Friendship

Why is it said thou canst not live
In a youthful breast and fair,
Since thou eternal life canst give,
Canst bloom for ever there?
Since withering pain no power possessed,
Nor age, to blanch thy vermeil hue,
Nor time's dread victor, death, confessed,
Though bathed with his poison dew,
Still thou retain'st unchanging bloom,
Fixed tranquil, even in the tomb.
And oh! when on the blest, reviving,
The day-star dawns of love,
Each energy of soul surviving
More vivid, soars above,
Hast thou ne'er felt a rapturous thrill,
Like June's warm breath, athwart thee fly,
O'er each idea then to steal,
When other passions die?
Felt it in some wild noonday dream,
When sitting by the lonely stream,
Where Silence says, 'Mine is the dell';
And not a murmur ...

See, I have bent thee by thy saffron hair
        O most strange masker,
Towards my face, thy face so full of eyes
        O almost legendary monster,
Thee of the saffron, circling hair I bend,
Bend by my fingers knotted in thy hair
        Hair like broad flames.
So, shall I swear by beech-husk, spindleberry,
To break thee, saffron hair and peering eye,
        To have the mastery?

    Through the vigils deep of the sable night
        A mother sits in grief alone,
    For her sons have gone to the battle front
        And left on the hearth a crushing stone.
    Beyond the stars that burn at night
        She sees God's arm in pity reach;
    It counsels patience, love and faith,
        Heroic hearts and souls to teach.

    The blue is spann'd and the tide goes out.
        And the stars rain down a kindlier cheer;
    And the mother turns from this throne of grief
        To pierce the years with a joyous tear;
    For duty born of a mother's heart
        Fills all the rounds of our common day -
    Yea, sheds its joy in the darkest night,
        And fills with light each hidden way.

    For Miss Ina Coolbrith.

Three lovely sisters working were,
As they were closely set,
Of soft and dainty maiden-hair,
A curious Armilet.
I, smiling, ask'd them what they did,
Fair Destinies all three?
Who told me they had drawn a thread
Of life, and 'twas for me.
They shew'd me then how fine 'twas spun
And I replied thereto;
'I care not now how soon 'tis done,
Or cut, if cut by you.'

There were not many at that lonely place,
Where two scourged hills met in a little plain.
The wind cried loud in gusts, then low again.
Three pines strained darkly, runners in a race
Unseen by any. Toward the further woods
A dim harsh noise of voices rose and ceased.
-- We were most silent in those solitudes --
Then, sudden as a flame, the black-robed priest,

The clotted earth piled roughly up about
The hacked red oblong of the new-made thing,
Short words in swordlike Latin -- and a rout
Of dreams most impotent, unwearying.
Then, like a blind door shut on a carouse,
The terrible bareness of the soul's last house.

    Joe lives on the farm, and Sam lives in the city,
    I haven't a daughter at all - more's the pity,
    For girls, to my mind, are much nicer and neater;
    Not such workers as boys, but cuter and sweeter.
    Sam has prospered in town, has riches a-plenty,
    Big house, fine library - books written by Henty,
    And Kipling, and Cooper, and all those big writers -
    Swell pictures and busts of great heroes and fighters.
    His home is a fine one from cellar to garret,
    But not to my notion - in fact, I can't bear it.
    I'm not hard to please, but of all things provoking
    Is a woman around who sniffs when you're smoking.

    Last springtime Sam said: "Now, Father, how is it
    I can't coax you oftener up on a visit?"
    I couldn't think up any ...

When I come in f'om de co'n-fiel' aftah wo'kin' ha'd all day,
It 's amazin' nice to fin' my suppah all erpon de way;
An' it 's nice to smell de coffee bubblin' ovah in de pot,
An' it 's fine to see de meat a-sizzlin' teasin'-lak an' hot.

But when suppah-time is ovah, an' de t'ings is cleahed away;
Den de happy hours dat foller are de sweetes' of de day.
When my co'ncob pipe is sta'ted, an' de smoke is drawin' prime,
My ole 'ooman says, "I reckon, Ike, it 's candle-lightin' time."

Den de chillun snuggle up to me, an' all commence to call,
"Oh, say, daddy, now it 's time to mek de shadders on de wall."
So I puts my han's togethah--evah daddy knows de way,--
An' de chillun snuggle closer roun' ez I begin to say:--

"Fus' thing, hyeah come Mistah Rabbit; don' you see...

(A Tribute to Mrs. George A. Cox.)


    The Golden Rule - the blessed creed
    That shelters frail humanity,
    The tender thought for those in need,
    The charity of word and deed,
    Without which all is vanity -

    This, friend, you made your very own,
    And yours the satisfying part
    To pluck the rose of love full blown,
    To reap the gladness you had sown
    With open hand and kindly heart.

    Simplicity, the jewel rare,
    Whose gleam is ever true and warm -
    That thing of worth beyond compare
    Which none but truly great may wear -
    Adorned your life with power and charm.

    Yours the sincerity that grips
    Fast hold of natures strong and wise;
    It thrilled you to your finger-ti...

        1.

        THE song birds that come to me night and morn,
        Fly oft away and vanish if I sleep,
        Nor to my fowling-net will one return:
        Is the thing ever ours we cannot keep?--
        But their souls go not out into the deep.
        What matter if with changed song they come back?
        Old strength nor yet fresh beauty shall they lack.

        2.

        Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou!
        Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
        Splendorously dying from thy window-sill--
        For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow
        Before the riches of thy making might:
        Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will--
        In thee the sun sets every sunset still.

        3.
<...

After long labouring in the windy ways,
    On smooth and shining tides
    Swiftly the great ship glides,
        Her storms forgot, her weary watches past;
Northward she glides, and through the enchanted haze
        Faint on the verge her far hope dawns at last.

The phantom sky-line of a shadowy down,
    Whose pale white cliffs below
    Through sunny mist aglow,
        Like noon-day ghosts of summer moonshine gleam---
Soft as old sorrow, bright as old renown,
        There lies the home, of all our mortal dream.

The beauty of the Northern dawns,
    Their pure, pale light is thine;
Yet all the dreams of tropic nights
    Within thy blue eyes shine.
Not statelier in their prisoning seas
    The icebergs grandly move,
But in thy smile is youth and joy,
    And in thy voice is love.

Thou art like Hecla's crest that stands
    So lonely, proud, and high,
No earthly thing may come between
    Her summit and the sky.
The sun in vain may strive to melt
    Her crown of virgin snow -
But the great heart of the mountain glows
    With deathless fire below.

(a Greek Legend.)



Zacho the King rode out of old
(And truth is what I tell)
With saddle and spurs and a rein of gold
To find the door of Hell.

And round around him surged the dead
With soft and lustrous eyes.
"Why came you here, old friend?" they said:
"Unwise . . . unwise . . . unwise!

"You should have left to the prince your son
Spurs and saddle and rein:
Your bright and morning days are done;
You ride not out again."

"I came to greet my friends who fell
Sword-scattered from my side;
And when I've drunk the wine of Hell
I'll out again and ride!"

But Charon rose and caught his hair
In fingers sharp and long.
"Loose me, old ferryman: play fair:
Try if my arm be strong."

Thrice drave he ha...

I slept, 'twas midnight, in my bosom woke,

As though 'twere day, my love-o'erflowing heart;
To me it seemed like night, when day first broke;

What is't to me, whate'er it may impart?

She was away; the world's unceasing strife

For her alone I suffer'd through the heat
Of sultry day; oh, what refreshing life

At cooling eve! my guerdon was complete.

The sun now set, and wand'ring hand in hand,

His last and blissful look we greeted then;
While spake our eyes, as they each other scann'd:

"From the far east, let's trust, he'll come again!"

At midnight! the bright stars, in vision blest,

Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm:
Oh be it mine, there too at length to rest,

Yet howsoe'er this prove, lif...

Lady mine, most fair thou art
    With youth's gold and white and red;
'Tis a pity that thy heart
    Is so much harder than thy head.

This has stayed my kisses oft,
    This from all thy charms debarr'd,
That thy head is strangely soft,
    While thy heart is strangely hard.

Nothing had kept us apart,
    I had loved thee, I had wed,
Hadst thou had a softer heart
    Or a harder head.

But I think I'll bear Love's smart
    Till the wound has healed and fled,
Or thy head is like thy heart,
    Or thy heart is like thy head.

There was Rundle, Station Master,
An' Beazeley of the Rail,
An' 'Ackman, Commissariat,
An' Donkin' o' the Jail;
An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,
Our Master twice was 'e,
With 'im that kept the Europe-shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.

Outside, "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!"
Inside, "Brother", an' it doesn't do no 'arm.
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,
An' Saul the Aden Jew,
An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman
Of the Survey Office too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
An' Amir Singh the Sikh,
An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds,
The Roman Catholick!

We 'adn't good regalia,
An' our Lodge was old an' bare,
But we knew the Ancient Landmark...

Oft have I stood within the carven door
Of some cathedral at the close of the day,
And seen its softened splendors fade away
From lucent pane and tessellated floor,
As if a parting guest who comes no more,
Till over all silence and blackness lay,
Then rose sweet murmurings of them that pray,
And shone the altar lamps unseen before,
So, Dear, as here I stand with thee alone,
The voices of the world sound faint and far,
The glare and glory of the moon grow dim,
And in the stillness, what I had not known,
I know, a light, pure shining as a star,
A song, uprising like a holy hymn.

Mine ear has rung, my spirit sunk subdued,
Sharing the strong emotion of the crowd,
When each pale brow to dread hosannas bowed
While clouds of incense mounting veiled the rood,
That glimmered like a pine-tree dimly viewed
Through Alpine vapours. Such appalling rite
Our Church prepares not, trusting to the might
Of simple truth with grace divine imbued;
Yet will we not conceal the precious Cross,
Like men ashamed: the Sun with his first smile
Shall greet that symbol crowning the low Pile:
And the fresh air of incense-breathing morn
Shall wooingly embrace it; and green moss
Creep round its arms through centuries unborn.

Young as the youngest who donned the Gray,
    True as the truest that wore it,
Brave as the bravest he marched away,
(Hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay)
Triumphant waved our flag one day --
    He fell in the front before it.

Firm as the firmest, where duty led,
    He hurried without a falter;
Bold as the boldest he fought and bled,
And the day was won -- but the field was red --
And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed
    On his country's hallowed altar.

On the trampled breast of the battle plain
    Where the foremost ranks had wrestled,
On his pale, pure face not a mark of pain,
(His mother dreams they will meet again)
The fairest form amid all the slain,
    Like a child asleep he nestled.

In the solemn shades ...