Relationships and Family

No Boy Knows

There are many things that boys may know--
Why this and that are thus and so,--
Who made the world in the dark and lit
The great sun up to lighten it:
Boys know new things every day--
When they study, or when they play,--
When they idle, or sow and reap--
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.


Boys who listen--or should, at least,--
May know that the round old earth rolls East;--
And know that the ice and the snow and the rain--
Ever repeating their parts again--
Are all just water the sunbeams first
Sip from the earth in their endless thirst,
And pour again till the low streams leap.--
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.


A boy may know what a long glad while
It has been to him since the dawn's first smile,
When forth he fared in the realm divine
Of brook-laced woodland and spun-sunshine;--
He may know each call of his truant mates,
And the paths they went,--and the pasture-gates
Of the 'cross-lots home through the dusk so deep.--
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.


O I have followed me, o'er and o'er,
From the flagrant drowse on the parlor-floor,
To the pleading voice of the mother when
I even doubted I heard it then--
To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit room,
And dewy odors of locust-bloom--
A sweet white cot--and a cricket's cheep.--
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

Noey's Night-Piece

'They ain't much 'tale' about it!' Noey said.-'
K'tawby grapes wuz gittin' good-n-red
I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and me
'Ud kindo' browse round town, daytime, to see
What neighbers 'peared to have the most to spare
'At wuz git-at-able and no dog there
When we come round to git 'em, say 'bout ten
O'clock at night when mostly old folks then
Wuz snorin' at each other like they yit
Helt some old grudge 'at never slep' a bit.
Well, at the _Pars'nige_--ef ye'll call to mind,-They's
'bout the biggest grape-arber you'll find
'Most anywheres.--And mostly there, we knowed
They wuz _k'tawbies_ thick as ever growed--
And more'n they'd _p'serve_.--Besides I've heerd
Ma say k'tawby-grape-p'serves jes 'peared
A waste o' sugar, anyhow!--And so
My conscience stayed outside and lem me go
With Tubb, one night, the back-way, clean up through
That long black arber to the end next to
The house, where the k'tawbies, don't you know,
Wuz thickest. And t'uz lucky we went _slow_,--
Fer jest as we wuz cropin' tords the gray-
End, like, of the old arber--heerd Tubb say
In a skeered whisper, 'Hold up! They's some one
Jes slippin' in here!--and _looks like a gun_
He's carryin'!' I _golly!_ we both spread
Out flat aginst the ground!

''What's that?' Tubb said.--
And jest then--'_plink! plunk! plink!_' we heerd something
Under the back-porch-winder.--Then, i jing!
Of course we rickollected 'bout the young
School-mam 'at wuz a-boardin' there, and sung,
And played on the melodium in the choir.--
And she 'uz 'bout as purty to admire
As any girl in town!--the fac's is, she
Jest _wuz_, them times, to a dead certainty,
The belle o' this-here bailywick!--But--Well,-I'd
best git back to what I'm tryin' to tell:--
It wuz some feller come to serenade
Miss Wetherell: And there he plunked and played
His old guitar, and sung, and kep' his eye
Set on her winder, blacker'n the sky!--
And black it _stayed_.--But mayby she wuz 'way
From home, er wore out--bein' _Saturday!_

'It _seemed_ a good-'eal _longer_, but I _know_
He sung and plunked there half a' hour er so
Afore, it 'peared like, he could ever git
His own free qualified consents to quit
And go off 'bout his business. When he went


I bet you could a-bought him fer a cent!


'And now, behold ye all!--as Tubb and me
Wuz 'bout to raise up,--right in front we see
A feller slippin' out the arber, square
Smack under that-air little winder where
The _other_ feller had been standin'.--And
The thing he wuz a-carryin' in his hand
Wuzn't no _gun_ at all!--It wuz a _flute_,--
And _whoop-ee!_ how it did git up and toot
And chirp and warble, tel a mockin'-bird
'Ud dast to never let hisse'f be heerd
Ferever, after sich miracalous, high
Jim-cracks and grand skyrootics played there by
Yer Cousin Rufus!--Yes-sir; it wuz him!--
And what's more,--all a-suddent that-air dim
Dark winder o' Miss Wetherell's wuz lit
Up like a' oyshture-sign, and under it
We see him sort o' wet his lips and smile
Down 'long his row o' dancin' fingers, while
He kindo' stiffened up and kinked his breath
And everlastin'ly jest blowed the peth
Out o' that-air old one-keyed flute o' his.
And, bless their hearts, that's all the 'tale' they is!'


