Emotions and Feelings

A Letter To A Friend

The past is like a story
I have listened to in dreams
That vanished in the glory
Of the Morning's early gleams;
And--at my shadow glancing--
I feel a loss of strength,
As the Day of Life advancing
Leaves it shorn of half its length.


But it's all in vain to worry
At the rapid race of Time--
And he flies in such a flurry
When I trip him with a rhyme,
I'll bother him no longer
Than to thank you for the thought
That 'my fame is growing stronger
As you really think it ought.'


And though I fall below it,
I might know as much of mirth
To live and die a poet
Of unacknowledged worth;
For Fame is but a vagrant--
Though a loyal one and brave,
And his laurels ne'er so fragrant
As when scattered o'er the grave.

A Good Man

I

A good man never dies--
In worthy deed and prayer
And helpful hands, and honest eyes,
If smiles or tears be there:
Who lives for you and me--
Lives for the world he tries
To help--he lives eternally.
A good man never dies.


II


Who lives to bravely take
His share of toil and stress,
And, for his weaker fellows' sake,
Makes every burden less,--
He may, at last, seem worn--
Lie fallen--hands and eyes
Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn,
A good man never dies.

A Full Harvest

Seems like a feller'd ort 'o jes' to-day
Git down and roll and waller, don't you know,
In that-air stubble, and flop up and crow,
Seein' sich craps! I'll undertake to say
There're no wheat's ever turned out thataway
Afore this season!--Folks is keerless tho',
And too fergitful--'caze we'd ort 'o show
More thankfulness!--Jes' looky hyonder, hey?--
And watch that little reaper wadin' thue
That last old yaller hunk o' harvest-ground--
Jes' natchur'ly a-slicin' it in-two
Like honey-comb, and gaumin' it around
The field--like it had nothin' else to do
On'y jes' waste it all on me and you!

A Dream Of Long Ago

Lying listless in the mosses
Underneath a tree that tosses
Flakes of sunshine, and embosses
Its green shadow with the snow-Drowsy-
eyed, I sink in slumber
Born of fancies without number--
Tangled fancies that encumber
Me with dreams of long ago.


Ripples of the river singing;
And the water-lilies swinging
Bells of Parian, and ringing
Peals of perfume faint and fine,
While old forms and fairy faces
Leap from out their hiding-places
In the past, with glad embraces
Fraught with kisses sweet as wine.


Willows dip their slender fingers
O'er the little fisher's stringers,
While he baits his hook and lingers
Till the shadows gather dim;
And afar off comes a calling
Like the sounds of water falling,
With the lazy echoes drawling
Messages of haste to him.


Little naked feet that tinkle
Through the stubble-fields, and twinkle
Down the winding road, and sprinkle
Little mists of dusty rain,
While in pasture-lands the cattle
Cease their grazing with a rattle
Of the bells whose clappers tattle
To their masters down the lane.


Trees that hold their tempting treasures
O'er the orchard's hedge embrasures,
Furnish their forbidden pleasures
As in Eden lands of old;
And the coming of the master
Indicates a like disaster
To the frightened heart that faster
Beats pulsations manifold.


Puckered lips whose pipings tingle
In staccato notes that mingle
Musically with the jingle-
Haunted winds that lightly fan
Mellow twilights, crimson-tinted
By the sun, and picture-printed
Like a book that sweetly hinted



Of the Nights Arabian.

Porticoes with columns plaited
And entwined with vines and freighted
With a bloom all radiated
With the light of moon and star;
Where some tender voice is winging
In sad flights of song, and singing
To the dancing fingers flinging
Dripping from the sweet guitar.

Would my dreams were never taken
From me: that with faith unshaken
I might sleep and never waken
On a weary world of woe!
Links of love would never sever
As I dreamed them, never, never!
I would glide along forever
Through the dreams of long ago.

A Dream Of Long Ago

Lying listless in the mosses
Underneath a tree that tosses
Flakes of sunshine, and embosses
Its green shadow with the snow-Drowsy-
eyed, I sink in slumber
Born of fancies without number--
Tangled fancies that encumber
Me with dreams of long ago.


