+
+  The Flag                                                            34
+
+  My Masterpiece                                                      36
+
+  A Ballade of Montaigne                                              40
+
+  The Criminal                                                        42
+
+  A Bit of Color                                                      45
+
+  Dinner Favors                                                       48
+
+  The Moper                                                           51
+
+  Various Valentines                                                  54
+
+  Were all the World like You                                         59
+
+  Here and There                                                      60
+
+  Uncle Jogalong                                                      62
+
+  The Indifferent Mariner                                             64
+
+  On a Library Wall                                                   66
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny                                                   67
+
+  Euthanasia                                                          70
+
+  Dainty Little Love                                                  71
+
+  To M.                                                               72
+
+  The Song                                                            73
+
+  At Twilight Time                                                    76
+
+  Céleste                                                             78
+
+  Thistle-Down                                                        80
+
+  The Slumber Song                                                    81
+
+  Thou art to Me                                                      82
+
+  Love                                                                83
+
+  The Stranger-Man                                                    84
+
+  The Honeysuckle Vine                                                86
+
+  Saint Botolph                                                       87
+
+  The Gurgling Imps                                                   90
+
+  The Worm will Turn                                                  91
+
+  The Boston Cats                                                     94
+
+  The Jonquil Maid                                                    96
+
+  The Rollicking Mastodon                                             99
+
+  The Five Senses                                                    102
+
+  Economy                                                            103
+
+  Idylettes of the Queen                                             105
+
+  To M. E.                                                           110
+
+  Bon Voyage                                                         111
+
+  The Book of Life                                                   112
+
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+
+
+
+IN REMEMBRANCE
+
+[W. L. C.]
+
+
+  Sit closer, friends, around the board!
+    Death grants us yet a little time.
+  Now let the cheering cup be poured,
+    And welcome song and jest and rhyme.
+  Enjoy the gifts that fortune sends.
+            Sit closer, friends!
+
+  And yet, we pause. With trembling lip
+    We strive the fitting phrase to make;
+  Remembering our fellowship,
+    Lamenting Destiny's mistake.
+  We marvel much when Fate offends,
+            And claims our friends.
+
+  Companion of our nights of mirth,
+    Where all were merry who were wise;
+  Does Death quite understand your worth,
+    And know the value of his prize?
+  I doubt me if he comprehends--
+            He knows no friends.
+
+  And in that realm is there no joy
+    Of comrades and the jocund sense?
+  Can Death so utterly destroy--
+    For gladness grant no recompense?
+  And can it be that laughter ends
+            With absent friends?
+
+  Oh, scholars whom we wisest call,
+    Who solve great questions at your ease,
+  We ask the simplest of them all,
+    And yet you cannot answer these!
+  And is it thus your knowledge ends,
+            To comfort friends?
+
+  Dear Omar! should You chance to meet
+    Our Brother Somewhere in the Gloom,
+  Pray give to Him a Message sweet,
+    From Brothers in the Tavern Room.
+  He will not ask who 'tis that sends,
+            For We were Friends.
+
+  Again a parting sail we see;
+    Another boat has left the shore.
+  A kinder soul on board has she
+    Than ever left the land before.
+  And as her outward course she bends,
+            Sit closer, friends!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CAFÉ
+
+
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe,
+  Those merry evenings long ago?
+  You know the room, the narrow stair,
+  The wreaths of smoke that circled there,
+  The corner table where we sat
+  For hours in after-dinner chat,
+  And magnified
+  Our little world inside.
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe?
+
+  Ah, those nights divine!
+  The simple, frugal wine,
+  The airs on crude Italian strings,
+  The joyous, harmless revelings,
+  Just fit for us--or kings!
+  At times a quaint and wickered flask
+  Of rare Chianti, or from the homelier cask
+  Of modest Pilsener a stein or so,
+  Amid the merry talk would flow;
+  Or red Bordeaux
+  From vines that grew where dear Montaigne
+  Held his domain.
+  And you remember that dark eye,
+  None too shy;
+  In fact, she seemed a bit too free
+  For you and me.
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe?
+
+  Then Pegasus I knew,
+  And then I read to you
+  My callow rhymes
+  So many, many times;
+  And something in the place
+  Lent them a certain grace,
+  Until I scarce believed them mine,
+  Under the magic of the wine;
+  But now I read them o'er,
+  And see grave faults I had not seen before,
+  And wonder how
+  You could have listened with such placid brow,
+  And somehow apprehend
+  You sank the critic in the friend.
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe?
+
+  And when we talked of books,
+  How learned were our looks!
+  And few the bards we could not quote,
+  From gay Catullus' lines to Milton's purer note.
+  Mayhap we now are wiser men,
+  But we knew more than all the scholars then;
+  And our conceit
+  Was grand, ineffable, complete!
+  We know,
+  Don't we, Joe?
+
+  Gone are those golden nights
+  Of innocent Bohemian delights,
+  And we are getting on;
+  And anon,
+  Years sad and tremulous
+  May be in store for us;
+  But should we ever meet
+  Upon some quiet street,
+  And you discover in an old man's eye
+  Some transient sparkle of the days gone by,
+  Then you will guess, perchance,
+  The meaning of the glance;
+  You'll know,
+  Won't you, Joe?
+
+
+
+
+AT MARLIAVE'S
+
+
+  At Marliave's when eventide
+  Finds rare companions at my side,
+    The laughter of each merry guest
+    At quaint conceit, or kindly jest,
+  Makes golden moments swiftly glide.
+  No voice unkind our faults to chide,
+  Our smallest virtue magnified;
+    And friendly hand to hand is pressed
+                          At Marliave's.
+
+  I lay my years and cares aside
+  Accepting what the gods provide,
+    I ask not for a lot more blest,
+    Nor do I crave a sweeter rest
+  Than that which comes with eventide
+                          At Marliave's.
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSING OF THE ROSE
+
+
+  A White Rose said, "How fair am I.
+  Behold a flower that cannot die!"
+
+  A lover brushed the dew aside,
+  And fondly plucked it for his bride.
+  "A fitting choice!" the White Rose cried.
+
+  The maiden wore it in her hair;
+  The Rose, contented to be there,
+  Still proudly boasted, "None so fair!"
+
+  Then close she pressed it to her lips,
+  But, weary of companionships,
+  The flower within her bosom slips.
+
+  O'ercome by all the beauty there,
+  It straight confessed, "Dear maid, I swear
+  'Tis you, and you alone, are fair!"
+
+  Turning its humbled head aside,
+  The envious Rose, lamenting, died.
+
+
+
+
+A VALENTINE
+
+[FROM A VERY LITTLE BOY TO A VERY LITTLE GIRL]
+
+
+  This is a valentine for you.
+    Mother made it. She's real smart,
+  I told her that I loved you true
+    And you were my sweetheart.
+
+  And then she smiled, and then she winked,
+    And then she said to father,
+  "Beginning young!" and then he thinked,
+    And then he said, "Well, rather."
+
+  Then mother's eyes began to shine,
+  And then she made this valentine:
+  "If you love me as I love you,
+  No knife shall cut our love in two,"
+  And father laughed and said, "How new!"
+  And then he said, "It's time for bed."
+
+  So, when I'd said my prayers,
+  Mother came running up the stairs
+  And told me I might send the rhymes,
+  And then she kissed me lots of times.
+  Then I turned over to the wall
+  And cried about you, and--that's all.
+
+
+
+
+DISENCHANTMENT
+
+
+  Time and I have fallen out;
+  We, who were such steadfast friends.
+  So slowly has it come about
+  That none may tell when it began;
+  Yet sure am I a cunning plan
+  Runs through it all;
+  And now, beyond recall,
+  Our friendship ends,
+  And ending, there remains to me
+  The memory of disloyalty.
+
+  Long years ago Time tripping came
+  With promise grand,
+  And sweet assurances of fame;
+  And hand in hand
+  Through fairy-land
+  Went he and I together
+  In bright and golden weather.
+  Then, then I had not learned to doubt,
+  For friends were gods, and faith was sure,
+  And words were truth, and deeds were pure,
+  Before we had our falling out;
+  And life, all hope, was fair to see,
+  When Time made promise sweet to me.
+
+  When first my faithless friend grew cold
+  I sought to knit a closer bond,
+  But he, less fond,
+  Sad days and years upon me rolled,
+  Pressed me with care,
+  With envy tinged the boyhood hair,
+  And ploughed unwelcome furrows in
+  Where none had been.
+  In vain I begged with trembling lip
+  For our old sweet companionship,
+  And saw, 'mid prayers and tears devout,
+  The presage of our falling out.
+
+  And now I know Time has no friends,
+  Nor pity lends,
+  But touches all
+  With heavy finger soon or late;
+  And as we wait
+  The Reaper's call,
+  The sickle's fatal sweep,
+  We strive in vain to keep
+  One truth inviolate,
+  One cherished fancy free from doubt.
+  It was not so
+  Long years ago,
+  Before we had our falling out.
+
+  If Time would come again to me,
+  And once more take me by the hand
+  For golden walks through fairy-land,
+  I could forgive the treachery
+  That stole my youth
+  And what of truth
+  Was mine to know;
+  Nor would I more his love misdoubt;
+  And I would throw
+  My arms around him so,
+  That he'd forgive the falling out!
+
+
+
+
+CONSTANCY
+
+
+  I first saw Phebe when the show'rs
+  Had just made brighter all the flow'rs;
+          Yet she was fair
+          As any there,
+  And so I loved her hours and hours.
+
+  Then I met Helen, and her ways
+  Set my untutored heart ablaze.
+          I loved at sight
+          And deemed it right
+  To worship her for days and days.
+
+  Yet when I gazed on Clara's cheeks
+  And spoke the language Cupid speaks,
+          O'er all the rest
+          She seemed the best,
+  And so I loved her weeks and weeks.
+
+  But last of Love's sweet souvenirs
+  Was Delia with her sighs and tears.
+          Of her it seemed
+          I'd always dreamed,
+  And so I loved her years and years.
+
+  But now again with Phebe met,
+  I love the first one of the set.
+          "Fickle," you say?
+          I answer, "Nay,
+  My heart is true to one quartette."
+
+
+
+
+A POET'S LESSON
+
+
+  Poet, my master, come, tell me true,
+    And how are your verses made?
+  Ah! that is the easiest thing to do:--
+  You take a cloud of a silvern hue,
+  A tender smile or a sprig of rue,
+    With plenty of light and shade,
+
+  And weave them round in syllables rare,
+    With a grace and skill divine;
+  With the earnest words of a pleading prayer,
+  With a cadence caught from a dulcet air,
+  A tale of love and a lock of hair,
+    Or a bit of a trailing vine.
+
+  Or, delving deep in a mine unwrought,
+    You find in the teeming earth
+  The golden vein of a noble thought;
+  The soul of a statesman still unbought,
+  Or a patriot's cry with anguish fraught
+    For the land that gave him birth.
+
+  A brilliant youth who has lost his way
+    On the winding road of life;
+  A sculptor's dream of the plastic clay;
+  A painter's soul in a sunset ray;
+  The sweetest thing a woman can say,
+    Or a struggling nation's strife.
+
+  A boy's ambition; a maiden's star,
+    Unrisen, but yet to be;
+  A glimmering light that shines afar
+  For a sinking ship on a moaning bar;
+    An empty sleeve; a veteran's scar;
+  Or a land where men are free.
+
+  And if the poet's hand be strong
+  To weave the web of a deathless song,
+  And if a master guide the pen
+  To words that reach the hearts of men,
+  And if the ear and the touch be true,
+  It's the easiest thing in the world to do!
+
+
+
+
+"PLACE AUX DAMES"
+
+[To M.]
+
+
+  With brilliant friends surrounding me,
+    So cosy at the Club I'm sitting;
+  While you at home I seem to see,
+    Attending strictly to your knitting.
+
+  When women have their rights, my dear,
+    We'll hear no more of wrongs so shocking:--
+  You with your friends shall gather here;
+    I'll stay at home and darn the stocking!
+
+
+
+
+ALL ON A GOLDEN SUMMER DAY
+
+
+  All on a golden summer day,
+  As through the leaves a single ray
+  Of yellow sunshine finds its way
+              So bright, so bright;
+  The wakened birds that blithely sing
+  Seem welcoming another spring;
+  While all the woods are murmuring
+              So light, so light.
+
+  All on a golden summer day,
+  When to my heart a single ray
+  Of tender kindness finds its way,
+              So bright, so bright;
+  Then comes sweet hope and bravely dares
+  To break the chain that sorrow wears--
+  And all my burdens, all my cares
+              Are light, so light!
+
+
+
+
+PRISMATIC BOSTON
+
+
+  Fair city by the famed Batrachian Pool,
+  Wise in the teachings of the Concord School;
+  Home of the Eurus, paradise of cranks,
+  Stronghold of thrift, proud in your hundred banks;
+  Land of the mind-cure and the abstruse book,
+  The Monday lecture and the shrinking Cook;
+  Where twin-lensed maidens, careless of their shoes,
+  In phrase Johnsonian oft express their views;
+  Where realistic pens invite the throng
+  To mention "spades," lest "shovels" should be wrong;
+  Where gaping strangers read the thrilling ode
+  To Pilgrim Trousers on the West-End road;
+  Where strange sartorial questions as to pants
+  Offend our "sisters, cousins, and our aunts;"
+  Where men expect by simple faith and prayer
+  To lift a lid and find a dollar there;
+  Where labyrinthine lanes that sinuous creep
+  Make Theseus sigh and Ariadne weep;
+  Where clubs gregarious take commercial risks
+  'Mid fluctuations of alluring disks;
+  Where Beacon Hill is ever proud to show
+  Her reeking veins of liquid indigo;
+  To thee, fair land, I dedicate my song,
+  And tell how simple, artless minds go wrong.
+
+  A Common Councilman, with lordly air,
+  One day went strolling down through Copley Square.
+  Within his breast there beat a spotless heart;
+  His taste was pure, his soul was steeped in art.
+  For he had worshiped oft at Cass's shrine,
+  Had daily knelt at Cogswell's fount divine,
+  And chaste surroundings of the City Hall
+  Had taught him much, and so he knew it all.
+  Proud, in a sack coat and a high silk hat,
+  Content in knowing just "where he was at,"
+  He wandered on, till gazing toward the skies,
+  A nameless horror met his modest eyes;
+  For where the artist's chisel had engrossed
+  An emblem fit on Boston's proudest boast,
+  There stood aloft, with graceful equipoise,
+  Two very small, unexpurgated boys.
+  Filled with solicitude for city youth,
+  Whose morals suffer when they're told the truth,
+  Whose ethic standards high and higher rise,
+  When taught that God and nature are but lies,
+  In haste he to the council chamber hied,
+  His startled fellow-members called aside,
+  His fearful secret whispering disclosed,
+  Till all their separate joints were ankylosed.
+  Appalling was the silence at his tale;
+  Democrats turned red, Republicans turned pale.
+  What mugwumps turned 'tis difficult to think,
+  But probably they compromised on pink.
+
+  When these stern moralists had their breaths regained,
+  And told how deeply they were shocked and pained,
+  They then resolved how wrong our children are,
+  Said, "Boys should be contented with a scar,"
+  Rebuked Dame Nature for her deadly sins,
+  And damned trustees who foster "Heavenly Twins."
+
+  O Councilmen, if it were left for you
+  To say what art is false and what is true,
+  What strange anomalies would the world behold!
+  Dolls would be angels, dross would count for gold;
+  Vice would be virtue, virtues would be taints;
+  Gods would be devils, Councilmen be saints;
+  And this sage law by your wise minds be built:
+  "No boy shall live if born without a kilt."
+  Then you'd resolve, to soothe all moral aches,
+  "We're always right, but God has made mistakes."
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK HUNTER
+
+
+  I've spent all my money in chasing
+    For books that are costly and rare;
+  I've made myself bankrupt in tracing
+    Each prize to its ultimate lair.
+  And now I'm a ruined collector,
+    Impoverished, ragged, and thin,
+  Reduced to a vanishing spectre,
+    Because of my prodigal sin.
+
+  How often I've called upon Foley,
+    The man who's a friend of the cranks;
+  Knows books that are witty or holy,
+    And whether they're prizes or blanks.
+  For volumes on paper or vellum
+    He has a most accurate eye,
+  And always is willing to sell 'em
+    To dreamers like me who will buy.
+
+  My purse requires fences and hedges,
+    Alas! it will never stay shut;
+  My coat-sleeves now have deckle edges,
+    My hair is unkempt and "uncut."
+  My coat is a true first edition,
+    And rusty from shoulder to waist;
+  My trousers are out of condition,
+    Their "colophon" worn and defaced.
+
+  My shoes have been long out of fashion,
+    "Crushed leather" they both seem to be;
+  My hat is a thing for compassion,
+    The kind that is labelled "n. d."
+  My vest from its binding is broken,
+    It's what the French call a _relique_;
+  What I think of it cannot be spoken,
+    Its catalogue mark is "unique."
+
+  I'm a book that is thumbed and untidy,
+    The only one left of the set;
+  I'm sure I was issued on Friday,
+    For fate is unkind to me yet.
+  My text has been cruelly garbled
+    By a destiny harder than flint;
+  But I wait for my grave to be "marbled,"
+    And then I shall be out of print.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE VOICES
+
+
+  There once was a man who asked for pie,
+  In a piping voice up high, up high;
+  And when he asked for a salmon roe,
+  He spoke in a voice down low, down low;
+  But when he said he had no choice,
+  He always spoke in a medium voice.
+
+  I cannot tell the reason why
+  He sometimes spoke up high, up high;
+  And why he sometimes spoke down low,
+  I do not know, I do not know;
+  And why he spoke in the medium way,
+  Don't ask me, for I cannot say.
+
+
+
+
+EASY KNOWLEDGE
+
+
+  How nice 'twould be if knowledge grew
+  On bushes, as the berries do!
+  Then we could plant our spelling seed,
+  And gather all the words we need.
+  The sums from off our slates we'd wipe,
+  And wait for figures to be ripe,
+  And go into the fields, and pick
+  Whole bushels of arithmetic;
+  Or if we wished to learn Chinese,
+  We'd just go out and shake the trees;
+  And grammar then, in all the towns,
+  Would grow with proper verbs and nouns;
+  And in the gardens there would be
+  Great bunches of geography;
+  And all the passers-by would stop,
+  And marvel at the knowledge crop;
+  And I my pen would cease to push,
+  And pluck my verses from a bush!
+
+
+
+
+SUSAN SCUPPERNONG
+
+
+  Silly Susan Scuppernong
+  Cried so hard and cried so long,
+  People asked her what was wrong.
+
+  She replied, "I do not know
+  Any reason for my woe--
+  I just feel like feeling so."
+
+
+
+
+THE HATBAND
+
+
+  My hatband goes around my hat,
+  And while there's nothing strange in that,
+  It seems just like a lazy man
+  Who leaves off where he first began.
+
+  But then this fact is always true,
+  The band does what it ought to do,
+  And is more useful than the man,
+  Because it does the best it can.
+
+
+
+
+THE OYSTER
+
+
+  Two halves of an oyster shell, each a shallow cup;
+  Here once lived an oyster before they ate him up.
+  Oyster shells are smooth inside; outside very rough;
+  Very little room to spare, but he had enough.
+  Bedroom, parlor, kitchen, or cellar there was none;
+  Just one room in all the house--oysters need but one.
+  And he was never troubled by wind or rain or snow,
+  For he had a roof above, another one below.
+  I wonder if they fried him, or cooked him in a stew,
+  And sold him at a fair, and passed him off for two.
+  I wonder if the oysters all have names like us,
+  And did he have a name like "John" or "Romulus"?
+  I wonder if his parents wept to see him go;
+  I wonder who can tell; perhaps the mermaids know.
+  I wonder if our sleep the most of us would dread,
+  If we slept like oysters, a million in a bed!
+
+
+
+
+WIND AND RAIN
+
+
+  The rain came down on Boston Town,
+      And the people said, "Oh, dear!
+  It's early yet for our annual wet,--
+      'Twas dry this time last year."
+
+  In heavy suits and rubber boots
+      They went to the weather man,
+  And said, "Dear friend, do you intend
+      To change your present plan?"
+
+  In tones of scorn, he said, "Begone!
+      I've ordered a week of rain.
+  Away! disperse! or I'll do worse,
+      And order a hurricane!"
+
+  They sneered, "Oh, oh!" and they laughed, "Ho, ho!"
+      And they said, "You surely jest.
+  Your threats are vain, for a hurricane
+      Is the thing that we like best.
+
+  "Our throats are tinned, and a sharp east wind
+      We really couldn't do without;
+  But we complain of too much rain,
+      And we think we'd like a drought."
+
+  So the weather man took a palm-leaf fan
+      And he waved it up on high,
+  And he swept away the clouds so gray,
+      And the sun shone out in the sky.
+
+  And the sun shines down on Boston Town,
+      And the weather still is clear;
+  And they set their clocks by the equinox,
+      And never the east wind fear.
+
+
+
+
+THE FLAG
+
+
+  Here comes The Flag!
+  Hail it!
+  Who dares to drag
+  Or trail it?
+  Give it hurrahs,--
+  Three for the stars,
+  Three for the bars.
+  Uncover your head to it!
+  The soldiers who tread to it
+  Shout at the sight of it,
+  The justice and right of it,
+  The unsullied white of it,
+  The blue and red of it,
+  And tyranny's dread of it!
+
+  Here comes The Flag!
+  Cheer it!
+  Valley and crag
+  Shall hear it.
+  Fathers shall bless it,
+  Children caress it.
+  All shall maintain it.
+  No one shall stain it,
+  Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it,
+  Cheers for the soldiers that always were brave for it,
+  Tears for the men that went down to the grave for it!
+  Here comes The Flag!
+
+
+
+
+MY MASTERPIECE
+
+
+  I wrote the truest, tend'rest song
+      The world had ever heard;
+  And clear, melodious, and strong,
+      And sweet was every word.
+  The flowing numbers came to me
+      Unbidden from the heart;
+  So pure the strain, that poesy
+      Seemed something more than art.
+
+  No doubtful cadence marred a line,
+      So tunefully it flowed,
+  And through the measure, all divine
+      The fire of genius glowed.
+  So deftly were the verses wrought,
+      So fair the legend told,
+  That every word revealed a thought,
+      And every thought was gold.
+
+  Mine was the charm, the power, the skill,
+      The wisdom of the years;
+  'Twas mine to move the world at will
+      To laughter or to tears.
+  For subtile pleasantry was there,
+      And brilliant flash of wit;
+  Now, pleading eyes were raised in prayer,
+      And now with smiles were lit.
+
+  I sang of hours when youth was king,
+      And of one happy spot
+  Where life and love were everything,
+      And time was half forgot.
+  Of gracious days in woodland ways,
+      When every flower and tree
+  Seemed echoing the sweetest phrase
+      From lips in Arcadie.
+
+  Of sagas old and Norseman bands
+      That sailed o'er northern seas;
+  Enchanting tales of fairy lands
+      And strange philosophies.
+  I sang of Egypt's fairest queen,
+      With passion's fatal curse;
+  Of that pale, sad-faced Florentine,
+      As deathless as his verse.
+
+  Of time of the Arcadian Pan,
+      When dryads thronged the trees--
+  When Atalanta swiftly ran
+      With fleet Hippomenes.
+  Brave stories, too, did I relate
+      Of battle-flags unfurled;
+  Of glorious days when Greece was great--
+      When Rome was all the world!
+
+  Of noble deeds for noble creeds,
+      Of woman's sacrifice--
+  The mother's stricken heart that bleeds
+      For souls in Paradise.
+  Anon I told a tale of shame,
+      And while in tears I slept,
+  Behold! a white-robed angel came
+      And read the words and wept!
+
+  And so I wrote my perfect song,
+      In such a wondrous key,
+  I heard the plaudits of the throng,
+      And fame awaited me.
+  Alas! the sullen morning broke,
+      And came the tempest's roar:
+  'Mid discord trembling I awoke,
+      And lo! my dream was o'er!
+
+  Yet often in the quiet night
+      My song returns to me;
+  I seize the pen, and fain would write
+      My long lost melody.
+  But dreaming o'er the words, ere long
+      Comes vague remembering,
+  And fades away the sweetest song
+      That man can ever sing!
+
+
+
+
+A BALLADE OF MONTAIGNE
+
+
+  I sit before the firelight's glow
+    With all the world in apogee,
+  And con good Master Florio
+    With pipe a-light; and as I see
+    Queen Bess herself with book a-knee,
+  Reading it o'er and o'er again,
+    Here, 'neath my cosy mantel-tree,
+  I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.
+
+  Now howls the wind and drives the snow;
+    The traveler shivers on the lea;
+  While, with my precious folio,
+    Behold a happy devotee
+    To book and warmth and reverie!
+  The blast upon the window-pane
+    Disturbs me not, as trouble-free,
+  I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.
+
+  I am content, and thus I know
+    A mind as calm as summer sea,--
+  A heart that stranger is to woe.
+    To happiness I hold the key
+    In this rare, sweet philosophy;
+  And while the Fates so fair ordain,
+    Well pleased with Destiny's decree,
+  I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.