And even as Noey closed, all radiantly
The unconscious hero of the history,
Returning, met a perfect driving storm
Of welcome--a reception strangely warm
And _unaccountable_, to _him_, although
Most _gratifying_,--and he told them so.
'I only urge,' he said, 'my right to be
Enlightened.' And a voice said: '_Certainly:_--
During your absence we agreed that you
Should tell us all a story, old or new,
Just in the immediate happy frame of mind
We knew you would return in.'


So, resigned,
The ready flutist tossed his hat aside--
Glanced at the children, smiled, and thus complied.

Noey's Night-Piece

'They ain't much 'tale' about it!' Noey said.-'
K'tawby grapes wuz gittin' good-n-red
I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and me
'Ud kindo' browse round town, daytime, to see
What neighbers 'peared to have the most to spare
'At wuz git-at-able and no dog there
When we come round to git 'em, say 'bout ten
O'clock at night when mostly old folks then
Wuz snorin' at each other like they yit
Helt some old grudge 'at never slep' a bit.
Well, at the _Pars'nige_--ef ye'll call to mind,-They's
'bout the biggest grape-arber you'll find
'Most anywheres.--And mostly there, we knowed
They wuz _k'tawbies_ thick as ever growed--
And more'n they'd _p'serve_.--Besides I've heerd
Ma say k'tawby-grape-p'serves jes 'peared
A waste o' sugar, anyhow!--And so
My conscience stayed outside and lem me go
With Tubb, one night, the back-way, clean up through
That long black arber to the end next to
The house, where the k'tawbies, don't you know,
Wuz thickest. And t'uz lucky we went _slow_,--
Fer jest as we wuz cropin' tords the gray-
End, like, of the old arber--heerd Tubb say
In a skeered whisper, 'Hold up! They's some one
Jes slippin' in here!--and _looks like a gun_
He's carryin'!' I _golly!_ we both spread
Out flat aginst the ground!

''What's that?' Tubb said.--
And jest then--'_plink! plunk! plink!_' we heerd something
Under the back-porch-winder.--Then, i jing!
Of course we rickollected 'bout the young
School-mam 'at wuz a-boardin' there, and sung,
And played on the melodium in the choir.--
And she 'uz 'bout as purty to admire
As any girl in town!--the fac's is, she
Jest _wuz_, them times, to a dead certainty,
The belle o' this-here bailywick!--But--Well,-I'd
best git back to what I'm tryin' to tell:--
It wuz some feller come to serenade
Miss Wetherell: And there he plunked and played
His old guitar, and sung, and kep' his eye
Set on her winder, blacker'n the sky!--
And black it _stayed_.--But mayby she wuz 'way
From home, er wore out--bein' _Saturday!_

'It _seemed_ a good-'eal _longer_, but I _know_
He sung and plunked there half a' hour er so
Afore, it 'peared like, he could ever git
His own free qualified consents to quit
And go off 'bout his business. When he went


I bet you could a-bought him fer a cent!


'And now, behold ye all!--as Tubb and me
Wuz 'bout to raise up,--right in front we see
A feller slippin' out the arber, square
Smack under that-air little winder where
The _other_ feller had been standin'.--And
The thing he wuz a-carryin' in his hand
Wuzn't no _gun_ at all!--It wuz a _flute_,--
And _whoop-ee!_ how it did git up and toot
And chirp and warble, tel a mockin'-bird
'Ud dast to never let hisse'f be heerd
Ferever, after sich miracalous, high
Jim-cracks and grand skyrootics played there by
Yer Cousin Rufus!--Yes-sir; it wuz him!--
And what's more,--all a-suddent that-air dim
Dark winder o' Miss Wetherell's wuz lit
Up like a' oyshture-sign, and under it
We see him sort o' wet his lips and smile
Down 'long his row o' dancin' fingers, while
He kindo' stiffened up and kinked his breath
And everlastin'ly jest blowed the peth
Out o' that-air old one-keyed flute o' his.
And, bless their hearts, that's all the 'tale' they is!'


And even as Noey closed, all radiantly
The unconscious hero of the history,
Returning, met a perfect driving storm
Of welcome--a reception strangely warm
And _unaccountable_, to _him_, although
Most _gratifying_,--and he told them so.
'I only urge,' he said, 'my right to be
Enlightened.' And a voice said: '_Certainly:_--
During your absence we agreed that you
Should tell us all a story, old or new,
Just in the immediate happy frame of mind
We knew you would return in.'


So, resigned,
The ready flutist tossed his hat aside--
Glanced at the children, smiled, and thus complied.

