IPS 3515 
 .P84 S6 
 1902 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
rp LiBflARY OF 
 CONr*«ER8, 
 
 1' , •; CuPlt.-' ReCSIVEO 
 .U:il. 30 1902 
 
 ^ . «8 A»-XXo. No 
 
 COPY S 
 
 ■f S 3 S- » i 
 
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 • • • • • % 
 
Of two things one may be certain, Christ love 
 and Mother love. 
 
 To my Mother, the most loving, sympathetic and 
 unselfish woman I have known, I dedicate this book. 
 
Copyright, 1902, by Frances R. Haswin. 
 First Edition, July, 1902. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 The West Wind - - - - - 15 
 
 The Woman Across the Way - - - I7 
 
 Alone - - - - - - 19 
 
 A Last Toast - - - - - 21 
 
 Good- Bye, Old House - - - - 22 
 
 The Battle ----- 23 
 
 With Love Away ----- 25 
 
 A Song ----- 26 
 
 Cleopatra to Antony - - - - 27 
 
 After the Wedding - - - - 28 
 
 My Light - - - - - 29 
 
 Two Days - - - - - 31 
 
 Anger - - - - - - 32 
 
 The Birch Tree's Message - - - 33 
 
 Insufficiency ----- 35 
 
 l^egeneration - - - - - 36 
 
 A Memory ----- 37 
 
 Regret - - - - , 38 
 
 Postponed ----- 39 
 
 The Awakening - - - - 42 
 
 Unrequited ----- 43 
 
 Ambition ----- 44 
 
 A Recognition - - - - - 45 
 
 Nemesis ----- 47 
 
 H. B. M., Obiit 1897 - - - - 48 
 
 To Death ----- 49 
 
 A Thought - - - - . 50 
 
 A Birthday Song - - - - 51 
 
 A Purple Oilliflower - - - - 53 
 
Table of Contents — Continued 
 
 A Fragment ----- 54 
 
 A Failure - - - - - 55 
 
 A Request ----- 57 
 
 Hopeless Love ----- 58 
 
 Homesick ----- 59 
 
 Your Life and Mine - - - - 61 
 
 Siesta ----- 63 
 
 Last Night 64 
 
 A Valentine ----- 65 
 
 Haunted - - - - - 67 
 
 Pain ----- 69 
 
 Roses and Violets - - - - 70 
 
 The Living Harp - - - - 7\ 
 
 Gretchen ----- 73 
 
 Motherhood ----- 76 
 
 Three Days ----- 77 
 
 Unexpressed ----- 78 
 
 Indian Summer ----- 79 
 
 Unrest 80 
 
 Shipwrecked - - - - - 81 
 
 Autumn ----- 82 
 
 The Altar of Mammon - - - - 83 
 
 W. S.. Obiit 1879 - - - - 84 
 
 To My Brother ----- 85 
 
 Women ----- 87 
 
 The Closing Night - - - - 88 
 
 Parted 89 
 
 Faith 91 
 
 A Fable 93 
 
 The l<esurrection ----- 96 
 
 The Dead Rose - - - - 97 
 
 In Idaho 100 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 HE wounded deer seeks his haunt in the brake, 
 The startled bittern her nest by the lake. 
 And I aweary on alien shore 
 Pine for my prairie land once more. 
 
 No narrow limit of stone-walled town. 
 No noisy streets running up and down. 
 But limitless reaches of earth and sky 
 And the fragrant west wind loitering by. 
 
 Oh, to lie on a bed of wild flowers spread. 
 Flowers at my feet and flowers at my head. 
 To hear the life in the grasses nigh. 
 And feel the west wind passing by. 
 
 To watch the dash of the summer rain 
 
 As it sweeps o'er the billows of ripening grain 
 
 That rise and fall like waves of the sea 
 
 At the breath of the west wind, wild and free. 
 
 15 
 
16 TheWesfWind 
 
 Rain-drops glistening on every blade 
 
 The rainbow's glory o'er hill and glade, 
 
 Life and freshness in every place 
 
 And the kiss of the sweet west wind on n\y face. 
 
 Oh, west wind, bear to this eastern room 
 The odor of clover's purple bloom 
 Gathered from fields and my far-off West, 
 My prairie country beloved and best; 
 
 Bring to my heart 'mid the heat and strife 
 A breath of that broader, freer life, — 
 Oh, sweet west wind, blow high, blow low, 
 Bring me my dreams of long ago. 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE WAY 
 
 Y windows open to southward 
 
 And the sun shines in all the day; 
 
 Her windows look out northward, 
 My neighbor's over tic way. 
 
 My windows are draped with curtains 
 Of lace like a filmy spray. 
 
 She has only shades of linen. 
 The wonr\an across the way. 
 
 There are diamond rings on my fingers 
 That over the casement stray, 
 
 I have never noticed any 
 
 On the lady over the way. 
 
 But what cares she for sunlight. 
 This woman over the way. 
 
 When a baby face illumines the place 
 Like the sun of a summer's day? 
 
 17 
 
18 The WomaLii Across the Wa.y 
 
 What need has she for curtains 
 
 Of rare and costly lace 
 When the light falls through a golden mesh 
 
 Of curls round a baby's face? 
 
 Jewels are plenty for money, 
 
 But cold to the light that lies, 
 Reflecting the image of souls that met 
 
 In the heaven of a baby's eyes. 
 
 As I sit alone in the twilight 
 
 And the dusk comes down, I pray, 
 
 ••Dear God, keep her treasure safe, 
 For my neighbor across the way." 
 
ALONE 
 
 I ? LONE when the day is dawning, 
 Alone when the night dews fall, 
 Under the veil at the bridal. 
 Under the funeral pall; 
 Behind impenetrable barriers 
 
 To work out its life of dole, 
 
 From the first faint cry, till its hour to die, 
 
 Is the doom of each mortal soul. 
 
 First tender thought of the mother. 
 
 Who brings us forth in pain. 
 
 As she looks in the eyes of her offspring 
 
 Some clew to its soul to gain, 
 
 "Of what is my baby thinking 
 
 With that look intent, and wise?" 
 
 But ever remains the mystery. 
 
 And never a voice replies. 
 
 Alone is the child in its sorrow 
 Over the broken toy; 
 
 19 
 
20 Alone 
 
 I 
 Alone is the stricken lover 
 
 Mourning a vanished joy; 
 
 Alone is the bride at the altar, 
 
 Alone the bridegroom stands 
 
 With his hidden life between them, 
 
 That, and their plighted hands. 
 
 Alone lies the wife with the canker 
 Of blighted hope in her heart; 
 Alone is the husband dreaming 
 Of balked ambition's smart; 
 And so from the birth to the burial, 
 From the first to the latest breath. 
 In crowded streets, on lonely steeps. 
 The soul goes alone till death. 
 
A LAST TOAST 
 
 ERE'S to the day that is passing away, 
 
 Drink, drink — 
 Here's to the light, drowning out in the night. 
 
 Drink, drink deep, — 
 Here is to yesterday, youth and the dream. 
 Here's to to-day, drifting fast down the stream. 
 And here's to to-morrow, the end and the sleep; 
 
 Drink, drink deep. 
 
 Here's to a love that was faithful and true; 
 Here's to the friend that was loyal we knew; 
 Here's to our past and a prayer at the last; 
 Drink, drink deep. 
 
 Here's to a love that was hidden from sight; 
 Here's to a dream that was lost in the night; 
 Here's to a faith that was killed by a blight; 
 Drink deep and forget. 
 
 To the heart that is true, and its false love too. 
 
 Drink, drink — 
 Here's to Life, here's to Death, and the last sobbing breath; 
 
 Fill it up, drain your cup. 
 For the last word is spoken, the bubble is broken; 
 
 Drink, drink and sleep. 
 
 21 
 

 m 
 
 GOOD-BYE. OLD HOUSE 
 
 LD house, dear house! whose sheltering arms 
 
 so long 
 Have held us through the summers safe from 
 
 harm; 
 Whose echoes answering back our jest, and 
 song, 
 Have joined our hearts to yours; you've kept us warm 
 When wintry tempests swept the lowering sky. 
 Good-bye, old house, good-bye! 
 
 You've heard our merry shouts at Christmas-tide; 
 You've seen our joyous hours of childish mirth; 
 You've felt our tears that fell for one who died; 
 And in the night, beside the lonely hearth, 
 I've heard your staunch old timbers sob and sigh. 
 Good-bye, old house, good-bye! 
 
