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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43406 ***
+
+HERBS AND APPLES
+
+[Illustration: "TO BE ALONE, TO WATCH THE DUSK AND WEEP"]
+
+
+
+
+HERBS AND APPLES
+
+BY
+
+HELEN HAY WHITNEY
+
+AUTHOR OF "SONGS AND SONNETS,"
+"GYPSY VERSES," ETC.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
+LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
+MCMX
+
+Copyright, 1910
+BY JOHN LANE COMPANY
+
+THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
+
+I give you this, the bitter and the sweet.
+It holds my heart, can you not hear it beat?
+So poor a gift to put within your hand--
+Apples and Herbs!--but you will understand.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ PAGE
+
+TO NEIGHBOR LIFE 1
+
+THE UNBURIED 2
+
+UP A LITTLE ROAD 3
+
+ON CEDAR STREET, NEW YORK 4
+
+CHE SARÀ SARÀ 5
+
+THE DEAD WANTON 6
+
+LEAVEN 7
+
+QUAERITUR 8
+
+LOVE LAND 9
+
+BY THE WESTERN GATE 10
+
+FOR MUSIC 11
+
+THE LITTLE GHOST 12
+
+MADONNA EVE 13
+
+A CONVERSATION 14
+
+BE BRAVE 15
+
+FORFEITURE 16
+
+THE SEARCH 17
+
+DUST 18
+
+NATURE'S CHILD 19
+
+VERITATIS 20
+
+THE PEACOCK 21
+
+ANTICIPATION 22
+
+THE WAYFARER 23
+
+RENUNCIATION 24
+
+ARABESQUE 25
+
+THE ARCHITECTS 26
+
+AMBUSH 27
+
+THE SCALES 28
+
+THE OLD TRAGEDY 29
+
+TABOO 30
+
+THE RIVALS 31
+
+ALONE 32
+
+BENEATH THE MASK 33
+
+THOTH 34
+
+LITTLE DANCER 35
+
+SIC ITUR AD ASTRA 36
+
+THE JUDGES 37
+
+THE SPRING PLANTING 38
+
+AN IMPRESSIONIST PICTURE 39
+
+SUCH HELP FOR SINGING 40
+
+TEMPUS EDAX RERUM 41
+
+THE COWARD 42
+
+THE LOST ROMANY 43
+
+COMPENSATION 44
+
+UNTAMED 45
+
+TO PERVANCHE 46
+
+THE BELLE 47
+
+RELEASE 48
+
+THE THIEF 49
+
+I WILL WRITE LETTERS TO THE GRASS 50
+
+ONLY THIS 51
+
+THE SURVIVOR 52
+
+MEGAERA 53
+
+THE SONG OF MOKAI 54
+
+TO THE GYPSY MAN 55
+
+THERE IS NO DANGER IN DISDAIN 56
+
+THE PLAYMATE 57
+
+AFTERWARDS 58
+
+THE OLD MAID 59
+
+MADNESS? 60
+
+THE SCHOLAR 61
+
+WISDOM'S SECRET 62
+
+CAGED 63
+
+THE WIFE SPEAKS 64
+
+THE ALTAR 65
+
+ _Acknowledgment is made to Messrs. Harper & Bros., the
+ Century Company, The Metropolitan Magazine, and Collier's
+ Weekly, for courteous permission to reproduce certain of
+ the verses included in this volume._
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+ PAGE
+
+"TO BE ALONE, TO WATCH THE DUSK AND WEEP" 32
+ _Frontispiece_
+
+"SMILING SHE FLOUTS DEMOSTHENES" 6
+
+THE PEACOCK 21
+
+LITTLE DANCER 35
+
+THE ROMANY 43
+
+PERVANCHE 46
+
+"AND WRAP MY HEART CLOSE SHROUDED IN THE HOURS" 50
+
+
+
+
+HERBS AND APPLES
+
+
+
+
+TO NEIGHBOR LIFE
+
+
+Neighbor Life, I love you well,
+Have you any goods to sell?
+Let me buy or let me borrow
+Joy, to tide me o'er the morrow;
+I will give you in exchange
+Baskets full of thoughts that range,
+Bright utensils of my brain;
+Coins of feeling you shall gain.
+All I ask in equal measure
+Is your store of joy and pleasure.
+Neighbor Life, I love you well,
+Have you any joy to sell?
+
+
+
+
+THE UNBURIED
+
+
+In the wood the dead trees stand,
+Dead and living, hand to hand,
+Being Winter, who can tell
+Which is sick and which is well?
+Standing upright, day by day
+Sullenly their hearts decay
+Till a wise wind lays them low,
+Prostrate, empty, then we know.
+
+So thro' forests of the street,
+Men stand dead upon their feet,
+Corpses without epitaph;
+God withholds his wind of wrath,
+So we greet them, and they smile,
+Dead and doomed a weary while,
+Only sometimes thro' their eyes
+We can see the worm that plies.
+
+
+
+
+UP A LITTLE ROAD
+
+
+Up a little road with the morning in my arms,
+ Drenched with dew and tipsy with the madness of the May,
+Leafy fingers on my face, I stop not for your charms!
+ Love is waiting round the turn, to be my Love to-day.
+
+Shouting as I ride on the springing ringing sod,
+ Ah! my pony knows the goal to which his course is laid,
+Galloping thro' dawn he knows he bears a little god
+ Bacchus-mad with happiness who burns to meet his maid.
+
+
+
+
+ON CEDAR STREET, NEW YORK
+
+
+I, whose totem was a tree
+ In the days when earth was new,
+Joyous leafy ancestry
+ Known of twilight and of dew,
+Now within this iron wall
+ Slave of tasks that irk the soul,
+To my parents send one call--
+ That they give me of their dole.
+
+Thro' the roar of alien sound
+ Grimy noise of work-a-day,
+Secretly a voice, half drowned,
+ Whispers thro' the evening's grey,
+"Child, we know the path you tread,
+ Ghost and manes, we are true;
+Cedar spirits, long since dead,
+ Calm and sweet abide with you."
+
+
+
+
+CHE SARÀ SARÀ
+
+
+Deep as the permanent earth is deep,
+ Fierce as its central fire,
+Man is his own conclusion,
+ Woman her great desire.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEAD WANTON
+
+
+She was so light, so frail a thing,
+ She had no wisdom but her face,
+Which caught men's fancy like the Spring
+ Yet held them but a moment's space.
