Great Throughts Treasury

"I think of death as some delightful journey that I shall take when all my tasks are done."

"Time well employed is Satan’s deadliest foe; it leaves no opening for the lurking fiend."

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all,— There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life’s gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain"

"No question is ever settled until it is settled right."

""The World's Need" - So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, When just the art of being kind Is all this sad world needs."

"One ship drives east, and another west with the self-same winds that blow: `tis the set of the sails and not the gales, which decides the way we go. Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate, as they voyage along through life; “tis the will of the soul that decides the goal, and not the calm or the strife."

"With every rising of the sun, think of your life as just begun. The past has shrived and buried deep all yesterdays; there let them sleep. Concern yourself with but today, woo it, and teach it to obey your will and wish. Since time began today has been the friend of man; but in his blindness and his sorrow, he looks to yesterday and tomorrow. You, and today! a soul sublime, and the great pregnant hour of time, with God himself to bind the twain! Go forth, I say - attain, attain! With God himself to bind the twain."

"Whatever is - is best."

"So many gods, so many creeds, so many paths that wind and wind, while just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs."

"The two kinds of people I mean are the people who lift and the people who lean."

"And from the discontent of man The world's best progress springs."

"A pat on the back is only a few vertebrae removed from a kick in the pants, but is miles ahead in results. "

"Let there be many windows to your soul, that all the glory of the world may beautify it. "

"'Tis the set of the sail that decides the goal, and not the storm of life. "

"The splendid discontent of God With chaos made the world. And from the discontent of man The worlds best progress springs. "

"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul. "

"War Mothers - There is something in the sound of drum and fife That stirs all the savage instincts into life. In the old times of peace we went our ways, Through proper days Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times, When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes, Telling to all the world some maid was wife - But taking patiently our part in life As it was portioned us by Church and State, Believing it our fate. Our thoughts all chaste Held yet a secret wish to love and mate Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste. But men we criticised for lack of strength, And kept them at arm's length. Then the war came - The world was all aflame! The men we had thought dull and void of power Were heroes in an hour. He who had seemed a slave to petty greed Showed masterful in that great time of need. He who had plotted for his neighbour's pelf, Now for his fellows offers up himself. And we were only women, forced by war To sacrifice the things worth living for. Something within us broke, Something within us woke, The wild cave-woman spoke. When we heard the sound of drumming, As our soldiers went to camp, Heard them tramp, tramp, tramp; As we watched to see them coming, And they looked at us and smiled (Yes, looked back at us and smiled), As they filed along by hillock and by hollow, Then our hearts were so beguiled That, for many and many a day, We dreamed we heard them say, 'Oh, follow, follow, follow!' And the distant, rolling drum Called us 'Come, come, come!' Till our virtue seemed a thing to give away. War had swept ten thousand years away from earth. We were primal once again. There were males, not modern men; We were females meant to bring their sons to birth. And we could not wait for any formal rite, We could hear them calling to us, 'Come to-night; For to-morrow, at the dawn, We move on!' And the drum Bellowed, 'Come, come, come!' And the fife Whistled, 'Life, life, life!' So they moved on and fought and bled and died; Honoured and mourned, they are the nation's pride. We fought our battles, too, but with the tide Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives. Because we were not wives We are dishonoured. Is it noble, then, To break God's laws only by killing men To save one's country from destruction? We took no man's life but gave our chastity, And sinned the ancient sin To plant young trees and fill felled forests in. Oh, clergy of the land, Bible in hand, All reverently you stand, On holy thoughts intent While barren wives receive the sacrament! Had you the open visions you could see Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb, Who never knew a cradle or a tomb, Hovering about these wives accusingly. Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known - Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown."

"We will be what we could be. Do not say, "It might have been, had not this, or that, or this." No fate can keep us from the chosen way; He only might who is. We will do what we could do. Do not dream Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve. I hold, all men are greatly what they seem; He does, who could achieve. We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height. What eagle ever missed the peak he sought? He always climbs who might. I do not like the phrase "It might have been!" It lacks force, and life's best truths perverts: For I believe we have, and reach, and win, Whatever our deserts. "

"A Fatal Impress - A little leaf just in the forest's edge, All summer long, had listened to the wooing Of amorous brids that flew across the hedge, Singing their blithe sweet songs for her undoing. So many were the flattering things they told her, The parent tree seemed quite too small to hold her. At last one lonesome day she saw them fly Across the fields behind the coquette summer, They passed her with a laughing light good-bye, When from the north, there strode a strange new comer; Bold was his mien, as he gazed on her, crying, 'How comes it, then, that thou art left here sighing! ' 'Now by my faith though art a lovely leaf- May I not kiss that cheek so fair and tender? ' Her slighted heart welled full of bitter grief, The rudeness of his words did not offend her, She felt so sad, so desolate, so deserted, Oh, if her lonely fate might be averted. 'One little kiss, ' he sighed, 'I ask no more-' His face was cold, his lips too pale for passion. She smiled assent; and then bold Frost leaned lower, And clasped her close, and kissed in lover's fashion. Her smooth cheek flushed to sudden guilty splendour, Another kiss, and then sweet surrender. Just for a day she was a beauteous sight, The world looked on to pity and admire This modest little leaf, that in a night Had seemed to set the forest all on fire. And then - this victim of a broken trust, A withered thing, was trodden in the dust. "