Naughty Claude

When Little Claude was naughty wunst
At dinner-time, an' said
He won't say '_Thank you_' to his Ma,
She maked him go to bed
An' stay two hours an' not git up,--
So when the clock struck Two,
Nen Claude says,--'Thank you, Mr. Clock,
I'm much obleeged to you!'

Mylo Jones's Wife

'Mylo Jones's wife' was all
I heerd, mighty near, last Fall--
Visitun relations down
T'other side of Morgantown!
Mylo Jones's wife she does
This and that, and 'those' and 'thus'!-Can't
'bide babies in her sight--
Ner no childern, day and night,
Whoopin' round the premises--
NER NO NOTHIN' ELSE, I guess!


Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows
She's the boss of her own house!-Mylo--
consequences is--
Stays whare things seem SOME like HIS,--
Uses, mostly, with the stock--
Coaxin' 'Old Kate' not to balk,
Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner
Act, I s'pose, so much like HER!
Yit the wimmern-folks tells you
She's PERFECTION.--Yes they do!


Mylo's wife she says she's found
Home hain't home with MEN-FOLKS round
When they's work like HERN to do-
Picklin' pears and BUTCHERN, too,
And a-rendern lard, and then
Cookin' fer a pack of men
To come trackin' up the flore
SHE'S scrubbed TEL she'll scrub no MORE!--
Yit she'd keep things clean ef they
Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!


Mylo Jones's wife she sews
Carpet-rags and patches clothes
Jest year IN and OUT!--and yit
Whare's the livin' use of it?
She asts Mylo that.--And he
Gits back whare he'd ruther be,
With his team;--jest PLOWS--and don't
Never sware--like some folks won't!
Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum!
'D he'p his heavenly chances some!


Mylo's wife don't see no use,
Ner no reason ner excuse
Fer his pore relations to
Hang round like they allus do!
Thare 'bout onc't a year--and SHE--
She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me,
On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one,
He says 'No, he don't chuse none!'



Workin'men like Mylo they
'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day!


Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!
Ruther rake a blame caseknife
'Crost my wizzen than to see
Sich a womern rulin' ME!--
Ruther take and turn in and
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand'
MYLO, though--od-rot the man!--
Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks CAN--
And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,
Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'--Mercy knows!

Mylo Jones's Wife

'Mylo Jones's wife' was all
I heerd, mighty near, last Fall--
Visitun relations down
T'other side of Morgantown!
Mylo Jones's wife she does
This and that, and 'those' and 'thus'!-Can't
'bide babies in her sight--
Ner no childern, day and night,
Whoopin' round the premises--
NER NO NOTHIN' ELSE, I guess!


Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows
She's the boss of her own house!-Mylo--
consequences is--
Stays whare things seem SOME like HIS,--
Uses, mostly, with the stock--
Coaxin' 'Old Kate' not to balk,
Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner
Act, I s'pose, so much like HER!
Yit the wimmern-folks tells you
She's PERFECTION.--Yes they do!


Mylo's wife she says she's found
Home hain't home with MEN-FOLKS round
When they's work like HERN to do-
Picklin' pears and BUTCHERN, too,
And a-rendern lard, and then
Cookin' fer a pack of men
To come trackin' up the flore
SHE'S scrubbed TEL she'll scrub no MORE!--
Yit she'd keep things clean ef they
Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!


Mylo Jones's wife she sews
Carpet-rags and patches clothes
Jest year IN and OUT!--and yit
Whare's the livin' use of it?
She asts Mylo that.--And he
Gits back whare he'd ruther be,
With his team;--jest PLOWS--and don't
Never sware--like some folks won't!
Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum!
'D he'p his heavenly chances some!


Mylo's wife don't see no use,
Ner no reason ner excuse
Fer his pore relations to
Hang round like they allus do!
Thare 'bout onc't a year--and SHE--
She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me,
On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one,
He says 'No, he don't chuse none!'



Workin'men like Mylo they
'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day!


Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!
Ruther rake a blame caseknife
'Crost my wizzen than to see
Sich a womern rulin' ME!--
Ruther take and turn in and
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand'
MYLO, though--od-rot the man!--
Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks CAN--
And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,
Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'--Mercy knows!

My Father's Halls

My father's halls, so rich and rare,
Are desolate and bleak and bare;
My father's heart and halls are one,
Since I, their life and light, am gone.

O, valiant knight, with hand of steel
And heart of gold, hear my appeal:
Release me from the spoiler's charms,
And bear me to my father's arms.