+
+She is the youngest of the dead,
+ And so the great lean round her feet;
+They strive to learn from her fair head
+ Why far-forgotten life was sweet.
+
+For now she knows what Plato knows,
+ And lapped in languor she agrees
+With Kant, and as her soft hair blows,
+ Smiling, she flouts Demosthenes.
+
+[Illustration: "SMILING, SHE FLOUTS DEMOSTHENES"]
+
+
+
+
+LEAVEN
+
+
+Others furnish bread and meat,
+Busy hucksters on the street,
+They will give you what you need,
+All the facts your life to feed.
+
+Mine are not these wares of earth,
+I can give my love but mirth;
+Let, oh let this part be mine,
+I would be your salt and wine.
+
+
+
+
+QUAERITUR
+
+
+What if to-day, when I have made so sure
+ That love is utterly and wholly mine,
+What if I found that faith should not endure
+ And all my trust in you I should resign;
+
+That when I send my thoughts like homing birds
+ To your dear heart they find no resting place,
+But all misunderstood, far, foreign words,
+ They die away like strangers at your face.
+
+Love, make me certain, make the circuit true,
+ And when I wonder, give the faith I seek
+Perfectly trusting, let me end in you
+ Heart against heart, and cheek upon your cheek.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE LAND
+
+
+Where is El Dorado?
+ Where is bright Cathay?
+These are lands where we should go
+ To live and love to-day.
+
+Miles of glistening beaches
+ Over all the sun,
+Tropic, spicy-laden breeze
+ To lull when day is done.
+
+Gypsy lass and lover
+ With the tides we'd rove;
+We be natives of no land
+ Save the land of love.
+
+
+
+
+BY THE WESTERN GATE
+
+
+You and you only!--By the Western gate
+ That fronts the falling sun I shade my face
+ And watch for you. As one who's lost the race
+Tries to demand no further gift from Fate
+Lest he be hurled more low, so I, who wait
+ And want you, ask no pity of your grace
+ On my defeat, I only long to trace
+My lost heart; come to me, my need is great.
+
+I see the young men with their crystal eyes,
+ They stand about my door, their hearts, I know
+ Are breaking in the poppies that they bring.
+I cannot love them for I am not wise;
+ Ah, come, or else forever let me go,
+ I grow so tired with waiting in the Spring.
+
+
+
+
+FOR MUSIC
+
+
+The Indian Summer and Love have fled,
+ Oh, red, red lips like a crimson rose,
+Oh, slender hands with the tips of red,
+ You are lost in the land of Nobody-knows.
+
+The sweet breeze blows but it comes not back,
+ The water flows in a silver stream,
+But never returns on its moon-white track,
+ They are gone, past recall, like a lovely dream.
+
+Ah, crimson lips like a tilted flower,
+ Where sweetest honey awaits the bee;
+Come back, come back for a single hour,
+ Dear Love, my Summer, come back to me.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE GHOST
+
+
+The little one who loved the sun
+ Who only lived for play,
+Ah, why was she the one condemned
+ To dark and dreams for aye!
+
+The perfect perfume of her life
+ Was as a rose's breath,
+And now she treads eternally
+ The gusty walks of Death.
+
+
+
+
+MADONNA EVE
+
+
+From what far spicery derives your hair
+ The sweet faint fragrance that enslaves my sense?
+What subtle love trick taught you to be fair
+ With overt lure and covert reticence?
+
+Madonna Eve, you bear upon your breast
+ A hungry emerald like the desiring sea,
+But warm upon your heart lie pearls of rest
+ What man could exorcise such witchery?
+
+
+
+
+A CONVERSATION
+
+
+"Laddy, leave your pedant's task,
+ Rove the world with me.
+Fields and towns and pretty lands
+ Together we would see.
+There be workers everywhere,
+ You would not be missed.
+Come, ah come, and take for yours
+ The mouth you never kissed!"
+
+"Lady, I am fain for play,
+ So I may not go.
+Only those who hate to toil
+ The true enjoyment know;
+But could you love a larrikin
+ Whose task he'd so resign?"
+"Yes!--I'd love a larrikin
+ If only he were mine."
+
+
+
+
+BE BRAVE
+
+
+Be brave about yourselves, you little ones,
+ If in the crazy warp and woof you gleam
+With the insistence of determined suns,
+ Shine, being true and modest in your dream.
+
+If to the peace of nature you respond
+ Draw from her breast your milk, nor weep the high
+Duties for lack of which you now despond,
+ Made for historic planets thro' the sky.
+
+Knowing yourself a gay and careless weed,
+ Be you courageous in your light despair;
+Sure that you fill a space of unknown need,
+ Idle and green in the bright coat you wear.
+
+Strive to the uttermost to find your worth,
+ Jester or Gypsy, Body, Brain or Soul,
+Filling with perfect cheer your place on earth,
+ So shall the tapestry of Time be whole.
+
+
+
+
+FORFEITURE
+
+
+So I have lost you. When the utter ache
+ Shall fade at length to mere despondency
+ What will the answer to this problem be?
+They say that nothing dies, that all we stake
+Brings some unknown return; what then shall make
+ An adequate exchange for love, to see
+ Your hand held out in friendship?--as for me
+The episode is ended, for life's sake.
+
+You want me still for that small joy I gave,
+ But now it ends for you. I am not brave
+To love you seared; I have no happy days
+ To brood upon at dusk, and so I claim,
+As all the wager that good fortune pays,
+ Complete obliteration of your name.
+
+
+
+
+THE SEARCH
+
+
+I tire of the struggle, the search for the ultimate I,
+There hangs the chalice of sapphire, the infinite sky,
+Why thro' the space of despair should my spirit be hurled
+Seeking for truth, when beneath lies this pearl of a world?
+
+Seers may direct us thro' pain to discover the soul,
+Comforting joy may not give us the absolute whole,
+But if the seers should be wrong, may the truth not be ours
+Thanking dear Life for its light and its beautiful hours?
+
+
+
+
+DUST
+
+
+Motes of the city dust, could this thing be
+That midst your myriad particles for me
+Might come one atom out of Ispahan,
+One spiced far memory of caravan.