+
+
+ENVOY
+
+  Dear Prince! aye, more than prince to me,
+    Thou monarch of immortal reign!
+  Always thy subject I would be,
+    And smoke my pipe and read Montaigne!
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMINAL
+
+
+  Crime flourishes throughout the land,
+    And bids defiance to the law,
+  And wicked deeds on every hand
+    O'erwhelm our souls with awe!
+
+  I know one hardened criminal
+    Whose maidenhood with crime begins;
+  Who, safe behind a prison wall,
+    Should expiate her sins.
+
+  She is a thief whene'er she smiles,
+    For then she steals my heart from me,
+  And keeps it with a maiden's wiles,
+    And never sets it free.
+
+  She plunders sighs from humankind,
+    She pilfers tears I would not weep,
+  She robs me of my peace of mind,
+    And she purloins my sleep.
+
+  Of lawless ways she stands confessed,
+    And is a burglar bold whene'er
+  She finds a weakness in my breast,
+    And slyly enters there.
+
+  A gambler she, whose arts entrance,
+    Whose victims yield without demur;
+  Content to play Love's game of chance
+    And lose their hearts to her.
+
+  A graver crime is hers; for, when
+    Her matchless beauty I admire,
+  Of arson she is guilty then,
+    And sets my heart on fire.
+
+  A bandit, preying on mankind,
+    Her captives by the score increase;
+  No hand can e'er their chains unbind,
+    No ransom bring release.
+
+  She is a cruel murderess
+    Whene'er her eyes send forth a dart,
+  And as she holds me in duress
+    It stabs me to the heart.
+
+  Crime flourishes throughout the land,
+    And bids defiance to the law,
+  And wicked deeds on every hand
+    O'erwhelm our souls with awe!
+
+
+
+
+A BIT OF COLOR
+
+[PARIS, 1896]
+
+
+  Oh, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot,
+  With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so,
+        Pray what should I do
+        When a girl like you
+  Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh
+  On the first fond fool that is passing by,
+  Who listens and longs as the sweet words flow
+  From her pretty red lips at the Porte Maillot?
+
+  There were lips as red ere you were born,
+  Now wreathed in smiles, now curled in scorn,
+        And other bright eyes
+        With their truth and lies,
+  That broke the heart and turned the brain
+  Of many a tender, lovelorn swain;
+  But never, I ween, brought half the woe
+  That comes from the lips at the Porte Maillot.
+
+  A charming picture, there you stand,
+  A perfect work from a master's hand!
+        With your face so fair
+        And your wondrous hair,
+  Your glorious color, your light and shade,
+  And your classic head that the gods have made,
+  Your cheeks with crimson all aglow,
+  As you wait for a lover at the Porte Maillot.
+
+  There are gorgeous tints in the jeweled crown,
+  There are brilliant shades when the sun goes down;
+        But your lips vie
+        With the western sky,
+  And give to the world so rare a hue
+  That the painter must learn his art anew,
+  And the sunset borrow a brighter glow
+  From the lips of the girl at the Porte Maillot.
+
+  Come, tell me truly, fair-haired youth,
+  Do her eyes flash love, her lips speak truth?
+        Or does she beguile
+        With her glance and smile,
+  And burn you, spurn you all day long
+  With a Circe's art and a Siren's song?
+  Ah! would that your foolish heart might know
+  The lie in the heart at the Porte Maillot!
+
+
+
+
+DINNER FAVORS
+
+
+  TO S.
+
+  I fill my goblet to the brim
+  And clink the glasses rim to rim.
+  Across the board I waft a kiss
+  With thanks for such an hour as this,
+  And clasping joy, bid sorrow flee,
+  And welcome you my vis-ŕ-vis.
+
+
+  TO A. R. C.
+
+  Of all the joys on earth that be
+  There is no sweeter one to me
+  Than sitting with a merry lass
+  From consommé to demi-tasse.
+
+  And yet a golden hour I'd steal,
+  Reverse the order of the meal,
+  And countermarching, backward stray
+  From demi-tasse to consommé.
+
+
+  TO S. B. F.
+
+  Give me but a bit to eat,
+      And an hour or two,
+  Just a salad and a sweet,
+      And a chat with you.
+  Give me table full or bare,
+      Crust or rich ragout;
+  But whatever be the fare,
+      Always give me you.
+
+
+  THE HOST
+
+  Between the two perplexed I go,
+  A shuttlecock, tossed to and fro.
+  I gaze on one, and know that she
+  Is all that womankind can be;
+  I seek the other, and she seems
+  The perfect idol of my dreams;
+  And so between the charming pair
+  My heart is ever in the air.
+  And yet, although it be my fate
+  To hover indeterminate,
+  I rest content, nor ask for more
+  Than this sweet game of battledore.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOPER
+
+
+  The Moper mopeth all the day;
+      He mopeth eke at night;
+  And never is the Moper gay,
+  But, grim and serious alway,
+      He is a sorry sight.
+
+  He liketh not the merry quip;
+      He hateth other men;
+  Escheweth he companionship,
+  Nor doth he e'er essay to trip
+      The light fantastic ten.
+
+  He seeketh not where murm'ring brooks
+      With rippling music flow.
+  He seeth naught in woman's looks,
+  And never readeth he in books
+      Except they tell of woe.
+
+  He e'en forgetteth that the sun,
+      Likewise God's balmy air,
+  Were made to gladden every one;
+  But he preferreth both to shun,
+      And taketh not his share.
+
+  He careth not for merry wights
+      Who drink Château Yquem,
+  But he would set the world to rights
+  By peopling it with eremites--
+      And very few of them.
+
+  When children sport with merry glee,
+      He thinketh they are wild,
+  And with them doth so disagree
+  It seemeth verily that he
+      Hath never been a child.
+
+  He thinketh that it is not right
+      Rare dishes to discuss,
+  And knoweth not the keen delight
+  Of one that hath an appetite
+      Yclepčd ravenous.
+
+  Of goodly raiment he hath none,
+      He calleth it "display;"
+  Wherefore the urchin poketh fun,
+  Because he looketh like that one
+      Unholy men call "jay."
+
+  And so we see this foolish man
+      All pleasant things doth scorn.
+  Good folk, pray God to change his plan,
+  And cheer the Moper if He can,
+      Or let no more be born!
+
+
+
+
+VARIOUS VALENTINES
+
+
+  I
+
+  FROM A BIBLIOPHILE
+
+  Lyke some choise booke thou arte toe mee,
+  Bound all so daintilie;
+  And 'neath the covers faire
+  Are contents true and rare.
+  Ne wolde I looke
+  Ne reade inne any other booke
+  If I belyke could find therein the charte
+  And indice to thy hearte.
+  The Great Wise Authour made but one
+  Of this edition, then was don;
+  And were this onlie copie mine,
+  Then wolde I write therein, "My Valentyne."
+
+
+  II
+
+  FROM AN INCONSTANT-CONSTANT
+
+  (_After Henri Murger_)
+
+  Though I love many maidens fair
+  As fondly as a heart may dare,
+  Yet still are you the only one
+  True goddess of my pantheon.
+
+  And though my life is like a song,
+  Each maid a stanza, clear and strong,
+  Yet always I return again
+  To you who are the sweet refrain.
+
+
+  III
+
+  FROM A COMMERCIAL LOVER
+
+  If I were but a syndicate,
+      And love were merchandise,
+  I'd buy it at the market rate,
+      And hold it for a rise.
+
+  And should the price of all this love
+      Bound upward like a ball,
+  And reach 1000 or above,
+      Still you should have it all.
+
+
+  IV
+
+  FROM AN UNCERTAIN MARKSMAN
+
+  I send you two kisses
+      Wrapped up in a rhyme;
+  From Love's warm abysses
+  I send you two kisses;
+  If one of them misses
+      Please wait till next time,
+  And I'll send you _three_ kisses
+      Wrapped up in a rhyme.
+
+
+  V
+
+  FROM A CONCHOLOGIST
+
+  Were I a murm'ring ocean shell
+      Pressed close against your ear,
+  My constant whisperings would tell
+      A story sweet to hear.
+  I'd make the message from the sea
+      Love's tidings on the shore,
+  And I would woo with words so true
+      That you could ask no more.
+
+  So if some silvern nautilus
+      Lay close beside your cheek,
+  And you should hear a language dear
+      Unto the heart I seek,
+  You'll know within the simple shell
+      That murmurs o'er and o'er
+  I send to you a love more true
+      Than e'er was breathed before.
+
+
+  VI
+
+  FROM A HYPERBOLIST
+
+  Take all the love that e'er was told
+      Since first the world began,
+  Increase it twenty thousand-fold
+      (If mathematics can),
+  Add all the love the world shall see
+      Till Gabriel's final call,
+  And when compared with mine 'twill be
+      Infinitesimal.
+
+
+
+
+WERE ALL THE WORLD LIKE YOU
+
+
+  Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you,
+  Oh, there'd be darts in all our hearts
+      From sunset to the dew.
+  For life would be Love's jubilee
+      Where all were two and two,
+  And lovers' rhyme the only crime,
+      Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you.
+
+  Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you,
+  There'd be no pain nor clouds nor rain,
+      No kisses overdue;
+  But sweetest sighs and pleading eyes,
+      Where Cupid's arrow flew,
+  And lovers' rhyme the only crime,
+      Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you.
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND THERE
+
+
+  Sweet Phyllis went a-rambling here and there,
+              Here and there.
+  Her eyes were blue and golden was her hair.
+      She said, "Oh, life is strange;
+      I'm sure I need a change;
+  'Tis sad for _one_ to ramble here and there,
+              Here and there."
+
+  Young Strephon went a-rambling here and there,
+              Here and there.
+  He sighed, "It needs but two to make a pair.
+      If I should meet a maid
+      Not in the least afraid,
+  How happy we'd go rambling here and there,
+              Here and there."
+
+  As youth and maid went rambling here and there,
+              Here and there,
+  They met, and loved at sight, for both were fair;
+      And neither youth nor maid
+      Was in the least afraid,
+  And hand in hand they ramble here and there,
+              Here and there.
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE JOGALONG
+
+
+  My dear old Uncle Jogalong
+      Was very slow, was very slow,
+  And said he thought that folks were wrong
+      To hurry so, to hurry so.
+
+  When he walked out upon the street
+      To take the air, to take the air,
+  It seemed almost as if his feet
+      Were fastened there, were fastened there.
+
+  He thought that traveling by rail
+      Was hurrying and scurrying,
+  But said the slow and creeping snail
+      Was just the thing, was just the thing.
+
+  He thought a hasty appetite
+      An awful crime, an awful crime,
+  So never finished breakfast, quite,
+      Till dinner time, till dinner time.
+
+  He said the world turned round so fast
+      He could not stay, he could not stay,
+  And so he said "Good-by" at last,
+      And went away, and went away.
+
+
+
+
+THE INDIFFERENT MARINER
+
+
+  I'm a tough old salt, and it's never I care
+    A penny which way the wind is,
+  Or whether I sight Cape Finisterre,
+    Or make a port at the Indies.
+
+  Some folks steer for a port to trade,
+    And some steer north for the whaling;
+  Yet never I care a damn just where
+    I sail, so long's I'm sailing.
+
+  You never can stop the wind when it blows,
+    And you can't stop the rain from raining;
+  Then why, oh, why, go a-piping of your eye
+    When there's no sort o' use in complaining?
+
+  My face is browned and my lungs are sound,
+    And my hands they are big and calloused.
+  I've a little brown jug I sometimes hug,
+    And a little bread and meat for ballast.
+
+  But I keep no log of my daily grog,
+    For what's the use o' being bothered?
+  I drink a little more when the wind's offshore,
+    And most when the wind's from the no'th'ard.
+
+  Of course with a chill if I'm took quite ill,
+    And my legs get weak and toddly,
+  At the jug I pull, and turn in full,
+    And sleep the sleep of the godly.
+
+  But whether I do or whether I don't,
+    Or whether the jug's my failing,
+  It's never I care a damn just where
+    I sail, so long's I'm sailing.
+
+
+
+
+ON A LIBRARY WALL
+
+
+  When faltering fingers bid me cease to write,
+  And, laying down the pen, I seek the Night,
+  May those, to whom the Daylight still is sweet,
+  With loving lips my name ofttimes repeat.
+  And should Belshazzar's spirit hither stray,
+  And linger o'er the lines I write to-day,
+  May he, who wept for Babylonia's fall,
+  Look kindly at _this_ "writing on the wall"!
+
+
+
+
+MRS. MULLIGATAWNY
+
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny said, "I'm sure it's going to rain."
+  Mr. Mulligatawny said, "To me it's very plain."
+  William Mulligatawny said, "It must rain, anyhow."
+  Mary Mulligatawny said, "I feel it raining now."
+    And yet there were no clouds in sight, and 'twas a pleasant day,
+    But Mrs. Mulligatawny always liked to have her way.
+    With Mrs. Mulligatawny the family all agreed,
+    For all the Mulligatawnys feared her very much indeed,
+          And did, whenever they were bid,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,
+          And tried to think, as they were taught,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny said, "Now two and two are three."
+  Mr. Mulligatawny said, "I'm sure they ought to be."
+  William Mulligatawny said, "Arithmetic is wrong."
+  Mary Mulligatawny said, "It's been so all along."
+    Now two and two do not make three, and three they never were;
+    But Mrs. Mulligatawny said 'twas near enough for her.
+    With Mrs. Mulligatawny the family all agreed,
+    For all the Mulligatawnys feared her very much indeed,
+          And did, whenever they were bid,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,
+          And tried to think, as they were taught,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny fell out of the world one day.
+  Mr. Mulligatawny said, "I don't know what to say."
+  William Mulligatawny said, "I don't know what to do."
+  Mary Mulligatawny said, "I feel the same as you."
+    Mrs. Mulligatawny left the family sitting there.
+    They couldn't think, they couldn't move, because they didn't dare;
+    For Mrs. Mulligatawny had always thought for them,
+    And all the Mulligatawnys thought the same as Mrs. M.,
+              And did, whenever they were bid,
+              As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,
+              And tried to think, as they were taught,
+              As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.
+
+
+
+
+EUTHANASIA
+
+[To E. C.]
+
+
+  Oh, drop your eyelids down, my lady;
+    Oh, drop your eyelids down.
+  'Twere well to keep your bright eyes shady
+    For pity of the town!
+  But should there any glances be,
+  I pray you give them all to me;
+  For though my life be lost thereby,
+  It were the sweetest death to die!
+
+
+
+
+DAINTY LITTLE LOVE
+
+
+  Dainty little Love came tripping
+      Down the hill,
+  Smiling as he thought of sipping
+      Sweets at will.
+        SHE said, "No,
+        Love must go."
+  Dainty little Love came tripping
+      Down the hill.
+
+  Dainty little Love went sighing
+      Up the hill,
+  All his little hopes were dying--
+      Love was ill.
+        Vain he tried
+        Tears to hide.
+  Dainty little Love went sighing
+      Up the hill.
+
+
+
+
+TO M.
+
+
+  Sweet visions came to me in sleep,
+      Ah! wondrous fair to see;
+  And in my mind I strove to keep
+      The dream to tell to thee.
+
+  But morning broke with golden gleam,
+      And shone upon thy face,
+  And life was lovelier than a dream,
+      And dreams had lost their grace.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG
+
+
+  I heard an old, familiar air
+      Strummed idly by a careless hand,
+  Yet in the melody were rare,
+      Sweet echoings from childhood land.
+
+  The well-remembered mother touch,
+      The wise denials and consents,
+  The trivial sorrows that were much,
+      Small pleasures that were large events;
+
+  The fancies, dreams, strange wonderings,
+      The daily problems unexplained,
+  Momentous as the cares of kings
+      That on unhappy thrones have reigned,
+
+  Came back with each unstudied tone;
+      And came that song remembered best,
+  Which, with a sweetness all its own,
+      Once lulled the play-worn child to rest.
+
+  And there, secure as Tarik's height,
+      He slumbered, shielded from alarms,
+  Safe from the mystery of night,
+      Close folded in the mother's arms.
+
+  Then Israel's mighty songs of old,
+      And all the modern masters' art,
+  Were less than simple lays that told
+      The secret of the mother's heart.
+
+  The sweetest melody that flows
+      From lips that win the world's applause
+  Charms not like that which childhood knows,
+      Unfettered by the curb of laws.
+
+  For though we rise to nobler themes,
+      To grander harmonies attain,
+  Their lives not in the academes
+      The magic of the simpler strain.
+
+  And we may spurn the cruder song,
+      Or name it anything we will,
+  Denounce the artifice as wrong,
+      Yet to the child 'tis music still.
+
+  Thus, list'ning to an idle air,
+      Struck lightly by a careless hand,
+  I heard, amid the cadence there,
+      The sweetest song of childhood land.
+
+
+
+
+AT TWILIGHT TIME
+
+
+  At twilight time when tolls the chime,
+      And saddest notes are falling,
+  A lonely bird with plaintive word
+      Across the dusk is calling.
+  Vain doth it wait for one dear mate,
+      That ne'er shall know the morrow;
+  Then sinks to rest with drooping crest
+      In one long dream of sorrow.
+
+  Dearest, when night is here,
+      To thee I'm calling,
+  Sadly as tear on tear
+      Is slowly falling,
+  Oh, fold me near, more near--
+      In love enthralling!
+  Here on thy breast,
+      While life shall last,
+  With thee I stay.
+      Here will I rest
+  Till night is past,
+      And comes the day!
+
+
+
+
+CÉLESTE
+
+
+  Of sweethearts I have had a score,
+    And time may bring as many more;
+  Tho' I remember all the rest,
+    Just now I worship dear Céleste;
+  Hers may not be the greatest love,
+    But ah! it is the latest love.
+
+        For little Cupid's never stupid,
+          As I've found out;
+        And love is truest when 'tis newest,
+          Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.
+
+  Of sweethearts I have had a score,
+    Céleste says I deserve no more;
+  I take revenge on dear Céleste,
+    By telling her I love her best;
+  Hers may not be the greatest love,
+    But ah! it is the latest love.
+
+        For little Cupid's never stupid,
+          As I've found out;
+        And love is truest when 'tis newest,
+          Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.
+
+
+
+
+THISTLE-DOWN
+
+
+  The thistle-down floats on the air, the air,
+    Whenever the soft wind blows,
+  And the wind can tell just where, just where
+    The feathery thistle-down goes.
+  And it tells the bird in a single word,
+    Who whispers it low to the bee;
+  And they try to keep the mystery deep,
+    And none of them tell it to me.
+  But I know well, though they never will tell,
+  Where the thistle-down goes when it says "Farewell,"
+  It floats and floats away on the air,
+  And goes where the wind goes--everywhere!
+
+
+
+
+SLUMBER SONG
+
+
+  Gently fall the shadows gray,
+    Daylight softly veiling;
+  Now to Dreamland we'll away,
+    Sailing, sailing, sailing.
+
+  Little eyes were made for sleeping,
+    Little heads were made for rest,
+  Golden locks were made for keeping
+    Close to mother's breast;
+  Little hands were made for folding,
+    Little lips should never sigh;
+  What dear mother's arms are holding,
+    Love alone can buy.
+
+  Gently fall the shadows gray,
+    Daylight softly veiling;
+  Now to Dreamland we'll away,
+    Sailing, sailing, sailing.
+
+
+
+
+THOU ART TO ME
+
+
+      Thou art to me
+  As are soft breezes to a summer sea;
+    As stars unto the night;
+    Or when the day is born,
+    As sunrise to the morn;
+  As peace unto the fading of the light.
+
+      Thou art to me
+  As one sweet flower upon a barren lea;
+    As rest to toiling hands;
+  As one clear spring amid the desert sands;
+    As smiles to maidens' lips;
+  As hope to friends that wait for absent ships;
+    As happiness to youth;
+    As purity to truth;
+    As sweetest dreams to sleep;
+  As balm to wounded hearts that weep.
+  All, all that I would have thee be
+      Thou art to me.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE
+
+[TRIO]
+
+
+  Oh, love hits all humanity, humanity, my dear;
+  But after all it's vanity, a vanity, I fear;
+  And sometimes 'tis insanity, insanity, so queer;
+    Humanity, yes, a vanity, yes, insanity so queer.
+  And love is often curious, so curious to see,
+  And oftentimes is spurious, so spurious, ah, me!
+  And surely 'tis injurious, injurious when free,
+    So curious, yes, and spurious, yes, injurious when free.
+
+  Oh, love brings much anxiety, anxiety and grief,
+  But seasoned with propriety, propriety, relief,
+  It's mixed with joy and piety, but piety is brief;
+    Anxiety, yes, propriety, yes, but piety is brief.
+  Oh, young love's all timidity, timidity, I'm told,
+  Gains courage with rapidity, rapidity, so bold,
+  With traces of acidity, acidity, when old;
+    Timidity, yes, rapidity, yes, acidity, when old.
+
+
+
+
+THE STRANGER-MAN
+
+
+  "Now what is that, my daughter dear, upon thy cheek so fair?"
+  "'Tis but a kiss, my mother dear--kind fortune sent it there.
+  It was a courteous stranger-man that gave it unto me,
+  And it is passing red because it was the last of three."
+
+  "A kiss indeed! my daughter dear; I marvel in surprise!
+  Such conduct with a stranger-man I fear me was not wise."
+  "Methought the same, my mother dear, and so at three forbore,
+  Although the courteous stranger-man vowed he had many more."
+
+  "Now prithee, daughter, quickly go, and bring the stranger here,
+  And bid him hie and bid him fly to me, my daughter dear;
+  For times be very, very hard, and blessings eke so rare,
+  I fain would meet a stranger-man that hath a kiss to spare."
+
+
+
+
+THE HONEYSUCKLE VINE
+
+
+  'Twas a tender little honeysuckle vine
+  That smiled and danced in the warm sunshine,
+  And spied a maid as fair as all maids be,
+  Who said, "Little honeysuckle, come up to me."
+  So it climbed and climbed in the sun and the shade,
+  And all summer long at her window stayed;
+  For that is the way that honeysuckles go,
+  And that is the way that true loves grow.
+
+  Then the loving little honeysuckle vine
+  Kissed the little maid in the warm sunshine;
+  But the winter came with an angry frown,
+  And the false little maid shut the window down;
+  And the sorrowing vine on the wintry side
+  Mourned and mourned for the love that died,
+  And faded away in the wind and snow,--
+  And that is the way that some loves go.
+
+
+
+
+SAINT BOTOLPH
+
+
+  Saint Botolph flourished in the olden time,
+  In the days when the saints were in their prime.
+  Oh, his feet were bare and bruised and cold,
+  But his heart was warm and as pure as gold.
+  And the kind old saint with his gown and his hood
+  Was loved by the sinners and loved by the good,
+  For he made the sinners as pure as the snow,
+  And the good men needed him to keep them so.
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+
+  He loved a friend and a flagon of wine,
+  When the friend was true and the bottle was fine.
+  He would raise his glass with a knowing wink,
+  And this was the toast he would always drink:--
+
+  "Oh, here's to the good and the bad men too,
+  For without them saints would have nothing to do.
+  Oh, I love them both and I love them well,
+  But which I love better, I never can tell."
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+
+  As he journeyed along on the king's highway
+  He gave all the boys and the girls "Good-day,"
+  And never a child saw the hood and gown
+  But ran to the father of Botolph's Town.
+  He'd a word for the wicked, and he called them kin,
+  And he said, "I am certain that there must be sin
+  While a few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,
+  And some are born fingers and some born thumbs."
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+  But the saint grew old, and sorry the day
+  When his life went out with the tide in the bay;
+  But he left a name and he left a creed
+  Of the cheerful life and the kindly deed.
+  Then remember the man of the days of old
+  Whose heart was warm and as pure as gold,
+  And remember the tears and the prayers he gave
+  For any poor devil with a soul to save.
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+
+
+
+THE GURGLING IMPS
+
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Lived in the Land of the Crimson Plum,
+  And a language very strange had they,
+  'Twas merely a chattering ricochet.
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Caught hummingbirds for the sake of the hum,
+  Their cheeks were flushed with a sable tinge,
+  Their eyelids hung on a silver hinge.
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Called each other "My charming chum,"
+  And floated in tears of joy to see
+  Their relatives hung in a cranberry tree.
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Stole the whole of a half of a crumb,
+  And a wind arose and blew the Imps
+  Way off to the Land of the Lazy Limps.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORM WILL TURN
+
+
+  I'm a gentle, meek, and patient human worm;
+                  Unattractive,
+                  Rather active,
+  With a sense of right, original but firm.
+              I was taught to be forgiving,
+                For my enemies to pray;
+              But what's the use of living
+                If you never can repay
+  All the little animosities that in your bosom burn--
+  Oh, it's pleasant to remember that "the worm will turn."
+
+  I'm so gentle and so patient and so meek,
+                  Unpretending,
+                  Unoffending.
+  But if, perchance, you smite me on the cheek,
+              I will never turn the other,
+                As I was taught to do
+              By a puritanic mother,
+                Whose theology was blue.
+  Your experience will widen when explicitly you learn
+  How a modest, mild, submissive little worm will turn.