My Bride That Is To Be

O soul of mine, look out and see
My bride, my bride that is to be!
Reach out with mad, impatient hands,
And draw aside futurity
As one might draw a veil aside--
And so unveil her where she stands
Madonna-like and glorified--
The queen of undiscovered lands
Of love, to where she beckons me--
My bride--my bride that is to be.

The shadow of a willow-tree
That wavers on a garden-wall
In summertime may never fall
In attitude as gracefully
As my fair bride that is to be;--
Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown
As lightly flutter to the lawn
As fall her fairy-feet upon
The path of love she loiters down.-O'er
drops of dew she walks, and yet
Not one may stain her sandal wet--
Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way
Nor crush a single drop to spray,
So airy-like she seems to me,--
My bride, my bride that is to be.

I know not if her eyes are light
As summer skies or dark as night,--
I only know that they are dim
With mystery: In vain I peer
To make their hidden meaning clear,
While o'er their surface, like a tear
That ripples to the silken brim,
A look of longing seems to swim
All worn and wearylike to me;
And then, as suddenly, my sight
Is blinded with a smile so bright,
Through folded lids I still may see
My bride, my bride that is to be.

Her face is like a night of June
Upon whose brow the crescent-moon
Hangs pendant in a diadem
Of stars, with envy lighting them.--
And, like a wild cascade, her hair
Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist,
Till only through a gleaming mist
I seem to see a siren there,
With lips of love and melody
And open arms and heaving breast
Wherein I fling myself to rest,


The while my heart cries hopelessly
For my fair bride that is to be....

Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes!
My bride hath need of no disguise.--
But, rather, let her come to me
In such a form as bent above
My pillow when in infancy
I knew not anything but love.--
O let her come from out the lands
Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,--
And let her come with Woman's hands
And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,--
With Woman's hopefulness and grace
Of patience lighting up her face:
And let her diadem be wrought
Of kindly deed and prayerful thought,
That ever over all distress
May beam the light of cheerfulness.--
And let her feet be brave to fare
The labyrinths of doubt and care,
That, following, my own may find
The path to Heaven God designed.--
O let her come like this to me--
My bride--my bride that is to be.

Moon-Drowned


'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot,
And quietly stole to the terrace alone,
Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it,
The moon it We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of
The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea,
And the infinite skies of that opulent night of
Purple and gold and ivory!


The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under--
The half-awake nightingale's dream in the yews--
Came up from the water, and down from the wonder
Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews,--
Unsteady the firefly's taper--unsteady
The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide,
As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy,
As love in the billowy breast of a bride.


The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us,
And through us the exquisite thrill of the air:
Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its dew was
Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were.
We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of
The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea,
And the infinite skies of that opulent night of
Purple and gold and ivory!

Man's Devotion

A lover said, 'O Maiden, love me well,
For I must go away:
And should ANOTHER ever come to tell
Of love--What WILL you say?'


And she let fall a royal robe of hair
That folded on his arm
And made a golden pillow for her there;
Her face--as bright a charm


As ever setting held in kingly crown--
Made answer with a look,
And reading it, the lover bended down,
And, trusting, 'kissed the book.'


He took a fond farewell and went away.
And slow the time went by--
So weary--dreary was it, day by day
To love, and wait, and sigh.


She kissed his pictured face sometimes, and said:
'O Lips, so cold and dumb,
I would that you would tell me, if not dead,
Why, why do you not come?'


The picture, smiling, stared her in the face
Unmoved--e'en with the touch
Of tear-drops--HERS--bejeweling the case-'
Twas plain--she loved him much.


And, thus she grew to think of him as gay
And joyous all the while,
And SHE was sorrowing--'Ah, welladay!'
But pictures ALWAYS smile!


And years--dull years--in dull monotony
As ever went and came,
Still weaving changes on unceasingly,
And changing, changed her name.


Was she untrue?--She oftentimes was glad
And happy as a wife;
But ONE remembrance oftentimes made sad
Her matrimonial life.--


Though its few years were hardly noted, when
Again her path was strown
With thorns--the roses swept away again,
And she again alone!


And then--alas! ah THEN!--her lover came:
'I come to claim you now-



My Darling, for I know you are the same,
And I have kept my vow


Through these long, long, long years, and now no more
Shall we asundered be!'
She staggered back and, sinking to the floor,
Cried in her agony:


'I have been false!' she moaned, '_I_ am not true--
I am not worthy now,
Nor ever can I be a wife to YOU--
For I have broke my vow!'


And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet,
He calmly spoke--no sign
Betrayed his inward agony--'I count you meet
To be a wife of mine!'


And raised her up forgiven, though untrue;
As fond he gazed on her,
She sighed,--'SO HAPPY!' And she never knew
HE was a WIDOWER.