+
+Indrawn upon my breath I'd know an urge
+To dissipate monotony, and purge
+The spirit of its spleen; one with the man
+Who takes the sun blue air of Ispahan.
+
+
+
+
+NATURE'S CHILD
+
+
+I had a friend whose soul was very fair,
+ His word was wisdom and his strength was sure;
+His courage in the ills he had to bear
+ Made others strong and able to endure.
+I asked no love, no tribute of the sense
+For his companionship was recompense.
+
+I thought I was beloved, but did not care,
+ He smiled on me as he on others smiled,
+But one grey day a chill was in the air
+ And then to prove that I was Nature's child,
+He spoke--"I do not love you very much--"
+And all my friendship shattered at the touch.
+
+
+
+
+VERITATIS
+
+
+Seated among the shards of Potiphar
+ I pondered. Shall we still strive on? forsooth
+There is no better, that is good as Best,
+ There is no truer that is true as Truth.
+
+[Illustration: THE PEACOCK]
+
+
+
+
+THE PEACOCK
+
+
+She was more beautiful than tropic night,
+ Luring, compelling as the smile of Fate;
+Like a poor wastrel, I for her delight
+ Squandered my soul and gained her idle hate.
+Peacock and paroquet!--at last I know
+The sorriest songsters make the bravest show.
+
+
+
+
+ANTICIPATION
+
+
+The joy is in the making. While we sow
+ Our dream is wonderful with flowers, we name
+ The purlieus of our garden and the aim
+Is worth the effort, yet we cannot know
+The garden will be just a garden, so
+ The dream is heaven. This way mothers frame
+ The child's high dedication to its fame,
+Repaid for all reality may show.
+
+God knows this, so He lets us have the best,
+ The vast anticipation, rugged man
+Joys in the struggle, triumphs over throes,
+Vanquished a thousand times he still finds zest
+ In hope and all his pleasure in a plan
+To be fulfilled at length in Heaven?--who knows.
+
+
+
+
+THE WAYFARER
+
+
+Half way to happiness,
+ The whole way back again,
+Stumbling up the stubborn hill
+ From the luring lane.
+
+Little sunset House of Hearts
+ Standing all alone,
+I could come and sweep the leaves
+ From your stepping stone.
+
+I, and he, could light your fires
+ Laughing at the rain
+But O it's far to Happiness,
+ A short way back again.
+
+
+
+
+RENUNCIATION
+
+
+Not what I ask, but what I do not ask,
+ O my Beloved, proves my love for you.
+And love can set to love no harder task
+ Than wistful silence, reticence to sue.
+
+I lock my lips, I force a wise content
+ With all my being wailing for a sign.
+Ah, if men knew what woman's smiling meant
+ When fierce and hard the heart cries out "He's mine."
+
+Mothers of men are we, we barren ones
+ Who say "Be happy, dear, and play your part."
+What matter how we yearn, you are our sons
+ Whose every footfall breaks a woman's heart.
+
+
+
+
+ARABESQUE
+
+
+Gold fish, rose and red
+ As lady Lillith's hair,
+Mauve and blue as curling smoke
+ And water-sapphires there.
+
+At the fountain's brim
+ I built a little dream,
+As a goldsmith cunningly
+ I made it flash and gleam.
+
+I wrought a maiden shape,
+ I colored it with love,
+Scarlet mouth and breast of pearl
+ And eyes of turtle dove.
+
+Thro' hours of moony dark,
+ I woo'd her for my bride
+But ah! I could not build her soul,
+ So with the dawn she died.
+
+
+
+
+THE ARCHITECTS
+
+
+How shall we build it curiously well,
+ Our house to live and love in?--Shall it be
+ Only significant to you and me,
+Or shall it be a palace where may dwell
+Those whom our spirits notice? May we tell
+ An architect to loose his fancy free
+ To toss up towers in soaring ecstasy
+With Doric dignity or temple bell?
+Or shall we build it with our hands, alone,
+ Working together over wood and stone
+To learn an art we never knew, and strive,
+ Patient, to raise with faith and trust and love,
+Fashioned so cunningly it must survive,
+ A secret cottage in a silent grove?
+
+
+
+
+AMBUSH
+
+
+Crafty Chieftain, where you lie
+You can see the clouds drift by,
+Waiting in the dusky fern
+For your enemy's return.
+
+Does the beauty of that place
+Never tell you of my face,
+I, you left, to plot and plan
+For the ending of a man?--
+
+You had better sought my aid,
+I have met him unafraid,
+We have wandered all alone
+Underneath a yellow moon.
+
+We have found the end of strife
+Is the waking up to life--
+Therefore you, who forced my vow,
+Take my all of wisdom now.
+
+Love has taught me but one truth--
+Love is merry, love is youth,
+We be children, he and I.
+Where is your sagacity?
+
+
+
+
+THE SCALES
+
+
+I wonder if the store of joy
+ And love is limited,
+And if because my heart is glad
+ Some other heart has bled.
+
+Believing this, a balance just
+ Of recompense, I pray
+That my beloved gained the joy
+ I did not have to-day.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD TRAGEDY
+
+
+Did I allure you?--I only meant to love you,
+ I only meant to be so dear you could not let me go.
+I held you close against my heart, bending down above you,
+ As mothers brood above their babes, I loved you, loved you so.
+
+'T was passion that moved you, called to you and caught you;
+ You never felt my tenderness full launched on your desire.
+You never knew the friendship and sympathy I brought you.
+ Ah, Mary pity women when their veins are filled with fire.
+
+And so I have lost you, I who never won you;
+ You thought me but a siren by your crafty arts beguiled.
+I hate myself and scorn you for the honor I have done you.
+ I leave you, bitter woman, and I came to you a child.
+
+
+
+
+TABOO
+
+
+Now am I sacred, for that holy thing,
+ Your touch, has made me as a god; to-day
+I am magnificent, I am a king
+ To whom my fellow men must cringe and pray.
+
+Such is taboo; but when to-morrow comes
+ I may look once upon the sun and you;
+Then, thro' the dawn, with wailing and sad drums
+ I pay the utter price.--Such is taboo!
+
+
+
+
+THE RIVALS
+
+
+Seated in my ingle nook
+ With Duty by my side,
+How I strove to see her charms
+ And take her for my bride!