"A Fable - Some cawing Crows, a hooting Owl, A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh-Fowl, One day all meet together To hold a caucus and settle the fate Of a certain bird (without a mate), A bird of another feather. 'My friends,' said the Owl, with a look most wise, 'The Eagle is soaring too near the skies, In a way that is quite improper; Yet the world is praising her, so I'm told, And I think her actions have grown so bold That some of us ought to stop her.' 'I have heard it said,' quoth Hawk, with a sigh, 'That young lambs died at the glance of her eye, And I wholly scorn and despise her. This, and more, I am told they say, And I think that the only proper way Is never to recognize her.' 'I am quite convinced,' said Crow, with a caw, 'That the Eagle minds no moral law, She's a most unruly creature.' 'She's an ugly thing,' piped Canary Bird; 'Some call her handsome—it's so absurd— She hasn't a decent feature.' Then the old Marsh-Hen went hopping about, She said she was sure—she hadn't a doubt— Of the truth of each bird's story: And she thought it a duty to stop her flight, To pull her down from her lofty height, And take the gilt from her glory. But, lo! from a peak on the mountain grand That looks out over the smiling land And over the mighty ocean, The Eagle is spreading her splendid wings— She rises, rises, and upward swings, With a slow, majestic motion. Up in the blue of God's own skies, With a cry of rapture, away she flies, Close to the Great Eternal: She sweeps the world with her piercing sight; Her soul is filled with the infinite And the joy of things supernal. Thus rise forever the chosen of God, The genius-crowned or the power-shod, Over the dust-world sailing; And back, like splinters blown by the winds, Must fall the missiles of silly minds, Useless and unavailing. "

"A Girl's Autumn Reverie - We plucked a red rose, you and I All in the summer weather; Sweet its perfume and rare its bloom, Enjoyed by us together. The rose is dead, the summer fled, And bleak winds are complaining; We dwell apart, but in each heart We find the thorn remaining. We sipped a sweet wine, you and I, All in the summer weather. The beaded draught we lightly quaffed, And filled the glass together. Together we watched its rosy glow, And saw its bubbles glitter; Apart, alone, we only know The lees are very bitter. We walked in sunshine, you and I, All in the summer weather. The very night seemed noonday bright. When we two were together. I wonder why with our good-by O'er hill and vale and meadow There fell such shade, our paths seemed laid Forevermore in shadow. We dreamed a sweet dream, you and I, All in the summer weather, Where rose and wine and warm sunshine Were mingled in together. We dreamed that June was with us yet, We woke to find December. We dreamed that we two could forget, We woke but to remember. "

"A Golden Day - The subtle beauty of this day Hangs o'er me like a fairy spell, And care and grief have flown away, And every breeze sings, "all is well." I ask, "Holds earth or sin, or woe?" My heart replies, "I do not know." Nay! all we know, or feel, my heart, Today is joy undimmed, complete; In tears or pain we have no part; The act of breathing is so sweet, We care no higher joy to name. What reck we now of wealth or fame? The past--what matters it to me? The pain it gave has passed away. The future--that I cannot see! I care for nothing save today-- This is a respite from all care, And trouble flies--I know not where. Go on, oh noisy, restless life! Pass by, oh, feet that seek for heights! I have no part in aught of strife; I do not want your vain delights. The day wraps round me like a spell And every breeze sings, "All is well." "

"A Holiday - The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers, The gardener should come methinks And walk among his bowers, Oh! lock the door on worry And shut your cares away, Not time of year, but love and cheer, Will make a holiday. The Husband Impossible! You women do not know The toil it takes to make a business grow. I cannot join you until very late, So hurry home, nor let the dinner wait. The Wife The feast will be like Hamlet Without a Hamlet part: The home is but a house, dear, Till you supply the heart. The Xmas gift I long for You need not toil to buy; Oh! give me back one thing I lack – The love-light in your eye. The Husband Of course I love you, and the children too. Be sensible, my dear, it is for you I work so hard to make my business pay. There, now, run home, enjoy your holiday. The Wife (turning) He does not mean to wound me, I know his heart is kind. Alas! that man can love us And be so blind, so blind. A little time for pleasure, A little time for play; A word to prove the life of love And frighten care away! Tho’ poor my lot in some small cot That were a holiday. The Husband (musing) She has not meant to wound me, nor to vex – Zounds! but ‘tis difficult to please the sex. I’ve housed and gowned her like a very queen Yet there she goes, with discontented mien. I gave her diamonds only yesterday: Some women are like that, do what you may. "

