You in the hammock. The book we'd brought From the parlor--to read in the open air,-- Something of love and of Launcelot And Guinevere, I believe, was there-- But the afternoon, it was far more fair Than the poem was, I thought.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: You in the hammock; and I, near by]

{151}

You in the hammock; and on and on.

I droned and droned through the rhythmic stuff-- But, with always a half of my vision gone Over the top of the page--enough To caressingly gaze at you, swathed in the fluff Of your hair and your odorous "lawn."

You in the hammock--and that was a year-- Fully a year ago, I guess-- And what do we care for their Guinevere And her Launcelot and their lordliness!-- You in the hammock still, and--Yes-- Kiss me again, my dear!

[Ill.u.s.tration: In the afternoon--tailpiece]

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BECAUSE

Why did we meet long years of yore?

And why did we strike hands and say "We will be friends and nothing more"; Why are we musing thus to-day?

Because because was just because, And no one knew just why it was.

Why did I say good-by to you?

Why did I sail across the main?

Why did I love not heaven's own blue Until I touched these sh.o.r.es again?

Because because was just because, And you nor I knew why it was.

Why are my arms about you now, And happy tears upon your cheek?

And why my kisses on your brow?

Look up in thankfulness and speak!

Because because was just because, And only G.o.d knew why it was.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: Herr Weiser--headpiece]

HERR WEISER

Herr Weiser!--Threescore years and ten,-- A hale white rose of his countrymen, Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam, And blossomy as his German home-- As blossomy and as pure and sweet As the cool green glen of his calm retreat, Far withdrawn from the noisy town Where trade goes clamoring up and down, Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife, May not trouble his tranquil life!

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Breath of rest, what a balmy gust!-- Quit of the city's heat and dust, Jostling down by the winding road Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode.-- Tether the horse, as we onward fare Under the pear trees trailing there, And thumping the wooden bridge at night With lumps of ripeness and lush delight, Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn, Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon.

Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face, And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace Of una.s.suming honesty, Be there to welcome you and me!

And what though the toil of the farm be stopped And the tireless plans of the place be dropped, While the prayerful master's knees are set In beds of pansy and mignonette And lily and aster and columbine, Offered in love, as yours and mine?--

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[Ill.u.s.tration: And lily and aster and columbine]

{157}

What, but a blessing of kindly thought, Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not!-- What, but a spirit of l.u.s.trous love White as the aster he bends above!-- What, but an odorous memory Of the dear old man, made known to me In days demanding a help like his,-- As sweet as the life of the lily is-- As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise Born of a lily in Paradise.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Herr Weiser--tailpiece]

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[Ill.u.s.tration: A mother-song--headpiece]

A MOTHER-SONG

Mother, O mother! forever I cry for you, Sing the old song I may never forget; Even in slumber I murmur and sigh for you.-- Mother, O mother, Sing low, "Little brother, Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

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Mother, O mother! the years are so lonely, Filled but with weariness, doubt and regret!

Can't you come back to me--for to-night only, Mother, my mother, And sing, "Little brother, Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

Mother, O mother! of old I had never One wish denied me, nor trouble to fret; Now--must I cry out all vainly forever,-- Mother, sweet mother, O sing, "Little brother, Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

Mother, O mother! must longing and sorrow Leave me in darkness, with eyes ever wet, And never the hope of a meeting to-morrow?

Answer me, mother, And sing, "Little brother, Sleep, for thy mother bends over thee yet!"

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[Ill.u.s.tration: What "Old Santa" overheard--headpiece]

WHAT "OLD SANTA" OVERHEARD

_'Tis said old Santa Claus one time_ _Told this joke on himself in rhyme:_ One Christmas, in the early din That ever leads the morning in, I heard the happy children shout In rapture at the toys turned out Of bulging little socks and shoes-- A joy at which I could but choose To listen enviously, because I'm always just "Old Santa Claus,"-- But ere my rising sigh had got To its first quaver at the thought, It broke in laughter, as I heard A little voice chirp like a bird,--

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"Old Santa's mighty good, I know.