+
+"Sweet," I said, "I love you so"--
+ And suddenly I heard
+The laughing call of Beauty's voice
+ And all my soul was stirred.
+
+Once again she cried my name
+ And gone was every doubt,
+For who could stay at Duty's side
+ When Beauty calls without?
+
+
+
+
+ALONE
+
+
+I only wanted room to be alone.
+ I saw the days like little silver moons
+ Cool and restrained shine forth; there were no noons
+To make me glad with glory, to atone.
+I dreamed of solitude. When one has known
+ Ardent and eager verity, the tunes
+ Of semi-truths are sweet, as subtle runes
+Attest the bud more dear than flower full blown.
+
+To be alone, to watch the dusk and weep
+ For beauty's face that is so veiled, to know
+ How exquisite the earth breaths come and go,
+To feel my life a silent, empty room
+Where lovely thoughts might take new shape and bloom,--
+This is the dream that is more dear than sleep.
+
+
+
+
+BENEATH THE MASK
+
+
+I said that men were cowards,
+ I thought that men were brave,
+I said that women gained no faith
+ For all the love they gave.
+
+Beneath a mask of scorning
+ I wore a heart of trust,
+But laughed in all my lovers' eyes
+ And vowed their vows were dust.
+
+Time showed my words were true ones,
+ My thoughts have proved no test,
+But still beneath my mask, I say
+ I know my dreams were best.
+
+
+
+
+THOTH
+
+
+Hewn from basalt, black as sin,
+ Blind eyes staring, hands on knees,--
+This is Thoth, who shall survive
+ All your fair divinities.
+
+Mars and Venus, piping Pan,
+ White Diana, Cupid sweet,--
+All their beauty, all their pride,
+ Lie like ashes round his feet.
+
+Vast and calm and ultimate
+ Ere this orb dissolves in space
+Life's last glimpse to man shall be
+ Thoth, with his impassive face.
+
+[Illustration: LITTLE DANCER]
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE DANCER
+
+
+O little dancer, slim as a new moon,
+A candle flame blown by the wind--how soon
+Will all this be forgotten! Do you care
+The pagan poppies dying in your hair;
+Do you despair to think that even as they
+Your lovely life will tarnish in a day?
+How can we keep you, butterfly!--O must
+Such lovely grace resolve itself in dust?
+We must believe that some day when you lie
+Hid from the lights, beneath the open sky
+The trees will bend more perfectly above you,
+The flowers dance gayer for they'll know and love you,
+And we will mind a little less the cold,
+Remembering your grace when we are old.
+
+
+
+
+SIC ITUR AD ASTRA
+
+
+If it be educational to breast
+ Salt lipped the wave that is the woe of Earth,
+Who could be called a fool? There is no rest
+ From sorrow in this island of re-birth.
+
+And yet, ringed 'round with shadow as we are,
+ In the penumbra we may all discern
+Glowing and gay the promise of a star
+ For the adventurer with faith to yearn.
+
+
+
+
+THE JUDGES
+
+
+Watch me, eyes of the wind and rain,
+ See if I come to the dusk with stain,
+Search me, eyes of the soaring sun,
+ See what mischief my hands have done.
+
+If there be beauty of word or deed,
+ If there be truth or a scorn of greed,
+Give me the peace of your dark, sweet hours,
+ Let me be still as your moon and flowers.
+
+If there be harm to a heart that trusts,
+ If there be pander to sordid lusts,
+Curse and condemn me to wide-eyed pain,
+ Judge, and pay me, eyes of the rain.
+
+
+
+
+THE SPRING PLANTING
+
+
+"What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,--
+ Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy?
+Brave little cuttings of laughter and light?
+ Then shall our Summer be flowery and bright."
+
+"Nay!--You are wrong in your planting," said he,
+ "Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree?
+Why should we water and weary away
+ For sake of a flower that lives but a day!"
+
+So she made gardens which he would not dig,
+ Tended her apricot, apple and fig.
+Then, when one morning he chanced to appear,
+ Sadly he noticed--"No trespassing here."
+
+
+
+
+AN IMPRESSIONIST PICTURE
+
+
+"How do you do," I said; the yellow coat
+ She wore was like a golden serpent's skin.
+ I took her white gloved hand, my voice grew thin
+As tho' her hand were tight about my throat.
+The air was green with heat, a flaccid note
+ I did not fail to see, for heat might win
+ My cause; her weary soul looked from within
+And saw the white sails flapping on my boat.
+
+"Coolness and rest" my eyes were whispering,
+ In Isles where morn grows never afternoon,
+ Where Passion buds forever with the Spring,
+ Nor wanes with shifting tides of sea and moon,
+But--"How are you?" she said, and that was all,
+And tho' she smiled, she passed beyond recall.
+
+
+
+
+SUCH HELP FOR SINGING
+
+
+Such help I have for singing!
+ The little winds a-stir
+Touch gently on the lisping leaves
+ Like dainty dulcimer.
+
+The sights and scents of April--
+ What dreams, what themes they bring--
+While gaunt crows cry their gasconade
+ Down all the ways of Spring.
+
+Such happy help for singing!
+ And round, below, above
+The air is thrilling with my joy
+ Of love, love, love.
+
+
+
+
+TEMPUS EDAX RERUM
+
+
+Upon the silence of my unconcern
+ The little noise that was your name falls dead.
+ I can remember how your mouth was red,
+In the lost years, but tho' the senses yearn
+For some unguessed desire, they never turn
+ To that vitality, your face!--We sped
+ So swiftly thro' our burning hour. We said
+Drink deep, 't will never end; too late we learn
+That lovely passion's face so soon is grey,
+ That notes too often pressed upon grow dumb,
+That after the high climax crowns a day
+ The dusk seems long and empty. We who come
+To taste again Life's feast, why must it be
+We meet such ghosts to chill our revelry?
+
+
+
+
+THE COWARD
+
+
+Wishful of many honors,
+ He was too lame to climb,
+And so he sat to wait for Death,
+ Forgetting to be brave.
+
+He never saw the windfalls,
+ From off the trees of Time,
+Drop down in mellow chance to him
+ The while he digged his grave.
+
+[Illustration: THE ROMANY]
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST ROMANY
+
+
+The Romany has gone, he has taken all my kisses,
+ I knew I could not keep him, so I laughed and let him go.