"A Lovers' Quarrel - We two were lovers, the Sea and I; We plighted our troth ‘neath a summer sky. And all through the riotous ardent weather We dreamed, and loved, and rejoiced together. * * * At times my lover would rage and storm. I said: ‘No matter, his heart is warm.’ Whatever his humour, I loved his ways, And so we lived though the golden days. I know not the manner it came about, But in the autumn we two fell out. Yet this I know – ‘twas the fault of the Sea, And was not my fault, that he changed to me. * * * I lingered as long as a woman may To find what her lover will do or say. But he met my smiles with a sullen frown, And so I turned to the wooing Town. Oh, bold was this suitor, and blithe as bold! His look was as bright as the Sea’s was cold. As the Sea was sullen, the Town was gay; He made me forget for a winter day. For a winter day and a winter night He laughed my sorrow away from sight. And yet, in spite of his mirth and cheer, I knew full well he was insincere. And when the young buds burst on the tree, The old love woke in my heart for the Sea. Pride was forgotten – I knew, I knew, That the soul of the Sea, like my own, was true. I heard him calling, and lo! I came, To find him waiting, for ever the same. And when he saw me, with murmurs sweet He ran to meet me, and fell at my feet. And so again ‘neath the summer sky We have plighted our troth, the Sea and I. "

"A Baby In The House - I knew that a baby was hid in that house, Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry; But the husband was tip-toeing 'round like a mouse, And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby; And there was a look on the face of the mother, That I knew could mean only one thing, and no other. The mother, I said to myself, for I knew That the woman before me was certainly that; And there lay in a corner a tiny cloth shoe, And I saw on a stand such a wee little hat; And the beard of the husband said, plain as could be, 'Two fat chubby hands have been tugging at me.' And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book, And a dog that could bark, if you pulled on a string; And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look; And I said to myself, 'There is no other thing But a babe that could bring about all this, and so That one thing is in hiding somewhere, I know.' I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more, And heard not a sound, yet I know I was right; What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor, The book and the toy, and the faces so bright; And what made the husband as still as a mouse? I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house. "

"A Fallen Leaf - A trusting little leaf of green, A bold audacious frost; A rendezvous, a kiss or two, And youth for ever lost. Ah, me! The bitter, bitter cost. A flaunting patch of vivid red, That quivers in the sun; A windy gust, a grave of dust, The little race is run. Ah, me! Were that the only one. "

"A Grey Mood - As we hurry away to the end, my friend, Of this sad little farce called existence, We are sure that the future will bring one thing, And that is the grave in the distance. And so when our lives run along all wrong, And nothing seems real or certain, We can comfort ourselves with the thought (or not) Of that spectre behind the curtain. But we haven’t much time to repine or whine, Or to wound or jostle each other; And the hour for us each is to-day, I say, If we mean to assist a brother. And there is no pleasure that earth gives birth, But the worry it brings is double; And all that repays for the strife of life, Is helping some soul in trouble. I tell you, if I could go back the track To my life’s morning hour, I would not set forth, seeking name or fame, Or that poor bauble called power. I would be like the sunlight, and live to give; I would lend, but I would not borrow; Nor would I be blind and complain of pain, Forgetting the meaning of sorrow. This world is a vaporous jest at best, Tossed off by the gods in laughter; And a cruel attempt at wit were it If nothing better came after. It is reeking with hearts that ache and break, Which we ought to comfort and strengthen, As we hurry away to the end, my friend, And the shadows behind us lengthen. "

"A Leaf - Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, That you were married, or soon to be. I have not thought of you, I believe, Since last we parted. Let me see: Five long Summers have passed since then – Each has been pleasant in its own way – And you are but one of a dozen men Who have played the suitor a Summer day. But, nevertheless, when I heard your name, Coupled with some one’s, not my own, There burned in my bosom a sudden flame, That carried me back to the day that is flown. I was sitting again by the laughing brook, With you at my feet, and the sky above, And my heart was fluttering under your look – The unmistakable look of Love. Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned My cheek, where the blushes came and went; And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand Sudden thrills through my pulses sent. Again you were mine by Love’s decree: So for a moment it seemed last night, When somebody mentioned your name to me. Just for the moment I thought you mine – Loving me, wooing me, as of old. The tale remembered seemed half divine – Though I held it lightly enough when told. The past seemed fairer than when it was near, As ‘blessings brighten when taking flight, ’ And just for the moment I held you near – When somebody mentioned your name last night. "

"A Fisherman's Baby - Oh hush, little baby, thy papa's at sea; The big billows rock him as mamma rocks thee. He hastes to his dear ones o'er billows of foam; Then sleep, little darling, till papa comes home. Sleep, little baby; hush, little baby; Papa is coming, no longer to roam. The shells and the pebbles, all day tossed about, Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out. The tired shore slumbers, stretched out in the sand, While the waves hurry off at mid-ocean's command. Then hush, little darling; sleep, little darling; Sleep, baby, rocked by thy mother's own hand. The winds that have rollicked all day in the west Are hushed into sleep on the calm evening's breast. The boats that were out with the wild sea at play Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay. Then rest, little baby; sleep, little baby; Papa will come at the break of the day. Sleep, little darling; too soon thou wilt be A man like thy father, to sail o'er the sea. Then sleep will not come at thy bidding or prayer, For thou wilt be harassed by danger and care. Then sleep, little darling; rest, little baby; Rest whilst thou may, dear, and sleep whilst thou dare. "