 When apple blossoms fell about your eaves. 
 When earth was sunshine, and our lives were May, 
 When all the birds of June sang through the leaves. 
 We did not dream to wander far away. 
 No more my step shall wake your welcoming cry, — 
 Good-bye, old house, good-bye! 
 
 22 
 
THE BATTLE 
 
 HERE was rumor of warfare and battle, 
 
 There were stories of triumph and fame, 
 There was music and waving of banners, 
 
 And thoughts of a glorious name. 
 I longed for the musketry's rattle. 
 The shrill-calling, pulse-quickening fife, 
 
 That makes the blood heat to the passionate beat 
 Of the drums calling on to the strife. 
 
 And the frenzy of youth for the conflict 
 
 Was a rapture that tore me like pain, 
 And the passion that leads men to conquest 
 
 Was running aflame in each vein; 
 I heard all the pulses of being, 
 
 Like voices that called me to bring 
 My strength to the strife; to the battle of Life, — 
 
 And power, where Glory is King. 
 
 But now that the battle is over. 
 
 The titles and shoulder-straps won 
 By those who march homeward in triumph 
 
 With banners that gleam in the sun, 
 
 23 
 
24 TheBetttle 
 
 Where — where are the real Victors? 
 
 The Heroes who could not yield? 
 With glassy eyes upturned to the skies 
 
 They lie where they fell on the field. 
 
 Ah! Where breathes the peace of the meadows 
 
 From over the flower-covered lea? 
 O'er whom falls the soft-brooding shadows 
 
 That lie 'neath my own orchard tree? 
 For the clamor and clash of the battle, 
 
 The glory and life of the fight, 
 Are only for those who conquer — 
 
 Not for those who lie dead in the night. 
 
WITH LOVE AWAY 
 
 CANNOT write, I cannot play, 
 There's nothing left worth while to say; 
 The house is empty, dull, and cold, 
 I feel as I were growing old; 
 My Love's away. 
 
 The clock ticks on like solemn fate, 
 It's hands but point the hour of eight, 
 But time goes by on leaden feet. 
 There's nothing left worth having, sweet, 
 With Love away. 
 
 I restless wander to and fro. 
 My footsteps echoing as 1 go; 
 The soul of music all has fled. 
 And every grace and joy seems dead 
 When Love's away. 
 
 Love! dear Love! bring back to me 
 My heart and soul that went with thee; 
 Bring back thyself, my day, my light, 
 Let no more fall so black a night, 
 With Love away. 
 
 25 
 
A SONG 
 
 HE years they come and go, Love, 
 Writ in flowers and snow, Love, 
 
 In laughter, tears, and pain; 
 Yet each but brings us nearer 
 The heart that has grown dearer, 
 
 We part to meet again. 
 
 We know the years will fly. Love, 
 All too swiftly by, Love, 
 
 We say "auf weidersehn;" 
 But hearts cannot dissemble 
 And foolish lips will tremble 
 
 Though we part to meet again. 
 
 So life will slip away, Love, 
 In sunshine of the day. Love, 
 
 In shadow and in rain. 
 With faith through nights of sorrow 
 In a happier to-morrow 
 
 We part to meet again. 
 
 26 
 
CLEOPATRA TO ANTONY 
 
 F wc woke to radiant summer, 
 
 You and I; 
 Woke to hear the Nile's soft murmur. 
 
 You and I; 
 Woke to see the lotus falling 
 On the tide; 
 Woke to hear the boatman calling; 
 
 At our side; 
 Would we deem it dreaming, 
 Or believe the seeming, 
 
 You and I? 
 Would the sudden light awaken 
 
 Us at last? 
 Would the present be forsaken 
 
 For the past? 
 Would we dare that life of pleasure 
 
 'Spite its fame? 
 Trust our heart's pure treasure 
 
 In its flame? 
 Burn our souls with passion 
 In the old barbaric fashion. 
 You and I? 
 
 27 
 
AFTER. THE WEDDING 
 
 ID you ever see two birds on a bough 
 Looking into an empty nest? 
 
 When the skies arc dark of an autumn day, 
 And no birdiing to nestle against the 
 breast? 
 
 How they'll try to chirp as if it were June, 
 
 And the flowers a-dance to the songs they sing; 
 
 But the air is wintry, the day's out of tune, 
 
 And they miss the birdiing from under the wing. 
 
 Oh Father! who watches the sparrows fall. 
 
 Who gives us our babies, who makes them wives, 
 
 Who guards and cares for the birdlings all. 
 
 Bless and protect them through all their lives. 
 
 28 
 
MY LIGHT 
 
 HOUGH I should die to-night. 
 
 And lie in gloom 
 
 Beneath the darkness of the funeral pail. 
 
 One golden gleam of light 
 
 Would pierce the darkness of the lonely room 
 And light for me the new, mysterious path 
 My soul must take 
 
 To find the future where no shadows break 
 The glorious sunshine of eternity. 
 That ray of light so sweet. 
 Would make all pain 
 Fall out of memory, would bring again 
 The spring flowers 'neath my feet. 
 Within that ray of light would there be song 
 And perfume, and the long, 
 Sweet summer night 
 Of lovers. That ray of light, 
 Your love for me, dear heart, 
 The balm for all Life's smart, 
 
 29 
 
30 M y L 1 g h t 
 
 The recompense for all of Life's untruth, 
 The music and the pulse of all Earth's youth. 
 That glorious ray of light! my sun and moon, 
 My morning, night, and noon; 
 The one thing I could carry on my way 
 Into the vast Forever from to-day. 
 
TWO DAYS 
 
 HE world seemed flooded with the light 
 Of radiant sunshine. All was bright; 
 I saw no clouds, nor dreamed at all 
 That rain might fall. 
 
 My heart was like a golden mote 
 Within a sunbeam set afloat; 
 My cup of bliss held naught of gall, 
 Or tears that fall. 
 
 I felt thy tender lips on mine, 
 And life was like a draught of wine. 
 Now lowering skies hold Life in thrall. 
 And rain'drops fall. 
 
 Though with thy presence goes my light, 
 And loneliness falls like a blight, 
 The great, good Father guards us all. 
 While tear-drops fall. 
 
 31 
 
ANGER. 
 
 MINE eyes are like the sunshine 
 Within a summer sky, 
 
 That calls the flowers upward, 
 And birds as they fly by; 
 
 That makes all nature brighter. 
 And life a happy song. 
 
 That blesses, warms, and gladdens 
 A world the whole day long. 
 
 Alas! that lightning flashes 
 
 Should cleave so fair a day. 
 
 Carrying fear, and terror, 
 And driving joy away. 
 
 Alas! that from one's heaven 
 
 Should fall so fierce a dart — 
 
 To blot out all its sweetness. 
 And slay a loving heart. 
 
 32 
 
THE BIRCH TREE'S MESSAGE 
 
 ET perfume sweet from my heart arise 
 
 To bring you a dream of your childhood's 
 
 skies; 
 Of dashing trout streams tumbling down 
 The granite hills to the quaint old town; 
 
 Of deeper pools where the shy fish lie 
 
 Hid 'neath the shade of my branches nigh; 
 
 Of boundary lines of lichened grey, 
 
 Showing a patience that day by day 
 
 Reaped the stony growth from the fields, 
 
 And rejoiced in the blessings freedom yields; 
 
 Of dells where the beechnuts silent drop, 
 
 Where chattering squirrels love to stop 
 
 For a toothsome meal; where winds scarce blow 
 
 To rustle the boughs that are bending low. 
 
 There are pines on the slope of the western hill, 
 
 And wintergreens on the edge of the rill; 
 
 There are partridge berries softly red. 
 
 Shining from out the mosses spread; 
 
 33 
 
34 The Birch Tree's Messa^ge 
 
 But you know it all with a heart of a lover, 
 For you played, a child, 'neath my sheltering cover; 
 And now, with my leaves al! lying low, 
 I send you this greeting, o'er winter's snow. 
 Writ on my bark in a hand you know. 
 
INSUFFICIENCY 
 
 NLY to die and be forgot, 
 
 To fall in that sleep where dreams come not. 
 
 Weary of all the travail of life, 
 
 Weary of strife; 
 
 Tired of vainly trying to do 
 Only that which is noble and true. 
 Heart -sick with failure, faint by the way, 
 Spent with Life's day. 
 
