Chimneysmoke

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