"A Glass Of Wine 'What's in a glass of wine?' There, set the glass where I can look within. Now listen to me, friend, while I begin And tell you what I see- What I behold with my far-reaching eyes, And what I know to be Below the laughing bubbles that arise Within this glass of wine. There is a little spirit, night and day, That cries one word, for ever and alway: That single word is 'More!' And whoso drinks a glass of wine, drinks him: You fill the goblet full unto the brim, And strive to silence him. Glass after glass you drain to quench his thirst, Each glass contains a spirit like the first; And all their voices cry Until they shriek and clamor, howl and rave, And shout 'More!' noisily, Till welcome death prepares the drunkard's grave, And stills the imps that rave. That see I in the wine: And tears so many that I cannot guess; And all these drops are labelled with 'Distress.' I know you cannot see. And at the bottom are the dregs of shame: Oh! it is plain to me. And there are woes too terrible to name: Now drink your glass of wine. "

"A Maiden To Her Mirror - He said he loved me! Then he called my hair Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid strings his bow, My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new snow; And swore my round, full throat would bring despair To Venus or to Psyche. Time and care Will fade these locks; the merry god, I know, Uses no grizzled cords upon his bow. How will it be when I, no longer fair, Plead for his kiss with cheeks, whence long ago The early snowflakes melted quite away, The rose leaf died – and in whose sallow clay Lie the deep sunken tracks of life’s gaunt crow? When this full throat shall wattle fold on fold, Like some ripe peach left drying on a wall, Or like a spent accordion, when all Its music has exhaled – will love grow cold? "

"It Might Have Been - We will be what we could be. Do not say, "It might have been, had not this, or that, or this." No fate can keep us from the chosen way; He only might who is. We will do what we could do. Do not dream Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve. I hold, all men are greatly what they seem; He does, who could achieve. We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height. What eagle ever missed the peak he sought? He always climbs who might. I do not like the phrase "It might have been!" It lacks force, and life's best truths perverts: For I believe we have, and reach, and win, Whatever our deserts. "

"A Man's Repentance - To-night when I came from the club at eleven, Under the gaslight I saw a face- A woman's face! and I swear to heaven It looked like the ghastly ghost of-Grace! And Grace? why, Grace was fair; and I tarried, And loved her a season as we men do. And then-but pshaw! why, of course, she is married, Has a husband, and doubtless, a babe or two. She was perfectly calm on the day we parted; She spared me a scene, to my great surprise. She wasn't the kind to be broken-hearted, I remember she said, with a spark in her eyes. I was tempted, I know, by her proud defiance, To make good my promises there and then. But the world would have called it a mésalliance! I dreaded the comments and sneers of men. So I left her to grieve for a faithless lover, And to hide her heart from the cold world's sight As women do hide them, the wide earth over; My God! was it Grace that I saw to-night? I thought of her married, and often with pity, A poor man's wife in some dull place. And now to know she is here in the city, Under the gaslight, and with that face! Yet I knew it at once, in spite of the daubing Of paint and powder, and she knew me; She drew a quick breath that was almost sobbing, And shrank in the shade so I should not see. There was hell in her eyes! She was worn and jaded; Her soul is at war with the life she has led. As I looked on that face so strangely faded, I wonder God did not strike me dead. While I have been happy and gay and jolly, Received by the very best people in town, That girl whom I led in the way to folly, Has gone on recklessly down and down. Two o'clock, and no sleep has found me. That face I saw in the street-lamp's light Peers everywhere out from the shadows around me- I know how a murderer feels to-night! "

"A March Snow - Let the old snow be covered with the new: The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden. Let it be hidden wholly from our view By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden. When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet. Let the old life be covered by the new: The old past life so full of sad mistakes, Let it be wholly hidden from the view By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes. Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring Let the white mantle of repentance fling Soft drapery about it, fold on fold, Even as the new snow covers up the old. "

"A Maiden's Secret - I have written this day down in my heart As the sweetest day in the season; From all of the others I've set it apart--- But I will not tell you the reason, That is my secret---I must not tell; But the skies are soft and tender, And never before, I know full well, Was the earth so full of splendour. I sing at my labour the whole day long, And my heart is as light as a feather; And there is a reason for my glad song Besides the beautiful weather. But I will not tell it to you; and though That thrush in the maple heard it, And would shout it aloud if he could, I know He hasn't the power to word it. Up, where I was sewing, this morn came one Who told me the sweetest stories, He said I had stolen my hair from the sun, And my eyes from the morning glories. Grandmother says that I must not believe A word men say, for they flatter; But I'm sure he would never try to deceive, For he told me---but there---no matter! Last night I was sad, and the world to me Seemed a lonely and dreary dwelling, But some one then had not asked me to be--- There now! I am almost telling. Not another word shall my two lips say, I will shut them fast together, And never a mortal shall know to-day Why my heart is as light as a feather. "