 Stung with remorse for careless words spoken, 
 The censure that crushes the heart that is broken. 
 Reaching forever toward impossible things, 
 Clinging to earth, yet longing for wings 
 To mount to the heights the Spirit has gained 
 In exceptional hours when fancy has reigned 
 Supreme o'er life's level of hope and despair. 
 Dreaming of all that is sweetest and best. 
 Waking again to the pain and unrest 
 Of self-disappointment, insufficiency known 
 When the hope and the vigor of youth have all flown. 
 Weary of all the travail of life, 
 Weary of strife; 
 
 Longing to die, and to be forgot. 
 To fall in that sleep where dreams come not. 
 
 35 
 
REGENERATION 
 
 Y feet are still stained with the mire of the 
 
 earth, 
 My heart bears the scars of its laughter and 
 
 miKh; 
 But my soul has escaped from its sin and 
 despair. 
 Caught in a snare of your golden hair. 
 I would dash in the torrents that maddest flow, 
 I would welcome the fires that fiercest glow. 
 To wash and burn from my soul each stain 
 That lies forever betwixt us twain. 
 
 To place on thy mouth my first pure kiss 
 With lips still sweet from my mother's breast; 
 To feel the rapture and heaven of this, 
 With no shameful memories to bring unrest. 
 To look in the depths of your steadfast eyes. 
 And fear no secret within my own, 
 As purest waters reflect the skies 
 With never a shadow across them blown. 
 To look in your eyes with love alight. 
 To feel the thrill of their tender gaze, — 
 To know your love is the star of my night. 
 Leading me upward with shining rays. 
 
 36 
 
A MEMORY 
 
 BROAD, bright room, with ceiling low, 
 Bathed in a Winter's sunset glow — 
 Within a Sun^mer's atmosphere, 
 Without, an air, keen, frosty, clear, — 
 Within, sweet flowers of beauty rare 
 
 Made outer snow-drifts seem more fair. 
 
 A table generously wide 
 
 Held books and papers, and beside 
 
 Our father sat with gentle mien. 
 
 Some memory fluttered in between ^ 
 
 The pages of his book. He raised 
 
 Those luminous grey eyes, that praised 
 
 With one soft glance whate'er was good; 
 
 Looked out across the sunset-crimsoned snow. 
 
 Thought as a poet will of streamlet's flow 
 
 And flowerets waiting for the happy Spring; — 
 
 Then heard, as in a dream, the sleigh-bells ring, 
 
 The crunching snow beneath the beat 
 
 Of homeward-speeding horses' feet; 
 
 Withdrew the thread that caught in memory's loom 
 
 And then again was with us in that room. 
 
 37 
 
REGRET 
 
 ITHIN my throat lies hushed a cradle song, 
 And I, who longed to sing but lullabys, 
 Must teach my voice a measure far more 
 
 strong 
 For songs 'gainst wrong — no lullabys. 
 
 Within my breast there beats a mother's heart, 
 But on its whiteness rests no baby's face. 
 
 The barren fig-tree cursed has left its smart 
 Upon my heart. I miss my baby's face. 
 
 38 
 
POSTPONED 
 
 OH ask if I love this man in the way 
 I loved you once in the far away? 
 If my pulses leap again to the fire 
 That burned in my veins with furnace ire? 
 if he feels the passion of mad unrest 
 
 That used to throb itself out on your breast? 
 
 Has he seen my anger aroused to slay 
 
 Whatever the creature that stood in my way? 
 
 Has he seen the tempest of sobs, and tears, 
 
 That marked me a woman of hopes, and fears? 
 
 You stand and question me thus to-night 
 
 As if the past had rolled out of sight 
 
 Forever. As if it could come no more. 
 
 Well! Draw the curtain, and close the door. 
 
 We two will talk, as we've talked before 
 
 In this same room. We can meet no more. 
 
 And so it is safe, — and best, you see. 
 
 That we understand what our lives will be. 
 
 Do I love this man as I loved you? 
 
 Again, that question? I'll answer true. 
 
 My love for him is a different thing. 
 
 A tired bird, on weary wing, 
 
 Hai faced the tempest, and now seeks rest 
 
 Against a loyal and loving breast. 
 
 I know no more the passionate pains 
 
 Of loving, and hating. My laggard veins 
 
 Arc too dull to beat to the measured sweet 
 
 39 
 
40 Postponed 
 
 They danced in those days of fever heat. 
 
 Nor would I recall them if 1 might; 
 
 They are foolish, and weak, in maturer light. 
 
 We quarreled, and parted, you and I, — 
 
 You see I can say it without a sigh. 
 
 That other woman! I felt I could slay 
 
 Her then. But since I have learned to pray 
 
 For pardon for all my sins. What, kill 
 
 Another? Now I care not whether good, or ill 
 
 One thinks me, if only I live in peace, 
 
 And all the passion and heart-ache cease. 
 
 Is he content to be loved so? 
 
 I've never asked him; I hardly know. 
 
 He is kind and gentle; he finds no fault; 
 
 I fancy he's not the man to vault 
 
 Upon the hobby of a grande passion; 
 
 He never wooes me in that fashion. 
 
 Nor swears that he will take his life 
 
 If I deny him. He asks a wife. 
 
 I will wear his jewels, and grace his board; 
 
 Preside o'er his house as he can afford; 
 
 My talents and beauty are his to command, — 
 
 I think that is all he asks with my hand. 
 
 And I am content? Don't look at me so! 
 
 In your face there's a gleam of the long ago. 
 
 Go open the door; make the fire more bright; — 
 
 One feels like a ghost in this pallid moonlight. 
 
Postponed 41 
 
 Hark! Who is it singing that stupid old song 
 
 Of "A sigh too much and a i^iss too long"? 
 
 And what arc you doing standing there? 
 
 What is it? A lock of my curling hair 
 
 That you clipped from my brow in this very room? 
 
 It all comes back in this twilight gloom. 
 
 It was just such a night as this before, 
 
 And the moonlight streaming across the floor 
 
 As it does now. And it was long 
 
 Before we spoke. But you are wrong 
 
 To bring it up now. What? I must know 
 
 That I was mistaken? Ah! Don't speak so! 
 
 We quarreled, and parted, you and I; — 
 
 She told me you loved her. You say 'twas a lie 
 
 She forged to part us? And I believed 
 
 It true, — turned from you? I was deceived? 
 
 Don't come so close? I can't take your hand! 
 
 If I did, I should — you don't understand! 
 
 I must, and shall hear what you say? 
 
 You command in the old imperious way. 
 
 My blood leaps to answer the call in your eyes 
 
 That smile down upon me — my heaven, my skies! 
 
 My soul stands again with your own face to face — 
 
 As did those two in Eden, the first of the race. 
 
 And I never loved anyone in the same way 
 
 As 1 have loved you; — as I love you to-day; — 
 
 And the passionate madness of sweetest unrest 
 
 Is beating again in my heart on your breast. 
 
THE AWAKENING 
 
 HEN tender speech falls off to "Yes" and 
 -No;" 
 
 When Life has lost the early sunrise glow; 
 
 When every strain of song we pause to hear 
 
 Is broken by sharp discord to the ear; 
 When Love's sweet sacrament becomes but one 
 With flesh and sense, the dream of Life is done; 
 The cherub with the blindfold eyes has fled 
 And left but Rue to lay above the dead, 
 And all is done. 
 
 42 
 
UNREQUI TED 
 
 HE end had come and the people said 
 "A singer is gone, a poet is dead." 
 They covered with roses from head to feet 
 The woman whose smile was rare, and sweet, 
 While friends and strangers together wept 
 
 Over the bier where a genius slept. 
 
 They crowned her with laurel wreath of fame; 
 
 They sculptured in marble and granite her name; 
 
 But the man who had lived in her heart alway 
 
 Was careless and gay on her burial day. 
 
 43 
 
AMBITION 
 
 OREVER at my side a voice is calling 
 Upon my soul to rise and stretch it's wings, 
 in cadences upon my ear soft falling, 
 Her sweet, seductive song the Siren sings. 
 She sings of heights whereon the sun is shining. 
 
 And paths thereto where blossoms strew the way. 
 
 Where willing hands the laurel intertwining 
 
 Reach to crown the victor of the day. 
 
 She sings the song that sets our pulses beating; 
 
 Her voice has called men Poets, Martyrs, Kings; 
 
 And this same song through centuries repeating 
 
 Holds all the names with which Earth's story rings; 
 
 And through all ages still her power's the same; 
 
 Her name's Ambition, and her song is Fame. 
 