+
+  I'm so subtle and so crafty and so sly.
+                  I am humble,
+                  But I "tumble"
+  To the slightest oscillation of the eye.
+              When others think they're winning
+                A fabulous amount,
+              Then I do a little sinning
+                On my personal account,
+  And in my quiet, simple way a modest stipend earn
+  As they slowly grasp the bitter fact that worms will turn.
+
+  Oh, human worms are curious little things;
+                  Inoffensive,
+                  Rather pensive
+  Till it comes to using little human stings.
+              Oh, then avoid intrusion
+                If you would be discreet,
+              And cultivate seclusion
+                In an underground retreat.
+  And whenever you are tempted the lowly worm to spurn,
+  Just bear in mind that little line, "The worm will turn."
+
+
+
+
+THE BOSTON CATS
+
+
+  A Little Cat played on a silver flute,
+    And a Big Cat sat and listened;
+  The Little Cat's strains gave the Big Cat pains,
+    And a tear on his eyelid glistened.
+
+  Then the Big Cat said, "Oh, rest awhile;"
+    But the Little Cat said, "No, no;
+  For I get pay for the tunes I play;"
+    And the Big Cat answered, "Oh!
+
+  If you get pay for the tunes you play,
+    I'm afraid you'll play till you drop;
+  You'll spoil your health in the race for wealth,
+    So I'll give you more to stop."
+
+  Said the Little Cat, "Hush! you make me blush;
+    Your offer is unusually kind;
+  Though it's very, very hard to leave the back yard,
+    I'll accept if you don't mind."
+
+  So the Big Cat gave him a thousand pounds
+    And a silver brush and a comb,
+  And a country seat on Beacon Street,
+    Right under the State House dome.
+
+  And the Little Cat sits with other little kits,
+    And watches the bright sun rise;
+  And the voice of the flute is long since mute,
+    And the Big Cat dries his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+THE JONQUIL MAID
+
+
+  A little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree,
+              Singing alone,
+              In a low love-tone,
+  And the wind swept by with a wistful moan;
+          For he longed to stay
+          With the Maid all day;
+              But he knew
+              As he blew
+              It was true
+              That the dew
+          Would never, never dry
+          If the wind should die;
+  So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew.
+  And while to the Land of the Rose went he,
+              Singing alone,
+              In a low love-tone,
+  A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.
+
+  The Little Maid's eyes had a rainbow hue,
+          And her sunset hair
+          Was woven with care
+  In a knot that was fit for a Psyche to wear;
+          And she pressed her lips
+          With her finger tips,
+              Threw a sly
+              Kiss to try
+              If he'd sigh
+              In reply,
+          And said with a laugh,
+          "Oh, it's not one half
+  As sweet as I give when there's Some One nigh."
+  And while to the Rosebud Land went he,
+              Singing alone,
+              In a low love-tone,
+  A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.
+
+  The wind swept back to the Jonquil Tree
+          At the close of day,
+          In the twilight gray;
+  But the sweet Little Maid had stolen away;
+          And whither she's flown
+          Will never be known
+              Till the Rose
+              As it blows
+              Shall disclose
+              All it knows
+          Of the Maid so fair
+          With the sunset hair.
+  And the sad wind comes and sighs and goes,
+  And dreams of the day when he blew so free,
+          When singing alone,
+          In a low love-tone,
+  A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROLLICKING MASTODON
+
+
+  A Rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain,
+      In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.
+  His face was plain, but his jocular vein
+      Was a burst of the wildest glee.
+  His voice was strong and his laugh so long
+      That people came many a mile,
+  And offered to pay a guinea a day
+      For the fractional part of a smile.
+          The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide--
+          Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;
+          And oh! so proud of his jocular vein
+          Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+  The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,
+      "I feel that I need some air,
+  For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,
+      As well as a gloss for the hair."
+  So he skipped along and warbled a song
+      In his own triumphulant way.
+  His smile was bright and his skip was light
+      As he chirruped his roundelay.
+          The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,
+          And sang what Mastodons call a song;
+          But every note of it seemed to pain
+          The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+  A Little Peetookle came over the hill,
+      Dressed up in a bollitant coat;
+  And he said, "You need some harroway seed,
+      And a little advice for your throat."
+  The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child,
+      There's a chance for your taste to grow.
+  If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find
+      How little, how little you know."
+          The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground
+          At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;
+          For he felt it a sort of musical stain
+          On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+  "Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?"
+      Said the Little Peetookle: "Dear me!
+  It certainly seems your horrible screams
+      Intended for music must be."
+  The Mastodon stopped; his ditty he dropped,
+      And murmured, "Good-morning, my dear!
+  I never will sing to a sensitive thing
+      That shatters a song with a sneer!"
+          The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."
+          Of course, 'twas a sensible thing to do;
+          For Little Peetookle is spared the strain
+          Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIVE SENSES
+
+
+  Oh, why do men their glasses clink
+  When good old honest wine they drink?
+
+  Wine is so excellent a thing
+  To lowest subject, or to highest king,
+  That every sense alike should share
+  The pleasure that can banish care.
+  Thus may each merry eye _behold_
+  The sparkle of the red or gold.
+  Our lips may _feel_ the goblet's edge
+  And _taste_ the loving cup we pledge.
+  While from each foaming glass escape
+  The precious _perfumes_ of the grape.
+  But ah, we _hear_ it not, and so
+  We give the _touch_ that all men know.
+  And thus do all the senses share
+  The pleasure that can banish care.
+
+  And that is why the glasses clink
+  When good old honest wine we drink.
+
+
+
+
+ECONOMY
+
+[A VALENTINE]
+
+
+  I send,
+  O sweetest friend,
+  A kiss;
+  Such as fair ladies gave
+  Of old, when knights were brave,
+  And smiles were won
+  Through foes undone.
+  And this will be
+  For you to give again to me;
+  And then, its present errand o'er,
+  I'll give it unto you once more,
+  Ere briefest time elapse,
+  With interest, perhaps.
+  Its mission spent,
+  Again to me it may be lent.
+  And thus, day after day,
+  As we a simple law obey,
+  Forever, to and fro,
+  The selfsame kiss will go;
+  A busy shuttle that shall weave
+  A web of love, to soften and relieve
+  Our daily care.
+  And so,
+  As thus we share,
+  With lip to lip,
+  Our frugal partnership,
+  One kiss will always do
+  For two.
+  And, oh, how easy it will be
+  To practice this economy!
+
+
+
+
+IDYLETTES OF THE QUEEN
+
+
+  I.--SHE
+
+  I fain would write on pleasant themes;
+      So let me prate
+      Awhile of Kate;
+  And if my rhyming effort seems
+      Uncouth or rough,
+        At any rate,
+        She's Kate,
+      And that's enough.
+
+
+  II.--HER EYES
+
+  Her eyes are bright--
+    I cannot say "like stars at night,"
+      Nor can I say
+    "Like the Orb of Day,"
+  Because such phrases are archaic.
+    And if I swear
+    That they compare
+    With diamonds rare,
+  That's too prosaic.
+
+  I've hunted my thesaurus through,
+  "The Century" and "Webster," too,
+    But all in vain;
+    'Tis therefore plain
+  That they who made these books so wise
+  Had never seen her eyes!
+
+
+  III.--HER GOWN
+
+  When Kate puts on her Sunday gown
+    And goes to church all in her best,
+  The watchful gargoyles looking down
+  Relax their most forbidding frown,
+    And smile with kindly interest.
+
+  Discerning gargoyles! could I be
+    One of your number looking down,
+  With you I surely would agree
+  And share your amiability
+    At sight of Kate and Sunday gown.
+
+
+  IV.--HER KNOWLEDGE
+
+  How much she knows no one can tell;
+  But she can read and write and spell,
+    Divide and multiply and add,
+    And name the apples Thomas had
+  When John enticed him five to sell.
+
+  For "jelly" she does not say "jell,"
+  Nor horrify us with "umbrell,"
+    For all of which we're very glad--
+      How much she knows!
+
+  She knows the oyster by his shell,
+  Detects the newsboy by his yell,
+    Enumerates the bones in shad,
+    And thinks my poetry is bad.
+  Well! well! well! well! well! well! well! well!
+      How much she knows!
+
+
+  V.--HER SIGH
+
+  When she utters a sigh
+    'Tis a breath from the roses,
+  And a-hovering nigh,
+  When she utters a sigh,
+  The bees wonder why
+    No garden discloses.
+  When she utters a sigh
+   'Tis a breath from the roses.
+
+
+  VI.--HER RING
+
+  Her ring goes round her finger.
+    Oh, foolish thing!
+    Were I a ring,
+  I'd not "go round"--I'd linger!
+
+
+  VII.--HER FAULTS
+
+  Of faults she has but one,
+  And that is, she has none.
+
+
+  VIII.--HER VOICE
+
+  Sweet and soothing, rhythmic, tuneful,
+  Dulcet, mellow, _un_bassoonful,
+        Zither, 'cello, lute, guitar,
+        And there you are!
+
+
+  IX.--HER LOVE
+
+  Do you love me?
+  R. S. V. P.
+
+
+
+
+TO M. E.
+
+
+  We keep in step as years roll by;
+    You march behind and I before:--
+  The path is new to you; but I
+    Have passed the ground you're walking o'er.
+  Yet I march on with measured tread,
+    And looking back, I smile and greet you:--
+  I fear the order, "Halt!" Instead,
+    Would I might countermarch and meet you.
+
+
+
+
+BON VOYAGE
+
+[TO O. R.]
+
+
+  Out from the Land of the Future, into the Land of the Past
+  A comrade sails to the East, the sport of the wave and the blast.
+  Oh, billow and breeze, be kind, and temper your strength to your guest,
+  Kind for the sake of the friend,--for the sake of the hands he pressed.
+
+  Oh, tenderest billow and breeze, welcome him even as we
+  Would welcome if you were the friend and we were the wind and the sea!
+  Welcome, protect him, and waft him westward and homeward at last
+  Into the Land of the Future, out from the Land of the Past!
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK OF LIFE
+
+
+  Whoso his book of life doth con
+  From title-leaf to colophon
+  May read, if he but wrongly look,
+  Some sorry pages in his book.
+
+  But if he read aright each line,
+  Interpreting the scheme divine,
+  'Twill be most fair to look upon
+  From title-leaf to colophon.
+
+
+
+
+  The Riverside Press
+
+  _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co._
+  _Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
+
+  Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Arthur Macy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
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+    <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 Poems, by Arthur Macy.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+
+body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+
+p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;}
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+hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;}
+
+table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+a {text-decoration: none;}
+.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;}
+
+.blockquot {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;}
+
+.center   {text-align: center;}
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+.big {font-size: 125%;}
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+<body>
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Arthur Macy
+
+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: Poems
+
+Author: Arthur Macy
+
+Release Date: November 13, 2011 [EBook #37999]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, David E. Brown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_a" id="Page_a"></a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="Arthur Macy." /></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="giant">POEMS</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">BY ARTHUR MACY</span></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>With an Introduction by<br />
+WILLIAM ALFRED HOVEY</i></p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">W. B. CLARKE CO.<br />
+BOSTON<br />
+1905</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center">COPYRIGHT 1905 BY MARY T. MACY<br />
+<br />
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+<p class="blockquot">The Editors of <i>The Youth's Companion</i>, <i>St. Nicholas</i>, and <i>The Smart
+Set</i>, The H. B. Stevens Company, The Oliver Ditson Company, and Messrs.
+G. Schirmer &amp; Company, have kindly permitted the republication of
+several poems in this collection.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">INTRODUCTION</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="giant">A</span><span class="smcap">rthur Macy</span> was a Nantucket boy of Quaker extraction. His name alone is
+evidence of this, for it is safe to say that a Macy, wherever found in
+the United States, is descended from that sturdy old Quaker who was one
+of those who bought Nantucket from the Indians, paid them fairly for it,
+treated them with justice, and lived on friendly terms with them. In
+many ways Arthur Macy showed that he was a Nantucketer and, at least by
+descent, a Quaker. He often used phrases peculiar to our island in the
+sea, and was given, in conversation at least, to similes which smacked
+of salt water. Almost the last time I saw him he said, "I'm coming round
+soon for a good long gam."</p>
+
+<p>He was a many-sided man. In his intercourse with a friend like myself he
+would show the side which he thought would interest me, and that only.
+He was above all things cheery, and, to his praise be it said, he hated
+a bore. I remember that a mutual friend was talking baseball to me by
+the yard. Arthur was sitting by, listening. It was a subject in which he
+was much interested. Nevertheless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> turning to our mutual friend, he
+said, "Don't talk baseball to <i>him</i>. He don't care anything about it, he
+don't know anything about it, and he don't want to." On the other hand,
+although little given to telling of his war experiences, he was always
+ready to talk over the old days with me. Of what he did himself, he
+modestly said but little, but of the services of others, more especially
+of the men in the ranks, he was generous in his praise.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the war Macy enlisted in Company B, 24th Michigan Volunteer
+Infantry. He was twice wounded on the first day at Gettysburg, and
+managed to crawl into the town and get as far as the steps of the Court
+House, which was fast filling with wounded from both sides. His sense of
+humor was in evidence even at such a time. A Confederate officer rode up
+and asked, "Have those men in there got arms?" Quick as a flash Macy
+answered: "Some of them have and some of them haven't." He remained in
+this Court-House hospital, a prisoner within the Confederate lines,
+until the battle was over and Lee's army retreated. All wounded
+prisoners who could walk were forced to go with them, but Macy's wound
+was in the foot, and, fortunately for him, he was spared the horrors of
+a Southern prison.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span>He was on duty later at the Naval Academy Hospital in Annapolis,
+presided over by Dr. Vanderkieft, perhaps as efficient a general
+hospital administrator as the army had. I knew Dr. Vanderkieft very
+well, and was on duty at his hospital when the exchanged prisoners came
+back from Andersonville. Although Macy and I never met there, it came
+out in our talk that we were there at the same time. He served his full
+three years, and was honorably discharged about the close of the war.</p>
+
+<p>It is given to but few to have the keen sense of humor which he
+possessed. Quick and keen at repartee, he never practised it save when
+worth while. He never said the clearly obvious thing. Failing something
+better than that, he held his peace.</p>
+
+<p>Had it not been for his disinclination to publish his verses, he long
+ago would have had a national reputation. His reason for this
+disinclination, as I gathered from many talks with him, was that he did
+not consider his work of sufficiently high <i>poetic</i> standard. Every one
+praised his choice of words, his wonderful facility in rhyme, the
+perfection of his metre, and the daintiness and delicacy of his verse.
+"All right," he would say, "but that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> is not Poetry with a big P, and
+that is the only kind that should be published. And there is mighty
+little of it." It is fortunate that this severe judgment, creditable as
+it was to him, is not to prevail. Lovers of the beautiful are not to be
+robbed of "Sit Closer, Friends," nor of "A Poet's Lesson," and many who
+never heard of that remarkable Spanish pachyderm will take delight in
+the story of "The Rollicking Mastodon," whose home was "in the trunk of
+a Tranquil Tree." The greater part of his verses with which I am
+familiar I heard at Papyrus Club dinners. He was an early member, and
+one of the most esteemed. He was fairly sure to have something in his
+pocket, and the presiding officer never called upon him in vain.</p>
+
+<p>It was so at the Saint Botolph Club, of which he was long a member.
+Whenever there was an "occasion" when the need of verse seemed
+indicated, Arthur Macy could be counted on. His "Saint Botolph," which
+has become the Club song, and will be sung as long as the Club endures,
+was written for a Twelfth Night revel at my request. It has a peculiarly
+old English flavor. He makes of the Saint, not the jolly friar nor yet
+the severe recluse, but just a good, kind old man who "was loved by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> the
+sinners and loved by the good," one who was certain that there must be
+sin so long as</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+
+<tr><td>"A few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,<br />
+And some are born fingers and some are born thumbs."</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>And here we get a glimpse of Arthur Macy's view of life, which was
+certainly broad and generous, with a philosophic flavor.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Macy had a business side of which his Club intimates had but
+slight knowledge. He represented, in New England, one of the great
+commercial agencies of the country. His knowledge of business men, of
+their standing, commercially and financially, was extended and intimate,
+and was relied upon by our merchants and others as a basis for giving
+credit. His office work required the closest attention to details and
+the exercise of the most careful judgment. The whole success of such a
+company as that which he represented depends upon the reliability of the
+information which it gives. Without this it has no reason for existence.
+It was to Arthur Macy that the merchants of Boston largely turned for
+information concerning their customers scattered throughout New England,
+and it was because of his success in obtaining such information and his
+thorough knowledge of the business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> in all its details that the superior
+officers of the company placed such implicit confidence in his judgment
+and so high a value upon his advice. And in the conduct of this business
+he showed his Quaker straightforwardness. His work was not at all of the
+"detective" sort. If information was wanted concerning a man's business
+by those who had dealings with him, Macy went directly to the man
+himself, and told him that it was for his own best interest to show just
+where he stood, and, above all things, to tell the exact truth. Honest
+men had the truth told about them, and profited by it. Dishonest men and
+secretive men were passed over in severe silence, and their credit
+suffered accordingly. Few of those who sought Arthur Macy for business
+information ever suspected that they were talking to a poet and man of
+letters.</p>
+
+<p>I have not sought to tell Arthur Macy's life story. Neither have I
+entered upon any detailed consideration of his verse. It is for the
+reader to peruse the pages that follow and draw his own conclusion. I
+have merely tried to give a glimpse of the characteristics of one of the
+most charming personalities I ever knew.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Alfred Hovey.</span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">St. Botolph Club</span>,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>Boston, June 7, 1905</i>.</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">CONTENTS</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Frontispiece</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_a"><i>Portrait of Arthur Macy</i></a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td colspan="2">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">POEMS</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>In Remembrance</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Old Café</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>At Marliave's</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Passing of the Rose</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A Valentine</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Disenchantment </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Constancy </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A Poet's Lesson </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>"Place aux Dames" </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>All on a Golden Summer Day </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Prismatic Boston </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Book Hunter </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Three Voices</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Easy Knowledge </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Susan Scuppernong </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Hatband </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Oyster </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Wind and Rain</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Flag </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
+
+
+<tr><td>My Masterpiece</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A Ballade of Montaigne </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Criminal </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A Bit of Color</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dinner Favors </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Moper </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Various Valentines </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Were all the World like You</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Here and There</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Uncle Jogalong</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Indifferent Mariner</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>On a Library Wall</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Mrs. Mulligatawny</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Euthanasia </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dainty Little Love</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>To M. </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Song </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>At Twilight Time</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Céleste</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thistle-Down</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Slumber Song</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thou art to Me </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Love </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Stranger-Man</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Honeysuckle Vine</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Saint Botolph</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Gurgling Imps </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Worm will Turn </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Boston Cats</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Jonquil Maid </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
+
+
+<tr><td>The Rollicking Mastodon</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_99">99</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Five Senses </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Economy</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Idylettes of the Queen </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>To M. E. </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Bon Voyage</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The Book of Life</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr></table>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="giant">POEMS</span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">IN REMEMBRANCE</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[W. L. C.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">S</span><small>IT</small> closer, friends, around the board!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death grants us yet a little time.</span><br />
+Now let the cheering cup be poured,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And welcome song and jest and rhyme.</span><br />
+Enjoy the gifts that fortune sends.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sit closer, friends!</span><br />
+<br />
+And yet, we pause. With trembling lip<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We strive the fitting phrase to make;</span><br />
+Remembering our fellowship,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lamenting Destiny's mistake.</span><br />
+We marvel much when Fate offends,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And claims our friends.</span><br />
+<br/>
+Companion of our nights of mirth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where all were merry who were wise;</span><br />
+Does Death quite understand your worth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And know the value of his prize?</span><br />
+I doubt me if he comprehends&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He knows no friends.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in that realm is there no joy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of comrades and the jocund sense?</span><br />
+Can Death so utterly destroy&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For gladness grant no recompense?</span><br />
+And can it be that laughter ends<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With absent friends?</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, scholars whom we wisest call,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who solve great questions at your ease,</span><br />
+We ask the simplest of them all,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yet you cannot answer these!</span><br />
+And is it thus your knowledge ends,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To comfort friends?</span><br />
+<br />
+Dear Omar! should You chance to meet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Brother Somewhere in the Gloom,</span><br />
+Pray give to Him a Message sweet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Brothers in the Tavern Room.</span><br />
+He will not ask who 'tis that sends,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For We were Friends.</span><br />
+<br />
+Again a parting sail we see;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another boat has left the shore.</span><br />
+A kinder soul on board has she<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than ever left the land before.</span><br />
+And as her outward course she bends,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sit closer, friends!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE OLD CAF&Eacute;</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">Y</span><small>OU</small> know,<br />
+Don't you, Joe,<br />
+Those merry evenings long ago?<br />
+You know the room, the narrow stair,<br />
+The wreaths of smoke that circled there,<br />
+The corner table where we sat<br />
+For hours in after-dinner chat,<br />
+And magnified<br />
+Our little world inside.<br />
+You know,<br />
+Don't you, Joe?<br />
+<br />
+Ah, those nights divine!<br />
+The simple, frugal wine,<br />
+The airs on crude Italian strings,<br />
+The joyous, harmless revelings,<br />
+Just fit for us&mdash;or kings!<br />
+At times a quaint and wickered flask<br />
+Of rare Chianti, or from the homelier cask<br />
+Of modest Pilsener a stein or so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><br />
+Amid the merry talk would flow;<br />
+Or red Bordeaux<br />
+From vines that grew where dear Montaigne<br />
+Held his domain.<br />
+And you remember that dark eye,<br />
+None too shy;<br />
+In fact, she seemed a bit too free<br />
+For you and me.<br />
+You know,<br />
+Don't you, Joe?<br />
+<br />
+Then Pegasus I knew,<br />
+And then I read to you<br />
+My callow rhymes<br />
+So many, many times;<br />
+And something in the place<br />
+Lent them a certain grace,<br />
+Until I scarce believed them mine,<br />
+Under the magic of the wine;<br />
+But now I read them o'er,<br />
+And see grave faults I had not seen before,<br />
+And wonder how<br />
+You could have listened with such placid brow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><br />
+And somehow apprehend<br />
+You sank the critic in the friend.<br />
+You know,<br />
+Don't you, Joe?<br />
+<br />
+And when we talked of books,<br />
+How learned were our looks!<br />
+And few the bards we could not quote,<br />
+From gay Catullus' lines to Milton's purer note.<br />
+Mayhap we now are wiser men,<br />
+But we knew more than all the scholars then;<br />
+And our conceit<br />
+Was grand, ineffable, complete!<br />
+We know,<br />
+Don't we, Joe?<br />
+<br />
+Gone are those golden nights<br />
+Of innocent Bohemian delights,<br />
+And we are getting on;<br />
+And anon,<br />
+Years sad and tremulous<br />
+May be in store for us;<br />
+But should we ever meet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><br />
+Upon some quiet street,<br />
+And you discover in an old man's eye<br />
+Some transient sparkle of the days gone by,<br />
+Then you will guess, perchance,<br />
+The meaning of the glance;<br />
+You'll know,<br />
+Won't you, Joe?</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">AT MARLIAVE'S</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span><small>T</small> Marliave's when eventide<br />
+Finds rare companions at my side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The laughter of each merry guest</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At quaint conceit, or kindly jest,</span><br />
+Makes golden moments swiftly glide.<br />
+No voice unkind our faults to chide,<br />
+Our smallest virtue magnified;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And friendly hand to hand is pressed</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">At Marliave's.</span><br />
+<br />
+I lay my years and cares aside<br />
+Accepting what the gods provide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ask not for a lot more blest,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor do I crave a sweeter rest</span><br />
+Than that which comes with eventide<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">At Marliave's.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE PASSING OF THE ROSE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span> <span class="smcap">White Rose</span> said, "How fair am I.<br />
+Behold a flower that cannot die!"<br />
+<br />
+A lover brushed the dew aside,<br />
+And fondly plucked it for his bride.<br />
+"A fitting choice!" the White Rose cried.<br />
+<br />
+The maiden wore it in her hair;<br />
+The Rose, contented to be there,<br />
+Still proudly boasted, "None so fair!"<br />
+<br />
+Then close she pressed it to her lips,<br />
+But, weary of companionships,<br />
+The flower within her bosom slips.<br />
+<br />
+O'ercome by all the beauty there,<br />
+It straight confessed, "Dear maid, I swear<br />
+'Tis you, and you alone, are fair!"<br />
+<br />
+Turning its humbled head aside,<br />
+The envious Rose, lamenting, died.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">A VALENTINE</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">From a Very Little Boy to a Very Little Girl</span>]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>HIS</small> is a valentine for you.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother made it. She's real smart,</span><br />
+I told her that I loved you true<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you were my sweetheart.</span><br />
+<br />
+And then she smiled, and then she winked,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then she said to father,</span><br />
+"Beginning young!" and then he thinked,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then he said, "Well, rather."</span><br />
+<br />
+Then mother's eyes began to shine,<br />
+And then she made this valentine:<br />
+"If you love me as I love you,<br />
+No knife shall cut our love in two,"<br />
+And father laughed and said, "How new!"<br />
+And then he said, "It's time for bed."<br />
+<br />
+So, when I'd said my prayers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span><br />
+Mother came running up the stairs<br />
+And told me I might send the rhymes,<br />
+And then she kissed me lots of times.<br />
+Then I turned over to the wall<br />
+And cried about you, and&mdash;that's all.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">DISENCHANTMENT</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>IME</small> and I have fallen out;<br />
+We, who were such steadfast friends.<br />
+So slowly has it come about<br />
+That none may tell when it began;<br />
+Yet sure am I a cunning plan<br />
+Runs through it all;<br />
+And now, beyond recall,<br />
+Our friendship ends,<br />
+And ending, there remains to me<br />
+The memory of disloyalty.<br />
+<br />
+Long years ago Time tripping came<br />
+With promise grand,<br />
+And sweet assurances of fame;<br />
+And hand in hand<br />
+Through fairy-land<br />
+Went he and I together<br />
+In bright and golden weather.<br />
+Then, then I had not learned to doubt,<br />
+For friends were gods, and faith was sure,<br />
+And words were truth, and deeds were pure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span><br />
+Before we had our falling out;<br />
+And life, all hope, was fair to see,<br />
+When Time made promise sweet to me.<br />
+<br />
+When first my faithless friend grew cold<br />
+I sought to knit a closer bond,<br />
+But he, less fond,<br />
+Sad days and years upon me rolled,<br />
+Pressed me with care,<br />
+With envy tinged the boyhood hair,<br />
+And ploughed unwelcome furrows in<br />
+Where none had been.<br />
+In vain I begged with trembling lip<br />
+For our old sweet companionship,<br />
+And saw, 'mid prayers and tears devout,<br />
+The presage of our falling out.<br />
+<br />
+And now I know Time has no friends,<br />
+Nor pity lends,<br />
+But touches all<br />
+With heavy finger soon or late;<br />
+And as we wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span><br />
+The Reaper's call,<br />
+The sickle's fatal sweep,<br />
+We strive in vain to keep<br />
+One truth inviolate,<br />
+One cherished fancy free from doubt.<br />
+It was not so<br />
+Long years ago,<br />
+Before we had our falling out.<br />
+<br />
+If Time would come again to me,<br />
+And once more take me by the hand<br />
+For golden walks through fairy-land,<br />
+I could forgive the treachery<br />
+That stole my youth<br />
+And what of truth<br />
+Was mine to know;<br />
+Nor would I more his love misdoubt;<br />
+And I would throw<br />
+My arms around him so,<br />
+That he'd forgive the falling out!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">CONSTANCY</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>FIRST</small> saw Phebe when the show'rs<br />
+Had just made brighter all the flow'rs;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Yet she was fair</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As any there,</span><br />
+And so I loved her hours and hours.<br />
+<br />
+Then I met Helen, and her ways<br />
+Set my untutored heart ablaze.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I loved at sight</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And deemed it right</span><br />
+To worship her for days and days.<br />
+<br />
+Yet when I gazed on Clara's cheeks<br />
+And spoke the language Cupid speaks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">O'er all the rest</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">She seemed the best,</span><br />
+And so I loved her weeks and weeks.<br />
+<br />
+But last of Love's sweet souvenirs<br />
+Was Delia with her sighs and tears.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of her it seemed</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I'd always dreamed,</span><br />
+And so I loved her years and years.<br />
+<br />
+But now again with Phebe met,<br />
+I love the first one of the set.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Fickle," you say?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I answer, "Nay,</span><br />
+My heart is true to one quartette."</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">A POET'S LESSON</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">P</span><small>OET</small>, my master, come, tell me true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how are your verses made?</span><br />
+Ah! that is the easiest thing to do:&mdash;<br />
+You take a cloud of a silvern hue,<br />
+A tender smile or a sprig of rue,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With plenty of light and shade,</span><br />
+<br />
+And weave them round in syllables rare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a grace and skill divine;</span><br />
+With the earnest words of a pleading prayer,<br />
+With a cadence caught from a dulcet air,<br />
+A tale of love and a lock of hair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a bit of a trailing vine.</span><br />
+<br />
+Or, delving deep in a mine unwrought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You find in the teeming earth</span><br />
+The golden vein of a noble thought;<br />
+The soul of a statesman still unbought,<br />
+Or a patriot's cry with anguish fraught<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the land that gave him birth.</span><br />
+<br />
+A brilliant youth who has lost his way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the winding road of life;</span><br />
+A sculptor's dream of the plastic clay;<br />
+A painter's soul in a sunset ray;<br />
+The sweetest thing a woman can say,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a struggling nation's strife.</span><br />
+<br />
+A boy's ambition; a maiden's star,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unrisen, but yet to be;</span><br />
+A glimmering light that shines afar<br />
+For a sinking ship on a moaning bar;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An empty sleeve; a veteran's scar;</span><br />
+Or a land where men are free.<br />
+<br />
+And if the poet's hand be strong<br />
+To weave the web of a deathless song,<br />
+And if a master guide the pen<br />
+To words that reach the hearts of men,<br />
+And if the ear and the touch be true,<br />
+It's the easiest thing in the world to do!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">"PLACE AUX DAMES"</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[To M.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">W</span><small>ITH</small> brilliant friends surrounding me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So cosy at the Club I'm sitting;</span><br />
+While you at home I seem to see,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Attending strictly to your knitting.</span><br />
+<br />
+When women have their rights, my dear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll hear no more of wrongs so shocking:&mdash;</span><br />
+You with your friends shall gather here;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll stay at home and darn the stocking!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">ALL ON A GOLDEN SUMMER DAY</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span><small>LL</small> on a golden summer day,<br />