Ripples of the river singing;
And the water-lilies swinging
Bells of Parian, and ringing
Peals of perfume faint and fine,
While old forms and fairy faces
Leap from out their hiding-places
In the past, with glad embraces
Fraught with kisses sweet as wine.


Willows dip their slender fingers
O'er the little fisher's stringers,
While he baits his hook and lingers
Till the shadows gather dim;
And afar off comes a calling
Like the sounds of water falling,
With the lazy echoes drawling
Messages of haste to him.


Little naked feet that tinkle
Through the stubble-fields, and twinkle
Down the winding road, and sprinkle
Little mists of dusty rain,
While in pasture-lands the cattle
Cease their grazing with a rattle
Of the bells whose clappers tattle
To their masters down the lane.


Trees that hold their tempting treasures
O'er the orchard's hedge embrasures,
Furnish their forbidden pleasures
As in Eden lands of old;
And the coming of the master
Indicates a like disaster
To the frightened heart that faster
Beats pulsations manifold.


Puckered lips whose pipings tingle
In staccato notes that mingle
Musically with the jingle-
Haunted winds that lightly fan
Mellow twilights, crimson-tinted
By the sun, and picture-printed
Like a book that sweetly hinted



Of the Nights Arabian.

Porticoes with columns plaited
And entwined with vines and freighted
With a bloom all radiated
With the light of moon and star;
Where some tender voice is winging
In sad flights of song, and singing
To the dancing fingers flinging
Dripping from the sweet guitar.

Would my dreams were never taken
From me: that with faith unshaken
I might sleep and never waken
On a weary world of woe!
Links of love would never sever
As I dreamed them, never, never!
I would glide along forever
Through the dreams of long ago.

A Feel In The Chris'mas-Air

They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.
When the Chris'mas-times sets in.
That's about as much of a mystery
As ever I've run ag'in!--
Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight
And gineral health, I swear
They's a _goneness_ somers I can't quite state--
A kind o' _feel_ in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right
To the spot where a man _lives_ at!--
It gives a feller a' appetite--
They ain't no doubt about _that_!--
And yit they's _somepin_'--I don't know what--
That follers me, here and there,
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not--
A kind o' feel in the air!

They's a _feel_, as I say, in the air that's jest
As blame-don sad as sweet!--
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best
And am spryest on my feet,
They's allus a kind o' sort of a' _ache_
That I can't lo-cate no-where;--
But it comes with _Chris'mas_, and no mistake!--
A kind o' feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise?-W'y,
_no_!--God bless 'em!--_no_!--
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze--
Like my _own_ wuz, long ago?--
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat
O' the little toy-drum and blare
O' the horn?--_No! no!_--it is jest the sweet--
The sad-sweet feel in the air.

A Feel In The Chris'mas-Air

They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.
When the Chris'mas-times sets in.
That's about as much of a mystery
As ever I've run ag'in!--
Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight
And gineral health, I swear
They's a _goneness_ somers I can't quite state--
A kind o' _feel_ in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right
To the spot where a man _lives_ at!--
It gives a feller a' appetite--
They ain't no doubt about _that_!--
And yit they's _somepin_'--I don't know what--
That follers me, here and there,
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not--
A kind o' feel in the air!

They's a _feel_, as I say, in the air that's jest
As blame-don sad as sweet!--
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best
And am spryest on my feet,
They's allus a kind o' sort of a' _ache_
That I can't lo-cate no-where;--
But it comes with _Chris'mas_, and no mistake!--
A kind o' feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise?-W'y,
_no_!--God bless 'em!--_no_!--
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze--
Like my _own_ wuz, long ago?--
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat
O' the little toy-drum and blare
O' the horn?--_No! no!_--it is jest the sweet--
The sad-sweet feel in the air.