Man's Devotion

A lover said, 'O Maiden, love me well,
For I must go away:
And should ANOTHER ever come to tell
Of love--What WILL you say?'


And she let fall a royal robe of hair
That folded on his arm
And made a golden pillow for her there;
Her face--as bright a charm


As ever setting held in kingly crown--
Made answer with a look,
And reading it, the lover bended down,
And, trusting, 'kissed the book.'


He took a fond farewell and went away.
And slow the time went by--
So weary--dreary was it, day by day
To love, and wait, and sigh.


She kissed his pictured face sometimes, and said:
'O Lips, so cold and dumb,
I would that you would tell me, if not dead,
Why, why do you not come?'


The picture, smiling, stared her in the face
Unmoved--e'en with the touch
Of tear-drops--HERS--bejeweling the case-'
Twas plain--she loved him much.


And, thus she grew to think of him as gay
And joyous all the while,
And SHE was sorrowing--'Ah, welladay!'
But pictures ALWAYS smile!


And years--dull years--in dull monotony
As ever went and came,
Still weaving changes on unceasingly,
And changing, changed her name.


Was she untrue?--She oftentimes was glad
And happy as a wife;
But ONE remembrance oftentimes made sad
Her matrimonial life.--


Though its few years were hardly noted, when
Again her path was strown
With thorns--the roses swept away again,
And she again alone!


And then--alas! ah THEN!--her lover came:
'I come to claim you now-



My Darling, for I know you are the same,
And I have kept my vow


Through these long, long, long years, and now no more
Shall we asundered be!'
She staggered back and, sinking to the floor,
Cried in her agony:


'I have been false!' she moaned, '_I_ am not true--
I am not worthy now,
Nor ever can I be a wife to YOU--
For I have broke my vow!'


And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet,
He calmly spoke--no sign
Betrayed his inward agony--'I count you meet
To be a wife of mine!'


And raised her up forgiven, though untrue;
As fond he gazed on her,
She sighed,--'SO HAPPY!' And she never knew
HE was a WIDOWER.

Lockerbie Street

Such a dear little street it is, nestled away
From the noise of the city and heat of the day,
In cool shady coverts of whispering trees,
With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze
Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet
With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street!


There is such a relief, from the clangor and din
Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in
Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering shade
Of the trees waving over the long promenade,
And littering lightly the ways of our feet
With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street.


And the nights that come down the dark pathways of dusk,
With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk
In their moon-woven raiments, bespangled with dews,
And looped up with lilies for lovers to use
In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat
Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street.


O my Lockerbie street! You are fair to be seen--
Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene
Afternoon of the night-- you are one to my heart,
And I love you above all the phrases of art,
For no language could frame and no lips could repeat
My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street.

Little Orphant Annie

To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.


Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!


Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!


An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was 'company,' an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!


An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you



Don't
Watch
Out!

Little Orphant Annie

To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.


Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!


Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!


An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was 'company,' an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!


An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you



Don't
Watch
Out!

Little Dick And The Clock

When Dicky was sick
In the night, and the clock,
As he listened, said 'TickAtty--
tick-atty--tock!'
He said that _it_ said,
Every time it said 'Tick,'
It said 'Sick,' instead,
And he _heard_ it say 'Sick!'
And when it said 'TickAtty--
tick-atty--tock,'
He said it said 'SickAtty--
sick-atty--sock!'
And he tried to _see_ then,
But the light was too dim,
Yet he _heard_ it again-And't
was _talking_ to him!


And then it said 'SickAtty--
sick-atty--sick
You poor little DickAtty--
Dick-atty--dock!
Have you got the hick-
Atties? Hi! send for Doc
To hurry up quick
Atty--quick-atty--quock,
And heat a hot brickAtty--
brick-atty--brock,


And rikle-ty wrap it
And clickle-ty clap it
Against his cold feetAl-
ty--weep-aty--eepaty-_
There_ he goes, slapitTy--
slippaty--sleepaty!'

Let Us Forget

Let us forget. What matters it that we
Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago,
And talked of love, and let our voices low,
And ruled for some brief sessions royally?
What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe?
It has availed not anything, and so
Let it go by that we may better know
How poor a thing is lost to you and me.
But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet
Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew
From your drenched lids--and missed, with no regret,
Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you;
And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet
With all this waste of tears, let us forget!

Kingry's Mill

On old Brandywine-- about
Where White's Lots is now laid out,
And the old crick narries down
To the ditch that splits the town--,
Kingry's Mill stood. Hardly see
Where the old dam ust to be;
Shallor, long, dry trought o' grass
Where the old race ust to pass!