+As through the leaves a single ray<br />
+Of yellow sunshine finds its way<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So bright, so bright;</span><br />
+The wakened birds that blithely sing<br />
+Seem welcoming another spring;<br />
+While all the woods are murmuring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So light, so light.</span><br />
+<br />
+All on a golden summer day,<br />
+When to my heart a single ray<br />
+Of tender kindness finds its way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So bright, so bright;</span><br />
+Then comes sweet hope and bravely dares<br />
+To break the chain that sorrow wears&mdash;<br />
+And all my burdens, all my cares<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Are light, so light!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">PRISMATIC BOSTON</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">F</span><small>AIR</small> city by the famed Batrachian Pool,<br />
+Wise in the teachings of the Concord School;<br />
+Home of the Eurus, paradise of cranks,<br />
+Stronghold of thrift, proud in your hundred banks;<br />
+Land of the mind-cure and the abstruse book,<br />
+The Monday lecture and the shrinking Cook;<br />
+Where twin-lensed maidens, careless of their shoes,<br />
+In phrase Johnsonian oft express their views;<br />
+Where realistic pens invite the throng<br />
+To mention "spades," lest "shovels" should be wrong;<br />
+Where gaping strangers read the thrilling ode<br />
+To Pilgrim Trousers on the West-End road;<br />
+Where strange sartorial questions as to pants<br />
+Offend our "sisters, cousins, and our aunts;"<br />
+Where men expect by simple faith and prayer<br />
+To lift a lid and find a dollar there;<br />
+Where labyrinthine lanes that sinuous creep<br />
+Make Theseus sigh and Ariadne weep;<br />
+Where clubs gregarious take commercial risks<br />
+'Mid fluctuations of alluring disks;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span><br />
+Where Beacon Hill is ever proud to show<br />
+Her reeking veins of liquid indigo;<br />
+To thee, fair land, I dedicate my song,<br />
+And tell how simple, artless minds go wrong.<br />
+<br />
+A Common Councilman, with lordly air,<br />
+One day went strolling down through Copley Square.<br />
+Within his breast there beat a spotless heart;<br />
+His taste was pure, his soul was steeped in art.<br />
+For he had worshiped oft at Cass's shrine,<br />
+Had daily knelt at Cogswell's fount divine,<br />
+And chaste surroundings of the City Hall<br />
+Had taught him much, and so he knew it all.<br />
+Proud, in a sack coat and a high silk hat,<br />
+Content in knowing just "where he was at,"<br />
+He wandered on, till gazing toward the skies,<br />
+A nameless horror met his modest eyes;<br />
+For where the artist's chisel had engrossed<br />
+An emblem fit on Boston's proudest boast,<br />
+There stood aloft, with graceful equipoise,<br />
+Two very small, unexpurgated boys.<br />
+Filled with solicitude for city youth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><br />
+Whose morals suffer when they're told the truth,<br />
+Whose ethic standards high and higher rise,<br />
+When taught that God and nature are but lies,<br />
+In haste he to the council chamber hied,<br />
+His startled fellow-members called aside,<br />
+His fearful secret whispering disclosed,<br />
+Till all their separate joints were ankylosed.<br />
+Appalling was the silence at his tale;<br />
+Democrats turned red, Republicans turned pale.<br />
+What mugwumps turned 'tis difficult to think,<br />
+But probably they compromised on pink.<br />
+<br />
+When these stern moralists had their breaths regained,<br />
+And told how deeply they were shocked and pained,<br />
+They then resolved how wrong our children are,<br />
+Said, "Boys should be contented with a scar,"<br />
+Rebuked Dame Nature for her deadly sins,<br />
+And damned trustees who foster "Heavenly Twins."<br />
+<br />
+O Councilmen, if it were left for you<br />
+To say what art is false and what is true,<br />
+What strange anomalies would the world behold!<br />
+Dolls would be angels, dross would count for gold;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><br />
+Vice would be virtue, virtues would be taints;<br />
+Gods would be devils, Councilmen be saints;<br />
+And this sage law by your wise minds be built:<br />
+"No boy shall live if born without a kilt."<br />
+Then you'd resolve, to soothe all moral aches,<br />
+"We're always right, but God has made mistakes."</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE BOOK HUNTER</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span><small>'VE</small> spent all my money in chasing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For books that are costly and rare;</span><br />
+I've made myself bankrupt in tracing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each prize to its ultimate lair.</span><br />
+And now I'm a ruined collector,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impoverished, ragged, and thin,</span><br />
+Reduced to a vanishing spectre,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because of my prodigal sin.</span><br />
+<br />
+How often I've called upon Foley,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The man who's a friend of the cranks;</span><br />
+Knows books that are witty or holy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whether they're prizes or blanks.</span><br />
+For volumes on paper or vellum<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He has a most accurate eye,</span><br />
+And always is willing to sell 'em<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dreamers like me who will buy.</span><br />
+<br />
+My purse requires fences and hedges,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alas! it will never stay shut;</span><br />
+My coat-sleeves now have deckle edges,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My hair is unkempt and "uncut."</span><br />
+My coat is a true first edition,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rusty from shoulder to waist;</span><br />
+My trousers are out of condition,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their "colophon" worn and defaced.</span><br />
+<br />
+My shoes have been long out of fashion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Crushed leather" they both seem to be;</span><br />
+My hat is a thing for compassion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The kind that is labelled "n. d."</span><br />
+My vest from its binding is broken,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's what the French call a <i>relique</i>;</span><br />
+What I think of it cannot be spoken,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its catalogue mark is "unique."</span><br />
+<br />
+I'm a book that is thumbed and untidy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The only one left of the set;</span><br />
+I'm sure I was issued on Friday,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For fate is unkind to me yet.</span><br />
+My text has been cruelly garbled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By a destiny harder than flint;</span><br />
+But I wait for my grave to be "marbled,"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then I shall be out of print.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE THREE VOICES</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>HERE</small> once was a man who asked for pie,<br />
+In a piping voice up high, up high;<br />
+And when he asked for a salmon roe,<br />
+He spoke in a voice down low, down low;<br />
+But when he said he had no choice,<br />
+He always spoke in a medium voice.<br />
+<br />
+I cannot tell the reason why<br />
+He sometimes spoke up high, up high;<br />
+And why he sometimes spoke down low,<br />
+I do not know, I do not know;<br />
+And why he spoke in the medium way,<br />
+Don't ask me, for I cannot say.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">EASY KNOWLEDGE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">H</span><small>OW</small> nice 'twould be if knowledge grew<br />
+On bushes, as the berries do!<br />
+Then we could plant our spelling seed,<br />
+And gather all the words we need.<br />
+The sums from off our slates we'd wipe,<br />
+And wait for figures to be ripe,<br />
+And go into the fields, and pick<br />
+Whole bushels of arithmetic;<br />
+Or if we wished to learn Chinese,<br />
+We'd just go out and shake the trees;<br />
+And grammar then, in all the towns,<br />
+Would grow with proper verbs and nouns;<br />
+And in the gardens there would be<br />
+Great bunches of geography;<br />
+And all the passers-by would stop,<br />
+And marvel at the knowledge crop;<br />
+And I my pen would cease to push,<br />
+And pluck my verses from a bush!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">SUSAN SCUPPERNONG</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">S</span><small>ILLY</small> Susan Scuppernong<br />
+Cried so hard and cried so long,<br />
+People asked her what was wrong.<br />
+<br />
+She replied, "I do not know<br />
+Any reason for my woe&mdash;<br />
+I just feel like feeling so."</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE HATBAND</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">M</span><small>Y</small> hatband goes around my hat,<br />
+And while there's nothing strange in that,<br />
+It seems just like a lazy man<br />
+Who leaves off where he first began.<br />
+<br />
+But then this fact is always true,<br />
+The band does what it ought to do,<br />
+And is more useful than the man,<br />
+Because it does the best it can.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE OYSTER</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>WO</small> halves of an oyster shell, each a shallow cup;<br />
+Here once lived an oyster before they ate him up.<br />
+Oyster shells are smooth inside; outside very rough;<br />
+Very little room to spare, but he had enough.<br />
+Bedroom, parlor, kitchen, or cellar there was none;<br />
+Just one room in all the house&mdash;oysters need but one.<br />
+And he was never troubled by wind or rain or snow,<br />
+For he had a roof above, another one below.<br />
+I wonder if they fried him, or cooked him in a stew,<br />
+And sold him at a fair, and passed him off for two.<br />
+I wonder if the oysters all have names like us,<br />
+And did he have a name like "John" or "Romulus"?<br />
+I wonder if his parents wept to see him go;<br />
+I wonder who can tell; perhaps the mermaids know.<br />
+I wonder if our sleep the most of us would dread,<br />
+If we slept like oysters, a million in a bed!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">WIND AND RAIN</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>HE</small> rain came down on Boston Town,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the people said, "Oh, dear!</span><br />
+It's early yet for our annual wet,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas dry this time last year."</span><br />
+<br />
+In heavy suits and rubber boots<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They went to the weather man,</span><br />
+And said, "Dear friend, do you intend<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To change your present plan?"</span><br />
+<br />
+In tones of scorn, he said, "Begone!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I've ordered a week of rain.</span><br />
+Away! disperse! or I'll do worse,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And order a hurricane!"</span><br />
+<br />
+They sneered, "Oh, oh!" and they laughed, "Ho, ho!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And they said, "You surely jest.</span><br />
+Your threats are vain, for a hurricane<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is the thing that we like best.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Our throats are tinned, and a sharp east wind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We really couldn't do without;</span><br />
+But we complain of too much rain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And we think we'd like a drought."</span><br />
+<br />
+So the weather man took a palm-leaf fan<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he waved it up on high,</span><br />
+And he swept away the clouds so gray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the sun shone out in the sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the sun shines down on Boston Town,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the weather still is clear;</span><br />
+And they set their clocks by the equinox,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And never the east wind fear.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE FLAG</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">H</span><small>ERE</small> comes The Flag!<br />
+Hail it!<br />
+Who dares to drag<br />
+Or trail it?<br />
+Give it hurrahs,&mdash;<br />
+Three for the stars,<br />
+Three for the bars.<br />
+Uncover your head to it!<br />
+The soldiers who tread to it<br />
+Shout at the sight of it,<br />
+The justice and right of it,<br />
+The unsullied white of it,<br />
+The blue and red of it,<br />
+And tyranny's dread of it!<br />
+<br />
+Here comes The Flag!<br />
+Cheer it!<br />
+Valley and crag<br />
+Shall hear it.<br />
+Fathers shall bless it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span><br />
+Children caress it.<br />
+All shall maintain it.<br />
+No one shall stain it,<br />
+Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it,<br />
+Cheers for the soldiers that always were brave for it,<br />
+Tears for the men that went down to the grave for it!<br />
+Here comes The Flag!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">MY MASTERPIECE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>WROTE</small> the truest, tend'rest song<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The world had ever heard;</span><br />
+And clear, melodious, and strong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sweet was every word.</span><br />
+The flowing numbers came to me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unbidden from the heart;</span><br />
+So pure the strain, that poesy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Seemed something more than art.</span><br />
+<br />
+No doubtful cadence marred a line,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So tunefully it flowed,</span><br />
+And through the measure, all divine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The fire of genius glowed.</span><br />
+So deftly were the verses wrought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So fair the legend told,</span><br />
+That every word revealed a thought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And every thought was gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mine was the charm, the power, the skill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wisdom of the years;</span><br />
+'Twas mine to move the world at will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To laughter or to tears.</span><br />
+For subtile pleasantry was there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And brilliant flash of wit;</span><br />
+Now, pleading eyes were raised in prayer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And now with smiles were lit.</span><br />
+<br />
+I sang of hours when youth was king,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And of one happy spot</span><br />
+Where life and love were everything,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And time was half forgot.</span><br />
+Of gracious days in woodland ways,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When every flower and tree</span><br />
+Seemed echoing the sweetest phrase<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From lips in Arcadie.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of sagas old and Norseman bands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That sailed o'er northern seas;</span><br />
+Enchanting tales of fairy lands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And strange philosophies.</span><br />
+I sang of Egypt's fairest queen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With passion's fatal curse;</span><br />
+Of that pale, sad-faced Florentine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As deathless as his verse.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of time of the Arcadian Pan,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When dryads thronged the trees&mdash;</span><br />
+When Atalanta swiftly ran<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With fleet Hippomenes.</span><br />
+Brave stories, too, did I relate<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of battle-flags unfurled;</span><br />
+Of glorious days when Greece was great&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When Rome was all the world!</span><br />
+<br />
+Of noble deeds for noble creeds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of woman's sacrifice&mdash;</span><br />
+The mother's stricken heart that bleeds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For souls in Paradise.</span><br />
+Anon I told a tale of shame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And while in tears I slept,</span><br />
+Behold! a white-robed angel came<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And read the words and wept!</span><br />
+<br />
+And so I wrote my perfect song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In such a wondrous key,</span><br />
+I heard the plaudits of the throng,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And fame awaited me.</span><br />
+Alas! the sullen morning broke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And came the tempest's roar:</span><br />
+'Mid discord trembling I awoke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And lo! my dream was o'er!</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet often in the quiet night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My song returns to me;</span><br />
+I seize the pen, and fain would write<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My long lost melody.</span><br />
+But dreaming o'er the words, ere long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Comes vague remembering,</span><br />
+And fades away the sweetest song<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That man can ever sing!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">A BALLADE OF MONTAIGNE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>SIT</small> before the firelight's glow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the world in apogee,</span><br />
+And con good Master Florio<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pipe a-light; and as I see</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen Bess herself with book a-knee,</span><br />
+Reading it o'er and o'er again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here, 'neath my cosy mantel-tree,</span><br />
+I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.<br />
+<br />
+Now howls the wind and drives the snow;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The traveler shivers on the lea;</span><br />
+While, with my precious folio,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold a happy devotee</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To book and warmth and reverie!</span><br />
+The blast upon the window-pane<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disturbs me not, as trouble-free,</span><br />
+I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.<br />
+<br />
+I am content, and thus I know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mind as calm as summer sea,&mdash;</span><br />
+A heart that stranger is to woe.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To happiness I hold the key</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this rare, sweet philosophy;</span><br />
+And while the Fates so fair ordain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well pleased with Destiny's decree,</span><br />
+I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align="center">ENVOY</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+Dear Prince! aye, more than prince to me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou monarch of immortal reign!</span><br />
+Always thy subject I would be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smoke my pipe and read Montaigne!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE CRIMINAL</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">C</span><small>RIME</small> flourishes throughout the land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bids defiance to the law,</span><br />
+And wicked deeds on every hand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'erwhelm our souls with awe!</span><br />
+<br />
+I know one hardened criminal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose maidenhood with crime begins;</span><br />
+Who, safe behind a prison wall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should expiate her sins.</span><br />
+<br />
+She is a thief whene'er she smiles,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For then she steals my heart from me,</span><br />
+And keeps it with a maiden's wiles,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never sets it free.</span><br />
+<br />
+She plunders sighs from humankind,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She pilfers tears I would not weep,</span><br />
+She robs me of my peace of mind,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she purloins my sleep.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of lawless ways she stands confessed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And is a burglar bold whene'er</span><br />
+She finds a weakness in my breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And slyly enters there.</span><br />
+<br />
+A gambler she, whose arts entrance,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose victims yield without demur;</span><br />
+Content to play Love's game of chance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lose their hearts to her.</span><br />
+<br />
+A graver crime is hers; for, when<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her matchless beauty I admire,</span><br />
+Of arson she is guilty then,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sets my heart on fire.</span><br />
+<br />
+A bandit, preying on mankind,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her captives by the score increase;</span><br />
+No hand can e'er their chains unbind,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No ransom bring release.</span><br />
+<br />
+She is a cruel murderess<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er her eyes send forth a dart,</span><br />
+And as she holds me in duress<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It stabs me to the heart.</span><br />
+<br />
+Crime flourishes throughout the land,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bids defiance to the law,</span><br />
+And wicked deeds on every hand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'erwhelm our souls with awe!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">A BIT OF COLOR</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">Paris, 1896</span>]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">O</span><small>H</small>, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot,<br />
+With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pray what should I do</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When a girl like you</span><br />
+Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh<br />
+On the first fond fool that is passing by,<br />
+Who listens and longs as the sweet words flow<br />
+From her pretty red lips at the Porte Maillot?<br />
+<br />
+There were lips as red ere you were born,<br />
+Now wreathed in smiles, now curled in scorn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And other bright eyes</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With their truth and lies,</span><br />
+That broke the heart and turned the brain<br />
+Of many a tender, lovelorn swain;<br />
+But never, I ween, brought half the woe<br />
+That comes from the lips at the Porte Maillot.<br />
+<br />
+A charming picture, there you stand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><br />
+A perfect work from a master's hand!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With your face so fair</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And your wondrous hair,</span><br />
+Your glorious color, your light and shade,<br />
+And your classic head that the gods have made,<br />
+Your cheeks with crimson all aglow,<br />
+As you wait for a lover at the Porte Maillot.<br />
+<br />
+There are gorgeous tints in the jeweled crown,<br />
+There are brilliant shades when the sun goes down;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But your lips vie</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With the western sky,</span><br />
+And give to the world so rare a hue<br />
+That the painter must learn his art anew,<br />
+And the sunset borrow a brighter glow<br />
+From the lips of the girl at the Porte Maillot.<br />
+<br />
+Come, tell me truly, fair-haired youth,<br />
+Do her eyes flash love, her lips speak truth?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or does she beguile</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With her glance and smile,</span><br />
+And burn you, spurn you all day long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span><br />
+With a Circe's art and a Siren's song?<br />
+Ah! would that your foolish heart might know<br />
+The lie in the heart at the Porte Maillot!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">DINNER FAVORS</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">TO S.</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>FILL</small> my goblet to the brim<br />
+And clink the glasses rim to rim.<br />
+Across the board I waft a kiss<br />
+With thanks for such an hour as this,<br />
+And clasping joy, bid sorrow flee,<br />
+And welcome you my vis-ŕ-vis.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">TO A. R. C.</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Of all the joys on earth that be<br />
+There is no sweeter one to me<br />
+Than sitting with a merry lass<br />
+From consommé to demi-tasse.<br />
+<br />
+And yet a golden hour I'd steal,<br />
+Reverse the order of the meal,<br />
+And countermarching, backward stray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span><br />
+From demi-tasse to consommé.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">TO S. B. F.</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Give me but a bit to eat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And an hour or two,</span><br />
+Just a salad and a sweet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a chat with you.</span><br />
+Give me table full or bare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Crust or rich ragout;</span><br />
+But whatever be the fare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Always give me you.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">THE HOST</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Between the two perplexed I go,<br />
+A shuttlecock, tossed to and fro.<br />
+I gaze on one, and know that she<br />
+Is all that womankind can be;<br />
+I seek the other, and she seems<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>The perfect idol of my dreams;<br />
+And so between the charming pair<br />
+My heart is ever in the air.<br />
+And yet, although it be my fate<br />
+To hover indeterminate,<br />
+I rest content, nor ask for more<br />
+Than this sweet game of battledore.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE MOPER</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>HE</small> Moper mopeth all the day;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He mopeth eke at night;</span><br />
+And never is the Moper gay,<br />
+But, grim and serious alway,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He is a sorry sight.</span><br />
+<br />
+He liketh not the merry quip;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He hateth other men;</span><br />
+Escheweth he companionship,<br />
+Nor doth he e'er essay to trip<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The light fantastic ten.</span><br />
+<br />
+He seeketh not where murm'ring brooks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With rippling music flow.</span><br />
+He seeth naught in woman's looks,<br />
+And never readeth he in books<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Except they tell of woe.</span><br />
+<br />
+He e'en forgetteth that the sun,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Likewise God's balmy air,</span><br />
+Were made to gladden every one;<br />
+But he preferreth both to shun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And taketh not his share.</span><br />
+<br />
+He careth not for merry wights<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who drink Château Yquem,</span><br />
+But he would set the world to rights<br />
+By peopling it with eremites&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And very few of them.</span><br />
+<br />
+When children sport with merry glee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He thinketh they are wild,</span><br />
+And with them doth so disagree<br />
+It seemeth verily that he<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hath never been a child.</span><br />
+<br />
+He thinketh that it is not right<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rare dishes to discuss,</span><br />
+And knoweth not the keen delight<br />
+Of one that hath an appetite<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yclepčd ravenous.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of goodly raiment he hath none,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He calleth it "display;"</span><br />
+Wherefore the urchin poketh fun,<br />
+Because he looketh like that one<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unholy men call "jay."</span><br />
+<br />
+And so we see this foolish man<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All pleasant things doth scorn.</span><br />
+Good folk, pray God to change his plan,<br />
+And cheer the Moper if He can,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or let no more be born!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">VARIOUS VALENTINES</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">I</p>
+
+<p class="center">FROM A BIBLIOPHILE</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">L</span><small>YKE</small> some choise booke thou arte toe mee,<br />
+Bound all so daintilie;<br />
+And 'neath the covers faire<br />
+Are contents true and rare.<br />
+Ne wolde I looke<br />
+Ne reade inne any other booke<br />
+If I belyke could find therein the charte<br />
+And indice to thy hearte.<br />
+The Great Wise Authour made but one<br />
+Of this edition, then was don;<br />
+And were this onlie copie mine,<br />
+Then wolde I write therein, "My Valentyne."</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">II</p>
+
+<p class="center">FROM AN INCONSTANT-CONSTANT</p>
+
+<p class="center">(<i>After Henri Murger</i>)</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Though I love many maidens fair<br />
+As fondly as a heart may dare,<br />
+Yet still are you the only one<br />
+True goddess of my pantheon.<br />
+<br />
+And though my life is like a song,<br />
+Each maid a stanza, clear and strong,<br />
+Yet always I return again<br />
+To you who are the sweet refrain.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">III</p>
+
+<p class="center">FROM A COMMERCIAL LOVER</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+If I were but a syndicate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And love were merchandise,</span><br />
+I'd buy it at the market rate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hold it for a rise.</span><br />
+<br />
+And should the price of all this love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bound upward like a ball,</span><br />
+And reach 1000 or above,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still you should have it all.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">IV</p>
+
+<p class="center">FROM AN UNCERTAIN MARKSMAN</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+I send you two kisses<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wrapped up in a rhyme;</span><br />
+From Love's warm abysses<br />
+I send you two kisses;<br />
+If one of them misses<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Please wait till next time,</span><br />
+And I'll send you <i>three</i> kisses<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wrapped up in a rhyme.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">V</p>
+
+<p class="center">FROM A CONCHOLOGIST</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Were I a murm'ring ocean shell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pressed close against your ear,</span><br />
+My constant whisperings would tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A story sweet to hear.</span><br />
+I'd make the message from the sea<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Love's tidings on the shore,</span><br />
+And I would woo with words so true<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That you could ask no more.</span><br />
+<br />
+So if some silvern nautilus<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lay close beside your cheek,</span><br />
+And you should hear a language dear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unto the heart I seek,</span><br />
+You'll know within the simple shell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That murmurs o'er and o'er</span><br />
+I send to you a love more true<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Than e'er was breathed before.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">VI</p>
+
+<p class="center">FROM A HYPERBOLIST</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Take all the love that e'er was told<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Since first the world began,</span><br />
+Increase it twenty thousand-fold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(If mathematics can),</span><br />
+Add all the love the world shall see<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till Gabriel's final call,</span><br />
+And when compared with mine 'twill be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Infinitesimal.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">WERE ALL THE WORLD LIKE YOU</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">W</span><small>ERE</small> all the world like you, my dear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all the world like you,</span><br />
+Oh, there'd be darts in all our hearts<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From sunset to the dew.</span><br />
+For life would be Love's jubilee<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where all were two and two,</span><br />
+And lovers' rhyme the only crime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all the world like you, my dear,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all the world like you.</span><br />
+<br />
+Were all the world like you, my dear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all the world like you,</span><br />
+There'd be no pain nor clouds nor rain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No kisses overdue;</span><br />
+But sweetest sighs and pleading eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where Cupid's arrow flew,</span><br />
+And lovers' rhyme the only crime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all the world like you, my dear,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all the world like you.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">HERE AND THERE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">S</span><small>WEET</small> Phyllis went a-rambling here and there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here and there.</span><br />
+Her eyes were blue and golden was her hair.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She said, "Oh, life is strange;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'm sure I need a change;</span><br />
+'Tis sad for <i>one</i> to ramble here and there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here and there."</span><br />
+<br />
+Young Strephon went a-rambling here and there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here and there.</span><br />
+He sighed, "It needs but two to make a pair.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If I should meet a maid</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not in the least afraid,</span><br />
+How happy we'd go rambling here and there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here and there."</span><br />
+<br />
+As youth and maid went rambling here and there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here and there,</span><br />
+They met, and loved at sight, for both were fair;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And neither youth nor maid</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was in the least afraid,</span><br />
+And hand in hand they ramble here and there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here and there.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">UNCLE JOGALONG</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">M</span><small>Y</small> dear old Uncle Jogalong<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was very slow, was very slow,</span><br />
+And said he thought that folks were wrong<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To hurry so, to hurry so.</span><br />
+<br />
+When he walked out upon the street<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To take the air, to take the air,</span><br />
+It seemed almost as if his feet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were fastened there, were fastened there.</span><br />
+<br />
+He thought that traveling by rail<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was hurrying and scurrying,</span><br />
+But said the slow and creeping snail<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was just the thing, was just the thing.</span><br />
+<br />
+He thought a hasty appetite<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An awful crime, an awful crime,</span><br />
+So never finished breakfast, quite,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till dinner time, till dinner time.</span><br />
+<br />
+He said the world turned round so fast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He could not stay, he could not stay,</span><br />
+And so he said "Good-by" at last,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And went away, and went away.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE INDIFFERENT MARINER</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span><small>'M</small> a tough old salt, and it's never I care<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A penny which way the wind is,</span><br />
+Or whether I sight Cape Finisterre,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or make a port at the Indies.</span><br />
+<br />
+Some folks steer for a port to trade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some steer north for the whaling;</span><br />
+Yet never I care a damn just where<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sail, so long's I'm sailing.</span><br />
+<br />
+You never can stop the wind when it blows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you can't stop the rain from raining;</span><br />
+Then why, oh, why, go a-piping of your eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When there's no sort o' use in complaining?</span><br />
+<br />
+My face is browned and my lungs are sound,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my hands they are big and calloused.</span><br />
+I've a little brown jug I sometimes hug,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a little bread and meat for ballast.</span><br />
+<br />
+But I keep no log of my daily grog,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For what's the use o' being bothered?</span><br />
+I drink a little more when the wind's offshore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And most when the wind's from the no'th'ard.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of course with a chill if I'm took quite ill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my legs get weak and toddly,</span><br />
+At the jug I pull, and turn in full,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sleep the sleep of the godly.</span><br />
+<br />
+But whether I do or whether I don't,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or whether the jug's my failing,</span><br />
+It's never I care a damn just where<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sail, so long's I'm sailing.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">ON A LIBRARY WALL</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">W</span><small>HEN</small> faltering fingers bid me cease to write,<br />
+And, laying down the pen, I seek the Night,<br />
+May those, to whom the Daylight still is sweet,<br />
+With loving lips my name ofttimes repeat.<br />
+And should Belshazzar's spirit hither stray,<br />