A Feel In The Chris'mas-Air

They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.
When the Chris'mas-times sets in.
That's about as much of a mystery
As ever I've run ag'in!--
Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight
And gineral health, I swear
They's a _goneness_ somers I can't quite state--
A kind o' _feel_ in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right
To the spot where a man _lives_ at!--
It gives a feller a' appetite--
They ain't no doubt about _that_!--
And yit they's _somepin_'--I don't know what--
That follers me, here and there,
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not--
A kind o' feel in the air!

They's a _feel_, as I say, in the air that's jest
As blame-don sad as sweet!--
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best
And am spryest on my feet,
They's allus a kind o' sort of a' _ache_
That I can't lo-cate no-where;--
But it comes with _Chris'mas_, and no mistake!--
A kind o' feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise?-W'y,
_no_!--God bless 'em!--_no_!--
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze--
Like my _own_ wuz, long ago?--
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat
O' the little toy-drum and blare
O' the horn?--_No! no!_--it is jest the sweet--
The sad-sweet feel in the air.

A Diverted Tragedy

Gracie wuz allus a _careless_ tot;
But Gracie dearly loved her doll,
An' played wiv it on the winder-sill
'Way up-stairs, when she ought to _not_,
An' her muvver _telled_ her so an' all;
But she won't _mind_ what _she_ say--till,
First thing she know, her dolly fall
Clean spang out o' the winder plumb
Into the street! An' here Grace come
Down-stairs, two at a time, ist wild
An' a-screamin', 'Oh, my child! my child!'


Jule wuz a-bringin' their basket o' clo'es
Ist then into their hall down there,--
An' she ist stop' when Gracie bawl,
An' Jule she say 'She ist declare
She's ist in time!' An' what you s'pose?
She sets her basket down in the hall,
An' wite on top o' the snowy clo'es
Wuz Gracie's dolly a-layin' there
An' ist ain't bu'st ner hurt a-tall!


Nen Gracie smiled--ist _sobbed_ an' smiled--
An' cried, 'My child! my precious child!'

A Diverted Tragedy

Gracie wuz allus a _careless_ tot;
But Gracie dearly loved her doll,
An' played wiv it on the winder-sill
'Way up-stairs, when she ought to _not_,
An' her muvver _telled_ her so an' all;
But she won't _mind_ what _she_ say--till,
First thing she know, her dolly fall
Clean spang out o' the winder plumb
Into the street! An' here Grace come
Down-stairs, two at a time, ist wild
An' a-screamin', 'Oh, my child! my child!'


Jule wuz a-bringin' their basket o' clo'es
Ist then into their hall down there,--
An' she ist stop' when Gracie bawl,
An' Jule she say 'She ist declare
She's ist in time!' An' what you s'pose?
She sets her basket down in the hall,
An' wite on top o' the snowy clo'es
Wuz Gracie's dolly a-layin' there
An' ist ain't bu'st ner hurt a-tall!


Nen Gracie smiled--ist _sobbed_ an' smiled--
An' cried, 'My child! my precious child!'

A Dream

I dreamed I was a spider;
A big, fat, hungry spider;
A lusty, rusty spider
With a dozen palsied limbs;
With a dozen limbs that dangled
Where three wretched flies were tangled
And their buzzing wings were strangled
In the middle of their hymns.


And I mocked them like a demon--
A demoniacal demon
Who delights to be a demon
For the sake of sin alone;
And with fondly false embraces
Did I weave my mystic laces
Round their horror-stricken faces
Till I muffled every groan.


And I smiled to see them weeping,
For to see an insect weeping,
Sadly, sorrowfully weeping,
Fattens every spider's mirth;
And to note a fly's heart quaking,
And with anguish ever aching
Till you see it slowly breaking
Is the sweetest thing on earth.


I experienced a pleasure,
Such a highly-flavored pleasure,
Such intoxicating pleasure,
That I drank of it like wine;
And my mortal soul engages
That no spider on the pages
Of the history of ages
Felt a rapture more divine.


I careened around and capered--
Madly, mystically capered--
For three days and nights I capered
Round my web in wild delight;
Till with fierce ambition burning,
And an inward thirst and yearning
I hastened my returning
With a fiendish appetite.