"A Married Coquette - Sit still, I say, and dispense with heroics! I hurt your wrists? Well, you have hurt me. It is time you found out that all men are not stoics, Nor toys to be used as your mood may be. I will not let go of your hands, nor leave you Until I have spoken. No man, you say, Dared ever so treat you before? I believe you, For you have dealt only with boys till to-day. You women lay stress on your fine perception, Your intuitions are prated about; You claim an occult sort of conception Of matters which men must reason out. So then, of course, when you asked me kindly 'To call again soon,' you read my heart. I cannot believe you were acting blindly; You saw my passion for you from the start. You are one of those women who charm without trying; The clay you are made of is magnet ore, And I am the steel; yet, there's no denying You led me to loving you more and more. You are fanning a flame that may burn too brightly, Oft easily kindled, but hard to put out; I am not a man to be played with lightly, To come at a gesture and go at a pout. A brute you call me, a creature inhuman; You say I insult you, and bid me go. And you? Oh, you are a saintly woman, With thoughts as pure as the drifted snow. Pah! you are but one of a thousand beauties Who think they are living exemplary lives. They break no commandments, and do all their duties As Christian women and spotless wives. But with drooping of lids, and lifting of faces, And baring of shoulders, and well-timed sighs, And the devil knows what other subtle graces, You are mental wantons, who sin with the eyes. You lure love to wake, yet bid it keep under, You tempt us to fall, but bid reason control; And then you are full of an outraged wonder When we get to wanting you, body and soul. Why, look at yourself! You were no stranger To the fact that my heart was already on fire. When you asked me to call you knew my danger, Yet here you are, dressed in the gown I admire; For half of the evil on earth is invented By vain, pretty women with nothing to do But to keep themselves manicured, powdered and scented, And seek for sensations amusing and new. But when I play at love at a lady's commanding, I always am certain to win one game; So there-there-there! I will leave my branding On the lips that are free now to cry 'Shame, shame!' You hate me? Quite likely! It does not surprise me. Brute force? I confess it; but still you were kissed; And one thing is certain-you cannot despise me For having been played with, controlled, and dismissed. And the next time you see that a man is attracted By the beauty and graces that are not for him, Don't lead him on to be half distracted; Keep out of deep waters although you can swim. For when he is caught in the whirlpool of passion, Where many bold swimmers are seen to drown, A man will reach out and, in desperate fashion, Will drag whoever is nearest him down. Though the strings of his heart may be wrenched and riven By a maiden coquette who has led him along, She can be pardoned, excused and forgiven, For innocence blindfolded walks into wrong. But she who has willingly taken the fetter That Cupid forges at Hymen's command- Well, she is the woman who ought to know better; She needs no mercy at any man's hand. In the game of hearts, though a woman be winner, The odds are ever against her, you know; The world is ready to call her a sinner, And man is ready to make her so. Shame is likely, and sorrow is certain, And the man has the best of it, end as it may. So now, my lady, we'll drop the curtain, And put out the lights. We are through with our play. "

"A Mother's Wail - The sweet young Spring walks over the earth, It flushes and glows on moor and lea; The birds are singing in careless mirth, The brook flows cheerily on to the sea; And I know that the flowers are blooming now Over my beautiful darling's brow: Blooming and blowing in perfume now Over my poor lost darling's brow. The breath of the passionate Summer turns The green of the hills to a deeper dye; The wind from the south land blows and burns, The sun grows red in the brazen sky; And I know that the long, dank grasses wave Over my beautiful darling's grave: Rise and fall, and lift and wave Over my darling's narrow grave. The days flow on, and the summer dies, And glorious Autumn takes the crown; And toward the south the robin flies, And the green of the hills grows dull and brown; And the leaves, all purple, and gold, and red, Drift over my precious darling's bed: Drift and flutter, all gold and red, Over my darling's lowly bed. The Winter comes with its chilling snows, And wraps the world in a spotless shroud; And cold from the north the wild wind blows, And the tempest rages fierce and loud; It shrieks, and sobs, and sighs, and weeps Over the mound where my darling sleeps: In pity, it sobs, and sighs, and weeps Over the mound where my lost one sleeps. He was so young, and fair, and brave: The pride of my bosom-my heart's best joy; And he lieth now in a drunkard's grave; My beautiful darling, my only boy: But down in my heart of hearts, I know He has gone where his tempters never can go: To heaven his soul has gone, I know, Where the soul of his tempters never can go. They charmed him into their licensed hell, They gave him rum, and his eye grew wild; And lower and lower down he fell, Till they made a fiend of my precious child: May the curses of God fall on the soul Who gave my darling the poison bowl! Ay, curses dark and deep on the soul Who tempted my darling to lift the bowl! "