+And linger o'er the lines I write to-day,<br />
+May he, who wept for Babylonia's fall,<br />
+Look kindly at <i>this</i> "writing on the wall"!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">MRS. MULLIGATAWNY</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">M</span><span class="smcap">rs. Mulligatawny</span> said, "I'm sure it's going to rain."<br />
+Mr. Mulligatawny said, "To me it's very plain."<br />
+William Mulligatawny said, "It must rain, anyhow."<br />
+Mary Mulligatawny said, "I feel it raining now."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yet there were no clouds in sight, and 'twas a pleasant day,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Mrs. Mulligatawny always liked to have her way.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Mrs. Mulligatawny the family all agreed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all the Mulligatawnys feared her very much indeed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And did, whenever they were bid,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And tried to think, as they were taught,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mrs. Mulligatawny said, "Now two and two are three."<br />
+Mr. Mulligatawny said, "I'm sure they ought to be."<br />
+William Mulligatawny said, "Arithmetic is wrong."<br />
+Mary Mulligatawny said, "It's been so all along."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now two and two do not make three, and three they never were;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Mrs. Mulligatawny said 'twas near enough for her.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Mrs. Mulligatawny the family all agreed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all the Mulligatawnys feared her very much indeed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And did, whenever they were bid,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And tried to think, as they were taught,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mrs. Mulligatawny fell out of the world one day.<br />
+Mr. Mulligatawny said, "I don't know what to say."<br />
+William Mulligatawny said, "I don't know what to do."<br />
+Mary Mulligatawny said, "I feel the same as you."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Mulligatawny left the family sitting there.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They couldn't think, they couldn't move, because they didn't dare;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Mrs. Mulligatawny had always thought for them,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the Mulligatawnys thought the same as Mrs. M.,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And did, whenever they were bid,</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And tried to think, as they were taught,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">EUTHANASIA</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[To E. C.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">O</span><small>H</small>, drop your eyelids down, my lady;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, drop your eyelids down.</span><br />
+'Twere well to keep your bright eyes shady<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For pity of the town!</span><br />
+But should there any glances be,<br />
+I pray you give them all to me;<br />
+For though my life be lost thereby,<br />
+It were the sweetest death to die!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">DAINTY LITTLE LOVE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">D</span><small>AINTY</small> little Love came tripping<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Down the hill,</span><br />
+Smiling as he thought of sipping<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweets at will.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">SHE said, "No,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Love must go."</span><br />
+Dainty little Love came tripping<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Down the hill.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dainty little Love went sighing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up the hill,</span><br />
+All his little hopes were dying&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Love was ill.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Vain he tried</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tears to hide.</span><br />
+Dainty little Love went sighing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up the hill.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">TO M.</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">S</span><small>WEET</small> visions came to me in sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah! wondrous fair to see;</span><br />
+And in my mind I strove to keep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The dream to tell to thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+But morning broke with golden gleam,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And shone upon thy face,</span><br />
+And life was lovelier than a dream,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And dreams had lost their grace.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE SONG</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>HEARD</small> an old, familiar air<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Strummed idly by a careless hand,</span><br />
+Yet in the melody were rare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweet echoings from childhood land.</span><br />
+<br />
+The well-remembered mother touch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wise denials and consents,</span><br />
+The trivial sorrows that were much,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Small pleasures that were large events;</span><br />
+<br />
+The fancies, dreams, strange wonderings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The daily problems unexplained,</span><br />
+Momentous as the cares of kings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That on unhappy thrones have reigned,</span><br />
+<br />
+Came back with each unstudied tone;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And came that song remembered best,</span><br />
+Which, with a sweetness all its own,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Once lulled the play-worn child to rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+And there, secure as Tarik's height,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He slumbered, shielded from alarms,</span><br />
+Safe from the mystery of night,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Close folded in the mother's arms.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then Israel's mighty songs of old,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the modern masters' art,</span><br />
+Were less than simple lays that told<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The secret of the mother's heart.</span><br />
+<br />
+The sweetest melody that flows<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From lips that win the world's applause</span><br />
+Charms not like that which childhood knows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unfettered by the curb of laws.</span><br />
+<br />
+For though we rise to nobler themes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To grander harmonies attain,</span><br />
+Their lives not in the academes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The magic of the simpler strain.</span><br />
+<br />
+And we may spurn the cruder song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or name it anything we will,</span><br />
+Denounce the artifice as wrong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet to the child 'tis music still.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thus, list'ning to an idle air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Struck lightly by a careless hand,</span><br />
+I heard, amid the cadence there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sweetest song of childhood land.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">AT TWILIGHT TIME</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span><small>T</small> twilight time when tolls the chime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And saddest notes are falling,</span><br />
+A lonely bird with plaintive word<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Across the dusk is calling.</span><br />
+Vain doth it wait for one dear mate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That ne'er shall know the morrow;</span><br />
+Then sinks to rest with drooping crest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In one long dream of sorrow.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dearest, when night is here,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To thee I'm calling,</span><br />
+Sadly as tear on tear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is slowly falling,</span><br />
+Oh, fold me near, more near&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In love enthralling!</span><br />
+Here on thy breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While life shall last,</span><br />
+With thee I stay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here will I rest</span><br />
+Till night is past,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And comes the day!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">C&Eacute;LESTE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">O</span><small>F</small> sweethearts I have had a score,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And time may bring as many more;</span><br />
+Tho' I remember all the rest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just now I worship dear Céleste;</span><br />
+Hers may not be the greatest love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But ah! it is the latest love.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For little Cupid's never stupid,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As I've found out;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And love is truest when 'tis newest,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of sweethearts I have had a score,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Céleste says I deserve no more;</span><br />
+I take revenge on dear Céleste,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By telling her I love her best;</span><br />
+Hers may not be the greatest love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But ah! it is the latest love.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For little Cupid's never stupid,</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As I've found out;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And love is truest when 'tis newest,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THISTLE-DOWN</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>HE</small> thistle-down floats on the air, the air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whenever the soft wind blows,</span><br />
+And the wind can tell just where, just where<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The feathery thistle-down goes.</span><br />
+And it tells the bird in a single word,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who whispers it low to the bee;</span><br />
+And they try to keep the mystery deep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And none of them tell it to me.</span><br />
+But I know well, though they never will tell,<br />
+Where the thistle-down goes when it says "Farewell,"<br />
+It floats and floats away on the air,<br />
+And goes where the wind goes&mdash;everywhere!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">SLUMBER SONG</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">G</span><small>ENTLY</small> fall the shadows gray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daylight softly veiling;</span><br />
+Now to Dreamland we'll away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sailing, sailing, sailing.</span><br />
+<br />
+Little eyes were made for sleeping,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little heads were made for rest,</span><br />
+Golden locks were made for keeping<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close to mother's breast;</span><br />
+Little hands were made for folding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little lips should never sigh;</span><br />
+What dear mother's arms are holding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love alone can buy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Gently fall the shadows gray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daylight softly veiling;</span><br />
+Now to Dreamland we'll away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sailing, sailing, sailing.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THOU ART TO ME</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="giant">T</span><small>HOU</small> art to me</span><br />
+As are soft breezes to a summer sea;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As stars unto the night;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or when the day is born,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As sunrise to the morn;</span><br />
+As peace unto the fading of the light.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou art to me</span><br />
+As one sweet flower upon a barren lea;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As rest to toiling hands;</span><br />
+As one clear spring amid the desert sands;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As smiles to maidens' lips;</span><br />
+As hope to friends that wait for absent ships;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As happiness to youth;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As purity to truth;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As sweetest dreams to sleep;</span><br />
+As balm to wounded hearts that weep.<br />
+All, all that I would have thee be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou art to me.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">LOVE</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">Trio</span>]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">O</span><small>H</small>, love hits all humanity, humanity, my dear;<br />
+But after all it's vanity, a vanity, I fear;<br />
+And sometimes 'tis insanity, insanity, so queer;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Humanity, yes, a vanity, yes, insanity so queer.</span><br />
+And love is often curious, so curious to see,<br />
+And oftentimes is spurious, so spurious, ah, me!<br />
+And surely 'tis injurious, injurious when free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So curious, yes, and spurious, yes, injurious when free.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, love brings much anxiety, anxiety and grief,<br />
+But seasoned with propriety, propriety, relief,<br />
+It's mixed with joy and piety, but piety is brief;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anxiety, yes, propriety, yes, but piety is brief.</span><br />
+Oh, young love's all timidity, timidity, I'm told,<br />
+Gains courage with rapidity, rapidity, so bold,<br />
+With traces of acidity, acidity, when old;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Timidity, yes, rapidity, yes, acidity, when old.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE STRANGER-MAN</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">"N</span><small>OW</small> what is that, my daughter dear, upon thy cheek so fair?"<br />
+"'Tis but a kiss, my mother dear&mdash;kind fortune sent it there.<br />
+It was a courteous stranger-man that gave it unto me,<br />
+And it is passing red because it was the last of three."<br />
+<br />
+"A kiss indeed! my daughter dear; I marvel in surprise!<br />
+Such conduct with a stranger-man I fear me was not wise."<br />
+"Methought the same, my mother dear, and so at three forbore,<br />
+Although the courteous stranger-man vowed he had many more."<br />
+<br />
+"Now prithee, daughter, quickly go, and bring the stranger here,<br />
+And bid him hie and bid him fly to me, my daughter dear;<br />
+For times be very, very hard, and blessings eke so rare,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span><br />
+I fain would meet a stranger-man that hath a kiss to spare."</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE HONEYSUCKLE VINE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">'T</span><small>WAS</small> a tender little honeysuckle vine<br />
+That smiled and danced in the warm sunshine,<br />
+And spied a maid as fair as all maids be,<br />
+Who said, "Little honeysuckle, come up to me."<br />
+So it climbed and climbed in the sun and the shade,<br />
+And all summer long at her window stayed;<br />
+For that is the way that honeysuckles go,<br />
+And that is the way that true loves grow.<br />
+<br />
+Then the loving little honeysuckle vine<br />
+Kissed the little maid in the warm sunshine;<br />
+But the winter came with an angry frown,<br />
+And the false little maid shut the window down;<br />
+And the sorrowing vine on the wintry side<br />
+Mourned and mourned for the love that died,<br />
+And faded away in the wind and snow,&mdash;<br />
+And that is the way that some loves go.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">SAINT BOTOLPH</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">S</span><span class="smcap">aint Botolph</span> flourished in the olden time,<br />
+In the days when the saints were in their prime.<br />
+Oh, his feet were bare and bruised and cold,<br />
+But his heart was warm and as pure as gold.<br />
+And the kind old saint with his gown and his hood<br />
+Was loved by the sinners and loved by the good,<br />
+For he made the sinners as pure as the snow,<br />
+And the good men needed him to keep them so.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">CHORUS</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the barefooted saint of the olden time.</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+He loved a friend and a flagon of wine,<br />
+When the friend was true and the bottle was fine.<br />
+He would raise his glass with a knowing wink,<br />
+And this was the toast he would always drink:&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+"Oh, here's to the good and the bad men too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span><br />
+For without them saints would have nothing to do.<br />
+Oh, I love them both and I love them well,<br />
+But which I love better, I never can tell."</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">CHORUS</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the barefooted saint of the olden time.</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+As he journeyed along on the king's highway<br />
+He gave all the boys and the girls "Good-day,"<br />
+And never a child saw the hood and gown<br />
+But ran to the father of Botolph's Town.<br />
+He'd a word for the wicked, and he called them kin,<br />
+And he said, "I am certain that there must be sin<br />
+While a few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,<br />
+And some are born fingers and some born thumbs."</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">CHORUS</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the barefooted saint of the olden time.</span><br />
+<br />
+But the saint grew old, and sorry the day<br />
+When his life went out with the tide in the bay;<br />
+But he left a name and he left a creed<br />
+Of the cheerful life and the kindly deed.<br />
+Then remember the man of the days of old<br />
+Whose heart was warm and as pure as gold,<br />
+And remember the tears and the prayers he gave<br />
+For any poor devil with a soul to save.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">CHORUS</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the barefooted saint of the olden time.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE GURGLING IMPS</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">T</span><small>HE</small> Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum<br />
+Lived in the Land of the Crimson Plum,<br />
+And a language very strange had they,<br />
+'Twas merely a chattering ricochet.<br />
+<br />
+The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum<br />
+Caught hummingbirds for the sake of the hum,<br />
+Their cheeks were flushed with a sable tinge,<br />
+Their eyelids hung on a silver hinge.<br />
+<br />
+The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum<br />
+Called each other "My charming chum,"<br />
+And floated in tears of joy to see<br />
+Their relatives hung in a cranberry tree.<br />
+<br />
+The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum<br />
+Stole the whole of a half of a crumb,<br />
+And a wind arose and blew the Imps<br />
+Way off to the Land of the Lazy Limps.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE WORM WILL TURN</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span><small>'M</small> a gentle, meek, and patient human worm;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Unattractive,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Rather active,</span><br />
+With a sense of right, original but firm.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I was taught to be forgiving,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">For my enemies to pray;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But what's the use of living</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">If you never can repay</span><br />
+All the little animosities that in your bosom burn&mdash;<br />
+Oh, it's pleasant to remember that "the worm will turn."<br />
+<br />
+I'm so gentle and so patient and so meek,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Unpretending,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Unoffending.</span><br />
+But if, perchance, you smite me on the cheek,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I will never turn the other,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As I was taught to do</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">By a puritanic mother,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Whose theology was blue.</span><br />
+Your experience will widen when explicitly you learn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span><br />
+How a modest, mild, submissive little worm will turn.<br />
+<br />
+I'm so subtle and so crafty and so sly.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">I am humble,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">But I "tumble"</span><br />
+To the slightest oscillation of the eye.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">When others think they're winning</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">A fabulous amount,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Then I do a little sinning</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">On my personal account,</span><br />
+And in my quiet, simple way a modest stipend earn<br />
+As they slowly grasp the bitter fact that worms will turn.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, human worms are curious little things;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Inoffensive,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Rather pensive</span><br />
+Till it comes to using little human stings.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh, then avoid intrusion</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">If you would be discreet,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And cultivate seclusion</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">In an underground retreat.</span><br />
+And whenever you are tempted the lowly worm to spurn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span><br />
+Just bear in mind that little line, "The worm will turn."</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE BOSTON CATS</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span> <span class="smcap">Little</span> Cat played on a silver flute,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a Big Cat sat and listened;</span><br />
+The Little Cat's strains gave the Big Cat pains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a tear on his eyelid glistened.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then the Big Cat said, "Oh, rest awhile;"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the Little Cat said, "No, no;</span><br />
+For I get pay for the tunes I play;"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Big Cat answered, "Oh!</span><br />
+<br />
+If you get pay for the tunes you play,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm afraid you'll play till you drop;</span><br />
+You'll spoil your health in the race for wealth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I'll give you more to stop."</span><br />
+<br />
+Said the Little Cat, "Hush! you make me blush;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your offer is unusually kind;</span><br />
+Though it's very, very hard to leave the back yard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll accept if you don't mind."</span><br />
+<br />
+So the Big Cat gave him a thousand pounds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a silver brush and a comb,</span><br />
+And a country seat on Beacon Street,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right under the State House dome.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the Little Cat sits with other little kits,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watches the bright sun rise;</span><br />
+And the voice of the flute is long since mute,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Big Cat dries his eyes.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE JONQUIL MAID</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span> <small>LITTLE</small> Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Singing alone,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In a low love-tone,</span><br />
+And the wind swept by with a wistful moan;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For he longed to stay</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With the Maid all day;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But he knew</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As he blew</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It was true</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">That the dew</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Would never, never dry</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">If the wind should die;</span><br />
+So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew.<br />
+And while to the Land of the Rose went he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Singing alone,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In a low love-tone,</span><br />
+A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.<br />
+<br />
+The Little Maid's eyes had a rainbow hue,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And her sunset hair</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Was woven with care</span><br />
+In a knot that was fit for a Psyche to wear;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And she pressed her lips</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With her finger tips,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Threw a sly</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Kiss to try</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">If he'd sigh</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In reply,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And said with a laugh,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Oh, it's not one half</span><br />
+As sweet as I give when there's Some One nigh."<br />
+And while to the Rosebud Land went he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Singing alone,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In a low love-tone,</span><br />
+A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.<br />
+<br />
+The wind swept back to the Jonquil Tree<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">At the close of day,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the twilight gray;</span><br />
+But the sweet Little Maid had stolen away;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And whither she's flown</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Will never be known</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Till the Rose</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As it blows</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Shall disclose</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">All it knows</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the Maid so fair</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With the sunset hair.</span><br />
+And the sad wind comes and sighs and goes,<br />
+And dreams of the day when he blew so free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When singing alone,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In a low love-tone,</span><br />
+A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE ROLLICKING MASTODON</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">A</span> <span class="smcap">Rollicking Mastodon</span> lived in Spain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.</span><br />
+His face was plain, but his jocular vein<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was a burst of the wildest glee.</span><br />
+His voice was strong and his laugh so long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That people came many a mile,</span><br />
+And offered to pay a guinea a day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the fractional part of a smile.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And oh! so proud of his jocular vein</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br />
+<br />
+The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"I feel that I need some air,</span><br />
+For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As well as a gloss for the hair."</span><br />
+So he skipped along and warbled a song<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In his own triumphulant way.</span><br />
+His smile was bright and his skip was light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As he chirruped his roundelay.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And sang what Mastodons call a song;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But every note of it seemed to pain</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br />
+<br />
+A Little Peetookle came over the hill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dressed up in a bollitant coat;</span><br />
+And he said, "You need some harroway seed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a little advice for your throat."</span><br />
+The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a chance for your taste to grow.</span><br />
+If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How little, how little you know."</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For he felt it a sort of musical stain</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Said the Little Peetookle: "Dear me!</span><br />
+It certainly seems your horrible screams<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Intended for music must be."</span><br />
+The Mastodon stopped; his ditty he dropped,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And murmured, "Good-morning, my dear!</span><br />
+I never will sing to a sensitive thing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That shatters a song with a sneer!"</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of course, 'twas a sensible thing to do;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For Little Peetookle is spared the strain</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE FIVE SENSES</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">O</span><small>H</small>, why do men their glasses clink<br />
+When good old honest wine they drink?<br />
+<br />
+Wine is so excellent a thing<br />
+To lowest subject, or to highest king,<br />
+That every sense alike should share<br />
+The pleasure that can banish care.<br />
+Thus may each merry eye <i>behold</i><br />
+The sparkle of the red or gold.<br />
+Our lips may <i>feel</i> the goblet's edge<br />
+And <i>taste</i> the loving cup we pledge.<br />
+While from each foaming glass escape<br />
+The precious <i>perfumes</i> of the grape.<br />
+But ah, we <i>hear</i> it not, and so<br />
+We give the <i>touch</i> that all men know.<br />
+And thus do all the senses share<br />
+The pleasure that can banish care.<br />
+<br />
+And that is why the glasses clink<br />
+When good old honest wine we drink.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">ECONOMY</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">A Valentine</span>]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>SEND</small>,<br />
+O sweetest friend,<br />
+A kiss;<br />
+Such as fair ladies gave<br />
+Of old, when knights were brave,<br />
+And smiles were won<br />
+Through foes undone.<br />
+And this will be<br />
+For you to give again to me;<br />
+And then, its present errand o'er,<br />
+I'll give it unto you once more,<br />
+Ere briefest time elapse,<br />
+With interest, perhaps.<br />
+Its mission spent,<br />
+Again to me it may be lent.<br />
+And thus, day after day,<br />
+As we a simple law obey,<br />
+Forever, to and fro,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span><br />
+The selfsame kiss will go;<br />
+A busy shuttle that shall weave<br />
+A web of love, to soften and relieve<br />
+Our daily care.<br />
+And so,<br />
+As thus we share,<br />
+With lip to lip,<br />
+Our frugal partnership,<br />
+One kiss will always do<br />
+For two.<br />
+And, oh, how easy it will be<br />
+To practice this economy!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">IDYLETTES OF THE QUEEN</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">I.&mdash;SHE</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">I</span> <small>FAIN</small> would write on pleasant themes;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So let me prate</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Awhile of Kate;</span><br />
+And if my rhyming effort seems<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Uncouth or rough,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At any rate,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She's Kate,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that's enough.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">II.&mdash;HER EYES</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Her eyes are bright&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot say "like stars at night,"</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor can I say</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Like the Orb of Day,"</span><br />
+Because such phrases are archaic.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if I swear</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they compare</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With diamonds rare,</span><br />
+That's too prosaic.<br />
+<br />
+I've hunted my thesaurus through,<br />
+"The Century" and "Webster," too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But all in vain;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis therefore plain</span><br />
+That they who made these books so wise<br />
+Had never seen her eyes!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">III.&mdash;HER GOWN</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+When Kate puts on her Sunday gown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And goes to church all in her best,</span><br />
+The watchful gargoyles looking down<br />
+Relax their most forbidding frown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smile with kindly interest.</span><br />
+<br />
+Discerning gargoyles! could I be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One of your number looking down,</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>With you I surely would agree<br />
+And share your amiability<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At sight of Kate and Sunday gown.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">IV.&mdash;HER KNOWLEDGE</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+How much she knows no one can tell;<br />
+But she can read and write and spell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Divide and multiply and add,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And name the apples Thomas had</span><br />
+When John enticed him five to sell.<br />
+<br />
+For "jelly" she does not say "jell,"<br />
+Nor horrify us with "umbrell,"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all of which we're very glad&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How much she knows!</span><br />
+<br />
+She knows the oyster by his shell,<br />
+Detects the newsboy by his yell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enumerates the bones in shad,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thinks my poetry is bad.</span><br />
+Well! well! well! well! well! well! well! well!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How much she knows!</span></td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.&mdash;HER SIGH</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+When she utters a sigh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis a breath from the roses,</span><br />
+And a-hovering nigh,<br />
+When she utters a sigh,<br />
+The bees wonder why<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No garden discloses.</span><br />
+When she utters a sigh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">'Tis a breath from the roses.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">VI.&mdash;HER RING</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Her ring goes round her finger.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, foolish thing!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were I a ring,</span><br />
+I'd not "go round"&mdash;I'd linger!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">VII.&mdash;HER FAULTS</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Of faults she has but one,<br />
+And that is, she has none.</td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.&mdash;HER VOICE</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Sweet and soothing, rhythmic, tuneful,<br />
+Dulcet, mellow, <i>un</i>bassoonful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Zither, 'cello, lute, guitar,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And there you are!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">IX.&mdash;HER LOVE</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+Do you love me?<br />
+R. S. V. P.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">TO M. E.</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">W</span><small>E</small> keep in step as years roll by;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You march behind and I before:&mdash;</span><br />
+The path is new to you; but I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have passed the ground you're walking o'er.</span><br />
+Yet I march on with measured tread,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looking back, I smile and greet you:&mdash;</span><br />
+I fear the order, "Halt!" Instead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would I might countermarch and meet you.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">BON VOYAGE</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">To O. R.</span>]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">O</span><small>UT</small> from the Land of the Future, into the Land of the Past<br />
+A comrade sails to the East, the sport of the wave and the blast.<br />
+Oh, billow and breeze, be kind, and temper your strength to your guest,<br />
+Kind for the sake of the friend,&mdash;for the sake of the hands he pressed.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, tenderest billow and breeze, welcome him even as we<br />
+Would welcome if you were the friend and we were the wind and the sea!<br />
+Welcome, protect him, and waft him westward and homeward at last<br />
+Into the Land of the Future, out from the Land of the Past!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE BOOK OF LIFE</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="table">
+<tr><td>
+<span class="giant">W</span><small>HOSO</small> his book of life doth con<br />
+From title-leaf to colophon<br />
+May read, if he but wrongly look,<br />
+Some sorry pages in his book.<br />
+<br />
+But if he read aright each line,<br />
+Interpreting the scheme divine,<br />
+'Twill be most fair to look upon<br />
+From title-leaf to colophon.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class="center">The Riverside Press<br />
+<br />
+<i>Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &amp; Co.</i><br />
+<i>Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Arthur Macy
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Arthur Macy
+
+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: Poems
+
+Author: Arthur Macy
+
+Release Date: November 13, 2011 [EBook #37999]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne Shell, David E. Brown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: _Photo. by A. Marshall_
+  Arthur Macy.]