 44 
 
A RECOGNITION 
 
 
 ^^N^ 
 
 w N* 
 
 
 \V\l 
 
 1 f^i* 
 V P' 
 
 
 ij 
 
 
 Y life had grown strangely restful; 
 
 I had governed my wayward heart 
 Into semblance of something colder; 
 For time softens many a smart. 
 I could live for weeks forgetful 
 Of eyes that once thrilled my soul; 
 
 I could love, and hate, above the grave 
 Of a passion, beyond control 
 
 In the olden days, In happier ways. 
 
 But a flash of recognition 
 
 From eyes now coldly bright. 
 That once had beamed with loving 
 
 And tender, passionate, light, 
 Has set my pulses beating 
 
 In a fever of mad unrest, 
 Has filled my soul with longing, 
 
 Has robbed my life of zest. 
 
 45 
 
46 ARecognition 
 
 And I know there is no forgetting 
 
 A dead Past's fond desire; 
 Though smothered in years of regretting, 
 
 It lives an eternal fire; 
 And neither in light, nor darkness 
 
 Can I shut out thine eyes; 
 They burn in my memory ever 
 
 On earth, and sea, and skies. 
 
NEMESIS 
 
 HE snow comes down like a winding sheet, 
 
 And covers the cold, dead earth, 
 Without is no sound of coming feet. 
 Within is no laughter of mirth. 
 The wind drifts in at window and sill. 
 The darkness creeps on apace, 
 My hearth is cold, my heart is chill, 
 And I dream of a vanished face; 
 Of passionate eyes that smiled in mine, 
 
 Of lips that burned my own. 
 When life was filled with Love's new wine, 
 
 Ere the madness of youth had flown. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Outside, the blinding snow falls fast. 
 
 On his lonely grave on the hill — 
 I dream of days in a far off past 
 
 In this room so empty and still. 
 
 * * * 
 
 1 never loved you, — and yet — to-night. 
 
 Did you stand at my lonely door, 
 I would welcome you into the warmth and light 
 
 Of my heart, forevermore. 
 
 47 
 
H. B. M. O B I I T. 18 9 7 
 
 HE wren has a nest at n\y window, 
 
 The thrush sings aloud from the vine; 
 All Nature a-bloom waits Thy coming 
 
 To gather her roses a-twine. 
 And shalt Thou not come? Oh fond Lover 
 Of sunsets, and birds, and of flowers? 
 Shall they sing and blossom through Summer 
 And Thou walk no more in their bowers? 
 
 48 
 
TO DEATH 
 
 HE fever of Life burns hot in nny veins 
 And I long for Thy cooling hand. 
 The noise of the strife drowns the music of 
 Life, 
 Oh! give me the quiet land. 
 Kiss down my eyelids heavy with tears, 
 
 Still the heart that is weary with fears, 
 The empty, quivering hands let rest 
 
 Over your sheltering breast; 
 Come Thou and claim my latest breath, 
 Hasten, oh Lover, Death! 
 
 49 
 
A THOUGHT 
 
 OD'S loom is spread above our head; 
 
 In wisdom infinite and love 
 
 He works the pattern from above. 
 
 so 
 
A BIRTHDAY SONG 
 
 HIS day It is so glad, Love, 
 I never could be sad. Love, 
 
 The day that gave you birth. 
 So long we two were fated. 
 
 While we impatient waited. 
 
 To meet, and love, on earth. 
 
 Who knows but we together 
 Upon some far off heather 
 
 May not have walked of yore? 
 In some age long forgotten, 
 
 Of other race begotten, 
 
 Have met, and loved before? 
 
 And was the dream completer? 
 
 And was the living sweeter 
 Than any we have known? 
 
 Or in the soul's beginning 
 Was there passion. Love, and sinning, 
 
 Was there joy, or woe, my own? 
 
 51 
 
52 ABirthdaySong 
 
 In my dreams I often hear you, 
 
 While I listen very near you, 
 Speaking in a softer tongue; 
 
 While 'neath tropic sunshine lying 
 Are flowers, whose fragrant dying 
 
 No poet ever sung. 
 
 But now, no longer parted. 
 
 Our lives grow stronger-hearted. 
 
 And sorrow yields to mirth: 
 For, Soul of mine, forever 
 
 We two shall walk together 
 To bless thy day of birth. 
 
A PURPLE GILLIFLOWER 
 
 HAT memories of childhood's days: 
 The sound of bells over frozen ways; 
 A scent of popcorn in the air: 
 The winter moonlight, faint and fair 
 Across a room whose hearth's bright glow 
 
 Sent rosy gleams e'en where the snow 
 
 Lay drifted to the window sill. 
 
 No matter whether well, or ill 
 
 The night behaved, no spot of gloom 
 
 Was there within that home and room. 
 
 Without the snow might fall and drift; 
 
 The wind rave furiously and shift 
 
 From north to east, from south to west; 
 
 Within was love, and peace, and rest. 
 
 Each spark ignited on that hearth 
 
 Has sent a light across the earth 
 
 To guide our wandering feet. 
 
 Who paints these pictures dear and sweet 
 
 That hang in memory's hall? 
 
 A fragrant apple does it all — 
 
 Such simple things past days recall — 
 
 A purple gilliflower. 
 
 53 
 
A FRAGMENT 
 
 HE Prince and the Peasant must bow to Fate, 
 But alas, for a love that comes too late, 
 
 For the sapling may bend to the tempest's stroke 
 That scatters the flowers and rends the oak. 
 
 54 
 
A FAILURE 
 
 E thought to make himself a name, 
 
 He strove to gain an honest fame 
 With the talents that God gave. 
 
 But loitering through a Summer's day. 
 He stopped to gather by the way 
 Some flowers for a grave. 
 
 And then his babies' evening song 
 
 Beguiled him as he passed along. 
 And voice of loving wife 
 
 Recalled him for a little space, X 
 
 To smile into her tender face 
 
 Forgetting worldly strife. 
 
 A brother creature struggling long 
 
 'Gainst adverse fate, and cruel wrong, 
 Reached out appealing hands. 
 
 He gave him sympathy for pain; 
 He helped him courage to regain. 
 
 Ne'er counting Time's swift sands. 
 
 55 
 
56 A F sl i 1 u r e 
 
 He spoke a brave word for the right, 
 He struck a blow with all his might 
 
 Against false custom's chains. 
 
 He owned a weakness of the heart — 
 
 He sometimes wanted for his part 
 More pleasures and less pains. 
 
 He paused to watch the flying spray 
 Of ocean when the dying day 
 
 Was flaming in the west. 
 
 He wondered as he paced the strand, 
 
 And heard the discord in the land, 
 If dreams might not be best. 
 
 And while upon the road he went. 
 The sunshine of his life was spent, 
 
 Another grasped the prize; 
 
 And all too soon his journey done — 
 
 "A Failure," was the name he won. 
 But God sees where he lies. 
 
A REQUEST 
 
 |n the name of a hope that forever has fled; 
 
 For the sake of a love, that alas! is not dead; 
 
 And because life is sad, and haply not long. 
 
 And endeth some day like a break in a song; 
 
 And because on eternity's uttermost shore 
 Who knoweth if we may meet evermore; 
 Oh grant me this boon, — for a moment's brief space 
 To dream the old dream, when we two face to face 
 Knew the meaning of Life. 
 
 Let me look in your eyes; let me feel your warm palm 
 Clasp mine with the strength that brought infinite calm. 
 Again let my head rest soft on your breast 
 Forgetting the present, its pain and unrest. 
 Once more on my lips press the rapturous kiss 
 That brought us of old all of Heaven, and bliss; — 
 Then farewell; alone 1 will go from the light 
 Of your eyes, to my path that leads onward toward night. 
 
 57 
 
H OPELESS LOVE 
 
 IS a madness 1 know beyond reason, 
 
 A folly as deep as despair; 
 A poison to ravish my senses 
 
 While 1 struggle in vain in the snare. 
 
 58 
 
H OMESICK 
 
 I HE west winds blow o'er grasses low, 
 Bringing thoughts of a land I know, 
 Where maples are flaming in red and gold; 
 Under the Frost King's reign of cold. 
 There circling hills are dim and blue, 
 
 Bathed in the Indian Summer's hue; 
 
 And prairies wide, as the restless tide 
 
 That beats on the white sands at my side, 
 
 Stretch far and away, all brown and grey. 
 
 To meet the sunset line of day. 
 
 The roses are blooming tall and fair, 
 
 But I long for a touch of the keener air. 
 