That's be'n forty years ago--
Forty years o' frost and snow--
Forty years o' shade and shine
Sence them boyhood-days o' mine--!
All the old landmarks o' town.
Changed about, er rotted down!
Where's the Tanyard? Where's the Still?
Tell me where's old Kingry's Mill?


Don't seem furder back, to me,
I'll be dogg'd! Than yisterd'y,
Since us fellers, in bare feet
And straw hats, went through the wheat,
Cuttin' 'crost the shortest shoot
Fer that-air old ellum root
Jest above the mill-dam-- where
The blame' cars now crosses there!


Through the willers down the crick
We could see the old mill stick
Its red gable up, as if
It jest knowed we'd stol'd the skiff!
See the winders in the sun
Blink like they wuz wonderun'
What the miller ort to do
With sich boys as me and you!


But old Kingry--! Who could fear
That old chap, with all his cheer--?
Leanin' at the window-sill,
Er the half-door o' the mill,
Swoppin' lies, and pokin' fun,
'N jigglin' like his hoppers done--
Laughin' grists o' gold and red
Right out o' the wagon-bed!


What did he keer where we went--?
'Jest keep out o' devilment,
And don't fool around the belts,
Bolts, ner burrs, ner nothin' else
'Bout the blame machinery,
And that's all I ast!' says-ee.
Then we'd climb the stairs, and play



In the bran-bins half the day!


Rickollect the dusty wall,
And the spider-webs, and all!
Rickollect the trimblin' spout
Where the meal come josslln' out--
Stand and comb yer fingers through
The fool-truck an hour er two--
Felt so sorto' warm-like and
Soothin' to a feller's hand!


Climb, high up above the stream,
And 'coon' out the wobbly beam
And peek down from out the lof'
Where the weather-boards was off-Gee-
mun-nee! w'y, it takes grit
Even jest to think of it--!
Lookin' 'way down there below
On the worter roarin' so!


Rickollect the flume, and wheel,
And the worter slosh and reel
And jest ravel out in froth
Flossier'n satin cloth!
Rickollect them paddles jest
Knock the bubbles galley-west,
And plunge under, and come up
Drippin' like a worter-pup!


And to see them old things gone
That I onc't was bettin' on,
In rale p'int o' fact, I feel
kindo' like that worter-wheel--,
Sorto' drippy-like and wet
Round the eyes-- but paddlin' yet,
And in mem'ry, loafin' still
Down around old Kingry's Mill!

June At Woodruff

Out at Woodruff Place--afar
From the city's glare and jar,
With the leafy trees, instead
Of the awnings, overhead;
With the shadows cool and sweet,
For the fever of the street;
With the silence, like a prayer,
Breathing round us everywhere.


Gracious anchorage, at last,
From the billows of the vast
Tide of life that comes and goes,
Whence and where nobody knows--
Moving, like a skeptic's thought,
Out of nowhere into naught.
Touch and tame us with thy grace,
Placid calm of Woodruff Place!


Weave a wreath of beechen leaves
For the brow that throbs and grieves
O'er the ledger, bloody-lined,
'Neath the sun-struck window-blind!
Send the breath of woodland bloom
Through the sick man's prison room,
Till his old farm-home shall swim
Sweet in mind to hearten him!


Out at Woodruff Place the Muse
Dips her sandal in the dews,
Sacredly as night and dawn
Baptize lilied grove and lawn:
Woody path, or paven way--
She doth haunt them night and day,--
Sun or moonlight through the trees,
To her eyes, are melodies.


Swinging lanterns, twinkling clear
Through night-scenes, are songs to her--
Tinted lilts and choiring hues,
Blent with children's glad halloos;
Then belated lays that fade
Into midnight's serenade-Vine-
like words and zithern-strings
Twined through ali her slumberings.


Blessed be each hearthstone set
Neighboring the violet!
Blessed every rooftree prayed
Over by the beech's shadel
Blessed doorway, opening where
We may look on Nature--there
Hand to hand and face to face-



Storied realm, or Woodruff Place.

Judith


O her eyes are amber-fine--
Dark and deep as wells of wine,
While her smile is like the noon
Splendor of a day of June.
If she sorrow--lo! her face
It is like a flowery space
In bright meadows, overlaid
With light clouds and lulled with shade
If she laugh--it is the trill
Of the wayward whippoorwill
Over upland pastures, heard
Echoed by the mocking-bird
In dim thickets dense with bloom
And blurred cloyings of perfume.
If she sigh--a zephyr swells
Over odorous asphodels
And wan lilies in lush plots
Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.
Then, the soft touch of her hand--
Takes all breath to understand
What to liken it thereto!--
Never roseleaf rinsed with dew
Might slip soother-suave than slips
Her slow palm, the while her lips
Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss
Sweet as heated honey is.