"A Naughty Little Comet - There was a little comet who lived near the Milky Way! She loved to wander out at night and jump about and play. The mother of the comet was a very good old star; She used to scold her reckless child for venturing out too far. She told her of the ogre, Sun, who loved on stars to sup, And who asked no better pastime than in gobbling comets up. But instead of growing cautious and of showing proper fear, The foolish little comet edged up nearer, and more near. She switched her saucy tail along right where the Sun could see, And flirted with old Mars, and was as bold as bold could be. She laughed to scorn the quiet stars who never frisked about; She said there was no fun in life unless you ventured out. She liked to make the planets stare, and wished no better mirth Than just to see the telescopes aimed at her from the Earth. She wondered how so many stars could mope through nights and days, And let the sickly faced old Moon get all the love and praise. And as she talked and tossed her head and switched her shining trail The staid old mother star grew sad, her cheek grew wan and pale. For she had lived there in the skies a million years or more, And she had heard gay comets talk in just this way before. And by and by there came an end to this gay comet's fun. She went a tiny bit too far-and vanished in the Sun! No more she swings her shining trail before the whole world's sight, But quiet stars she laughed to scorn are twinkling every night. "

"A Servian Legend - Long, long ago, ere yet our race began, When earth was empty, waiting still for man, Before the breath of life to him was given The angels fell into a strife in heaven. At length one furious demon grasped the sun And sped away as fast as he could run, And with a ringing laugh of fiendish mirth, He leaped the battlements and fell to earth. Dark was it then in heaven, but light below; For there the demon wandered to and fro, Tilting aloft upon a slender pole The orb of day-the pilfering old soul. The angels wept and wailed; but through the dark The Great Creator's voice cried sternly: sternly: 'Hark! Who will restore to me the orb of Light, Him will I honor in all heaven's sight.' Then over the battlements there dropped another. (A shrewder angel well there could not be.) Quoth he: 'Behold my love for thee, my brother, For I have left all heaven to stay with thee. 'Thy loneliness and wanderings I will share, Thy heavy burden I will help thee bear.' 'Well said,' the demon answered, 'and well done, But I'll not tax you with this heavy sun. 'Your company will cheer me, it is true, And I could never think of burdening you.' Idly they wandered onward, side by side, Till, by and by, they neared a silvery tide. 'Let's bathe,' the angel suddenly suggested. 'Agreed,' the demon answered. 'I'll go last, Because I needs must leave quite unmolested This tiresome sun, which I will now make fast.' He set the pole well in the sandy turf, And called a jackdaw near to watch the place. Meanwhile the angel paddled in the surf, And playfully dared his brother to a race. They swam around together for awhile, The demon always keeping near his prize, Till presently the angel, with a smile, Proposed a healthful diving exercise. The demon hesitated. 'But,' thought he, 'The jackdaw will inform me with a cry If this good brother tries deceiving me; I will not be outdone by him-not I!' Down, down they went. The angel in a trice Rose up again, and swift to shore he sped. The jackdaw shrieked, but lo! a mile of ice The demon found had frozen o'er his head. He swore an oath, and gathered all his force, And broke the ice, to see the sun, of course, Held firmly in the radiant angel's hand, Who sailed away toward the heavenly land. He gave pursuit. Wrath lent speed to his chase; All heaven leaned down to watch the exciting race. On, on they came, and still the Evil One Gained on the angel burdened with the sun. With bated breath and faces white as ghosts, Over the walls leaned heaven's affrighted hosts. Up, up, still up, the angel almost spent, Threw one foot forward o'er the battlement. The demon seized the other with a shout; So fierce his clutch he pulled the bottom out, As the good angel, fainting, laid the sun Down by the throne of God, who cried: 'Well done! Thy great misfortune shall be made divine: Man will I create with a foot like thine!' "

"As the ambitious sculptor, tireless, lifts Chisel and hammer to the block at hand, Before my half-formed character I stand And ply the shining tools of mental gifts. I'll cut away a huge, unsightly side Of selfishness, and smooth to curves of grace The angles of ill-temper. And no trace Shall my sure hammer leave of silly pride. Chip after chip must fall from vain desires, And the sharp corners of my discontent Be rounded into symmetry, and lent Great harmony by faith that never tires. Unfinished still, I must toil on and on, Till the pale critic, Death, shall say, ''Tis done.' "

"I strolled last eve across the lonely down; One solitary picture struck my eye: A distant ploughboy stood against the sky— How far he seemed above the noisy town! Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by, And, watching him, I asked myself if I In very truth stood half as near to God. "