And I found my victims dying,
'Ha!' they whispered, 'we are dying!'
Faintly whispered, 'we are dying,
And our earthly course is run.'
And the scene was so impressing
That I breathed a special blessing,
As I killed them with caressing



And devoured them one by one.

A Dream

I dreamed I was a spider;
A big, fat, hungry spider;
A lusty, rusty spider
With a dozen palsied limbs;
With a dozen limbs that dangled
Where three wretched flies were tangled
And their buzzing wings were strangled
In the middle of their hymns.


And I mocked them like a demon--
A demoniacal demon
Who delights to be a demon
For the sake of sin alone;
And with fondly false embraces
Did I weave my mystic laces
Round their horror-stricken faces
Till I muffled every groan.


And I smiled to see them weeping,
For to see an insect weeping,
Sadly, sorrowfully weeping,
Fattens every spider's mirth;
And to note a fly's heart quaking,
And with anguish ever aching
Till you see it slowly breaking
Is the sweetest thing on earth.


I experienced a pleasure,
Such a highly-flavored pleasure,
Such intoxicating pleasure,
That I drank of it like wine;
And my mortal soul engages
That no spider on the pages
Of the history of ages
Felt a rapture more divine.


I careened around and capered--
Madly, mystically capered--
For three days and nights I capered
Round my web in wild delight;
Till with fierce ambition burning,
And an inward thirst and yearning
I hastened my returning
With a fiendish appetite.


And I found my victims dying,
'Ha!' they whispered, 'we are dying!'
Faintly whispered, 'we are dying,
And our earthly course is run.'
And the scene was so impressing
That I breathed a special blessing,
As I killed them with caressing



And devoured them one by one.

A Cup Of Tea

I have sipped, with drooping lashes,
Dreamy draughts of Verzenay;
I have flourished brandy-smashes
In the wildest sort of way;
I have joked with 'Tom and Jerry'
Till wee hours ayont the twal'--
But I've found my tea the very
Safest tipple of them all!


'Tis a mystical potation
That exceeds in warmth of glow
And divine exhilaration
All the drugs of long ago--
All of old magicians' potions--
Of Medea's filtered spells--
Or of fabled isles and oceans
Where the Lotos-eater dwells!


Though I've reveled o'er late lunches
With _blase_ dramatic stars,
And absorbed their wit and punches
And the fumes of their cigars--
Drank in the latest story,
With a cock-tail either end,--
I have drained a deeper glory
In a cup of tea, my friend.


Green, Black, Moyune, Formosa,
Congou, Amboy, Pingsuey--
No odds the name it knows--ah!
Fill a cup of it for me!
And, as I clink my china
Against your goblet's brim,
My tea in steam shall twine a
Fragrant laurel round its rim.

A Cup Of Tea

I have sipped, with drooping lashes,
Dreamy draughts of Verzenay;
I have flourished brandy-smashes
In the wildest sort of way;
I have joked with 'Tom and Jerry'
Till wee hours ayont the twal'--
But I've found my tea the very
Safest tipple of them all!


'Tis a mystical potation
That exceeds in warmth of glow
And divine exhilaration
All the drugs of long ago--
All of old magicians' potions--
Of Medea's filtered spells--
Or of fabled isles and oceans
Where the Lotos-eater dwells!


Though I've reveled o'er late lunches
With _blase_ dramatic stars,
And absorbed their wit and punches
And the fumes of their cigars--
Drank in the latest story,
With a cock-tail either end,--
I have drained a deeper glory
In a cup of tea, my friend.


Green, Black, Moyune, Formosa,
Congou, Amboy, Pingsuey--
No odds the name it knows--ah!
Fill a cup of it for me!
And, as I clink my china
Against your goblet's brim,
My tea in steam shall twine a
Fragrant laurel round its rim.

A Canary At The Farm

Folks has be'n to town, and Sahry
Fetched 'er home a pet canary--,
And of all the blame', contrary,
Aggervatin' things alive!
I love music-- that I love it
When it's free-- and plenty of it--;
But I kindo' git above it,
At a dollar-eighty-five!


Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin'--,
Jes' the idy, now, o' layin'
Out yer money, and a-payin'
Fer a willer-cage and bird,
When the medder-larks is wingin'
Round you, and the woods is ringin'
With the beautifullest singin'
That a mortal ever heard!


Sahry's sot, tho'--. So I tell her
He's a purty little feller,
With his wings o' creamy-yeller,
And his eyes keen as a cat;
And the twitter o' the critter
'Pears to absolutely glitter!
Guess I'll haf to go and git her
A high-priceter cage 'n that!

A Canary At The Farm

Folks has be'n to town, and Sahry
Fetched 'er home a pet canary--,
And of all the blame', contrary,
Aggervatin' things alive!
I love music-- that I love it
When it's free-- and plenty of it--;
But I kindo' git above it,
At a dollar-eighty-five!


Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin'--,
Jes' the idy, now, o' layin'
Out yer money, and a-payin'
Fer a willer-cage and bird,
When the medder-larks is wingin'
Round you, and the woods is ringin'
With the beautifullest singin'
That a mortal ever heard!


Sahry's sot, tho'--. So I tell her
He's a purty little feller,
With his wings o' creamy-yeller,
And his eyes keen as a cat;
And the twitter o' the critter
'Pears to absolutely glitter!
Guess I'll haf to go and git her
A high-priceter cage 'n that!

A Christmas Memory

Pa he bringed me here to stay
'Til my Ma she's well.--An' nen
He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,
An' come take me back again
Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be
Tickled when he comes fer me!


My Ma an' my A'nty they
'Uz each-uvver's sisters. Pa-A'nty
telled me, th' other day,--
He comed here an' married Ma....
A'nty said nen, 'Go run play,
I must work now!' ... An' I saw,
When she turn' her face away,
She 'uz cryin'.--An' nen I
'Tend-like I 'run play'--an' cry.


This-here house o' A'nty's wher'
They 'uz borned--my Ma an' her!--
An' her Ma 'uz my Ma's Ma,
An' her Pa 'uz my Ma's Pa-


Ain't that funny?--An' they're dead:
An' this-here's 'th' ole Homestead.'--
An' my A'nty said, an' cried,
It's mine, too, ef my Ma died-Don't
know what she mean--'cause my
Ma she's nuvver go' to die!


When Pa bringed me here 't 'uz night-'
Way dark night! An' A'nty spread
Me a piece--an' light the light
An' say I must go to bed.--
I cry not to---but Pa said,
'Be good boy now, like you telled
Mommy 'at you're go' to be!'
An', when he 'uz kissin' me
My good night, his cheeks' all wet
An' taste salty.--An' he held
Wite close to me an' rocked some
An' langhed-like--'til A'nty come
Git me while he's rockin' yet.


A'nty he'p me, 'til I be
Purt'-nigh strip-pud--nen hug me
In bofe arms an' lif' me 'way
Up in her high bed--an' pray
Wiv me,--'bout my Ma--an' Pa--
An' ole Santy Claus--an' Sleigh--
An' Reindeers an' little Drum--
Yes, an' Picture-books, 'Tom Thumb,'
An' 'Three Bears,' an' ole 'Fee-Faw'-



Yes, an' 'Tweedle-Dee' an' 'Dum,'
An' 'White Knight' an' 'Squidjicum,'
An' most things you ever saw!--
An' when A'nty kissed me, she
'Uz all cryin' over me!


Don't want Santy Claus--ner things
Any kind he ever brings!-Don't
want A'nty!--Don't want Pa!--
I ist only want my Ma!

A Christmas Memory

Pa he bringed me here to stay
'Til my Ma she's well.--An' nen
He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,
An' come take me back again
Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be
Tickled when he comes fer me!


My Ma an' my A'nty they
'Uz each-uvver's sisters. Pa-A'nty
telled me, th' other day,--
He comed here an' married Ma....
A'nty said nen, 'Go run play,
I must work now!' ... An' I saw,
When she turn' her face away,
She 'uz cryin'.--An' nen I
'Tend-like I 'run play'--an' cry.