John Alden And Percilly

We got up a Christmas-doin's
Last Christmas Eve--
Kindo' dimonstration
'At I railly believe
Give more satisfaction--
Take it up and down--
Than ary intertainment
Ever come to town!


Railly was a _theater_-That's
what it was,--
But, bein' in the church, you know,
We had a '_Santy Clause_'--
So 's to git the _old folks_
To patternize, you see,
And _back_ the institootion up
Kindo' _morally_.


Schoolteacher writ the thing-(
Was a friend o' mine),
Got it out o' Longfeller's
Pome 'Evangeline'--
Er some'rs--'bout the _Purituns_--.
_Anyway_, the part
'_John Alden_' fell to _me_--
And learnt it all by heart!


Claircy was '_Percilly_'-(
Schoolteacher 'lowed
Me and her could act them two
Best of all the crowd)-Then--
blame ef he didn't
Git her Pap, i jing!--
To take the part o' '_Santy Clause_,'
To wind up the thing.


Law! the fun o' practisun!--
Was a week er two
Me and Claircy didn't have
Nothin' else to do!--
Kep' us jes a-meetin' round,
Kindo' here and there,
Ever' night rehearsin'-like,
And gaddin' ever'where!


Game was wo'th the candle, though!--
Christmas Eve at last
Rolled around.--And 'tendance jes
Couldn't been surpassed!--
Neighbors from the country
Come from Clay and Rush--
Yes, and 'crost the county-line



Clean from Puckerbrush!


Meetin'-house jes trimbled
As 'Old Santy' went
Round amongst the childern,
With their pepperment
And sassafrac and wintergreen
Candy, and 'a ball
O' popcorn,' the preacher 'nounced,
'Free fer each and all!'


Schoolteacher suddently
Whispered in my ear,-'
Guess I got you:--_Christmas-gift_!-_
Christmas is here_!'
I give _him_ a gold pen,
And case to hold the thing,--
And _Claircy_ whispered '_Christmas-gift_!'
And I give her a _ring_.


'And now,' says I, 'jes watch _me_-Christmas-
gift,' says I,
'_I'm_ a-goin' to git one-'_
Santy's_' comin' by!'--
Then I rech and grabbed him:
And, as you'll infer,
'Course I got the old man's,
And _he_ gimme _her_!

John Alden And Percilly

We got up a Christmas-doin's
Last Christmas Eve--
Kindo' dimonstration
'At I railly believe
Give more satisfaction--
Take it up and down--
Than ary intertainment
Ever come to town!


Railly was a _theater_-That's
what it was,--
But, bein' in the church, you know,
We had a '_Santy Clause_'--
So 's to git the _old folks_
To patternize, you see,
And _back_ the institootion up
Kindo' _morally_.


Schoolteacher writ the thing-(
Was a friend o' mine),
Got it out o' Longfeller's
Pome 'Evangeline'--
Er some'rs--'bout the _Purituns_--.
_Anyway_, the part
'_John Alden_' fell to _me_--
And learnt it all by heart!


Claircy was '_Percilly_'-(
Schoolteacher 'lowed
Me and her could act them two
Best of all the crowd)-Then--
blame ef he didn't
Git her Pap, i jing!--
To take the part o' '_Santy Clause_,'
To wind up the thing.


Law! the fun o' practisun!--
Was a week er two
Me and Claircy didn't have
Nothin' else to do!--
Kep' us jes a-meetin' round,
Kindo' here and there,
Ever' night rehearsin'-like,
And gaddin' ever'where!


Game was wo'th the candle, though!--
Christmas Eve at last
Rolled around.--And 'tendance jes
Couldn't been surpassed!--
Neighbors from the country
Come from Clay and Rush--
Yes, and 'crost the county-line



Clean from Puckerbrush!


Meetin'-house jes trimbled
As 'Old Santy' went
Round amongst the childern,
With their pepperment
And sassafrac and wintergreen
Candy, and 'a ball
O' popcorn,' the preacher 'nounced,
'Free fer each and all!'


Schoolteacher suddently
Whispered in my ear,-'
Guess I got you:--_Christmas-gift_!-_
Christmas is here_!'
I give _him_ a gold pen,
And case to hold the thing,--
And _Claircy_ whispered '_Christmas-gift_!'
And I give her a _ring_.