"A Song Of Life - In the rapture of life and of living, I lift up my head and rejoice, And I thank the great Giver for giving The soul of my gladness a voice. In the glow of the glorious weather, In the sweet-scented, sensuous air, My burdens seem light as a feather – They are nothing to bear. In the strength and the glory of power, In the pride and the pleasure of wealth (For who dares dispute me my dower Of talents and youth-time and health?) , I can laugh at the world and its sages – I am greater than seers who are sad, For he is most wise in all ages Who knows how to be glad. I lift up my eyes to Apollo, The god of the beautiful days, And my spirit soars off like a swallow, And is lost in the light of its rays. Are tou troubled and sad? I beseech you Come out of the shadows of strife – Come out in the sun while I teach you The secret of life. Come out of the world – come above it – Up over its crosses and graves, Though the green earth is fair and I love it, We must love it as masters, not slaves. Come up where the dust never rises – But only the perfume of flowers – And your life shall be glad with surprises Of beautiful hours. Come up where the rare golden wine is Apollo distills in my sight, And your life shall be happy as mine is, And as full of delight. Ella Wheeler Wilcox"

"A Pin - Oh, I know a certain lady who is reckoned with the good, Yet she fills me with more terror than a raging lion would. The little chills run up and down my spine whene’er we meet, Though she seems a gentle creature, and she’s very trim and neat. And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknowledged sin, But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin. And she pricks you and she sticks you in a way that can’t be said. If you seek for what has hurt you – why, you cannot find the head. But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating pain. If anybody asks you why, you really can’t explain! A pin is such a tiny thing, of that there is no doubt, Yet when it’s sticking in your flesh you’re wretched till it’s out. She’s wonderfully observing – when she meets a pretty girl, She is always sure to tell her if her hair is out of curl; And she is so sympathetic to her friend who’s much admires, She is often heard remarking, ‘Dear, you look so worn and tired.’ And she is an honest critic, for on yesterday she eyed The new dress I was airing with a woman’s natural pride, And she said, ‘Oh, how becoming! ’ and then gently added, ‘it Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit.’ Then she said, ‘If you heard me yester eve, I’m sure, my friend, You would say I was a champion who knows how to defend.’ And she left me with the feeling – most unpleasant, I aver – That the whole world would despise me is it hadn’t been for her. Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day. And the hat that was imported (and cost me half a sonnet) , With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet. She is always bright and smiling, sharp and pointed for a thrust; Use does not seem to blunt her point, nor does she gather rust. Oh! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin! "

"A Tumbler Of Claret - I poured out a tumbler of Claret, Of course with intention to drink, And, holding it up in the sunlight, I paused for a moment to think. I really can't tell you what made me; I never had done so before, Though for years, every day at my dinner, I had emptied one tumbler or more. 'A friend' in the loneliest hours, 'A companion,' I called the red wine, And sometimes I poetized slightly, And called it a 'nectar divine.' But to-day as I gazed at the claret, That sparkled and glowed in the sun, I asked it, 'What have you done for me, That any true friend would have done? 'You have given me some pleasant feelings, But they always were followed by pain. You have given me ten thousand headaches, And are ready to do it again. You have set my blood leaping and bounding, Which, though pleasant, was hurtful, no doubt, And, if I keep up the acquaintance, I am sure you will give me the gout. 'I remember a certain occasion, When you caused me to act like a fool. And, yes, I remember another When you made me fall into a pool. And there was Tom Smithers-you killed him! Will Howard you made a poor knave. Both my friends! and I might count a dozen You have sent to the prison or grave. 'Is this like a loyal friend's treatment? And are you deserving the name? Say! what do you give those who love you But poverty, sorrow, and shame? A few paltry moments of pleasure, And ages of trouble and grief. No wonder you blush in the sunlight, You robber, you liar, you thief! 'I will have nothing more to do with you, From this moment, this hour, this day. To send you adrift, bag and baggage, I know is the only safe way.' And I poured out that tumbler of claret, Poured it out , and not down , on the spot. And all this you see was accomplished, By a few sober moments of thought. "

"A Waif - My soul is like a poor caged bird to-night, Beating its wings against the prison bars, Longing to reach the outer world of light, And, all untrammelled, soar among the stars. Wild, mighty thoughts struggle within my soul For utterance. Great waves of passion roll Through all my being. As the lightnings play Through thunder clouds, so beams of blinding light Flash for a moment on my darkened brain - Quick, sudden, glaring beams, that fade wawy And leave me in a darker, deeper night. Oh, poet sould! that struggle all in vain To live in peace and harmony with earth, It cannot be! They must endure the pain Of conscience and unacknoeledged worth, Moving and dwelling with the common herd, Whose highest thought has never strayed as far, Or never strayed beyond the horizon's bar; Whose narrow hearts and souls are never stirred With keenest pleasures, or with sharpest pain; Who rise and eat and sleep, and rise again, Nor question why or wherefore. Men whose minds Are never shaken by wild passion winds; Women whose broadest, deepeat realm of thought The bridal veil will cover. Who see not God's mighty work lying undone to-day, - Work that a woman's hands can do as well, Oh, soul of mine; better to live alway In this tumultuous inward pain and strife, Doing the work that in thy reach doth fall, Weeping because thou canst not do it all; Oh, better, my soul, in this unrest to dwell, Than grovel as they grovel on through life. "