 For the limitless reach of earth, and sky, 
 
 That lie forever before the eye; 
 
 For hill, and valley, and woodland glen. 
 
 For the dashing stream in the mossy fen. 
 
 The west winds blow through grasses low, 
 
 Where 1 lie and dream of frost and snow. 
 
 My soul grows weary of languid heat, 
 
 And I pine for the sound of the driving sleet; 
 
 59 
 
60 Homesick 
 
 For the sweep of the wind through branches bare. 
 As it scatters the leaves in the wintry air; 
 But the blossoms sway, and the birds at play 
 Will sing through the livelong summer day; 
 While 1 sigh, as I lie 'neath the sunny sky 
 Watching the lazy clouds float by. 
 For the land where the leaves must flame, and fall, 
 With the glory of Autumn over all. 
 
YOUR LIFE AND MINE 
 
 r S one who stands on a mountain 
 And looks on a valley below; 
 Seeing the grandeur around him, 
 The gleam of eternal snow; 
 While below the thick clouds gather, 
 
 Hiding from keenest sight 
 
 Woodland, and field, and meadow, 
 
 And the sky-born stream in its flight; 
 
 Forgets that the snows about him, 
 
 Melting beneath God's smile, 
 
 Are feeding the river that floweth 
 
 Through the vale for many a mile; 
 
 Sees not the weary yeoman 
 
 Tilling his stony field 
 
 Secure in faith that a harvest 
 
 The generous earth will yield; 
 
 Thinks not the noisy torrent 
 
 Leaping o'er rocky falls. 
 
 Rushing with loud complainings 
 
 Between its earth-worn walls, 
 
 61 
 
62 YourLifeandMine 
 
 Turbid, and soiled, with travel 
 
 O'er many a miry bed. 
 
 May water seed that shall blossom, 
 
 And fruit, when we lie dead. 
 
 Thus you, unseeing my pathway. 
 
 Would have me walk as you. 
 
 But both of us are God's children, 
 
 And 1 trust He will lead me too. 
 
 And the avalanche slide of your mountain. 
 
 With its tons of glistening snow. 
 
 May join the spring in my valley 
 
 When it melts in the river's flow; 
 
 And the flake that flashed on the utmost peak. 
 
 And the dew that fell in the rose 
 
 May reach the ocean together 
 
 In the twilight of Life's close. 
 
SIESTA 
 
 |ANNED by the breath of roses in the air 
 My brain lets go her moorings » and I feel 
 My bark slip downward on the velvet stream 
 
 of dreams. 
 In through my senses drowsily there steals 
 The restful murmur of soft waves upon the shore. 
 
 The lazy ships that pass, their sails sun-kissed, 
 
 Arc woven from the warp of Fancy's loom. 
 
 Upon this stream, that bears in sweet content 
 
 Both sad and joyous hearts, 1 rest serene. 
 
 Oh blessed sleep! Oh blessed visions! Ye 
 
 Are but the touch of angel's wings upon the brow. 
 
 63 
 
LAST NIGHT 
 
 J J NLY last night, your eyes upon me beaming, 
 Brought back the radiance of Summer skies, 
 * Only last night, upon your fond heart dreaming, 
 
 1 found again Love's rapturous paradise. 
 
 64 
 
A VALENTINE 
 
 i Y sweetheart! My valentine! 
 I would send a little line, 
 Full of thoughts I can't express; 
 But I think this little tress 
 Lately severed, may find speech 
 
 To tell thee, more than words can teach, 
 
 Of the days that come and go. 
 
 And the heart that loves thee so. 
 
 It will say, "This weary head 
 Finds Thy heart its softest bed, 
 And when pillowed on Thy breast 
 Ever feels its sweetest rest; 
 How it aches for Thy caress, 
 Thy dear voice of tenderness. 
 And the kisses of Thy mouth. 
 Sweet as dew-drops after drought." 
 
 It will say, "The written letter 
 May be sweet; but speech is better; 
 
 65 
 
66 AVaclentifve 
 
 And thy pictures on my wall 
 Are but shadows after ail 
 Dull, and cold, and incomplete. 
 All the room seems empty, sweet; 
 Enter thou, thy radiant face 
 Fills with sunshine all the space." 
 
 Oh! to feel this silence broken 
 By a word thy lips have spoken, 
 Would be like the glorious waking 
 When the early dawn is breaking, 
 And the lark that's heavenward winging 
 Fills the universe with singing. 
 And our hearts leap up to hear 
 The herald of the summer near. 
 
 At the distance Hwixt us twain 
 Why should not my soul complain? 
 For thy presence makes complete 
 Every hour wherein we meet. 
 Thou wert born to bless my life, 
 Thou wert born to be my wife — 
 Tenderest, truest heart of mine! 
 My sweetheart! My valentine! 
 
HAUNTED 
 
 HY come the dreams of the morning 
 When the day dies in the west? 
 Why come the visions of Spring-time 
 To rob the Autumn of rest? 
 
 Oh Youth that is fled! 
 
 Oh Love that is dead! 
 
 And why when we stand mids't the harvest 
 And count our garnered sheaves, 
 Do we long for the odor of May-day flowers, 
 The rustle of opening leaves? 
 
 Oh vanished days! 
 
 Oh dream-lit ways! 
 
 The thrush still pipes from the stubble. 
 As he gathers the scattered grain. 
 But we list for the song of the nesting-bird 
 That called through the April rain; 
 
 In the happy past 
 
 That fled so fast. 
 
 Must ever the voice of Memory 
 Sound like a broken string 
 That snapped with the stress of melody 
 It's passion strove to bring? 
 
 Oh heart of mine 
 
 Spilled is the wine! 
 
 67 
 
68 HaL\ii\ted 
 
 Must every flower that blossoms 
 Hold in its fragrant breath 
 A subtle potion of madness 
 That wooes to a perfumed death? 
 
 Oh haunting eyes! 
 
 Oh fair June skies! 
 
 IVlust we sit in the chill November, 
 In the sobbing wind and rain, 
 While all the ghosts of our past arise 
 And tap on the dripping pane; 
 And hear them call 
 Through the rain-drops* fall? 
 
 Is never the hope of a moment 
 Free from the clinging past? 
 Is never the joy we are clasping 
 Ours to hold to the last? 
 
 Poor ghosts! I pray 
 
 Away! Away! 
 
 Can ever the hand that is grasping 
 Ours with a warmth divine. 
 Ward from our souls the shadows. 
 And cheer us with Love's strong wine? 
 
PAIN 
 
 NE ever constant comrade must ! own; 
 
 One who never leaves me quite alone; 
 
 One, who through the watches of the night 
 
 Has counted with me all the hours till light. 
 
 When I am weary, soul-sick, heart and brain, 
 Who wooes forgetfulness as soon as Pain. 
 I lose all memory of time and place. 
 Held in the passion of his fierce embrace. 
 No lover ever showed more jealous care; 
 I may not for a day my presence share 
 With others, free from his companionship. 
 True, we have quarreled, and I've struggled long 
 Against his might; but he is more than strong. 
 So I have yielded to the power of pain, 
 Knowing that only Death can part us twain. 
 
 69 
 
ROSES AND VIOLETS 
 
 OSES and violets all the way, 
 Showers and sunshine all in a day; 
 Youth and Love is the dream divine 
 Warming the blood like a draught of wine. 
 
 Faded the violet, fallen the rose, 
 Sad is the day at Summer's close, — 
 Youth has flitted and Love has fled,— 
 Roses and violets over the dead. 
 
 70 
 
THE LIVING HARP 
 
 DLL threaded, with its strings of gold and 
 bronze, 
 
 It stood, an unawakened harmony. 
 
 No fingers yet had swept to echoing life 
 
 The strains imprisoned in its slumbering 
 strands. 
 Its sounding-board, from heart of virgin wood, 
 Had answered to no thrill of joy or woe; 
 Had felt no fiercer passion than the night wind's sigh. 
 Unseasoned and untried, a latent soul, 
 It slept; nor dreamed of life, or death. 
 One bright Spring morning, flushed with Youth's new wine, 
 1 swept with eager hand its clashing strings; 
 And straight it answered back my merry mood. 
 And leaped, and laughed, and danced, because of life. 
 And then I stirred its soul with martial beat. 
 With sound of fife, and drum, and marching feet. 
 So when I found it quick to catch my whim, 
 1 sighed a love song through its shining wires 
 That caught the ear of many a listening swain. 
 Then cradle songs, and softest lullabys. 
 Such as one hears beneath the summer vines, 
 
 71 
 
72 TheLivlngHatrp 
 
 When happy mothers croon their babes to rest 
 
 With fleecy heads upon their snowy breasts. 
 