'And now,' says I, 'jes watch _me_-Christmas-
gift,' says I,
'_I'm_ a-goin' to git one-'_
Santy's_' comin' by!'--
Then I rech and grabbed him:
And, as you'll infer,
'Course I got the old man's,
And _he_ gimme _her_!

John McKeen

John McKeen, in his rusty dress,
His loosened collar, and swarthy throat,
His face unshaven, and none the less,
His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness,
And the wealth of a workman's vote!


Bring him, O Memory, here once more,
And tilt him back in his Windsor chair
By the kitchen stove, when the day is o'er
And the light of the hearth is across the floor,
And the crickets everywhere!


And let their voices be gladly blent
With a watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And a motherly chirrup of sweet content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,
And old-time fiddle-tunes!


Tick the clock with a wooden sound,
And fill the hearing with childish glee
Of rhyming riddle, or story found
In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound
Old book of the Used-to-be!


John McKeen of the Past! Ah John,
To have grown ambitious in worldly ways--!
To have rolled your shirt-sleeves down, to don
A broadcloth suit, and forgetful, gone
Out on election days!


John ah, John! Did it prove your worth
To yield you the office you still maintain--?
To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth
Of all the happier things on earth
To the hunger of heart and brain?


Under the dusk of your villa trees,
Edging the drives where your blooded span
Paw the pebbles and wait your ease--,
Where are the children about your knees,
And the mirth, and the happy man?


The blinds of your mansion are battened to;
Your faded wife is a close recluse;
And your 'finished' daughters will doubtless do
Dutifully all that is willed of you,
And marry as you shall choose--!


But O for the old-home voices, blent
With the watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And the motherly chirrup of glad content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,



And the old-time fiddle-tunes!

Jack-In-The-Box


_(Grandfather, musing.)_

In childish days! O memory,
You bring such curious things to me!--
Laughs to the lip--tears to the eye,
In looking on the gifts that lie
Like broken playthings scattered o'er
Imagination's nursery floor!
Did these old hands once click the key
That let 'Jack's' box-lid upward fly,
And that blear-eyed, fur-whiskered elf
Leap, as though frightened at himself,
And quiveringly lean and stare
At me, his jailer, laughing there?


A child then! Now--I only know
They call me very old; and so
They will not let me have my way,--
But uselessly I sit all day
Here by the chimney-jamb, and poke
The lazy fire, and smoke and smoke,
And watch the wreaths swoop up the flue,
And chuckle--ay, I often do--
Seeing again, all vividly,
Jack-in-the-box leap, as in glee
To see how much he looks like me!


... They talk. I can't hear what they say--
But I am glad, clean through and through
Sometimes, in fancying that they
Are saying, 'Sweet, that fancy strays
In age back to our childish days!'

Iry And Billy Jo

Iry an' Billy an' Jo!--
Iry an' Billy's _the boys_,
An' _Jo's_ their _dog_, you know,--
Their pictures took all in a row.
Bet they kin kick up a noise--
Iry and Billy, the boys,
And that-air little dog Jo!


_Iry's_ the one 'at stands
Up there a-lookin' so mild
An' meek--with his hat in his hands,
Like such a 'bediant child-(_
Sakes-alive_!)--An' _Billy_ he sets
In the cheer an' holds onto Jo an' _sweats_
Hisse'f, a-lookin' so good! Ho-ho!
Iry an' Billy an' Jo!


Yit the way them boys, you know,
Usen to jes turn in
An' fight over that dog Jo
Wuz a burnin'-shame-an'-a-sin !--
Iry _he'd_ argy 'at, by gee-whizz!
That-air little Jo-dog wuz _his_!--
An' Billy _he'd_ claim it wuzn't so-'
Cause the dog wuz _his'n_!--An' at it they'd go,
Nip-an'-tugg, tooth-an'-toenail, you know--
Iry an' Billy an' Jo!


But their Pa--(He wuz the marshal then)
He 'tended-like 'at he _jerked 'em up_;
An' got a jury o' Brickyard men
An' helt a _trial_ about the pup:
An' _he_ says _he_ jes like to a-died
When the rest o' us town-boys _testified_--
Regardin', you know,
Iry an' Billy an' Jo.-


'Cause we all knowed, when _the Gypsies_ they
Camped down here by the crick last Fall,
They brung Jo with 'em, an' give him away
To Iry an' Billy fer nothin' at all!--
So the jury fetched in the _verdick_ so
Jo he ain't _neether_ o' theirn fer _shore_-He's
_both_ their dog, an' jes no more!
An' so
They've quit quarrelin' long ago,
Iry an' Billy an' Jo.