I never knew before what beds, Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch, The forest sifts and shapes and spreads; I never knew before how much Of human sound there is in such Low tones as through the forest sweep, When all wild things lie "down to sleep."

Each day I find new coverlids Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight; Sometimes the viewless mother bids Her ferns kneel down full in my sight; I hear their chorus of "good-night"; And half I smile, and half I weep, Listening while they lie "down to sleep."

November woods are bare and still; November days are bright and good; Life's noon burns up life's morning chill; Life's night rests feet which long have stood; Some warm soft bed, in field or wood, The mother will not fail to keep, Where we can "lay us down to sleep."

SEPTEMBER

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down;

The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun;

The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow nook, And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook;

From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow b.u.t.terflies--

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER

O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather.

When loud the b.u.mble-bee makes haste, Belated, thriftless, vagrant, And golden-rod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers hour by hour, October's bright blue weather.

O suns and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather.

POEMS BY GABRIEL SETOUN

ROMANCE

I saw a ship a-sailing, A-sailing on the sea; Her masts were of the shining gold, Her deck of ivory; And sails of silk, as soft as milk, And silver shrouds had she.

And round about her sailing, The sea was sparkling white, The waves all clapped their hands and sang To see so fair a sight.

They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice, And murmured with delight.

Then came the gallant captain, And stood upon the deck; In velvet coat, and ruffles white, Without a spot or speck; And diamond rings, and triple strings Of pearls around his neck.

And four-and-twenty sailors Were round him bowing low; On every jacket three times three Gold b.u.t.tons in a row; And cutla.s.ses down to their knees; They made a goodly show.

And then the ship went sailing, A-sailing o'er the sea; She dived beyond the setting sun, But never back came she, For she found the lands of the golden sands, Where the pearls and diamonds be.

JACK FROST

The door was shut, as doors should be, Before you went to bed last night; Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see, And left your window silver white.

He must have waited till you slept; And not a single word he spoke, But pencilled o'er the panes and crept Away again before you woke.

And now you cannot see the hills Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane; But there are fairer things than these His fingers traced on every pane.

Rocks and castles towering high; Hills and dales, and streams and fields; And knights in armor riding by, With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there Big ships with sails spread to the breeze; And yonder, palm trees waving fair On islands set in silver seas,

And b.u.t.terflies with gauzy wings; And herds of cows and flocks of sheep; And fruit and flowers and all the things You see when you are sound asleep.

For, creeping softly underneath The door when all the lights are out, Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe, And knows the things you think about.

He paints them on the window-pane In fairy lines with frozen steam; And when you wake you see again The lovely things you saw in dream.

THE WORLD'S MUSIC

The world's a very happy place, Where every child should dance and sing, And always have a smiling face, And never sulk for anything.

I waken when the morning's come, And feel the air and light alive With strange sweet music like the hum Of bees about their busy hive.

The linnets play among the leaves At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing; While, flashing to and from the eaves, The swallows twitter on the wing.

The twigs that shake, and boughs that sway; And tall old trees you could not climb; And winds that come, but cannot stay, Are singing gaily all the time.

From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel Makes music, going round and round; And dusty-white with flour and meal, The miller whistles to its sound.

And if you listen to the rain Where leaves and birds and bees are dumb, You hear it pattering on the pane Like Andrew beating on his drum.

The coals beneath the kettle croon, And clap their hands and dance in glee; And even the kettle hums a tune To tell you when it's time for tea.

The world is such a happy place That children, whether big or small, Should always have a smiling face, And never, never sulk at all.