+I do not know the road where his freedom and his bliss is,
+ So take my sober spinning where no gypsy winds can blow.
+
+I will find my life serene, I will wed a pleasant lover,
+ I may think no more of perfume and the lingering in the lane;
+I will rear me sturdy children, and my soul I will discover,
+ For I will not love a Romany in all this world again.
+
+
+
+
+COMPENSATION
+
+
+If one grew blind thro' gazing
+ Wide-eyed upon the sun,
+What matter when such memoried light
+ Would last till life were done.
+
+If one should die of loving,
+ Divinely wild, and brave,
+What matter with such dreams to dream
+ Within the quiet grave.
+
+
+
+
+UNTAMED
+
+
+Ah, we weary so with kisses,
+ Weary so with your caresses,
+As the hooded hawk returning
+ To its tinkling bells and jesses,
+So we flutter to the prison
+ Of your arms, in meek surrender,
+And we grieve when you are angry,
+ And we smile when you are tender,
+But our souls, untamed, are soaring
+Where no blandishments can teach them,
+ Free our hearts, and free our spirits,
+Where your hands can never reach them.
+
+
+
+
+TO PERVANCHE
+
+
+If you were mine--(for all the little flowers
+ That see you, weary of their innocence)--
+ If prayers that have been pale with penitence
+Grew purple with our passion, all the hours
+ From sun to sun would be unique with bliss,
+ Little red mouth that is not mine to kiss!
+
+You are not mine and you will never be,
+ And so I am magnanimous, I give
+ My love and you to Time, and you shall live
+Bride of his avid passion. I will see
+ The moon of all this lure and beauty set,
+ And I will turn from you and quite forget.
+
+[Illustration: PERVANCHE]
+
+
+
+
+THE BELLE
+
+
+She spread her atlas petticoat
+ So rare, so fine to see.
+Her bonnet was of Tuscan straw,
+ Her shawl was Turkey red.
+She peacocked gay before men's eyes,
+ This lady of degree,
+On slippered tiny feet, and ah!
+ She wished that she were dead.
+
+At every ball, at every rout
+ She was the toast of town;
+But no one knew who called her cold
+ What cruel wound had she.
+The laughing gallant that she loved
+ Had scorned her high renown,
+And now another bore his babe,
+ And held it on her knee.
+
+
+
+
+RELEASE
+
+
+How may we be released from memories?
+ One dreads each green renewal of the grain,
+ Reviving ancient life. If but the brain
+Might be made clean of last year's withered lies,
+Blown like brown leaves across the April skies
+ In hateful resurrection, and retain
+ Only the springs of promise, fine and sane,
+And a kind, leading hand to make us wise.
+
+If with the running sap a royal birth
+ Each year might be accomplished, strong and free
+With the sweet prescience of virginity,
+ Then were we true inheritors of earth,
+And the large lonely stars no more should see
+ The age worn phoenix-lives that make our dearth.
+
+
+
+
+THE THIEF
+
+
+Did you see the rascal with the rain-grey eyes?
+ He robbed me of my happiness before I knew its worth.
+He stole into my garden and took it by surprise,
+ When midnight hid his wicked ways upon the sleeping earth.
+
+How shall I arrest him, for he took away my Spring,
+ Took away my April 'neath his cloak of steaming rain.
+Tho' he left his Summer and a choir of birds that sing,
+ Nothing will content me for I want my Spring again.
+
+
+
+
+I WILL WRITE LETTERS TO
+THE GRASS
+
+
+I will write letters to my friend the grass,
+ I will sing all my songs to lilac flowers
+Gather the spices in the airs that pass,
+ And wrap my heart close shrouded in the hours.
+
+I dread man's huge impertinence; he creeps
+ Thro' the inviolate silences of Spring
+Like a marauder, waking that which sleeps
+ To gather strength for lyric blossoming.
+
+I will write all my letters to the grass.
+ The world shall be resolved into a cry
+Faint as a little voice that cries Alas!
+ And I will laugh alone beneath the sky.
+
+[Illustration: "AND WRAP MY HEART CLOSE SHROUDED IN THE HOURS"]
+
+
+
+
+ONLY THIS
+
+
+We need demand no further gift from Heaven,
+ We might dispense with documents and creeds,
+If but this one great grace to us were given--
+ The strength to follow where our reason leads.
+
+
+
+
+THE SURVIVOR
+
+
+Beauty will crumble with tasking,
+ Love rarely lasts for a year,
+Virtue is sold for the asking,
+ Bravery fades before fear.
+
+Youth never lives till the morrow,
+ One thing of all is alive,
+Joy cannot quench it, or sorrow,
+ Folly alone shall survive.
+
+Folly, from cradle to burning,
+ Toys for the great and the small,
+None shall escape her by learning--
+ Folly has rattles for all!
+
+
+
+
+MEGAERA
+
+
+Always to suffer so, to want and weep
+With woe that groweth every day more deep;
+To don the green robe of tormented scorn,
+And ever curse the hour that love was born!
+Furies, my Sisters! have you no surcease
+For me to whom no death shall bring release?
+
+They name me Jealous One. They hate my name,
+The ages hold me high to endless shame;
+How, if I suffer so, does no one care
+And pity, for the wrath that I must bear?
+Gods! let me go, your service wrecks and sears,
+The vase must break that holds so many tears.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF MOKAI
+
+
+He's dead, I watched him die.
+ He cast a spell on my mate,
+They loved, and the moon whirled 'round the sky,
+ They mocked at my rage and hate.
+
+Blood red from the burning sea
+ The sun rose, and I knew!
+My soul whined wild little songs to me,
+ I did what I had to do.
+
+I have taken the bone of his thigh,
+ I have fashioned it into a horn;
+And I sing my soul's song, shrill and high,
+ And curse the day he was born.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE GYPSY MAN
+
+
+Is there no room in your gypsy heart
+ Where a woman's love might lie
+Warm and sheltered, your prize and song,
+ As you wander beneath the sky?
+
+No, for you say, "I'll carry no weight,
+ I must be free, be free;
+I'll carry no love in my gypsy heart
+ To make a drag for me."
+
+Little you know, then, love is the cloak
+ That shelters you from the storm;
+Love makes the shoes for your gypsy feet,
+ Love is your coat so warm.
