Poems of Sentiment.

by Ella Wheeler Wilc.o.x.

DOUBLE CARNATIONS

A wild Pink nestled in a garden bed, A rich Carnation flourished high above her, One day he chanced to see her pretty head And leaned and looked again, and grew to love her.

The Moss (her humble mother) saw with fear The ardent glances of the princely stranger; With many an anxious thought and dewy tear She sought to hide her darling from this danger.

The gardener-guardian of this n.o.ble bud A cruel trellis interposed between them.

No common Pink should mate with royal blood, He said, and sought in every way to wean them.

The poor Pink pined and faded day by day: Her restless lover from his prison bower Called in a priestly bee who pa.s.sed that way, And sent a message to the sorrowing flower.

The fainting Pink wept as the bee drew near, Droning his prayers, and begged him to confess her.

Her weary mother, over-taxed by fear, Slept, while the priest leaned low to shrive and bless her.

But lo! ere long the tale went creeping out, The rich Carnation and the Pink were married!

The cunning bee had brought the thing about While Mamma Moss in Slumber's arms had tarried.

And proud descendants of that loving pair, The offspring of that true and ardent pa.s.sion, Are famous for their beauty everywhere, And leaders in the floral world of fashion.

NEVER MIND

Whatever your work and whatever its worth, No matter how strong or clever, Some one will sneer if you pause to hear, And scoff at your best endeavour.

For the target art has a broad expanse, And wherever you chance to hit it, Though close be your aim to the bull's-eye fame, There are those who will never admit it.

Though the house applauds while the artist plays, And a smiling world adores him, Somebody is there with an ennuied air To say that the acting bores him.

For the tower of art has a lofty spire, With many a stair and landing, And those who climb seem small oft-time To one at the bottom standing.

So work along in your chosen niche With a steady purpose to nerve you; Let nothing men say who pa.s.s your way Relax your courage or swerve you.

The idle will flock by the Temple of Art For just the pleasure of gazing; But climb to the top and do not stop, Though they may not all be praising.

TWO WOMEN

I know two women, and one is chaste And cold as the snows on a winter waste, Stainless ever in act and thought (As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not).

But she has malice toward her kind, A cruel tongue and a jealous mind.

Void of pity and full of greed, She judges the world by her narrow creed; A brewer of quarrels, a breeder of hate, Yet she holds the key to "Society's" Gate.

The other woman, with heart of flame, Went mad for a love that marred her name: And out of the grave of her murdered faith She rose like a soul that has pa.s.sed through death.

Her aims are n.o.ble, her pity so broad, It covers the world like the mercy of G.o.d.

A soother of discord, a healer of woes, Peace follows her footsteps wherever she goes.

The worthier life of the two, no doubt, And yet "Society" locks her out.

IT ALL WILL COME OUT RIGHT

Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along Will trample in the dust.

In restless youth I railed at fate With all my puny might, But now I know if I but wait It all will come out right.

Though Vice may don the judge's gown And play the censor's part, And Fact be cowed by Falsehood's frown And Nature ruled by art; Though Labour toils through blinding tears And idle Wealth is might, I know the honest, earnest years Will bring it all out right.

Though poor and loveless creeds may pa.s.s For pure religion's gold; Though ignorance may rule the ma.s.s While truth meets glances cold, I know a law complete, sublime, Controls us with its might, And in G.o.d's own appointed time It all will come out right.

A WARNING

There was a flame, oh! such a tiny flame - One fleeting hour had spanned its birth and death, But for a silly child with playful breath Who fanned it into fury. It became A mighty conflagration. Ah, the cost!

House, home, and thoughtless child alike were lost.

Lady beware. Fan not the harmless glow Of admiration into ardent love, Lean not with red curled smiling lips above The flickering spark of sinless flame, and blow, Lest in the sudden waking of desire Thou, like the child, shalt perish in the fire.

SHRINES

About a holy shrine or sacred place, Where many hearts have bowed in earnest prayer, The loveliest spirits congregate from s.p.a.ce, And bring their sweet, uplifting influence there.

If in your chamber you pray oft and well, Soon will these angel-messengers arrive And make their home with you, and where they dwell All worthy toil and purposes shall thrive.

I know a humble, plainly furnished room, So thronged with presences serene and bright, The heaviest heart therein forgets its gloom As in some gorgeous temple filled with light.

Those heavenly spirits, beauteous and divine, Live only in an atmosphere of prayer; Make for yourself a sacred, fervent shrine, And you will find them swiftly flocking there.

THE WATCHER

She gave her soul and body for a carriage, And livened lackey with a vacant grin, And all the rest--house, lands--and called it marriage: The bargain made, a husband was thrown in.