"A Waltz-Quadrille - The band was playing a waltz-quadrille, I felt as light as a wind-blown feather, As we floated away, at the caller’s will, Through the intricate, mazy dance together. Like mimic armies our lines were meeting, Slowly advancing, and then retreating, All decked in their bright array; And back and forth to the music’s rhyme We moved together, and all the time I knew you were going away. The fold of your strong arm sent a thrill From heart to brain as we gently glided Like leaves on the wave of that waltz-quadrille; Parted, met, and again divided – You drifting one way, and I another, Then suddenly turning and facing each other, Then off in the blithe chasse. Then airily back to our places swaying, While every beat of the music seemed saying That you were going away. I said to my heart, ‘Let us take our fill Of mirth, and music, and love, and laughter; For it all must end with this waltz-quadrille, And life will never be the same life after. Oh that the caller might go on calling! Oh that the music might go on falling Like a shower of silver spray, While we whirled on to the vast Forever, Where no hearts break, and no ties sever, And no one goes away! A clamour, a crash, and the band was still, ‘Twas the end of the dream, and the end of the measure: The last low notes of that waltz-quadrille Seemed like a dirge o’er the death of Pleasure. You said good-night, and the spell was over – Too warm for a friend, and too cold for a lover – There was nothing else to say; But the lights looked dim, and the dancers weary, And the music was sad and the hall was dreary, After you went away. "

"A Woman's Love - So vast the tide of Love within me surging, It overflows like some stupendous sea, The confines of the Present and To-be; And 'gainst the Past's high wall I feel it urging, As it would cry "Thou too shalt yield to me!" All other loves my supreme love embodies; I would be she on whose soft bosom nursed Thy clinging infant lips to quench their thirst; She who trod close to hidden worlds where God is, That she might have, and hold, and see thee first. I would be she who stirred the vague fond fancies, Of thy still childish heart; who through bright days Went sporting with thee in the old-time plays, And caught the sunlight of thy boyish glances In half-forgotten and long-buried Mays. Forth to the end, and back to the beginning, My love would send its inundating tide, Wherein all landmarks of thy past should hide. If thy life's lesson must be learned through sinning, My grieving virtue would become thy guide. For I would share the burden of thy errors, So when the sun of our brief life had set, If thou didst walk in darkness and regret, E'en in that shadowy world of nameless terrors, My soul and thine should be companions yet. And I would cross with thee those troubled oceans Of dark remorse whose waters are despair: All things my jealous reckless love would dare, So that thou mightst not recollect emotions In which it did not have a part and share. There is no limit to my love's full measure, Its spirit gold is shaped by earth's alloy; I would be friend and mother, mate and toy, I'd have thee look to me for every pleasure, And in me find all memories of joy. Yet though I love thee in such selfish fashion, I would wait on thee, sitting at thy feet, And serving thee, if thou didst deem it meet. And couldst thou give me one fond hour of passion, I'd take that hour and call my life complete. "

"One who claims that he knows about it Tells me the earth is a vale of sin; But I and the bees, and the birds we doubt it, And think it a world worth living in. ------ Whatever you want, if you wish for it long, With constant yearning and ceaseless desire, If your wish soars upward on wings so strong That they never grow languid, never tire, Why, over the storm cloud and out of the dark It will come flying some day to you, As the dove with the olive branch flew to the ark, And the wish you've been dreaming, it will come true. "

"I must live my life, not yours, my friend, For so it was written down; We must follow our given paths to the end, But I trust we shall meet--in town. "

"Ad Finum - On the white throat of useless passion That scorched my soul with its burning breath I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion And gathered them close in a grip of death; For why should I fan, or feed with fuel, A love that showed me but blank despair? So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel - I meant to strangle it then and there! I thought it was dead. But, with no warning, It rose from its grave last night and came And stood by my bed till the early morning. And over and over it spoke your name. Its throat was red where my hands had held it; It burned my brow with its scorching breath; And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it, 'A love like this can know no death.' For just one kiss that your lips have given In the lost and beautiful past to me, I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven And all the bliss of Eternity. For never a joy are the angels keeping, To lay at my feet in Paradise, Like that of into your strong arms creeping, And looking into your love lit eyes. I know, in the way that sins are reckoned, This thought is a sin of the deepest dye; But I know too that if an angel beckoned, Standing close by the Throne on High, And you, adown by the gates infernal, Should open your loving arms and smile, I would turn my back on things supernal, To lie on your breast a little while. To know for an hour you were mine completely- Mine in body and soul, my own- I would bear unending tortures sweetly, With not a murmur and not a moan. A lighter sin or lesser error Might change through hope or fear divine; But there is no fear, and hell hath no terror, To change or alter a love like mine. "