+
+
+
+
+  POEMS
+
+  BY ARTHUR MACY
+
+  _With an Introduction by
+  WILLIAM ALFRED HOVEY_
+
+  W. B. CLARKE CO.
+  BOSTON
+  1905
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT 1905 BY MARY T. MACY
+
+  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+
+
+The Editors of _The Youth's Companion_, _St. Nicholas_, and _The Smart
+Set_, The H. B. Stevens Company, The Oliver Ditson Company, and Messrs.
+G. Schirmer & Company, have kindly permitted the republication of
+several poems in this collection.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+Arthur Macy was a Nantucket boy of Quaker extraction. His name alone is
+evidence of this, for it is safe to say that a Macy, wherever found in
+the United States, is descended from that sturdy old Quaker who was one
+of those who bought Nantucket from the Indians, paid them fairly for it,
+treated them with justice, and lived on friendly terms with them. In
+many ways Arthur Macy showed that he was a Nantucketer and, at least by
+descent, a Quaker. He often used phrases peculiar to our island in the
+sea, and was given, in conversation at least, to similes which smacked
+of salt water. Almost the last time I saw him he said, "I'm coming round
+soon for a good long gam."
+
+He was a many-sided man. In his intercourse with a friend like myself he
+would show the side which he thought would interest me, and that only.
+He was above all things cheery, and, to his praise be it said, he hated
+a bore. I remember that a mutual friend was talking baseball to me by
+the yard. Arthur was sitting by, listening. It was a subject in which he
+was much interested. Nevertheless, turning to our mutual friend, he
+said, "Don't talk baseball to _him_. He don't care anything about it, he
+don't know anything about it, and he don't want to." On the other hand,
+although little given to telling of his war experiences, he was always
+ready to talk over the old days with me. Of what he did himself, he
+modestly said but little, but of the services of others, more especially
+of the men in the ranks, he was generous in his praise.
+
+Early in the war Macy enlisted in Company B, 24th Michigan Volunteer
+Infantry. He was twice wounded on the first day at Gettysburg, and
+managed to crawl into the town and get as far as the steps of the Court
+House, which was fast filling with wounded from both sides. His sense of
+humor was in evidence even at such a time. A Confederate officer rode up
+and asked, "Have those men in there got arms?" Quick as a flash Macy
+answered: "Some of them have and some of them haven't." He remained in
+this Court-House hospital, a prisoner within the Confederate lines,
+until the battle was over and Lee's army retreated. All wounded
+prisoners who could walk were forced to go with them, but Macy's wound
+was in the foot, and, fortunately for him, he was spared the horrors of
+a Southern prison.
+
+He was on duty later at the Naval Academy Hospital in Annapolis,
+presided over by Dr. Vanderkieft, perhaps as efficient a general
+hospital administrator as the army had. I knew Dr. Vanderkieft very
+well, and was on duty at his hospital when the exchanged prisoners came
+back from Andersonville. Although Macy and I never met there, it came
+out in our talk that we were there at the same time. He served his full
+three years, and was honorably discharged about the close of the war.
+
+It is given to but few to have the keen sense of humor which he
+possessed. Quick and keen at repartee, he never practised it save when
+worth while. He never said the clearly obvious thing. Failing something
+better than that, he held his peace.
+
+Had it not been for his disinclination to publish his verses, he long
+ago would have had a national reputation. His reason for this
+disinclination, as I gathered from many talks with him, was that he did
+not consider his work of sufficiently high _poetic_ standard. Every one
+praised his choice of words, his wonderful facility in rhyme, the
+perfection of his metre, and the daintiness and delicacy of his verse.
+"All right," he would say, "but that is not Poetry with a big P, and
+that is the only kind that should be published. And there is mighty
+little of it." It is fortunate that this severe judgment, creditable as
+it was to him, is not to prevail. Lovers of the beautiful are not to be
+robbed of "Sit Closer, Friends," nor of "A Poet's Lesson," and many who
+never heard of that remarkable Spanish pachyderm will take delight in
+the story of "The Rollicking Mastodon," whose home was "in the trunk of
+a Tranquil Tree." The greater part of his verses with which I am
+familiar I heard at Papyrus Club dinners. He was an early member, and
+one of the most esteemed. He was fairly sure to have something in his
+pocket, and the presiding officer never called upon him in vain.
+
+It was so at the Saint Botolph Club, of which he was long a member.
+Whenever there was an "occasion" when the need of verse seemed
+indicated, Arthur Macy could be counted on. His "Saint Botolph," which
+has become the Club song, and will be sung as long as the Club endures,
+was written for a Twelfth Night revel at my request. It has a peculiarly
+old English flavor. He makes of the Saint, not the jolly friar nor yet
+the severe recluse, but just a good, kind old man who "was loved by the
+sinners and loved by the good," one who was certain that there must be
+sin so long as
+
+  "A few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,
+  And some are born fingers and some are born thumbs."
+
+And here we get a glimpse of Arthur Macy's view of life, which was
+certainly broad and generous, with a philosophic flavor.
+
+Arthur Macy had a business side of which his Club intimates had but
+slight knowledge. He represented, in New England, one of the great
+commercial agencies of the country. His knowledge of business men, of
+their standing, commercially and financially, was extended and intimate,
+and was relied upon by our merchants and others as a basis for giving
+credit. His office work required the closest attention to details and
+the exercise of the most careful judgment. The whole success of such a
+company as that which he represented depends upon the reliability of the
+information which it gives. Without this it has no reason for existence.
+It was to Arthur Macy that the merchants of Boston largely turned for
+information concerning their customers scattered throughout New England,
+and it was because of his success in obtaining such information and his
+thorough knowledge of the business in all its details that the superior
+officers of the company placed such implicit confidence in his judgment
+and so high a value upon his advice. And in the conduct of this business
+he showed his Quaker straightforwardness. His work was not at all of the
+"detective" sort. If information was wanted concerning a man's business
+by those who had dealings with him, Macy went directly to the man
+himself, and told him that it was for his own best interest to show just
+where he stood, and, above all things, to tell the exact truth. Honest
+men had the truth told about them, and profited by it. Dishonest men and
+secretive men were passed over in severe silence, and their credit
+suffered accordingly. Few of those who sought Arthur Macy for business
+information ever suspected that they were talking to a poet and man of
+letters.
+
+I have not sought to tell Arthur Macy's life story. Neither have I
+entered upon any detailed consideration of his verse. It is for the
+reader to peruse the pages that follow and draw his own conclusion. I
+have merely tried to give a glimpse of the characteristics of one of the
+most charming personalities I ever knew.
+
+                                                   WILLIAM ALFRED HOVEY.
+
+  ST. BOTOLPH CLUB,
+    _Boston, June 7, 1905_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  FRONTISPIECE                                 _Portrait of Arthur Macy_
+
+  INTRODUCTION                                                         v
+
+
+POEMS
+
+  In Remembrance                                                       1
+
+  The Old Cafe                                                         4
+
+  At Marliave's                                                        8
+
+  The Passing of the Rose                                              9
+
+  A Valentine                                                         10
+
+  Disenchantment                                                      12
+
+  Constancy                                                           15
+
+  A Poet's Lesson                                                     17
+
+  "Place aux Dames"                                                   19
+
+  All on a Golden Summer Day                                          20
+
+  Prismatic Boston                                                    21
+
+  The Book Hunter                                                     25
+
+  The Three Voices                                                    27
+
+  Easy Knowledge                                                      28
+
+  Susan Scuppernong                                                   29
+
+  The Hatband                                                         30
+
+  The Oyster                                                          31
+
+  Wind and Rain                                                       32
+
+  The Flag                                                            34
+
+  My Masterpiece                                                      36
+
+  A Ballade of Montaigne                                              40
+
+  The Criminal                                                        42
+
+  A Bit of Color                                                      45
+
+  Dinner Favors                                                       48
+
+  The Moper                                                           51
+
+  Various Valentines                                                  54
+
+  Were all the World like You                                         59
+
+  Here and There                                                      60
+
+  Uncle Jogalong                                                      62
+
+  The Indifferent Mariner                                             64
+
+  On a Library Wall                                                   66
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny                                                   67
+
+  Euthanasia                                                          70
+
+  Dainty Little Love                                                  71
+
+  To M.                                                               72
+
+  The Song                                                            73
+
+  At Twilight Time                                                    76
+
+  Celeste                                                             78
+
+  Thistle-Down                                                        80
+
+  The Slumber Song                                                    81
+
+  Thou art to Me                                                      82
+
+  Love                                                                83
+
+  The Stranger-Man                                                    84
+
+  The Honeysuckle Vine                                                86
+
+  Saint Botolph                                                       87
+
+  The Gurgling Imps                                                   90
+
+  The Worm will Turn                                                  91
+
+  The Boston Cats                                                     94
+
+  The Jonquil Maid                                                    96
+
+  The Rollicking Mastodon                                             99
+
+  The Five Senses                                                    102
+
+  Economy                                                            103
+
+  Idylettes of the Queen                                             105
+
+  To M. E.                                                           110
+
+  Bon Voyage                                                         111
+
+  The Book of Life                                                   112
+
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+
+
+
+IN REMEMBRANCE
+
+[W. L. C.]
+
+
+  Sit closer, friends, around the board!
+    Death grants us yet a little time.
+  Now let the cheering cup be poured,
+    And welcome song and jest and rhyme.
+  Enjoy the gifts that fortune sends.
+            Sit closer, friends!
+
+  And yet, we pause. With trembling lip
+    We strive the fitting phrase to make;
+  Remembering our fellowship,
+    Lamenting Destiny's mistake.
+  We marvel much when Fate offends,
+            And claims our friends.
+
+  Companion of our nights of mirth,
+    Where all were merry who were wise;
+  Does Death quite understand your worth,
+    And know the value of his prize?
+  I doubt me if he comprehends--
+            He knows no friends.
+
+  And in that realm is there no joy
+    Of comrades and the jocund sense?
+  Can Death so utterly destroy--
+    For gladness grant no recompense?
+  And can it be that laughter ends
+            With absent friends?
+
+  Oh, scholars whom we wisest call,
+    Who solve great questions at your ease,
+  We ask the simplest of them all,
+    And yet you cannot answer these!
+  And is it thus your knowledge ends,
+            To comfort friends?
+
+  Dear Omar! should You chance to meet
+    Our Brother Somewhere in the Gloom,
+  Pray give to Him a Message sweet,
+    From Brothers in the Tavern Room.
+  He will not ask who 'tis that sends,
+            For We were Friends.
+
+  Again a parting sail we see;
+    Another boat has left the shore.
+  A kinder soul on board has she
+    Than ever left the land before.
+  And as her outward course she bends,
+            Sit closer, friends!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CAFE
+
+
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe,
+  Those merry evenings long ago?
+  You know the room, the narrow stair,
+  The wreaths of smoke that circled there,
+  The corner table where we sat
+  For hours in after-dinner chat,
+  And magnified
+  Our little world inside.
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe?
+
+  Ah, those nights divine!
+  The simple, frugal wine,
+  The airs on crude Italian strings,
+  The joyous, harmless revelings,
+  Just fit for us--or kings!
+  At times a quaint and wickered flask
+  Of rare Chianti, or from the homelier cask
+  Of modest Pilsener a stein or so,
+  Amid the merry talk would flow;
+  Or red Bordeaux
+  From vines that grew where dear Montaigne
+  Held his domain.
+  And you remember that dark eye,
+  None too shy;
+  In fact, she seemed a bit too free
+  For you and me.
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe?
+
+  Then Pegasus I knew,
+  And then I read to you
+  My callow rhymes
+  So many, many times;
+  And something in the place
+  Lent them a certain grace,
+  Until I scarce believed them mine,
+  Under the magic of the wine;
+  But now I read them o'er,
+  And see grave faults I had not seen before,
+  And wonder how
+  You could have listened with such placid brow,
+  And somehow apprehend
+  You sank the critic in the friend.
+  You know,
+  Don't you, Joe?
+
+  And when we talked of books,
+  How learned were our looks!
+  And few the bards we could not quote,
+  From gay Catullus' lines to Milton's purer note.
+  Mayhap we now are wiser men,
+  But we knew more than all the scholars then;
+  And our conceit
+  Was grand, ineffable, complete!
+  We know,
+  Don't we, Joe?
+
+  Gone are those golden nights
+  Of innocent Bohemian delights,
+  And we are getting on;
+  And anon,
+  Years sad and tremulous
+  May be in store for us;
+  But should we ever meet
+  Upon some quiet street,
+  And you discover in an old man's eye
+  Some transient sparkle of the days gone by,
+  Then you will guess, perchance,
+  The meaning of the glance;
+  You'll know,
+  Won't you, Joe?
+
+
+
+
+AT MARLIAVE'S
+
+
+  At Marliave's when eventide
+  Finds rare companions at my side,
+    The laughter of each merry guest
+    At quaint conceit, or kindly jest,
+  Makes golden moments swiftly glide.
+  No voice unkind our faults to chide,
+  Our smallest virtue magnified;
+    And friendly hand to hand is pressed
+                          At Marliave's.
+
+  I lay my years and cares aside
+  Accepting what the gods provide,
+    I ask not for a lot more blest,
+    Nor do I crave a sweeter rest
+  Than that which comes with eventide
+                          At Marliave's.
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSING OF THE ROSE
+
+
+  A White Rose said, "How fair am I.
+  Behold a flower that cannot die!"
+
+  A lover brushed the dew aside,
+  And fondly plucked it for his bride.
+  "A fitting choice!" the White Rose cried.
+
+  The maiden wore it in her hair;
+  The Rose, contented to be there,
+  Still proudly boasted, "None so fair!"
+
+  Then close she pressed it to her lips,
+  But, weary of companionships,
+  The flower within her bosom slips.
+
+  O'ercome by all the beauty there,
+  It straight confessed, "Dear maid, I swear
+  'Tis you, and you alone, are fair!"
+
+  Turning its humbled head aside,
+  The envious Rose, lamenting, died.
+
+
+
+
+A VALENTINE
+
+[FROM A VERY LITTLE BOY TO A VERY LITTLE GIRL]
+
+
+  This is a valentine for you.
+    Mother made it. She's real smart,
+  I told her that I loved you true
+    And you were my sweetheart.
+
+  And then she smiled, and then she winked,
+    And then she said to father,
+  "Beginning young!" and then he thinked,
+    And then he said, "Well, rather."
+
+  Then mother's eyes began to shine,
+  And then she made this valentine:
+  "If you love me as I love you,
+  No knife shall cut our love in two,"
+  And father laughed and said, "How new!"
+  And then he said, "It's time for bed."
+
+  So, when I'd said my prayers,
+  Mother came running up the stairs
+  And told me I might send the rhymes,
+  And then she kissed me lots of times.
+  Then I turned over to the wall
+  And cried about you, and--that's all.
+
+
+
+
+DISENCHANTMENT
+
+
+  Time and I have fallen out;
+  We, who were such steadfast friends.
+  So slowly has it come about
+  That none may tell when it began;
+  Yet sure am I a cunning plan
+  Runs through it all;
+  And now, beyond recall,
+  Our friendship ends,
+  And ending, there remains to me
+  The memory of disloyalty.
+
+  Long years ago Time tripping came
+  With promise grand,
+  And sweet assurances of fame;
+  And hand in hand
+  Through fairy-land
+  Went he and I together
+  In bright and golden weather.
+  Then, then I had not learned to doubt,
+  For friends were gods, and faith was sure,
+  And words were truth, and deeds were pure,
+  Before we had our falling out;
+  And life, all hope, was fair to see,
+  When Time made promise sweet to me.
+
+  When first my faithless friend grew cold
+  I sought to knit a closer bond,
+  But he, less fond,
+  Sad days and years upon me rolled,
+  Pressed me with care,
+  With envy tinged the boyhood hair,
+  And ploughed unwelcome furrows in
+  Where none had been.
+  In vain I begged with trembling lip
+  For our old sweet companionship,
+  And saw, 'mid prayers and tears devout,
+  The presage of our falling out.
+
+  And now I know Time has no friends,
+  Nor pity lends,
+  But touches all
+  With heavy finger soon or late;
+  And as we wait
+  The Reaper's call,
+  The sickle's fatal sweep,
+  We strive in vain to keep
+  One truth inviolate,
+  One cherished fancy free from doubt.
+  It was not so
+  Long years ago,
+  Before we had our falling out.
+
+  If Time would come again to me,
+  And once more take me by the hand
+  For golden walks through fairy-land,
+  I could forgive the treachery
+  That stole my youth
+  And what of truth
+  Was mine to know;
+  Nor would I more his love misdoubt;
+  And I would throw
+  My arms around him so,
+  That he'd forgive the falling out!
+
+
+
+
+CONSTANCY
+
+
+  I first saw Phebe when the show'rs
+  Had just made brighter all the flow'rs;
+          Yet she was fair
+          As any there,
+  And so I loved her hours and hours.
+
+  Then I met Helen, and her ways
+  Set my untutored heart ablaze.
+          I loved at sight
+          And deemed it right
+  To worship her for days and days.
+
+  Yet when I gazed on Clara's cheeks
+  And spoke the language Cupid speaks,
+          O'er all the rest
+          She seemed the best,
+  And so I loved her weeks and weeks.
+
+  But last of Love's sweet souvenirs
+  Was Delia with her sighs and tears.
+          Of her it seemed
+          I'd always dreamed,
+  And so I loved her years and years.
+
+  But now again with Phebe met,
+  I love the first one of the set.
+          "Fickle," you say?
+          I answer, "Nay,
+  My heart is true to one quartette."
+
+
+
+
+A POET'S LESSON
+
+
+  Poet, my master, come, tell me true,
+    And how are your verses made?
+  Ah! that is the easiest thing to do:--
+  You take a cloud of a silvern hue,
+  A tender smile or a sprig of rue,
+    With plenty of light and shade,
+
+  And weave them round in syllables rare,
+    With a grace and skill divine;
+  With the earnest words of a pleading prayer,
+  With a cadence caught from a dulcet air,
+  A tale of love and a lock of hair,
+    Or a bit of a trailing vine.