 * * ♦ * 
 
 Then hands, not mine, swept o'er the strings, 
 And tangled the melodies; now soft and sweet, 
 Now swelling to sharp discords on the ear. 
 
 9»: :|c 3K He 
 
 It stands within my halls, where as of old 
 
 It stood; but time has tarnished all the gold. 
 
 The sounding-board has felt the discord's jar. 
 
 And lost its truthful surface of response. 
 
 The strings have dropped 'neath tears to minor notes, 
 
 And, though 1 search, the tightening key is lost 
 
 With which to draw them back to harmony. 
 
 A string has snapped; it jangles on the chord. 
 
 Yet still it gives forth fitful melodies, — 
 
 This Harp of Life that stands within my halls. 
 
GRETCHEN 
 
 WAY in the forest, from tumult and din, 
 Lived a quaint little maid in a queer little inn. 
 Her name it was Gretchen, and fairer was she 
 Than many a maiden of higher degree. 
 A drawer of water, and hewer of wood 
 Was the father of Gretchen, who bravely withstood 
 By his labour the gaunt wolf that prowls at the door. 
 And follows forever the steps of the poor. 
 But Gretchen was young, and Gretchen was fair, 
 And the sun wove a tangle of gold in her hair; 
 And her father would sigh as he looked in her eyes, 
 With a prayer that her mother would smile from the skies 
 On them both. Then he thoughtfully stroked the fair head 
 Till it seemed 'twas his Lisa, his bride newly wed. 
 So the father dreamed dreams, as he worked all the day, 
 Of the past and a youth that had fleeted away; 
 And his daughter dreamed dreams in her timid young heart, 
 
 73 
 
74 Gretchen 
 
 Such as all maidens do, where the past has no part. 
 
 She would be a fine lady in velvet and pearls. 
 
 And a hat with long feathers should crown the gold curls. 
 
 She'd have soft satin shoes on her little brown feet, 
 
 And a carriage and horses to prance through the street. 
 
 Then a handsome young knight should come humbly to sue 
 
 For her hand, and should woo her as young nobles do. 
 
 His hair should be dark, and his eyes must be brown; 
 
 And he'd choose her among all the maids in the town 
 
 As the fairest one there; and loving her best, 
 
 They two would be wed, and forever be blest. 
 
 Alas! little Gretchen, such dreams are but vain. 
 
 They vanish like dew, and leave us but pain. 
 
 Go on with your spinning of bright flaxen thread, 
 
 But spin no more fancies within your small head. 
 
 There's a blast of the horns, and a clatter of feet. 
 
 And hunters, and hounds, in the small, sunny street. 
 
 "Here's an inn! Bring us wine!" a thirsty one cries, 
 
 And Gretchen to bring them a flagon quick flies. 
 
 The thirsty one drained the deep cup at a draught, — 
 
 He glanced at the maiden, then softly he laughed, 
 
 "I'll hunt here again when I come from the town;" 
 
 And Gretchen looked up, and his eyes they were brown. 
 
 He saw the soft wonder that grew in her own. 
 
 And thought of two stars in the heaven alone. 
 
 He saw the gold tangle of sun in her hair. 
 
 And never looked down at her feet brown and bare, 
 
Gretchen 75 
 
 But rode slowly away, and for many a day 
 
 Little Gretchen had dreams of a knight young and gay. 
 
 This story I tell is a century old. 
 
 The knight and the maiden are both 'neath the mould; 
 
 But a portrait that hangs in a great castle hall 
 
 Still shows the fair Gretchen all dressed for a ball; 
 
 For the knight in green velvet, with eyes that were brown, 
 
 Returned to the maiden, and in the old town 
 
 Among all the fair ladies he loved her the best, 
 
 And they two were wed, and forever were blest. 
 
MOTHERHOOD 
 
 H heart, that times another's beat, 
 Look thou thine own be true and sweet 
 And full of adoration. 
 To Him who gives to budding tree. 
 
 To nesting-bird, and now to Thee 
 Life's highest consummation. 
 
 76 
 
THREE DAYS 
 
 EART, thou must be calm, and strong; 
 
 Courage borrow for the morrow. 
 Think how thou mays't right some wrong, 
 
 Or with kindness heal some sorrow, 
 For thy Love is gone away, 
 And 't will be a weary day. 
 
 Heart, this Is a busy day. 
 
 How time speeds when duty leads. 
 And the hours fly swift away. 
 
 Time was made for kindly deeds; 
 I must hasten on their track 
 For my Love will soon be back. 
 
 Quiet Heart! Beat not so fast. 
 
 Calmly wait; he comes not late. 
 Ah! I hear his step at last! 
 
 Sweet! my Love! my Life! my Fate! 
 Hold me 'gainst thy throbbing heart. 
 Thou and I will no more part. 
 
 77 
 
UNEXPRESSED 
 
 HE sweetest poem remains unspoken, — 
 The subtlest melody goes unsung, — 
 The seal of silence is yet unbroken 
 On the bells in the steeples of memory 
 hung. 
 
 The heaviest perfume still lies hidden 
 Deep in the heart of the folded rose, 
 And the holiest love is that unbidden, 
 That tongue cannot utter nor lips disclose. 
 
 78 
 
INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 [HE year grew weary of the languid Summer, 
 And, fickle creature that she is, sought a new 
 
 lover; 
 A sturdy fellow fond of freshening breezes, 
 His kisses fragrant with the fruit, and wine 
 
 Of his late vintage. But his touch her ardor freezes. 
 
 One by one the flowers from out her chaplet she untwines, 
 
 And folds herself in mantle of soft grey 
 
 Dashed here and there by brightly flashing leaves 
 
 That flush, and die in anger day by day. 
 
 So warmed by flames of red and yellow fire. 
 
 She watches while the glorious days expire; 
 
 And, half regretful of the tender lover 
 
 Whom she forsook for Autumn, silent grieves; 
 
 And falls asleep, and sleeping dreams of Summer. 
 
 79 
 
UNREST 
 
 you think the restless torrent 
 Dashing down the nrvountain side; 
 Vexed by rocks within its current; 
 Bearing down with mighty tide 
 All before it, — do you think 
 
 Leaping on in headlong fashion 
 
 That its power repays its passion? 
 
 Stand again beside its brink 
 
 Down the mountain, far away, 
 
 Rocks and chasms over-passed. 
 
 Quietly it flows at last 
 
 Through the meadow sweet with May. 
 
 Peace or passion, which is best? 
 
 Strength and power, or blessed rest? 
 
 80 
 
SHIPWRECKED 
 
 I RIGHT gleamed the sun in the morning, 
 
 The birds were all in song: 
 There was never a note of warning 
 
 That the day might all go wrong. 
 There was never a cloud to darken 
 A radiant Summer sky; 
 There was never a thought to hearken 
 To the voice of Fate near by. 
 
 And so in the sunny weather 
 
 1 launched my life's frail boat, 
 Out of the dew and heather, 
 
 Onto the stream afloat; 
 Oh; but I stepped it gaily, 
 
 That day that dawned so bright; 
 But my bark was built too frailly, 
 
 And it perished ere the night. 
 
 81 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 HE sumach flames in scarlet. 
 And the maple's leaves are gold; 
 The sensuous, dewy Summer 
 Is a story that is told. 
 A mist is o'er the meadow, 
 
 Its purple laves the hills, 
 
 And the longing heart of beauty 
 
 This dreamy day fulfills. 
 
 But ah! the vanished Summer 
 With its passionate heat and flowers; 
 Its hours of languorous sunshine. 
 Its temper-burst of showers; 
 Its richest wealth of verdure 
 That made the earth complete 
 While it ravished all our senses 
 With its odors, subtle, sweet. 
 
 82 
 
THE ALTAR OF MAMMON 
 
 AKE God from your skies! 
 
 Set up your altar to Mammon the Wise! 
 
 Mammon, who hears in the clink of red gold 
 
 And the rustle of title-deeds crisply unrolled 
 
 All the music of life. 
 True worshippers all, gather round! 
 While the drums of the market-place sound! 
 Our offerings shall burn on his altar this hour, 
 A sacrifice fit to his glorious power 
 Who has conquered the Earth. 
 Who serve in the temple of Mammon the Great, 
 And feed the fierce fires that burn early and late 
 On his altar? Only those who are blessed 
 With the greatness of wealth. His priests must be dressed 
 In the livery of cruelty, lust, and desire. 
 