+
+Though you take no purse and you take no staff
+ You cannot escape the load
+Of a woman's longing and woman's love
+ That follows you down the road.
+
+
+
+
+THERE IS NO DANGER IN
+DISDAIN
+
+
+There is no danger in disdain,
+ No grief in perfidy;
+The meek they are who taste of pain
+ And matchless misery.
+
+The hearts who give, and giving, die,
+ Could they but learn the way
+To take, and laugh and then deny,
+ They still might live their day.
+
+
+
+
+THE PLAYMATE
+
+
+Brown boy running on a wide wet beach,
+ Free as the water and the wind are free;
+Eyes of an odalisque and skin of a peach,
+ O for such a playmate to play with me!--
+
+Drenched with the sunshine of the long brave hours,
+ How we would tumble in the white wild spray;
+Then, drowsy children, fall asleep like the flowers,
+ And wake keen and merry to a new clean day.
+
+
+
+
+AFTERWARDS
+
+
+You know how I came to you,
+ World beaten, tossed aside;
+Ready for death at a hangman's hand,
+ Stript of all hope or pride.
+
+Leaning, you gathered me up
+ Close to your great sweet heart,
+Lulled me and told me to be a man,
+ Taught me your wonderful art.
+
+Now I am very wise,
+ Proud with your love's true vow;
+Glorious with power,--I am more than a man,
+ What will you do with me now!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAID
+
+
+Ah, Heaven! How soon my body will be old!
+ I powder and I perfume and I tire
+ With the long wasting of my one desire.
+I choose fair colors, furs, and antique gold
+To draw men's eyes and hands, and yet how cold,
+ How careless are their eyes. I see the fire
+Flame from my neighbor, and I can aspire
+To only friendship. I have tried the bold,
+The luring attitude, the timid mien,
+ The boyish, wise, or simple, all in vain.
+I know the women laugh at me, but oh,
+How can I let my dreamed perfection go?
+ I am a woman, I must have a man
+ Only to ratify my nature's plan.
+
+
+
+
+MADNESS?
+
+
+They say I'm mad because I stare
+And look as tho' they were not there,
+Because I only speak when aught
+Occurs to me by way of thought.
+
+Instead of serving Fashion's creeds,
+I cut my coat to fit my needs.
+I laugh at grief and only weep
+When noisy life disturbs my sleep.
+
+My dreams are delicate and wild;
+Was ever wise man so beguiled?--
+Mad, am I mad!--then pray that you
+May some day hope for madness too!
+
+
+
+
+THE SCHOLAR
+
+
+From what sweet masters have I fathomed doubt,
+ What love and laughter taught me to be blind;
+How patient did they point the letters out
+ Latin and Greek to my bewildered mind.
+
+Now I am very wise, I know the 'a'
+ The little 'a' of doubt's first faint distress
+Then, letter perfect, I recall the way
+ Thro' all the alphabet of bitterness.
+
+
+
+
+WISDOM'S SECRET
+
+
+Coerced by Furies who persuaded me
+ That life was imminent with idleness,
+Their jibes made mad, their lashes aided me
+ To grasp the accident of bitterness.
+
+Come storm! I cried, come passion and despair,
+ For calm inhibits growth!--I called on fire
+To sear my comfortable days, and wear
+ The nights to wastes of torment and desire.
+
+Then pausing breathless, in a little wood
+ I met with Wisdom laughing in the sun;
+She said, "Lie still, for idleness is good,
+ And grow in peace as I myself have done."
+
+
+
+
+CAGED
+
+
+Once I had wings--I had no heart to fly,
+They put me in a cage, I did not die.
+They tamed me, taught me tricks and bade me sing;
+I waited, bore it patiently; one thing
+I knew, that some day it might be
+The cage would open and I should be free.
+I waited endlessly,--at last the day!
+Faint with delight I thought to fly away,
+Ah, but the mockery of that open door!--
+My wings were powerless, I could fly no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIFE SPEAKS
+
+
+Not all those women you have loved and left,
+ O my Beloved, can stir my jealousy;
+ Not the light loves which you forgot for me,
+For my heart's fingers made by life most deft
+Have mended all the rents their arrows cleft
+ And from their old enchantments set you free.
+ But one is my despair, and only she,
+The one who loved you, hopeless and bereft.
+
+How can I give as much, who hold your heart
+ As she, unloved who gave with scorn of gain?
+So do the angels; at her name I smart
+And feel a sordid bargainer who gives
+ For fair exchange; I cannot heal the pain,
+I am defeated by her while she lives.
+
+
+
+
+THE ALTAR
+
+
+Some take comfort from a star,
+ Thro' the slow grey surge of Time,
+Some take joy from ruddy war,
+ Lust of conflict, heat of crime.
+
+In these days of codes and creeds,
+ Gods may wander newly born,
+Every day for each man's needs
+ Bringing blessings thro' the morn.
+
+I will take a happy word,
+ Open heart and hand for play,
+And a song which none have heard
+ For my altar of the day.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+RECENT POETRY
+
+THE COMPLETE WORKS OF
+WILLIAM WATSON
+
+ UNIFORM EDITION. 3 vols. Cloth. 12 mo. $4.00 net per set.
+ Postage 25 cents. Half Morocco. $12.00 net. Postage 25
+ cents.
+
+_Sold separately as follows_
+
+
+POEMS. 2 vols. $2.50 net. Half Morocco, $7.50 net. Photogravure
+Portrait. Postage and packing 20 cents.
+
+ The lover of poetry cannot fail to rejoice in this handsome
+ edition.--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+ A glow of inspiration that merits better than that of any
+ living poet the high adjective, Vergilian.--_New York
+ Evening Post._
+
+ Work which will live, one may venture to say, as long as
+ the language.--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
+
+
+NEW POEMS. $1.50 net. Half Morocco, $5.00 net. Postage and packing 12
+cents.
+
+Contains "On Hearing Samaroff Play," "Vivisection," "Leopold of
+Belgium," "To Richard Watson Gilder," "To the Invincible Republic,"
+"Sonnets to Miranda," and "The Woman With the Serpent's Tongue."