+
+  Or, delving deep in a mine unwrought,
+    You find in the teeming earth
+  The golden vein of a noble thought;
+  The soul of a statesman still unbought,
+  Or a patriot's cry with anguish fraught
+    For the land that gave him birth.
+
+  A brilliant youth who has lost his way
+    On the winding road of life;
+  A sculptor's dream of the plastic clay;
+  A painter's soul in a sunset ray;
+  The sweetest thing a woman can say,
+    Or a struggling nation's strife.
+
+  A boy's ambition; a maiden's star,
+    Unrisen, but yet to be;
+  A glimmering light that shines afar
+  For a sinking ship on a moaning bar;
+    An empty sleeve; a veteran's scar;
+  Or a land where men are free.
+
+  And if the poet's hand be strong
+  To weave the web of a deathless song,
+  And if a master guide the pen
+  To words that reach the hearts of men,
+  And if the ear and the touch be true,
+  It's the easiest thing in the world to do!
+
+
+
+
+"PLACE AUX DAMES"
+
+[To M.]
+
+
+  With brilliant friends surrounding me,
+    So cosy at the Club I'm sitting;
+  While you at home I seem to see,
+    Attending strictly to your knitting.
+
+  When women have their rights, my dear,
+    We'll hear no more of wrongs so shocking:--
+  You with your friends shall gather here;
+    I'll stay at home and darn the stocking!
+
+
+
+
+ALL ON A GOLDEN SUMMER DAY
+
+
+  All on a golden summer day,
+  As through the leaves a single ray
+  Of yellow sunshine finds its way
+              So bright, so bright;
+  The wakened birds that blithely sing
+  Seem welcoming another spring;
+  While all the woods are murmuring
+              So light, so light.
+
+  All on a golden summer day,
+  When to my heart a single ray
+  Of tender kindness finds its way,
+              So bright, so bright;
+  Then comes sweet hope and bravely dares
+  To break the chain that sorrow wears--
+  And all my burdens, all my cares
+              Are light, so light!
+
+
+
+
+PRISMATIC BOSTON
+
+
+  Fair city by the famed Batrachian Pool,
+  Wise in the teachings of the Concord School;
+  Home of the Eurus, paradise of cranks,
+  Stronghold of thrift, proud in your hundred banks;
+  Land of the mind-cure and the abstruse book,
+  The Monday lecture and the shrinking Cook;
+  Where twin-lensed maidens, careless of their shoes,
+  In phrase Johnsonian oft express their views;
+  Where realistic pens invite the throng
+  To mention "spades," lest "shovels" should be wrong;
+  Where gaping strangers read the thrilling ode
+  To Pilgrim Trousers on the West-End road;
+  Where strange sartorial questions as to pants
+  Offend our "sisters, cousins, and our aunts;"
+  Where men expect by simple faith and prayer
+  To lift a lid and find a dollar there;
+  Where labyrinthine lanes that sinuous creep
+  Make Theseus sigh and Ariadne weep;
+  Where clubs gregarious take commercial risks
+  'Mid fluctuations of alluring disks;
+  Where Beacon Hill is ever proud to show
+  Her reeking veins of liquid indigo;
+  To thee, fair land, I dedicate my song,
+  And tell how simple, artless minds go wrong.
+
+  A Common Councilman, with lordly air,
+  One day went strolling down through Copley Square.
+  Within his breast there beat a spotless heart;
+  His taste was pure, his soul was steeped in art.
+  For he had worshiped oft at Cass's shrine,
+  Had daily knelt at Cogswell's fount divine,
+  And chaste surroundings of the City Hall
+  Had taught him much, and so he knew it all.
+  Proud, in a sack coat and a high silk hat,
+  Content in knowing just "where he was at,"
+  He wandered on, till gazing toward the skies,
+  A nameless horror met his modest eyes;
+  For where the artist's chisel had engrossed
+  An emblem fit on Boston's proudest boast,
+  There stood aloft, with graceful equipoise,
+  Two very small, unexpurgated boys.
+  Filled with solicitude for city youth,
+  Whose morals suffer when they're told the truth,
+  Whose ethic standards high and higher rise,
+  When taught that God and nature are but lies,
+  In haste he to the council chamber hied,
+  His startled fellow-members called aside,
+  His fearful secret whispering disclosed,
+  Till all their separate joints were ankylosed.
+  Appalling was the silence at his tale;
+  Democrats turned red, Republicans turned pale.
+  What mugwumps turned 'tis difficult to think,
+  But probably they compromised on pink.
+
+  When these stern moralists had their breaths regained,
+  And told how deeply they were shocked and pained,
+  They then resolved how wrong our children are,
+  Said, "Boys should be contented with a scar,"
+  Rebuked Dame Nature for her deadly sins,
+  And damned trustees who foster "Heavenly Twins."
+
+  O Councilmen, if it were left for you
+  To say what art is false and what is true,
+  What strange anomalies would the world behold!
+  Dolls would be angels, dross would count for gold;
+  Vice would be virtue, virtues would be taints;
+  Gods would be devils, Councilmen be saints;
+  And this sage law by your wise minds be built:
+  "No boy shall live if born without a kilt."
+  Then you'd resolve, to soothe all moral aches,
+  "We're always right, but God has made mistakes."
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK HUNTER
+
+
+  I've spent all my money in chasing
+    For books that are costly and rare;
+  I've made myself bankrupt in tracing
+    Each prize to its ultimate lair.
+  And now I'm a ruined collector,
+    Impoverished, ragged, and thin,
+  Reduced to a vanishing spectre,
+    Because of my prodigal sin.
+
+  How often I've called upon Foley,
+    The man who's a friend of the cranks;
+  Knows books that are witty or holy,
+    And whether they're prizes or blanks.
+  For volumes on paper or vellum
+    He has a most accurate eye,
+  And always is willing to sell 'em
+    To dreamers like me who will buy.
+
+  My purse requires fences and hedges,
+    Alas! it will never stay shut;
+  My coat-sleeves now have deckle edges,
+    My hair is unkempt and "uncut."
+  My coat is a true first edition,
+    And rusty from shoulder to waist;
+  My trousers are out of condition,
+    Their "colophon" worn and defaced.
+
+  My shoes have been long out of fashion,
+    "Crushed leather" they both seem to be;
+  My hat is a thing for compassion,
+    The kind that is labelled "n. d."
+  My vest from its binding is broken,
+    It's what the French call a _relique_;
+  What I think of it cannot be spoken,
+    Its catalogue mark is "unique."
+
+  I'm a book that is thumbed and untidy,
+    The only one left of the set;
+  I'm sure I was issued on Friday,
+    For fate is unkind to me yet.
+  My text has been cruelly garbled
+    By a destiny harder than flint;
+  But I wait for my grave to be "marbled,"
+    And then I shall be out of print.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE VOICES
+
+
+  There once was a man who asked for pie,
+  In a piping voice up high, up high;
+  And when he asked for a salmon roe,
+  He spoke in a voice down low, down low;
+  But when he said he had no choice,
+  He always spoke in a medium voice.
+
+  I cannot tell the reason why
+  He sometimes spoke up high, up high;
+  And why he sometimes spoke down low,
+  I do not know, I do not know;
+  And why he spoke in the medium way,
+  Don't ask me, for I cannot say.
+
+
+
+
+EASY KNOWLEDGE
+
+
+  How nice 'twould be if knowledge grew
+  On bushes, as the berries do!
+  Then we could plant our spelling seed,
+  And gather all the words we need.
+  The sums from off our slates we'd wipe,
+  And wait for figures to be ripe,
+  And go into the fields, and pick
+  Whole bushels of arithmetic;
+  Or if we wished to learn Chinese,
+  We'd just go out and shake the trees;
+  And grammar then, in all the towns,
+  Would grow with proper verbs and nouns;
+  And in the gardens there would be
+  Great bunches of geography;
+  And all the passers-by would stop,
+  And marvel at the knowledge crop;
+  And I my pen would cease to push,
+  And pluck my verses from a bush!
+
+
+
+
+SUSAN SCUPPERNONG
+
+
+  Silly Susan Scuppernong
+  Cried so hard and cried so long,
+  People asked her what was wrong.
+
+  She replied, "I do not know
+  Any reason for my woe--
+  I just feel like feeling so."
+
+
+
+
+THE HATBAND
+
+
+  My hatband goes around my hat,
+  And while there's nothing strange in that,
+  It seems just like a lazy man
+  Who leaves off where he first began.
+
+  But then this fact is always true,
+  The band does what it ought to do,
+  And is more useful than the man,
+  Because it does the best it can.
+
+
+
+
+THE OYSTER
+
+
+  Two halves of an oyster shell, each a shallow cup;
+  Here once lived an oyster before they ate him up.
+  Oyster shells are smooth inside; outside very rough;
+  Very little room to spare, but he had enough.
+  Bedroom, parlor, kitchen, or cellar there was none;
+  Just one room in all the house--oysters need but one.
+  And he was never troubled by wind or rain or snow,
+  For he had a roof above, another one below.
+  I wonder if they fried him, or cooked him in a stew,
+  And sold him at a fair, and passed him off for two.
+  I wonder if the oysters all have names like us,
+  And did he have a name like "John" or "Romulus"?
+  I wonder if his parents wept to see him go;
+  I wonder who can tell; perhaps the mermaids know.
+  I wonder if our sleep the most of us would dread,
+  If we slept like oysters, a million in a bed!
+
+
+
+
+WIND AND RAIN
+
+
+  The rain came down on Boston Town,
+      And the people said, "Oh, dear!
+  It's early yet for our annual wet,--
+      'Twas dry this time last year."
+
+  In heavy suits and rubber boots
+      They went to the weather man,
+  And said, "Dear friend, do you intend
+      To change your present plan?"
+
+  In tones of scorn, he said, "Begone!
+      I've ordered a week of rain.
+  Away! disperse! or I'll do worse,
+      And order a hurricane!"
+
+  They sneered, "Oh, oh!" and they laughed, "Ho, ho!"
+      And they said, "You surely jest.
+  Your threats are vain, for a hurricane
+      Is the thing that we like best.
+
+  "Our throats are tinned, and a sharp east wind
+      We really couldn't do without;
+  But we complain of too much rain,
+      And we think we'd like a drought."
+
+  So the weather man took a palm-leaf fan
+      And he waved it up on high,
+  And he swept away the clouds so gray,
+      And the sun shone out in the sky.
+
+  And the sun shines down on Boston Town,
+      And the weather still is clear;
+  And they set their clocks by the equinox,
+      And never the east wind fear.
+
+
+
+
+THE FLAG
+
+
+  Here comes The Flag!
+  Hail it!
+  Who dares to drag
+  Or trail it?
+  Give it hurrahs,--
+  Three for the stars,
+  Three for the bars.
+  Uncover your head to it!
+  The soldiers who tread to it
+  Shout at the sight of it,
+  The justice and right of it,
+  The unsullied white of it,
+  The blue and red of it,
+  And tyranny's dread of it!
+
+  Here comes The Flag!
+  Cheer it!
+  Valley and crag
+  Shall hear it.
+  Fathers shall bless it,
+  Children caress it.
+  All shall maintain it.
+  No one shall stain it,
+  Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it,
+  Cheers for the soldiers that always were brave for it,
+  Tears for the men that went down to the grave for it!
+  Here comes The Flag!
+
+
+
+
+MY MASTERPIECE
+
+
+  I wrote the truest, tend'rest song
+      The world had ever heard;
+  And clear, melodious, and strong,
+      And sweet was every word.
+  The flowing numbers came to me
+      Unbidden from the heart;
+  So pure the strain, that poesy
+      Seemed something more than art.
+
+  No doubtful cadence marred a line,
+      So tunefully it flowed,
+  And through the measure, all divine
+      The fire of genius glowed.
+  So deftly were the verses wrought,
+      So fair the legend told,
+  That every word revealed a thought,
+      And every thought was gold.
+
+  Mine was the charm, the power, the skill,
+      The wisdom of the years;
+  'Twas mine to move the world at will
+      To laughter or to tears.
+  For subtile pleasantry was there,
+      And brilliant flash of wit;
+  Now, pleading eyes were raised in prayer,
+      And now with smiles were lit.
+
+  I sang of hours when youth was king,
+      And of one happy spot
+  Where life and love were everything,
+      And time was half forgot.
+  Of gracious days in woodland ways,
+      When every flower and tree
+  Seemed echoing the sweetest phrase
+      From lips in Arcadie.
+
+  Of sagas old and Norseman bands
+      That sailed o'er northern seas;
+  Enchanting tales of fairy lands
+      And strange philosophies.
+  I sang of Egypt's fairest queen,
+      With passion's fatal curse;
+  Of that pale, sad-faced Florentine,
+      As deathless as his verse.
+
+  Of time of the Arcadian Pan,
+      When dryads thronged the trees--
+  When Atalanta swiftly ran
+      With fleet Hippomenes.
+  Brave stories, too, did I relate
+      Of battle-flags unfurled;
+  Of glorious days when Greece was great--
+      When Rome was all the world!
+
+  Of noble deeds for noble creeds,
+      Of woman's sacrifice--
+  The mother's stricken heart that bleeds
+      For souls in Paradise.
+  Anon I told a tale of shame,
+      And while in tears I slept,
+  Behold! a white-robed angel came
+      And read the words and wept!
+
+  And so I wrote my perfect song,
+      In such a wondrous key,
+  I heard the plaudits of the throng,
+      And fame awaited me.
+  Alas! the sullen morning broke,
+      And came the tempest's roar:
+  'Mid discord trembling I awoke,
+      And lo! my dream was o'er!
+
+  Yet often in the quiet night
+      My song returns to me;
+  I seize the pen, and fain would write
+      My long lost melody.
+  But dreaming o'er the words, ere long
+      Comes vague remembering,
+  And fades away the sweetest song
+      That man can ever sing!
+
+
+
+
+A BALLADE OF MONTAIGNE
+
+
+  I sit before the firelight's glow
+    With all the world in apogee,
+  And con good Master Florio
+    With pipe a-light; and as I see
+    Queen Bess herself with book a-knee,
+  Reading it o'er and o'er again,
+    Here, 'neath my cosy mantel-tree,
+  I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.
+
+  Now howls the wind and drives the snow;
+    The traveler shivers on the lea;
+  While, with my precious folio,
+    Behold a happy devotee
+    To book and warmth and reverie!
+  The blast upon the window-pane
+    Disturbs me not, as trouble-free,
+  I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.
+
+  I am content, and thus I know
+    A mind as calm as summer sea,--
+  A heart that stranger is to woe.
+    To happiness I hold the key
+    In this rare, sweet philosophy;
+  And while the Fates so fair ordain,
+    Well pleased with Destiny's decree,
+  I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.
+
+
+ENVOY
+
+  Dear Prince! aye, more than prince to me,
+    Thou monarch of immortal reign!
+  Always thy subject I would be,
+    And smoke my pipe and read Montaigne!
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMINAL
+
+
+  Crime flourishes throughout the land,
+    And bids defiance to the law,
+  And wicked deeds on every hand
+    O'erwhelm our souls with awe!
+
+  I know one hardened criminal
+    Whose maidenhood with crime begins;
+  Who, safe behind a prison wall,
+    Should expiate her sins.
+
+  She is a thief whene'er she smiles,
+    For then she steals my heart from me,
+  And keeps it with a maiden's wiles,
+    And never sets it free.
+
+  She plunders sighs from humankind,
+    She pilfers tears I would not weep,
+  She robs me of my peace of mind,
+    And she purloins my sleep.
+
+  Of lawless ways she stands confessed,
+    And is a burglar bold whene'er
+  She finds a weakness in my breast,
+    And slyly enters there.
+
+  A gambler she, whose arts entrance,
+    Whose victims yield without demur;
+  Content to play Love's game of chance
+    And lose their hearts to her.
+
+  A graver crime is hers; for, when
+    Her matchless beauty I admire,
+  Of arson she is guilty then,
+    And sets my heart on fire.
+
+  A bandit, preying on mankind,
+    Her captives by the score increase;
+  No hand can e'er their chains unbind,
+    No ransom bring release.
+
+  She is a cruel murderess
+    Whene'er her eyes send forth a dart,
+  And as she holds me in duress
+    It stabs me to the heart.
+
+  Crime flourishes throughout the land,
+    And bids defiance to the law,
+  And wicked deeds on every hand
+    O'erwhelm our souls with awe!
+
+
+
+
+A BIT OF COLOR
+
+[PARIS, 1896]
+
+
+  Oh, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot,
+  With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so,
+        Pray what should I do
+        When a girl like you
+  Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh
+  On the first fond fool that is passing by,
+  Who listens and longs as the sweet words flow
+  From her pretty red lips at the Porte Maillot?
+
+  There were lips as red ere you were born,
+  Now wreathed in smiles, now curled in scorn,
+        And other bright eyes
+        With their truth and lies,
+  That broke the heart and turned the brain
+  Of many a tender, lovelorn swain;
+  But never, I ween, brought half the woe
+  That comes from the lips at the Porte Maillot.
+
+  A charming picture, there you stand,
+  A perfect work from a master's hand!
+        With your face so fair
+        And your wondrous hair,
+  Your glorious color, your light and shade,
+  And your classic head that the gods have made,
+  Your cheeks with crimson all aglow,
+  As you wait for a lover at the Porte Maillot.
+
+  There are gorgeous tints in the jeweled crown,
+  There are brilliant shades when the sun goes down;
+        But your lips vie
+        With the western sky,
+  And give to the world so rare a hue
+  That the painter must learn his art anew,
+  And the sunset borrow a brighter glow
+  From the lips of the girl at the Porte Maillot.
+
+  Come, tell me truly, fair-haired youth,
+  Do her eyes flash love, her lips speak truth?
+        Or does she beguile
+        With her glance and smile,
+  And burn you, spurn you all day long
+  With a Circe's art and a Siren's song?
+  Ah! would that your foolish heart might know
+  The lie in the heart at the Porte Maillot!
+
+
+
+
+DINNER FAVORS
+
+
+  TO S.
+
+  I fill my goblet to the brim
+  And clink the glasses rim to rim.
+  Across the board I waft a kiss
+  With thanks for such an hour as this,
+  And clasping joy, bid sorrow flee,
+  And welcome you my vis-a-vis.
+
+
+  TO A. R. C.
+
+  Of all the joys on earth that be
+  There is no sweeter one to me
+  Than sitting with a merry lass
+  From consomme to demi-tasse.
+
+  And yet a golden hour I'd steal,
+  Reverse the order of the meal,
+  And countermarching, backward stray
+  From demi-tasse to consomme.
+
+
+  TO S. B. F.
+
+  Give me but a bit to eat,
+      And an hour or two,
+  Just a salad and a sweet,
+      And a chat with you.
+  Give me table full or bare,
+      Crust or rich ragout;
+  But whatever be the fare,
+      Always give me you.
+
+
+  THE HOST
+
+  Between the two perplexed I go,
+  A shuttlecock, tossed to and fro.
+  I gaze on one, and know that she
+  Is all that womankind can be;
+  I seek the other, and she seems
+  The perfect idol of my dreams;
+  And so between the charming pair
+  My heart is ever in the air.
+  And yet, although it be my fate
+  To hover indeterminate,
+  I rest content, nor ask for more
+  Than this sweet game of battledore.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOPER
+
+
+  The Moper mopeth all the day;
+      He mopeth eke at night;
+  And never is the Moper gay,
+  But, grim and serious alway,
+      He is a sorry sight.
+
+  He liketh not the merry quip;
+      He hateth other men;
+  Escheweth he companionship,
+  Nor doth he e'er essay to trip
+      The light fantastic ten.
+
+  He seeketh not where murm'ring brooks
+      With rippling music flow.
+  He seeth naught in woman's looks,
+  And never readeth he in books
+      Except they tell of woe.
+
+  He e'en forgetteth that the sun,
+      Likewise God's balmy air,
+  Were made to gladden every one;
+  But he preferreth both to shun,
+      And taketh not his share.
+
+  He careth not for merry wights
+      Who drink Chateau Yquem,
+  But he would set the world to rights
+  By peopling it with eremites--
+      And very few of them.
+
+  When children sport with merry glee,
+      He thinketh they are wild,
+  And with them doth so disagree
+  It seemeth verily that he
+      Hath never been a child.
+
+  He thinketh that it is not right
+      Rare dishes to discuss,
+  And knoweth not the keen delight
+  Of one that hath an appetite
+      Ycleped ravenous.
+
+  Of goodly raiment he hath none,
+      He calleth it "display;"
+  Wherefore the urchin poketh fun,
+  Because he looketh like that one
+      Unholy men call "jay."
+
+  And so we see this foolish man
+      All pleasant things doth scorn.
+  Good folk, pray God to change his plan,
+  And cheer the Moper if He can,
+      Or let no more be born!
+
+
+
+
+VARIOUS VALENTINES
+
+
+  I
+
+  FROM A BIBLIOPHILE
+
+  Lyke some choise booke thou arte toe mee,
+  Bound all so daintilie;
+  And 'neath the covers faire
+  Are contents true and rare.
+  Ne wolde I looke
+  Ne reade inne any other booke
+  If I belyke could find therein the charte
+  And indice to thy hearte.
+  The Great Wise Authour made but one
+  Of this edition, then was don;
+  And were this onlie copie mine,
+  Then wolde I write therein, "My Valentyne."
+
+
+  II
+
+  FROM AN INCONSTANT-CONSTANT
+
+  (_After Henri Murger_)
+
+  Though I love many maidens fair
+  As fondly as a heart may dare,
+  Yet still are you the only one
+  True goddess of my pantheon.
+
+  And though my life is like a song,
+  Each maid a stanza, clear and strong,
+  Yet always I return again
+  To you who are the sweet refrain.
+
+
+  III
+
+  FROM A COMMERCIAL LOVER
+
+  If I were but a syndicate,
+      And love were merchandise,
+  I'd buy it at the market rate,
+      And hold it for a rise.
+
+  And should the price of all this love
+      Bound upward like a ball,
+  And reach 1000 or above,
+      Still you should have it all.
+
+
+  IV
+
+  FROM AN UNCERTAIN MARKSMAN
+
+  I send you two kisses
+      Wrapped up in a rhyme;
+  From Love's warm abysses
+  I send you two kisses;
+  If one of them misses
+      Please wait till next time,
+  And I'll send you _three_ kisses
+      Wrapped up in a rhyme.
+
+
+  V
+
+  FROM A CONCHOLOGIST
+
+  Were I a murm'ring ocean shell
+      Pressed close against your ear,
+  My constant whisperings would tell
+      A story sweet to hear.
+  I'd make the message from the sea
+      Love's tidings on the shore,
+  And I would woo with words so true
+      That you could ask no more.
+
+  So if some silvern nautilus
+      Lay close beside your cheek,
+  And you should hear a language dear
+      Unto the heart I seek,
+  You'll know within the simple shell
+      That murmurs o'er and o'er
+  I send to you a love more true
+      Than e'er was breathed before.
+
+
+  VI
+
+  FROM A HYPERBOLIST
+
+  Take all the love that e'er was told
+      Since first the world began,
+  Increase it twenty thousand-fold
+      (If mathematics can),
+  Add all the love the world shall see
+      Till Gabriel's final call,
+  And when compared with mine 'twill be
+      Infinitesimal.
+
+
+
+
+WERE ALL THE WORLD LIKE YOU
+
+
+  Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you,
+  Oh, there'd be darts in all our hearts
+      From sunset to the dew.
+  For life would be Love's jubilee
+      Where all were two and two,
+  And lovers' rhyme the only crime,
+      Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you.
+
+  Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you,
+  There'd be no pain nor clouds nor rain,
+      No kisses overdue;
+  But sweetest sighs and pleading eyes,
+      Where Cupid's arrow flew,
+  And lovers' rhyme the only crime,
+      Were all the world like you, my dear,
+      Were all the world like you.
+
+
+
+
+HERE AND THERE
+
+
+  Sweet Phyllis went a-rambling here and there,
+              Here and there.
+  Her eyes were blue and golden was her hair.
+      She said, "Oh, life is strange;
+      I'm sure I need a change;
+  'Tis sad for _one_ to ramble here and there,
+              Here and there."
+
+  Young Strephon went a-rambling here and there,
+              Here and there.
+  He sighed, "It needs but two to make a pair.
+      If I should meet a maid
+      Not in the least afraid,
+  How happy we'd go rambling here and there,
+              Here and there."
+
+  As youth and maid went rambling here and there,
+              Here and there,
+  They met, and loved at sight, for both were fair;
+      And neither youth nor maid
+      Was in the least afraid,
+  And hand in hand they ramble here and there,
+              Here and there.
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE JOGALONG
+
+
+  My dear old Uncle Jogalong
+      Was very slow, was very slow,
+  And said he thought that folks were wrong
+      To hurry so, to hurry so.
+
+  When he walked out upon the street
+      To take the air, to take the air,
+  It seemed almost as if his feet
+      Were fastened there, were fastened there.
+
+  He thought that traveling by rail
+      Was hurrying and scurrying,
+  But said the slow and creeping snail
+      Was just the thing, was just the thing.
+
+  He thought a hasty appetite
+      An awful crime, an awful crime,
+  So never finished breakfast, quite,
+      Till dinner time, till dinner time.
