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A NEW YEAR’S WISH FOR THOSE WHO WRITE

 
In this time of joy and cheer
When we greet the buoyant year,
Now, old friends, we cherish you,
Bless the dreams you’ve brought to view—
Kindly fancy, happy thought,
Visions from the fairies caught,
Rhyme and story, song and play,
Fantasy for holiday—
All the treasures of your mind
Spent to make the world more kind.
 
 
While we grope in dark and fog,
Flounder onward through the bog,
You, serene upon the height,
Gambol in the cheery light—
Toss your laughter from the steep,
Bringing hope to those who weep.
What fair visions brightly gleam
Through cloud-rifts! Your dearest dream
Clothed in beauty on the peak,
Waiting for the Muse to speak.
 
 
Here’s our wish at New Year’s time,
Faint-expressed in halting rhyme:
For the men who dream and write
Make the future clear and bright;
Thaw the cynic from their heart—
Love and faith are highest Art.
Let them picture with their pen
Not our manners but our men.
Bless them all at New Year’s tide!
May their skill and fame abide!
And all women—charming, bright—
Grant that they may never write!
 

TO CHLOE

FOR A MENDED GLOVE

 
Fair Chloe looked upon the old torn glove,
Then touched its ragged edges with her fingers,
And lo! the rent was closed—as if for love
Sweet healing follows where her touch but lingers.
 
 
If all the rents that follow Chloe’s eyes,
And all the hearts despairingly defended,
Were healed so soon—we’d straightway realize
That love and life are good as new when mended.
 

TO THE ELF ON MY CALENDAR

 
Sweet Elf, you’ll pipe a merry tune,
Make days and months all gladness;
The clear, bright note you sound in June
Will cheer December’s sadness.
 
 
You’ll never pout on rainy days,
Nor when it’s cold will shiver,
But sit serene and sing your lays.
May Old Time bless the giver!
 

CAPRICE

 
Love laughed awhile,
And ridiculed my daring
To rashly crave a smile
From her, heart-whole, uncaring.
 
 
Oh, how Love laughed!
Love angry grew
And spoiled her pretty features;
I was—she vowed it true—
 
 
The most despised of creatures.
Oh, how Love frowned!
Love dropped a tear,
Her anger with it falling;
 
 
I felt her blue eyes clear,
My heart and hopes enthralling.
Oh, how Love cried!
Her tears Love dried,
 
 
And then she looked up sweetly;
No more her glance defied—
I pressed my suit discreetly.
Love kissed me then!
 

RETROSPECT

 
At evening, when the breeze dies down,
And regal Nature doffs her crown,
When brown-limbed pines, like minarets,
Fringe all the hills, and tired day frets
To rest awhile—ah, then, I know,
Into a shadowed room you go,
And softly touch the organ keys;
While pale stars blink amid the trees
You sing a peaceful vesper hymn
That rises from your full heart’s brim;
Your kindly eyes are dimmed with tears—
You wander through remembered years;
From gay to grave your fancies fly,
And end the journey with the cry:
My heart played truant from my will!
I loved him then—I love him still.
 

IN THE CROWD

 
A pair of brown eyes—no matter where,
In quiet street or crowded thoroughfare—
Call up the image of your face to me.
All others vanish, only you I see;
Above the din of trade your voice I hear,
And merry laughter, ringing sweet and clear,
That fades into a smile away:
Thus are you with me everywhere and every day.
 

REMEMBRANCE

 
No, not despair of ever quite forgetting
The happy romance of those dreamy years,
The painful weariness of vain regretting
Through all life’s varied way of love and tear
Not this the gladness of my heart represses,
With shadow tinges still each sunny thought
The fancy that with poignant touch distresses
Is that by thee I am perhaps forgot!
 

OFF FORT HAMILTON IN SUMMER

 
Embrasured guns, like wearied hounds, all sleeping,
Their muzzles resting on the cool, green turf;
Along the Fort their peaceful watch now keeping
Above the mimic battle of the surf.
 
 
And you, dear one, now that my suit is ended—
Let passion slumber in your cool dark eyes;
The wiles by which your heart was well defended
Embrasured there look love on summer skies.
 

OVER THE FERRY

ONOMATOPOETIC

 
Clang!   Ting-a-ling!
  Then a scream of the whistle.
Sob!   Sob!   Sob!  Sob!
Heaves slowly the breast of the iron-sinewed giant;
And the swift paddles fling,
  Like the down of a thistle,
White foam from their blades, while the waters defiant
Groan under their merciless tread; and the throb
Of the heart grows exultingly faster;
Now a race with a tug, and then it is past her—
Glides under the bow of a stately Cunarder—
The steel-lungèd giant breathing harder and harder
While nearing the wharves of the City of Vanity
To roll from its shoulders the load of humanity.
And up near the bow, with arms crossed on the railing,
The bold wind with kisses her fair cheeks assailing
And tossing her hair from her brow, stands sweet Jennie,
Who hopes on the way to the school to meet Bennie.
And what he will say she is anticipating—
Her heart full of pleasure, her blue eyes dilating;
And what will she say? Ah, now she is blushing.
There he stands on the pier! How the people are crushing!
While out from the dock the churned waters are rushing.
But the song of the wheels is, “I love him—I love him!”
Then the pilot above
    Signals “Clang! Ting-a-ling!”
    And the slowing wheels sing,
“Oh, my love—love—love!”
Clang!
 

BRAMBLE BRAE IN OCTOBER

 
And now the corn has ripened at Bramble Brae,
And all the hosts are marshalled for Autumn’s fray;
The quaint old farm is changing its green for brown,
Save where the new wheat lifts itself to the light
And huddles in rows, like wrinkles in some old gown.
Along the lane the quail are running in fright
At sound of guns on the upland—the cautious dogs
Are coursing over the fields, and keen-eyed men
Watch for the whir of wings; the hickory logs
Are falling down in the clearing, while in their pen
The big swine gloat on the heaped-up trough;
In woods the dead leaves rustle, and red squirrels cough
And chatter and screech—chasing each other from limb
To limb, and gather their stores at the roots of trees.
And part of it all is a boy, and the heart of him
Glows with the sumach, and sings with the Autumn breeze.
Down in the valley the ancient village rests,
Drowsing along the curbs of its quaint old street;
High and peaked are the roofs, and antique crests
Are carved on the gables. Fair maids, discreet,
Sit on the porches and talk with the passing youth;
For Love goes by, sometimes in homespun clad,
And sometimes rich in the wealth of truth
That speaks in the heart and the eyes of the lad.
For none that pass are the eyes of the bonny girl
Except for him; she sits and waits by a climbing vine,
Reading the verses of some old bard; the pearl
She seeks is love, and only love is the wine
That colors her cheeks and snaps in her sparkling eyes
But the lad is shy, and dreams the livelong day
That love and his lady are proof against all surprise—
So up on the hillside he longs for the village far away.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Many Autumns have glowed on the hillside there;
Slender saplings have sprung to giant trees;
Gray is his head and furrowed his brow with care—
The heart of the man cries out to the Autumn breeze.
Dusk in the valley, and cold light on the hill—
Brown is the sumach, the glory of youth has fled;
Drowsing cattle shiver, the night is chill,
Memory lives, but all of his hopes are dead.
Years has he wandered over the land and sea;
Friends he has cherished and lost, and women loved;
Always that vision haunted his fancy free—
The dreamer worshipped, but never the vision proved.
Down in the valley the ancient houses sleep,
Dotted with lights that break through the evening gloom;
Dreams that stirred the face of the waters deep
Cover their eyes and flee to a welcoming tomb.