E'en if I plead would she care?-- Sweet is the refuge of scorn.

Close by my side, O Regret Long we have watched for the light!

Watchman, what of the morn?

Well do we know of the night.

IN MAYTIME

The apple blossoms glisten Within the crowned trees; The meadow gra.s.ses listen The din of busy bees; The wayward, woodland singer Carols along the leas, Not loth to be the bringer Of summer fantasies.

But you and I who never Meet now but for regret, Forever and forever, Though flower-bonds were set In Maytime, if you wonder That falling leaves are ours, Yours was it cast asunder, Mine are the faded flowers.

The fluted wren is sobbing Beneath the mossy eaves; The throstle's chord is throbbing In coronal of leaves; The home of love is lilies, And rose-hearts, flaming red, Red roses and white lilies-- Lo, thus the G.o.ds were wed!

But we weep on, unheeding The earth's joys spread for us; And ever, far receding, Our fair land fades from us: One waited, patient, broken, High-hearted but opprest, One lightly took the token-- The mad Fates took the rest.

High mountains and low valleys, And shreds of silver seas, The lone brook's sudden sallies, And all the joys of these,-- These were, but now the fire Volcanic seeks the sea, And dark wave walls retire Tyrannic seeking me.

Spirit of dreams, a vision Well hast thou wrought for us; Fold high the veil Elysian, The past held naught for us; Years, what are they but s.p.a.ces Set in a day for me?

Lo, here are lilied places-- My love comes back to me!

INSIDE THE BAR

I knows a town, an' it's a fine town, And many a brig goes sailin' to its quay; I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn, An' a la.s.s that's fair to see.

I knows a town, an' it's a fine town; I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn-- But Oh my la.s.s, an' Oh the gay gown, Which I have seen my pretty in!

I knows a port, an' it's a good port, An' many a brig is ridin' easy there; I knows a home, an' it's a good home, An' a la.s.s that's sweet an' fair.

I knows a port, an' it's a good port, I knows a home, an' it's a good home-- But Oh the pretty that is my sort, What's wearyin' till I come!

I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, The day a sailor man comes back to town; I knows a tide, an' it's a good tide, The tide that gets you quick to anchors down.

I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, I knows a tide, an' it's a good tide-- And G.o.d help the lubber, I say, What's stole the sailor man's bride!

THE CHILDREN

Mark the faces of the children Flooded with sweet innocence!

G.o.d's smile on their foreheads glisten Ere their heart-strings have grown tense.

And they know not of the sadness, Of the palpitating pain Drawn through arid veins of manhood, Or the l.u.s.ts that life disdain.

Little reek they of the shadows Fallen through the steep world's s.p.a.ce G.o.d hath touched them with His chrism And their sunlight is His grace.

And the green grooves of the meadows They are fair to look upon; And the silver thrush and robin Sing most sweetly on and on.

But the faces of the children-- They are fairer far than these; And the songs they sing are sweeter Than the thrushes' in the trees.

Little hands, our G.o.d has given All the flower-bloom for you; Gather violets in the meadows, Trailing your sweet fingers through.

The swift tears that sometimes glisten On their faces dashed with pain Weave a rosy bow of promise, Like the afterglow of rain.

The soft, verdant fields of childhood, Certes, are the softer for The dissolving dew of morning, Noon's elate amba.s.sador.

Looking skyward, do they wonder-- They, the children palm to palm-- What is out beyond the azure In the infinite of calm?

Though they murmur soft "Our Father,"

Angel wings to speed it on Past the bright wheels of the Pleiads, Have they thought of benison?

Nay! the undefiled children Say it bound by ignorance; But the saying is the merit, And the loving bans mischance.

Oh the mountain heights of childhood, And the waterfalls of dreams, And the sleeping in the shadows Of the willows by the streams!

Toss your gleaming hair, O children, Back in waving of the wind!

Flash the starlight 'heath your eyelids From the sunlight of the mind!

See, we strain you to our bosoms, And we kiss your lip and brow; Human hearts must have some idols, And we shrine you idols now.

Time, the ruthless idol-breaker, Smileless, cold iconoclast, Though he rob us of our altars, Cannot rob us of the past.

Dull and dead the G.o.ds' bright nectar, Disencrowned of its foam; Duller, deader far the empty, Barren hearthstone of a home.

Smile out to our age and give us, Children, of the dawn's desire; We have pa.s.sed morn's gold and opal, We have lost life's early fire.

LITTLE GARAINE

"Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?

The garden of moons, is it far away?

The orchard of suns, my little Garaine, Will you take us there some day?"