+
+ "To the Invincible Republic" is full of a generous and
+ admiring appreciation. All of these poems are explicit,
+ strong, and interesting.--_New York Sun._
+
+ _Times_--William Watson is, above all things, an artist who
+ is proud of his calling and conscientious in every syllable
+ that he writes. To appreciate his work you must take it as
+ a whole, for he is in line with the high priests of poetry,
+ reared, like Ion, in the shadow of the Delphic presences
+ and memories, and weighing every word of his utterance
+ before it is given to the world.
+
+ _Athenæum_--His poetry is a "criticism of life," and,
+ viewed as such, it is magnificent in its lucidity, its
+ elegance, its dignity.... We revere and admire Mr. Watson's
+ pursuit of a splendid ideal; and we are sure that his
+ artistic self-mastery will be rewarded by a secure place in
+ the ranks of our poets.... We may express our belief that
+ Mr. Watson will keep his high and honorable station when
+ many showier but shallower reputations have withered away,
+ and must figure in any representative anthology of English
+ poetry.... "Wordsworth's Grave" is, in our judgment, Mr.
+ Watson's masterpiece ... its music is graver and deeper,
+ its language is purer and clearer, than the frigid
+ droning and fugitive beauties of the "Elegy in a Country
+ Churchyard."
+
+
+SABLE AND PURPLE. $1.25 net. Postage 10 cents.
+
+ _Boston Transcript_--Still the poet whose inspirational
+ fantasy gives distinction to modern English Literature.
+
+ _Spectator_--A great artist, "Sable and Purple" is of a
+ high excellence.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORKS OF LAURENCE HOPE
+
+
+ INDIA'S LOVE LYRICS, including "The Garden of Kama."
+
+ 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 10 cents. Half morocco, $4.00 net.
+
+
+ STARS OF THE DESERT: POEMS.
+
+ 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 10 cents. Half morocco, $4.00 net.
+
+ LAST POEMS.
+
+ Translations from the "Book of Indian Love." 12mo. $1.50
+ net. Postage 10 cents. Half morocco, $4.00 net.
+
+
+ COMPLETE WORKS.
+
+ Uniform Edition. 3 volumes. In box.
+
+INDIA'S LOVE LYRICS.
+STARS OF THE DESERT.
+LAST POEMS.
+
+ Cloth, $4.50 net. Postage 35 cents. Half morocco, $12.00
+ net. Postage 50 cents.
+
+
+ SONGS FROM THE GARDEN OF KAMA.
+
+ Illustrated from photographs by Mrs. Eardsley Wilmot.
+ Cloth. 4to. $3.00 net. Postage 15 cents.
+
+
+INDIA'S LOVE LYRICS
+
+BY LAURENCE HOPE
+
+_The New York Commercial_:
+
+Its colors are elemental, silver and gold and red. It is heavy with
+the breath of citron groves, cool with the tinkling of temple bells,
+and the air of night, and the cries of wild peacocks and parrots....
+In many ways this volume of translation is the most important
+contribution to poetry that the season has as yet brought forth.
+
+_The Baltimore Sun_:
+
+There is nothing stale or hackneyed in this book; newness, freshness,
+and variety are found on every page. These poems are true lyrics, for
+they give us true glimpses into the hearts of men.
+
+_The Chicago Tribune_:
+
+A volume of passionate love poems written by a true poet.
+
+_The Chicago Inter-Ocean_:
+
+They are in several metres, handled always with graceful ease, and
+often with intensity. The coloring is vivid and the music subtle. The
+book is redolent with the atmosphere of the Arabian Nights.
+
+_The Boston Evening Transcript_:
+
+Mr. Hope is a thorough artist to his fingertips, and his choice of
+words and images is as keen and exact as his ability to adapt Indian
+literature to the more prosaic mood and tongue of the Anglo-Saxon.
+
+_The Athenæum_:
+
+Mr. Hope has caught admirably the dominant notes of this Indian love
+poetry, its delirious absorption in the instant, its out-of-door air,
+its melancholy.
+
+
+STARS OF THE DESERT
+
+BY LAURENCE HOPE
+
+_The Washington Mirror_:
+
+The author has so completely infused the charm of the Orient into this
+volume that one is transported for the time and lost in the poetic
+beauty of his surroundings, finds no jarring chord nor is disposed to
+shrink from the frankness of this translation of oriental verse.
+
+_The Chicago Tribune_:
+
+It is still a question whether these are direct translations or
+whether they are written in the Hindu style by Laurence Hope. Perhaps
+she has done for the Hindu poets what FitzGerald did for Omar.
+
+_The Conservator_:
+
+He seems to exhale an oriental atmosphere. He sings musically. I can
+follow the delicate strain by which Hope saves himself from stepping
+beyond the bounds of a vital reserve.
+
+_The New York Star_:
+
+The author is imbued with the glowing passion of Eastern romance.
+
+_The New York Globe_:
+
+The theme, in almost every instance love, is treated with feverish
+abandon.
+
+
+
+
+KING ALFRED'S JEWEL
+
+_THIRD EDITION_
+
+BY KATRINA TRASK. Author of "Night and Morning," "Mors et
+Victoria," etc. Cloth, 12mo. $1.25 net. Postage 10 cents. With Colored
+Frontispiece reproducing the Jewel now at Oxford.
+
+The English speaking world has waited a thousand years for a worthy
+dramatic impersonation of King Alfred. And here it is.... The play
+will stand not alone upon the grateful response it wins from the
+English national heart, but as a work of art.... The author is
+supremely a poet, the master of metaphor not less than of melody....
+It is a play not only to be read but to be acted.... This vivid drama
+is not cast in the conventional classic mould. It is distinctly and
+wholly English in spirit and form, and intensely modern--but breathing
+the air of morning, of springtime, of fresh adventure.--HENRY
+MILLS ALDEN, _The New York Times Saturday Review_.
+
+King Alfred's noble and vigorous character is limned with great skill,
+while Elfreda, a graceful and innocent maiden, flits through the play
+like a woodland fairy.--_The Glasgow Evening News_, Scotland.
+
+The living Alfred lives in this gracious play, for the author has
+fashioned his great spirit out of the mist of time.--JAMES
+DOUGLAS, _The Star_, London.
+
+
+
+
+ARTHUR SYMONS
+
+
+POEMS
+
+A Collected Edition of the Poet's work, issued in two volumes, with a
+Photogravure Portrait as Frontispiece. 8vo. $3.00 _net_. Postage 24
+cents. Half morocco, $10.00 _net_.