 83 
 
W. S.. O BII T 18 79 
 
 H soul so just! Oh soul so true! 
 Somewhere above empyrean blue 
 Canst thou not look upon the child 
 Who vexed thee with her nature wild? 
 
 Canst know, however, day by day. 
 Thy influence upon her way 
 Mas lighted up the stony path 
 Like golden glow of aftermath? 
 
 The lessons that thy strong life taught 
 Grow into mine in subtle thought; 
 As gazing up at some tall spire 
 That over roof-tops, mounting higher, 
 Still shows us not its height; but seen 
 Over shimmering fields of green. 
 Against the evening's sunset bars 
 It seems to mount among the stars. 
 
 1 thank thee for thy life so brave, 
 
 That strengthens mine e'en from thy grave; 
 
 'Cross many a dark and weary mile 
 
 I come toward thy approving smile. 
 
 84 
 
TO MY BROTHER 
 
 |HESE sunny days with opening leaves 
 Awake my heart, and n^emory weaves 
 Full many a childhood dream. 
 They bring again the pulse of youth: 
 Renew my faith in love, and truth. 
 
 And, like a thawing stream; 
 
 They melt away the ice and snow; 
 
 Reveal the banks where violets grow. 
 
 With sunshine over all. 
 
 Upon one mother's snowy breast 
 
 Our baby heads first found their rest. 
 
 Beneath one sheltering roof we grew. 
 
 While happy years like rose leaves flew. 
 
 Caught in a summer wind. 
 
 We found the way with flying feet 
 
 To where the shy claytonias sweet 
 
 Were blushing 'neath the sun; 
 
 And where anemones were hid. 
 
 Upon the banks, the moss amid. 
 
 Of a soft purling stream, 
 
 85 
 
86 ToMyBrother 
 
 We felt as in a pleasant dream 
 
 The joyous influence of Spring 
 
 Its charms around us fling. 
 
 A meadow lark that clearly sings; 
 
 A swallow on quick-flashing wings; 
 
 The scent of warming earth; 
 
 All these bring back my girlhood days, 
 
 Our wanderings in happy ways, 
 
 Our hours of childish mirth. 
 
 And as you wander to and fro. 
 
 My heart still follows where you go. 
 
 As in the olden day; 
 
 When hand in hand we sought the flowers. 
 
 Forgetful of Life's fleeting hours, 
 
 A boy and girl at play. 
 
WOMEN 
 
 f E cat Love's bread, we drink Love's wine 
 j As free as the bird who robs the vine; 
 
 ! 
 
 C For the women who dower us twice and 
 thrice 
 Give of their bounty and set no price. 
 
 'Tis the woman who feeds you on husks like swine, 
 Who drugs your conscience with passion's wine; 
 That asks your birthright in honour's share, 
 And gives for receipt your soul's despair. 
 
 87 
 
THE CLOSING NIGHT 
 
 7 FEW short days we've played together 
 On the stage; 
 We've fared through bright and cloudy weather 
 
 For our wage; 
 To-morrow other feet shall tread 
 Before these lights to waken laughter, 
 And we shall quickly be forgot 
 
 For those who* re after. 
 
 And like the scenes so swiftly passed 
 
 Away forever, 
 The hours are drawing to the last 
 
 When we must sever. 
 The last brief speech is quickly said; 
 
 The curtain falls, the play is done; 
 
 The goal of life is lost or won; 
 The lights are out, the music fled, 
 The world laughs on while we lie dead. 
 
 88 . 
 
PARTED 
 
 I HE days drag by on leaden feet 
 That lie 'twixt thee, and me. Sweet. 
 The earth seems but a dreary place, 
 Lacking the brightness of thy face. 
 The birds that through the morning sing, 
 
 Or upward mount on flashing wing; 
 
 The sunset tinting through and through 
 
 The crested wave with its own hue; 
 
 The moon that floats within the skies. 
 
 Its light that on the valley lies; 
 
 All these are dull, and incomplete 
 
 Without thy loving presence, Sweet. 
 
 My nights are dreanu of longing pain. 
 
 From which I lonely wake again, 
 
 To sigh for thy caressing hand 
 
 To lull me back to slumber-land; 
 
 I miss thy kisses on my face. 
 
 Thy lingering lips, and every grace 
 
 Of heart and being, that are thine. 
 
 My passionate blood impatient burns 
 
 89 
 
90 P a. r t e d 
 
 Within me, like quick-flushing wine, 
 That coursing through my veins but turns 
 My longing into sick desire 
 For thy fond nature's constant fire. 
 
FAITH 
 
 LL night my sleepless head had tossed upon 
 
 the pillow, 
 And I thought: "Life is not worth the living, 
 
 so set round 
 With petty cares and all the trifling things 
 That women have to do." I longed for larger work; 
 For wider aims; for strength and calmness like the ocean deep, 
 That murmured 'neath my window day and night. 
 I rose and walked toward the strand. 
 
 There was no sea in sight, only one great, blank wall of mist. 
 The sky was softly grey, with flecks of colour 
 Gleaming here and there, where fluffy clouds hung down, 
 Their rosy folds caught and pinned back by shafts of golden 
 
 light. 
 And while I gazed the clouds grew brighter, pink and gold. 
 The great warm sun arose, and lo! a miracle. 
 From out the gleaming mist a sea was born, a dimpled, smiling 
 
 sea, 
 Reflecting in its flashing curves the roseate sky; 
 Then as the level beams of sunlight drank 
 The mist away, it rolled an ocean deep, profound, beneath my 
 gaze. 
 
 91 
 
92 F at i t K 
 
 The glistening sands stretched far away, all white and wet. 
 A great grey gull flew screaming overhead, and as he passed 
 A feather floated down. I picked it up. The tiny, filmy thing 
 Seemed so absurd a shield against the flerce nor'easter. 
 And the sweeping seas; yet by its power he soared into the sky. 
 I grew ashamed; the gulPs white wing had brushed from out 
 
 my soul 
 The doubting mists, and let God's sunlight in. My faith was 
 
 born, 
 And on its wings my soul too soared into the sky with prayer 
 
 of praise 
 To Him who had created and still cherished both. 
 
A FABLE 
 
 jO high her soul soared on Olympian heights 
 She drean^ed herself a goddess, and she built 
 A shrine. One day a god looked in and straight 
 She opened wide the doorway of her shrine 
 And bade him enter there and reign. 
 
 She built an altar to him and she gave 
 
 The royal sceptre of her woman's heart 
 
 Into his hands. Upon his brow she placed 
 
 The kiss of love which crowned him all her king. 
 
 Then like a loyal subject offered she 
 
 The richest treasures of her willing mind. 
 
 For him her fingers, love-inspired, wrought out 
 
 From senseless strings most subtle harmonies. 
 
 Her voice caught melody from out her heart. 
 
 Which sang within her like a mating-bird. 
 
 Her tongue dropped into rythm and soft speech 
 
 With which to rouse, or soothe, or comfort him. 
 
 One day came cruel Fate. That goddess stern 
 
 Flashed on the shrine the fearful light 
 
 Of her infernal mirror men call knowledge, 
 
 93 
 
94 A F a. b 1 e 
 
 And she, who faithfully had loved, 
 
 Beheld her god a thing abased, all smirched 
 
 With stains of sins committed in the dark. 
 
 A woman desecrated she beheld herself. 
 
 And like as one who feels a mortal wound, 
 
 Her heart fell in the dust to rise no more. 
 
 The song upon her lips grew hushed and still; 
 
 From nerveless fingers melody had fled; 
 
 With one sharp cry of pain her life grew dumb. 
 
 The lights upon the altar faded out; 
 
 Our god swooned on the earth and all was still. 
 
 Save one wan ghost, who wandered through the space 
 
 And vexed the silence with her useless tears. 
 
 When in long after years a woman came 
 
 Who never dreamed of gods, but who, with eyes 
 
 Wide-opened, looked at things by reason's light, 
 
 She found the shrine, beheld the swooning god. 
 
 And o'er him breathed and prayed with woman's faith. 
 
 And lo! from out the dust arose a man; 
 
 A man, no god was he bright gilded by 
 
 A foolish woman's mad idolatry. 
 
 But just a man with virtues and with stains. 
 