+
+  He said the world turned round so fast
+      He could not stay, he could not stay,
+  And so he said "Good-by" at last,
+      And went away, and went away.
+
+
+
+
+THE INDIFFERENT MARINER
+
+
+  I'm a tough old salt, and it's never I care
+    A penny which way the wind is,
+  Or whether I sight Cape Finisterre,
+    Or make a port at the Indies.
+
+  Some folks steer for a port to trade,
+    And some steer north for the whaling;
+  Yet never I care a damn just where
+    I sail, so long's I'm sailing.
+
+  You never can stop the wind when it blows,
+    And you can't stop the rain from raining;
+  Then why, oh, why, go a-piping of your eye
+    When there's no sort o' use in complaining?
+
+  My face is browned and my lungs are sound,
+    And my hands they are big and calloused.
+  I've a little brown jug I sometimes hug,
+    And a little bread and meat for ballast.
+
+  But I keep no log of my daily grog,
+    For what's the use o' being bothered?
+  I drink a little more when the wind's offshore,
+    And most when the wind's from the no'th'ard.
+
+  Of course with a chill if I'm took quite ill,
+    And my legs get weak and toddly,
+  At the jug I pull, and turn in full,
+    And sleep the sleep of the godly.
+
+  But whether I do or whether I don't,
+    Or whether the jug's my failing,
+  It's never I care a damn just where
+    I sail, so long's I'm sailing.
+
+
+
+
+ON A LIBRARY WALL
+
+
+  When faltering fingers bid me cease to write,
+  And, laying down the pen, I seek the Night,
+  May those, to whom the Daylight still is sweet,
+  With loving lips my name ofttimes repeat.
+  And should Belshazzar's spirit hither stray,
+  And linger o'er the lines I write to-day,
+  May he, who wept for Babylonia's fall,
+  Look kindly at _this_ "writing on the wall"!
+
+
+
+
+MRS. MULLIGATAWNY
+
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny said, "I'm sure it's going to rain."
+  Mr. Mulligatawny said, "To me it's very plain."
+  William Mulligatawny said, "It must rain, anyhow."
+  Mary Mulligatawny said, "I feel it raining now."
+    And yet there were no clouds in sight, and 'twas a pleasant day,
+    But Mrs. Mulligatawny always liked to have her way.
+    With Mrs. Mulligatawny the family all agreed,
+    For all the Mulligatawnys feared her very much indeed,
+          And did, whenever they were bid,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,
+          And tried to think, as they were taught,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny said, "Now two and two are three."
+  Mr. Mulligatawny said, "I'm sure they ought to be."
+  William Mulligatawny said, "Arithmetic is wrong."
+  Mary Mulligatawny said, "It's been so all along."
+    Now two and two do not make three, and three they never were;
+    But Mrs. Mulligatawny said 'twas near enough for her.
+    With Mrs. Mulligatawny the family all agreed,
+    For all the Mulligatawnys feared her very much indeed,
+          And did, whenever they were bid,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,
+          And tried to think, as they were taught,
+          As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.
+
+  Mrs. Mulligatawny fell out of the world one day.
+  Mr. Mulligatawny said, "I don't know what to say."
+  William Mulligatawny said, "I don't know what to do."
+  Mary Mulligatawny said, "I feel the same as you."
+    Mrs. Mulligatawny left the family sitting there.
+    They couldn't think, they couldn't move, because they didn't dare;
+    For Mrs. Mulligatawny had always thought for them,
+    And all the Mulligatawnys thought the same as Mrs. M.,
+              And did, whenever they were bid,
+              As Mrs. Mulligatawny did,
+              And tried to think, as they were taught,
+              As Mrs. Mulligatawny thought.
+
+
+
+
+EUTHANASIA
+
+[To E. C.]
+
+
+  Oh, drop your eyelids down, my lady;
+    Oh, drop your eyelids down.
+  'Twere well to keep your bright eyes shady
+    For pity of the town!
+  But should there any glances be,
+  I pray you give them all to me;
+  For though my life be lost thereby,
+  It were the sweetest death to die!
+
+
+
+
+DAINTY LITTLE LOVE
+
+
+  Dainty little Love came tripping
+      Down the hill,
+  Smiling as he thought of sipping
+      Sweets at will.
+        SHE said, "No,
+        Love must go."
+  Dainty little Love came tripping
+      Down the hill.
+
+  Dainty little Love went sighing
+      Up the hill,
+  All his little hopes were dying--
+      Love was ill.
+        Vain he tried
+        Tears to hide.
+  Dainty little Love went sighing
+      Up the hill.
+
+
+
+
+TO M.
+
+
+  Sweet visions came to me in sleep,
+      Ah! wondrous fair to see;
+  And in my mind I strove to keep
+      The dream to tell to thee.
+
+  But morning broke with golden gleam,
+      And shone upon thy face,
+  And life was lovelier than a dream,
+      And dreams had lost their grace.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG
+
+
+  I heard an old, familiar air
+      Strummed idly by a careless hand,
+  Yet in the melody were rare,
+      Sweet echoings from childhood land.
+
+  The well-remembered mother touch,
+      The wise denials and consents,
+  The trivial sorrows that were much,
+      Small pleasures that were large events;
+
+  The fancies, dreams, strange wonderings,
+      The daily problems unexplained,
+  Momentous as the cares of kings
+      That on unhappy thrones have reigned,
+
+  Came back with each unstudied tone;
+      And came that song remembered best,
+  Which, with a sweetness all its own,
+      Once lulled the play-worn child to rest.
+
+  And there, secure as Tarik's height,
+      He slumbered, shielded from alarms,
+  Safe from the mystery of night,
+      Close folded in the mother's arms.
+
+  Then Israel's mighty songs of old,
+      And all the modern masters' art,
+  Were less than simple lays that told
+      The secret of the mother's heart.
+
+  The sweetest melody that flows
+      From lips that win the world's applause
+  Charms not like that which childhood knows,
+      Unfettered by the curb of laws.
+
+  For though we rise to nobler themes,
+      To grander harmonies attain,
+  Their lives not in the academes
+      The magic of the simpler strain.
+
+  And we may spurn the cruder song,
+      Or name it anything we will,
+  Denounce the artifice as wrong,
+      Yet to the child 'tis music still.
+
+  Thus, list'ning to an idle air,
+      Struck lightly by a careless hand,
+  I heard, amid the cadence there,
+      The sweetest song of childhood land.
+
+
+
+
+AT TWILIGHT TIME
+
+
+  At twilight time when tolls the chime,
+      And saddest notes are falling,
+  A lonely bird with plaintive word
+      Across the dusk is calling.
+  Vain doth it wait for one dear mate,
+      That ne'er shall know the morrow;
+  Then sinks to rest with drooping crest
+      In one long dream of sorrow.
+
+  Dearest, when night is here,
+      To thee I'm calling,
+  Sadly as tear on tear
+      Is slowly falling,
+  Oh, fold me near, more near--
+      In love enthralling!
+  Here on thy breast,
+      While life shall last,
+  With thee I stay.
+      Here will I rest
+  Till night is past,
+      And comes the day!
+
+
+
+
+CELESTE
+
+
+  Of sweethearts I have had a score,
+    And time may bring as many more;
+  Tho' I remember all the rest,
+    Just now I worship dear Celeste;
+  Hers may not be the greatest love,
+    But ah! it is the latest love.
+
+        For little Cupid's never stupid,
+          As I've found out;
+        And love is truest when 'tis newest,
+          Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.
+
+  Of sweethearts I have had a score,
+    Celeste says I deserve no more;
+  I take revenge on dear Celeste,
+    By telling her I love her best;
+  Hers may not be the greatest love,
+    But ah! it is the latest love.
+
+        For little Cupid's never stupid,
+          As I've found out;
+        And love is truest when 'tis newest,
+          Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.
+
+
+
+
+THISTLE-DOWN
+
+
+  The thistle-down floats on the air, the air,
+    Whenever the soft wind blows,
+  And the wind can tell just where, just where
+    The feathery thistle-down goes.
+  And it tells the bird in a single word,
+    Who whispers it low to the bee;
+  And they try to keep the mystery deep,
+    And none of them tell it to me.
+  But I know well, though they never will tell,
+  Where the thistle-down goes when it says "Farewell,"
+  It floats and floats away on the air,
+  And goes where the wind goes--everywhere!
+
+
+
+
+SLUMBER SONG
+
+
+  Gently fall the shadows gray,
+    Daylight softly veiling;
+  Now to Dreamland we'll away,
+    Sailing, sailing, sailing.
+
+  Little eyes were made for sleeping,
+    Little heads were made for rest,
+  Golden locks were made for keeping
+    Close to mother's breast;
+  Little hands were made for folding,
+    Little lips should never sigh;
+  What dear mother's arms are holding,
+    Love alone can buy.
+
+  Gently fall the shadows gray,
+    Daylight softly veiling;
+  Now to Dreamland we'll away,
+    Sailing, sailing, sailing.
+
+
+
+
+THOU ART TO ME
+
+
+      Thou art to me
+  As are soft breezes to a summer sea;
+    As stars unto the night;
+    Or when the day is born,
+    As sunrise to the morn;
+  As peace unto the fading of the light.
+
+      Thou art to me
+  As one sweet flower upon a barren lea;
+    As rest to toiling hands;
+  As one clear spring amid the desert sands;
+    As smiles to maidens' lips;
+  As hope to friends that wait for absent ships;
+    As happiness to youth;
+    As purity to truth;
+    As sweetest dreams to sleep;
+  As balm to wounded hearts that weep.
+  All, all that I would have thee be
+      Thou art to me.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE
+
+[TRIO]
+
+
+  Oh, love hits all humanity, humanity, my dear;
+  But after all it's vanity, a vanity, I fear;
+  And sometimes 'tis insanity, insanity, so queer;
+    Humanity, yes, a vanity, yes, insanity so queer.
+  And love is often curious, so curious to see,
+  And oftentimes is spurious, so spurious, ah, me!
+  And surely 'tis injurious, injurious when free,
+    So curious, yes, and spurious, yes, injurious when free.
+
+  Oh, love brings much anxiety, anxiety and grief,
+  But seasoned with propriety, propriety, relief,
+  It's mixed with joy and piety, but piety is brief;
+    Anxiety, yes, propriety, yes, but piety is brief.
+  Oh, young love's all timidity, timidity, I'm told,
+  Gains courage with rapidity, rapidity, so bold,
+  With traces of acidity, acidity, when old;
+    Timidity, yes, rapidity, yes, acidity, when old.
+
+
+
+
+THE STRANGER-MAN
+
+
+  "Now what is that, my daughter dear, upon thy cheek so fair?"
+  "'Tis but a kiss, my mother dear--kind fortune sent it there.
+  It was a courteous stranger-man that gave it unto me,
+  And it is passing red because it was the last of three."
+
+  "A kiss indeed! my daughter dear; I marvel in surprise!
+  Such conduct with a stranger-man I fear me was not wise."
+  "Methought the same, my mother dear, and so at three forbore,
+  Although the courteous stranger-man vowed he had many more."
+
+  "Now prithee, daughter, quickly go, and bring the stranger here,
+  And bid him hie and bid him fly to me, my daughter dear;
+  For times be very, very hard, and blessings eke so rare,
+  I fain would meet a stranger-man that hath a kiss to spare."
+
+
+
+
+THE HONEYSUCKLE VINE
+
+
+  'Twas a tender little honeysuckle vine
+  That smiled and danced in the warm sunshine,
+  And spied a maid as fair as all maids be,
+  Who said, "Little honeysuckle, come up to me."
+  So it climbed and climbed in the sun and the shade,
+  And all summer long at her window stayed;
+  For that is the way that honeysuckles go,
+  And that is the way that true loves grow.
+
+  Then the loving little honeysuckle vine
+  Kissed the little maid in the warm sunshine;
+  But the winter came with an angry frown,
+  And the false little maid shut the window down;
+  And the sorrowing vine on the wintry side
+  Mourned and mourned for the love that died,
+  And faded away in the wind and snow,--
+  And that is the way that some loves go.
+
+
+
+
+SAINT BOTOLPH
+
+
+  Saint Botolph flourished in the olden time,
+  In the days when the saints were in their prime.
+  Oh, his feet were bare and bruised and cold,
+  But his heart was warm and as pure as gold.
+  And the kind old saint with his gown and his hood
+  Was loved by the sinners and loved by the good,
+  For he made the sinners as pure as the snow,
+  And the good men needed him to keep them so.
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+
+  He loved a friend and a flagon of wine,
+  When the friend was true and the bottle was fine.
+  He would raise his glass with a knowing wink,
+  And this was the toast he would always drink:--
+
+  "Oh, here's to the good and the bad men too,
+  For without them saints would have nothing to do.
+  Oh, I love them both and I love them well,
+  But which I love better, I never can tell."
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+
+  As he journeyed along on the king's highway
+  He gave all the boys and the girls "Good-day,"
+  And never a child saw the hood and gown
+  But ran to the father of Botolph's Town.
+  He'd a word for the wicked, and he called them kin,
+  And he said, "I am certain that there must be sin
+  While a few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,
+  And some are born fingers and some born thumbs."
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+  But the saint grew old, and sorry the day
+  When his life went out with the tide in the bay;
+  But he left a name and he left a creed
+  Of the cheerful life and the kindly deed.
+  Then remember the man of the days of old
+  Whose heart was warm and as pure as gold,
+  And remember the tears and the prayers he gave
+  For any poor devil with a soul to save.
+
+  CHORUS
+
+    Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
+    To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
+    A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
+    To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
+
+
+
+
+THE GURGLING IMPS
+
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Lived in the Land of the Crimson Plum,
+  And a language very strange had they,
+  'Twas merely a chattering ricochet.
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Caught hummingbirds for the sake of the hum,
+  Their cheeks were flushed with a sable tinge,
+  Their eyelids hung on a silver hinge.
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Called each other "My charming chum,"
+  And floated in tears of joy to see
+  Their relatives hung in a cranberry tree.
+
+  The Gurgling Imps of Mummery Mum
+  Stole the whole of a half of a crumb,
+  And a wind arose and blew the Imps
+  Way off to the Land of the Lazy Limps.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORM WILL TURN
+
+
+  I'm a gentle, meek, and patient human worm;
+                  Unattractive,
+                  Rather active,
+  With a sense of right, original but firm.
+              I was taught to be forgiving,
+                For my enemies to pray;
+              But what's the use of living
+                If you never can repay
+  All the little animosities that in your bosom burn--
+  Oh, it's pleasant to remember that "the worm will turn."
+
+  I'm so gentle and so patient and so meek,
+                  Unpretending,
+                  Unoffending.
+  But if, perchance, you smite me on the cheek,
+              I will never turn the other,
+                As I was taught to do
+              By a puritanic mother,
+                Whose theology was blue.
+  Your experience will widen when explicitly you learn
+  How a modest, mild, submissive little worm will turn.
+
+  I'm so subtle and so crafty and so sly.
+                  I am humble,
+                  But I "tumble"
+  To the slightest oscillation of the eye.
+              When others think they're winning
+                A fabulous amount,
+              Then I do a little sinning
+                On my personal account,
+  And in my quiet, simple way a modest stipend earn
+  As they slowly grasp the bitter fact that worms will turn.
+
+  Oh, human worms are curious little things;
+                  Inoffensive,
+                  Rather pensive
+  Till it comes to using little human stings.
+              Oh, then avoid intrusion
+                If you would be discreet,
+              And cultivate seclusion
+                In an underground retreat.
+  And whenever you are tempted the lowly worm to spurn,
+  Just bear in mind that little line, "The worm will turn."
+
+
+
+
+THE BOSTON CATS
+
+
+  A Little Cat played on a silver flute,
+    And a Big Cat sat and listened;
+  The Little Cat's strains gave the Big Cat pains,
+    And a tear on his eyelid glistened.
+
+  Then the Big Cat said, "Oh, rest awhile;"
+    But the Little Cat said, "No, no;
+  For I get pay for the tunes I play;"
+    And the Big Cat answered, "Oh!
+
+  If you get pay for the tunes you play,
+    I'm afraid you'll play till you drop;
+  You'll spoil your health in the race for wealth,
+    So I'll give you more to stop."
+
+  Said the Little Cat, "Hush! you make me blush;
+    Your offer is unusually kind;
+  Though it's very, very hard to leave the back yard,
+    I'll accept if you don't mind."
+
+  So the Big Cat gave him a thousand pounds
+    And a silver brush and a comb,
+  And a country seat on Beacon Street,
+    Right under the State House dome.
+
+  And the Little Cat sits with other little kits,
+    And watches the bright sun rise;
+  And the voice of the flute is long since mute,
+    And the Big Cat dries his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+THE JONQUIL MAID
+
+
+  A little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree,
+              Singing alone,
+              In a low love-tone,
+  And the wind swept by with a wistful moan;
+          For he longed to stay
+          With the Maid all day;
+              But he knew
+              As he blew
+              It was true
+              That the dew
+          Would never, never dry
+          If the wind should die;
+  So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew.
+  And while to the Land of the Rose went he,
+              Singing alone,
+              In a low love-tone,
+  A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.
+
+  The Little Maid's eyes had a rainbow hue,
+          And her sunset hair
+          Was woven with care
+  In a knot that was fit for a Psyche to wear;
+          And she pressed her lips
+          With her finger tips,
+              Threw a sly
+              Kiss to try
+              If he'd sigh
+              In reply,
+          And said with a laugh,
+          "Oh, it's not one half
+  As sweet as I give when there's Some One nigh."
+  And while to the Rosebud Land went he,
+              Singing alone,
+              In a low love-tone,
+  A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.
+
+  The wind swept back to the Jonquil Tree
+          At the close of day,
+          In the twilight gray;
+  But the sweet Little Maid had stolen away;
+          And whither she's flown
+          Will never be known
+              Till the Rose
+              As it blows
+              Shall disclose
+              All it knows
+          Of the Maid so fair
+          With the sunset hair.
+  And the sad wind comes and sighs and goes,
+  And dreams of the day when he blew so free,
+          When singing alone,
+          In a low love-tone,
+  A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROLLICKING MASTODON
+
+
+  A Rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain,
+      In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.
+  His face was plain, but his jocular vein
+      Was a burst of the wildest glee.
+  His voice was strong and his laugh so long
+      That people came many a mile,
+  And offered to pay a guinea a day
+      For the fractional part of a smile.
+          The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide--
+          Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;
+          And oh! so proud of his jocular vein
+          Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+  The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,
+      "I feel that I need some air,
+  For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,
+      As well as a gloss for the hair."
+  So he skipped along and warbled a song
+      In his own triumphulant way.
+  His smile was bright and his skip was light
+      As he chirruped his roundelay.
+          The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,
+          And sang what Mastodons call a song;
+          But every note of it seemed to pain
+          The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+  A Little Peetookle came over the hill,
+      Dressed up in a bollitant coat;
+  And he said, "You need some harroway seed,
+      And a little advice for your throat."
+  The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child,
+      There's a chance for your taste to grow.
+  If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find
+      How little, how little you know."
+          The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground
+          At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;
+          For he felt it a sort of musical stain
+          On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+  "Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?"
+      Said the Little Peetookle: "Dear me!
+  It certainly seems your horrible screams
+      Intended for music must be."
+  The Mastodon stopped; his ditty he dropped,
+      And murmured, "Good-morning, my dear!
+  I never will sing to a sensitive thing
+      That shatters a song with a sneer!"
+          The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."
+          Of course, 'twas a sensible thing to do;
+          For Little Peetookle is spared the strain
+          Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIVE SENSES
+
+
+  Oh, why do men their glasses clink
+  When good old honest wine they drink?
+
+  Wine is so excellent a thing
+  To lowest subject, or to highest king,
+  That every sense alike should share
+  The pleasure that can banish care.
+  Thus may each merry eye _behold_
+  The sparkle of the red or gold.
+  Our lips may _feel_ the goblet's edge
+  And _taste_ the loving cup we pledge.
+  While from each foaming glass escape
+  The precious _perfumes_ of the grape.
+  But ah, we _hear_ it not, and so
+  We give the _touch_ that all men know.
+  And thus do all the senses share
+  The pleasure that can banish care.
+
+  And that is why the glasses clink
+  When good old honest wine we drink.
+
+
+
+
+ECONOMY
+
+[A VALENTINE]
+
+
+  I send,
+  O sweetest friend,
+  A kiss;
+  Such as fair ladies gave
+  Of old, when knights were brave,
+  And smiles were won
+  Through foes undone.
+  And this will be
+  For you to give again to me;
+  And then, its present errand o'er,
+  I'll give it unto you once more,
+  Ere briefest time elapse,
+  With interest, perhaps.
+  Its mission spent,
+  Again to me it may be lent.
+  And thus, day after day,
+  As we a simple law obey,
+  Forever, to and fro,
+  The selfsame kiss will go;
+  A busy shuttle that shall weave
+  A web of love, to soften and relieve
+  Our daily care.
+  And so,
+  As thus we share,
+  With lip to lip,
+  Our frugal partnership,
+  One kiss will always do
+  For two.
+  And, oh, how easy it will be
+  To practice this economy!
+
+
+
+
+IDYLETTES OF THE QUEEN
+
+
+  I.--SHE
+
+  I fain would write on pleasant themes;
+      So let me prate
+      Awhile of Kate;
+  And if my rhyming effort seems
+      Uncouth or rough,
+        At any rate,
+        She's Kate,
+      And that's enough.
+
+
+  II.--HER EYES
+
+  Her eyes are bright--
+    I cannot say "like stars at night,"
+      Nor can I say
+    "Like the Orb of Day,"
+  Because such phrases are archaic.
+    And if I swear
+    That they compare
+    With diamonds rare,
+  That's too prosaic.
+
+  I've hunted my thesaurus through,
+  "The Century" and "Webster," too,
+    But all in vain;
+    'Tis therefore plain
+  That they who made these books so wise
+  Had never seen her eyes!
+
+
+  III.--HER GOWN
+
+  When Kate puts on her Sunday gown
+    And goes to church all in her best,
+  The watchful gargoyles looking down
+  Relax their most forbidding frown,
+    And smile with kindly interest.
+
+  Discerning gargoyles! could I be
+    One of your number looking down,
+  With you I surely would agree
+  And share your amiability
+    At sight of Kate and Sunday gown.
+
+
+  IV.--HER KNOWLEDGE
+
+  How much she knows no one can tell;
+  But she can read and write and spell,
+    Divide and multiply and add,
+    And name the apples Thomas had
+  When John enticed him five to sell.
+
+  For "jelly" she does not say "jell,"
+  Nor horrify us with "umbrell,"
+    For all of which we're very glad--
+      How much she knows!
+
+  She knows the oyster by his shell,
+  Detects the newsboy by his yell,
+    Enumerates the bones in shad,
+    And thinks my poetry is bad.
+  Well! well! well! well! well! well! well! well!
+      How much she knows!
+
+
+  V.--HER SIGH
+
+  When she utters a sigh
+    'Tis a breath from the roses,
+  And a-hovering nigh,
+  When she utters a sigh,
+  The bees wonder why
+    No garden discloses.
+  When she utters a sigh
+   'Tis a breath from the roses.
+
+
+  VI.--HER RING
+
+  Her ring goes round her finger.
+    Oh, foolish thing!
+    Were I a ring,
+  I'd not "go round"--I'd linger!
+
+
+  VII.--HER FAULTS
+
+  Of faults she has but one,
+  And that is, she has none.
+
+
+  VIII.--HER VOICE
+
+  Sweet and soothing, rhythmic, tuneful,
+  Dulcet, mellow, _un_bassoonful,
+        Zither, 'cello, lute, guitar,
+        And there you are!
+
+
+  IX.--HER LOVE
+
+  Do you love me?
+  R. S. V. P.
+
+
+
+
+TO M. E.
+
+
+  We keep in step as years roll by;
+    You march behind and I before:--
+  The path is new to you; but I
+    Have passed the ground you're walking o'er.
+  Yet I march on with measured tread,
+    And looking back, I smile and greet you:--
+  I fear the order, "Halt!" Instead,
+    Would I might countermarch and meet you.
+
+
+
+
+BON VOYAGE
+
+[TO O. R.]
+
+
+  Out from the Land of the Future, into the Land of the Past
+  A comrade sails to the East, the sport of the wave and the blast.
+  Oh, billow and breeze, be kind, and temper your strength to your guest,
+  Kind for the sake of the friend,--for the sake of the hands he pressed.
+
+  Oh, tenderest billow and breeze, welcome him even as we
+  Would welcome if you were the friend and we were the wind and the sea!
+  Welcome, protect him, and waft him westward and homeward at last
+  Into the Land of the Future, out from the Land of the Past!
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK OF LIFE
+
+
+  Whoso his book of life doth con
+  From title-leaf to colophon
+  May read, if he but wrongly look,
+  Some sorry pages in his book.
+
+  But if he read aright each line,
+  Interpreting the scheme divine,
+  'Twill be most fair to look upon
+  From title-leaf to colophon.
+
+
+
+
+  The Riverside Press
+
+  _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co._
+  _Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
+
+  Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Arthur Macy
+
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