All day, all day in a calm like death The harp hung waiting the sea wind's breath.

When the western sky flushed red with shame At the sun's bold kiss, the sea wind came.

Said the harp to the breeze, Oh, breathe as soft As the ring-dove cooes from its nest aloft.

I am full of a song that mothers croon When their wee ones tire of their play at noon.

Though a harp may feel 'tis a silent thing Till the breeze arises and bids it sing.

Said the wind to the harp, Nay, sing for me The wail of the dead that are lost at sea.

I caught their cry as I came along, And I hurried to find you and teach you the song.

Oh, the heart is the harp, and love is the breeze, And the song is ever what love may please.

THE PENDULUM

[In Edgar Allan Poe's story, 'The Pit and the Pendulum,' the victim is bound hand and foot, face upturned to a huge, knife-edged pendulum which swings back and forth across his body, the blade dropping closer to his heart at each swing.]

Bound hand and foot in the pit I lie, And the wall about me is strong and high; Stronger and higher it grows each day, With maximum labour and minimum pay; And there is no ladder whereon to climb To a fairer world and a brighter time.

There is no ladder, there is no rope, But the devil of greed has given a hope.

He swings before me the pendulum--Vice; I know its purpose and know its price, And the world's good people all know it, too, And much they chatter and little they do.

I have sent up my cry to the hosts of men Over and over and over again: But should I cry once to the devil, ah, he Would hurry to answer and set me free.

For Virtue to Virtue must ever call thrice, But once brings an answer when Virtue calls Vice.

Bound hand and foot in the pit I lie While the pendulum swings and the days go by.

AN OLD-FASHIONED TYPE

For 'Mabel Brown' I never cared (My rightful name by birth), But when the name of Smith I shared, I seemed to own the earth, (I wrote it without 'y' or 'e' - Plain 'Mrs. Jack Smith' suited me.)

My happiest hour, as I look back On times of great content, Was when folks called me 'Mrs. Jack,'

Though 'Mrs. Smith' was meant.

It was the pleasure of my life To hear them say: 'That's Jack Smith's wife.'

One day I joined a club. They said That I must speak or write.

So I did both. I wrote and read A speech one fateful night.

It made a hit, but proved, alack, A death blow to poor 'Mrs. Jack.'

As 'Mrs. Mabel Smith' I'm known Throughout my town and State; My heart feels widowed and alone; The case is intricate.

Though darling Jack is mine, the same, I am divorced somehow in name.

Just 'Mabel Smith' I can endure; It leaves the world in doubt; But 'Mrs.' makes the marriage sure, Yet leaves the husband out.

It sounds like Reno, or the tomb, And always fills me full of gloom.

They say the honours are all mine; Well, I would trade the pack For one sweet year in which to shine Again as 'Mrs. Jack.'

That gave to life a core, a pith, Not found by 'Mrs. Mabel Smith.'

For one suggests the chosen mate, And all the joy love brings; And one suggests a delegate To federated things.

I'm built upon the old-time plan - I like to supplement a man.

If on each point of glory's star My name shone like a pearl, I'd feel a pleasure greater far In being 'Jack Smith's girl.'

It is ridiculous, I know, But then, you see, I'm fashioned so.

THE SWORD

Amidst applauding cheers I won a prize.

A cynic watched me, with ironic eyes; An open foe, in open hatred, sneered; I cared for neither. Then my friend appeared.

Eager, I listened for his glad 'Well done.'

But sudden shadow seemed to shroud my sun.

He praised me: yet each slow, unwilling word Forced from its sheath base Envy's hidden sword, Two-edged, it wounded me; but, worst of all, It thrust my friend down from his pedestal, And showed him as he was--so small, so small.

LOVE AND THE SEASONS

SPRING

A sudden softness in the wind; A glint of song, a-wing; A fragrant sound that trails behind, And joy in everything.

A sudden flush upon the cheek, The teardrop quick to start; A hope too delicate to speak, And heaven within the heart.

SUMMER

A riotous dawn and the sea's great wonder; The red, red heart of a rose uncurled; And beauty tearing her veil asunder, In sight of a swooning world.

A call of the soul, and the senses blended; The Springtime lost in the glow of the sun, And two lives rushing, as G.o.d intended, To meet and mingle as one.

AUTUMN

The world is out in gala dress; And yet it is not gay.

Its splendour hides a loneliness For something gone away.

(Laughter and music on the air; A shower of rice and bloom.

Smiles for the fond departing pair - And then the empty room.)