This-here house o' A'nty's wher'
They 'uz borned--my Ma an' her!--
An' her Ma 'uz my Ma's Ma,
An' her Pa 'uz my Ma's Pa-


Ain't that funny?--An' they're dead:
An' this-here's 'th' ole Homestead.'--
An' my A'nty said, an' cried,
It's mine, too, ef my Ma died-Don't
know what she mean--'cause my
Ma she's nuvver go' to die!


When Pa bringed me here 't 'uz night-'
Way dark night! An' A'nty spread
Me a piece--an' light the light
An' say I must go to bed.--
I cry not to---but Pa said,
'Be good boy now, like you telled
Mommy 'at you're go' to be!'
An', when he 'uz kissin' me
My good night, his cheeks' all wet
An' taste salty.--An' he held
Wite close to me an' rocked some
An' langhed-like--'til A'nty come
Git me while he's rockin' yet.


A'nty he'p me, 'til I be
Purt'-nigh strip-pud--nen hug me
In bofe arms an' lif' me 'way
Up in her high bed--an' pray
Wiv me,--'bout my Ma--an' Pa--
An' ole Santy Claus--an' Sleigh--
An' Reindeers an' little Drum--
Yes, an' Picture-books, 'Tom Thumb,'
An' 'Three Bears,' an' ole 'Fee-Faw'-



Yes, an' 'Tweedle-Dee' an' 'Dum,'
An' 'White Knight' an' 'Squidjicum,'
An' most things you ever saw!--
An' when A'nty kissed me, she
'Uz all cryin' over me!


Don't want Santy Claus--ner things
Any kind he ever brings!-Don't
want A'nty!--Don't want Pa!--
I ist only want my Ma!

A Barefoot Boy

A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play --
For May is here once more, and so is he, --
His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,
And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:
Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array
Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me
Of woody pathways winding endlessly
Along the creek, where even yesterday
He plunged his shrinking body -- gasped and shook --
Yet called the water 'warm,' with never lack
Of joy. And so, half enviously I look
Upon this graceless barefoot and his track, --
His toe stubbed -- ay, his big toe-nail knocked back
Like unto the clasp of an old pocketbook.

A Brave Refrain

When snow is here, and the trees look weird,
And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost;
When the breath congeals in the drover's beard,
And the old pathway to the barn is lost;
When the rooster's crow is sad to hear,
And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain,
And the tone of the cow-bell grieves the ear--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!


When the gears hang stiff on the harness-peg,
And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks;
And the old hen stands on a lonesome leg,
And the pump sounds hoarse and the handle squeaks;
When the woodpile lies in a shrouded heap,
And the frost is scratched from the window-pane
And anxious eyes from the inside peep--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!


When the ax-helve warms at the chimney-jamb,
And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below,
And the house-cat curls in a slumber calm,
And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow;
When the harsh broom-handle jabs the ceil
'Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain
Sniffs the breath of the morning meal--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!


ENVOI


When the skillet seethes, and a blubbering hot
Tilts the lid of the coffee-pot,
And the scent of the buckwheat cake grows plain--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!

Winds of May

Winds of May, that dance on the sea,
Dancing a ring-around in glee
From furrow to furrow, while overhead
The foam flies up to be garlanded,
In silvery arches spanning the air,
Saw you my true love anywhere?
Welladay! Welladay!
For the winds of May!
Love is unhappy when love is away!

When the Shy Star Goes Forth in Heaven

When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.


O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling.
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lover's chant,
'Tis I that am your visitant.

When the Shy Star Goes Forth in Heaven

When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.


O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling.
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lover's chant,
'Tis I that am your visitant.

Watching the Needleboats at San Sabba

I heard their young hearts crying
Loveward above the glancing oar
And heard the prairie grasses sighing:
No more, return no more!


O hearts, O sighing grasses,
Vainly your loveblown bannerets mourn!
No more will the wild wind that passes
Return, no more return.