+
+
+THE FOOL OF THE WORLD AND OTHER POEMS
+
+12mo. $1.50 _net_. Postage 15 cents. Half morocco, $5.00 _net_.
+
+Stands at the head of all British poets of his generation.--_New York
+Evening Post._
+
+One of the truest poets that modern England owns.--_Bookman._
+
+
+THE POEMS OF ERNEST DOWSON
+
+Illustrations and a Cover-design by Aubrey Beardsley. An Introductory
+Memoir by Arthur Symons, and a Portrait. 12mo. $1.50 _net_. Half
+morocco, $4.00. Postage 10 cents.
+
+ Belongs to the class that Rossetti does, with a touch
+ of Herrick, and something which is Dowson, and Dowson
+ alone.--DR. TALCOTT WILLIAMS in _Book News_.
+
+
+ POEMS OF ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON.
+
+Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 _net_. Postage 12 cents.
+
+ In this volume we have a welcome gathering together of the
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+ poems should make new friends.--_London Daily Telegraph._
+
+
+CARMINA. BY THOMAS A. DALY.
+
+Cloth. 12mo. $1.00 _net_. Postage 10 cents.
+
+ A collection of poems by this well-known author of Italian,
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+
+
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+
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+
+
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+
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+
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+ him.--MR. WILLIAM ARCHER.
+
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+ The only complete, definitive, illustrated edition of the
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+
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+
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+SAPPHO
+
+ Memoir, Text, Selected Renderings, and a Literal
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+THE POETRY OF STEPHEN PHILLIPS
+
+
+ PAOLO AND FRANCESCA: A Tragedy in Four Acts. By STEPHEN
+ PHILLIPS. New Edition with Photogravure Frontispiece
+ after the painting by G. F. WATTS, R. A.
+
+12mo Twelfth Edition $1.25 net
+
+ _New York Times_--Nothing finer has come to us from an
+ English pen in the way of a poetic and literary play since
+ the appearance of Taylor's "Philip van Artevelde."
+
+ _Brooklyn Daily Eagle_--It is not too much to say that
+ "Paolo and Francesca" is the most important example of
+ English dramatic poetry that has appeared since Browning
+ died.
+
+ _Philadelphia Press_--"Paolo and Francesca" has beauty,
+ passion, and power.... The poem deserves a wide reading on
+ account of its intrinsic merit and interest.
+
+
+HEROD: A Tragedy. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS.
+
+12mo Twenty-First Thousand $1.25 net
+
+ _Times_--Here, then, is a noble work of dramatic
+ imagination dealing greatly with great passions;
+ multicolored and exquisitely musical. Mr. Stephen Phillips
+ is not only a poet, but that still rarer thing, a dramatic
+ poet.
+
+ MR. WILLIAM ARCHER (in _The World_)--The elder
+ Dumas speaking with the voice of Milton.
+
+ _Athenæum_--Not unworthy of the author of "The Duchess of
+ Malfi."
+
+
+ POEMS. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. Including "Marpessa"
+ and "Christ in Hades."
+
+12mo Thirteenth Edition $1.25 net
+
+ _Times_--Mr. Phillips is a poet, one of the half dozen
+ men of the younger generation, whose writings contain the
+ indefinable quality which makes for permanence.
+
+ _Spectator_--In his new volume Mr. Stephen Phillips more
+ than sustains the promise made by his "Christ in Hades";
+ here is real poetic achievement--the veritable gold of song.
+
+ _Literature_--No such remarkable book of verse as this has
+ appeared for several years.
+
+
+ MARPESSA. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. With Illustrations
+ by PHILIP CONNARD.
+
+Cloth, 50 cents net Leather, 75 cents net
+
+ WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS--Tennyson at his age had not
+ done better.
+
+
+ NEW POEMS. Including "Iole: A Tragedy in One Act";
+ "Launcelot and Guinevere," "Endymion," and many other
+ hitherto unpublished poems.
+
+12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net. Half mor., $4.00 net. Postage 10 cts.
+
+
+
+
+RECENT POETRY
+
+
+SELECTED POEMS OF JOHN DAVIDSON
+
+12mo
+
+Leather, $1.50 net Cloth, $1.25 net
+
+_The Nation_--An uncommonly masculine volume.
+
+_Chicago Record-Herald_--What every admirer of this virile poet
+desires, a brief summary of his important work from which an adequate
+conception of his style and versatility can be obtained.
+
+_Athenæum_--There is urgent need for a collected edition of Mr.
+Davidson's poems and plays. The volume and variety of his poetry ought
+to win for it wider acceptance. It is indeed curious that poetry so
+splendid as Mr. Davidson's should fail to get fuller recognition.
+There are many aspects of his genius which ought to make his work
+popular in the best sense of the word. He has almost invented the
+modern ballad.... He handles the metre with masterly skill, filling it
+with imaginative life and power.
+
+_Times_--There are not more than two or three living writers of
+English verse out of whose poems so good a selection could be made.
+The poems in the selection are not only positive--they are visible.
+
+_Literary World_--We count ourselves among those to whom Mr. Davidson
+has made himself indispensable.
+
+_Daily Mail_--Mr. Davidson is our most individual singer. His variety
+is as surprising as his virility of diction and thought.
+
+_St. James's Gazette_--This volume may serve as an introduction to a
+poet of noble and distinctive utterance.
+
+_New Age_--The book contains much that Mr. Davidson's warmest admirers
+would best wish to remember him by. There is a subtle charm about
+these poems which eludes definition, which defies analysis.
+
+_T. P.'s Weekly_--Mr. Davidson is one of the most individual of living
+poets; he has a rare lyrical faculty.
+
+_Morning Post_--Mr. Davidson is as true a poet as we have now among us
+... he has included nothing that we do not admire.
+
+_Daily Graphic_--This delightful volume.
+
+_Dundee Advertiser_--Its poetry gives out a masterful note.... Mr.
+Davidson's poem pictures.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+In _The Chicago Tribune_ review for STARS OF THE DESERT by
+Laurence Hope, "she" may be a typo for "he."
+ (Perhaps she has done for the Hindu poets what FitzGerald did)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Herbs and Apples, by Helen Hay Whitney
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43406 ***
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