 Our goddess is no more. Long years she prowled, 
 A haunting ghost about her ruined shrine, 
 Then faded into nothingness. She lives 
 
A F ql b 1 e 93 
 
 Not even in a sigh. Her spirit fell 
 
 Upon her swooning god. * * * 
 
 She's buried in the nature of the man 
 
 Who lives to bless another with his love. 
 
 Search high or low, you'll find her nevermore 
 
 Among the spirits of the earth or air. 
 
 But high in Heaven one poor, lonely ghost 
 
 Goes seeking her and asking: **\s she come?" 
 
 ***** 
 
 The moral 's plainly this: Heaven is a mist 
 That hides the cruel truth from loving eyes. 
 Hell is the branding-iron of knowledge. 
 The ultimatum is self 'Sacrifice, which gives 
 Its self in death to new create a life. 
 
THE RESURRECTION 
 
 HROUGH Life's passion week of pain, 
 Through the hour of sorrow's reign, 
 Through remorse for sin's dark stain 
 We wait the Resurrection. 
 
 Ail the world enwrapped in snow, 
 All the blossoms lying low, 
 All the streams in frozen throe. 
 
 Wait the Resurrection. 
 
 Patient souls who suffer loss. 
 They who cast aside earth's dross, 
 They who faithful bear His cross, 
 Wait the Resurrection. 
 
 Sorrowing ones, forget your pain. 
 World, spring into bloom again. 
 Faithful hearts. He comes to reign, 
 Christ, our Resurrection, 
 
 96 
 
the: dead rose 
 
 HE year is slipping away to-night 
 While I sit by the fading fire, 
 
 Whose ashes and embers' dying light 
 Seem a shadow of life's desire. 
 
 Backward, like beads on a silken string, 
 Fall the years that have come between, 
 
 And I seem to feel the rythm and swing 
 Of Youth when you were its Queen. 
 
 1 sec your face by the fire-light low. 
 Imperious, passionate, proud, 
 
 Your eager eyes and lips aglow. 
 Alternate sunshine and cloud. 
 
 Your cheeks the colour of roses red. 
 Blushing when day is new; 
 
 Your breath the perfume violets shed, 
 Drenched with the morning dew. 
 
 97 
 
98 
 
 The Dead Rose 
 
 My brilliant Rose with the golden hair, 
 My spirit of fire and snow, 
 
 Your heart was warm as the August air, 
 When birds in the leaves sing low. 
 
 Mayhap as the years had sped away 
 Life, with its travail and pain. 
 
 Had touched the gold with a sadder grey. 
 Had drowned the roses in rain. 
 
 The smiling lips have caught the droop 
 Of grief, and sorrow, and woe. 
 
 The dimpled shoulders learned to stoop 
 Under adversity's blow. 
 
 Yours was the nature to win and hold 
 The passionate heart of a man; 
 
 To women like you his love is told 
 Often in life's brief span. 
 
 Yet another fills your place in my life 
 Who is far more patient than you, 
 
 And I honour and love the gentle wife 
 Always tender and true; 
 
 But ever and more as the years go by, 
 My heart turns back to you, 
 
TheDeadRose 99 
 
 And I know to-night in the chilling light, 
 My soul keeps tryst with you. 
 
 The embers fall in ashes, bereft 
 
 I shiver In wintry air. 
 Ashes of roses, — all that is left 
 
 Of my l<ose with the golden hair. 
 
 L of C.I 
 
IN IDAHO 
 
 01) say Tm a countess, — well, that may bc; 
 
 But what is a coronet to me? 
 
 The only caste that we know out here 
 
 Is the bravery of soul that knows no fear. 
 
 The heart that can weep for another's woe, 
 Or send a bullet through treacherous foe. 
 How came I here? That's another thing. 
 Where flies the eagle on swiftest wing, 
 A dove may follow, if it have strength, 
 Its leader on to his utmost length. 
 My sire was the eagle that soared above. 
 My mother the dove that followed for love. 
 And 1 grew here as the flowers grew, 
 They, and the mountains, the friends I knew. 
 You want my story? You know a part, 
 And I'd rather forget that I had a heart. 
 As gentle as any woman may own, 
 As timid and soft; but that is outgrown. 
 We women turn sometimes harder than men; 
 When we have been fools, if we change, 'tis then. 
 
 100 
 
I i\ I d a h o 101 
 
 He found me here on the mountain -side. 
 
 Untamed as the deer that browse and hide 
 
 In the valleys below; as gentle, too, 
 
 As foolish, as easy to woo. 
 
 "His brown-eyed gypsy, fair and tall," 
 
 He called me, "The sweetest flower of all.'* 
 
 And we were wed. A happy wife, 
 
 1 lived with him the old free life 
 
 A year; and then the summer skies 
 
 Shone up to me from my baby's eyes. 
 
 My little one, so like us both, 
 
 It seemed God's seal upon our troth. 
 
 The old earl, dying, sent for his son. 
 
 Across the ocean they looked for one. 
 
 They did not know of three, of baby and me. 
 
 But I would go; and we crossed the sea; 
 
 And we were not welcome, baby and I. 
 
 Still, for love 1 bore him, I did try 
 
 To bear his mother's and sister's sneers. 
 
 Who looked on me as a beast one fears, 
 
 Yet longs to slay. My lonely heart 
 
 I tried to stifle, to play my part. 
 
 But he grew cold, and once I heard him say, 
 
 When they had taunted him for many a day: 
 
 "I know she is not suited to this life; 
 
 But I can't help it, she's my wife. 
 
 And here's the boy. If she were back again,- 
 
i 
 102 I r\ I d a h o 
 
 She's quite a different creature on the plain," 
 
 We wild things, reared apart from worldly life. 
 
 Have strength to hide the wounds of mortal strife; 
 
 Have power to turn and fly without a cry. 
 
 To seek some lonely place to hide and die. 
 
 1 and my baby vanished in a night, 
 
 Leaving this nobleman to set his life aright. 
 
 Back to these mountains, as unto a friend, 
 
 I fled, for they will stand until the end. 
 
 Here 'mid these hills my little one and I 
 
 Lived on three summers underneath the sky. 
 
 He knew no other voice or face than mine, 
 
 And his caress was like a draught of wine 
 
 To my scarred heart. And when my son 
 
 Was five he sickened, faded, — died. 
 
 I buried him far up the mountain-side, 
 
 A fleecy cloud hangs over It all day. 
 
 Hiding the woman's heart I laid away 
 
 Within that little grave. 
 
 Sent for me? Yes. A stranger came, 
 
 Asked for a woman by my name. 
 
 "Milord was lonely, — he loved her still; 
 
 He wanted his boy, — Milord was ill!" 
 
 What did I tell him? This: "You must know 
 
 That woman died five years ago." 
 
 "And the boy?" "Is buried with her, he and she 
 
I n I d a h o 103 
 
 Have a monument in that cloud you see. 
 Go back to your lord in his castle hall, 
 Say, Your brown-eyed gypsy, fair and tall, 
 The sweetest flower among them all. 
 By rude transplanting broken, died, — 
 Flower and seed on the mountain-side." 
 
 And that is all. The story *s told. 
 
 It's nothing new. The theme is old. 
 
 Yes, they say Tm rich and have the tin. 
 
 My cattle thrive, and the gold comes in. 
 
 Will you see those thoroughbreds to-day? 
 
 I'd like to show you a splendid bay. 
 
 Jim, bring up Antlers! Why not go back? 
 
 Does the wounded deer retrace its track 
 
 To tamely die 'neath the hunter's hand? 
 
 Or a woman driven from out Love's land 
 
 Return to be spurned at her lover's feet? 
 
 His blood and mine no more shall meet; — 
 
 The tame in him, and the wild in me. 
 
 Are as far as my mountains from his sea. 
 
 No, give me the rush of galloping feet, 
 
 The howling wind, the driving sleet, 
 
 These harboring valleys far and wide. 
 
 And the cloud that hangs on yon mountain-side. 
 
HERE, then, ends Some Songs and Verses by Frances 
 Rosina Haswin, with cover design and title-page by Charles 
 Frederick Naegele, made into this book for Van Vechten & Ellis 
 by Helen Bruneau Van Vechten at The Philosopher Press which 
 is in Wausau, Wisconsin, at The Sign of the Green Pine Tree, 
 being the first book completed in The Log Cabin Shop, finished 
 this nineteenth day of July, MCMll. 
 
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 fr.P'^GR, 
 
 £SS 
 
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