Rose-petaled with a golden fringe, And calyx to agree; A dash of sea-foam and a tinge Of sky in harmony; The subtile perfume sunny smiles, And sunnier love, though but a child's, Beneath an old Beech Tree.

One morn I sought the cooling shade With heart as light and free As snowy whitecap ever played Upon the bounding sea; But she, the fairy child, was gone,-- The flower that grew for me alone-- Beneath the old Beech Tree.

The brooks still ran the hills among And babbled on in glee; The birds still mated, loved and sung In tuneful melody: But all the soul of song was lost; My flower had withered with the frost Beneath the old Beech Tree.

The years ran on in golden sands For lovers rapidly; The flowers waved their magic wands And smiled still joyously: But love's enchanting power was gone For me whom Death had left alone Beneath the old Beech Tree.

The moonlight sifting through the leaves Fell soft and silvery, As threads that sly Arachne weaves With artful modesty; It fell and wove a mystic veil About her face; my cheek grew pale Beneath the Chestnut Tree.

A breathless moment, all was still; A deep solemnity Hung over earth,--and then a thrill Of love and mystery-- An odor of a rare perfume, The sweetest flower that e'er did bloom Beneath the Chestnut Tree!

The brooks now run the hills among And babble on in glee; For love brought back the soul of song Beneath the Chestnut Tree;-- Brought back, while moonlit breezes blew The sweetest flower that ever grew, Alone, alone for me.

JACK AND JILL

We played beside the little rill That flows to larger river; We heard the mating mocking-birds trill, The robins piped upon the hill, And Cupid strung his little bow and filled his little quiver: Then she, we played, was little Jill, And I was Jack, her lover.

But floating down the little stream Toward the larger river, The rippling of the waves did seem The fading music of a dream, For Cupid broke his silver bow and lost his golden quiver; And Jill forgot the hour supreme When I was Jack, her lover.

NATURA

O beauteous maid, my heart is thine; I lay its dearest offering at thy feet; I burn its sweetest incense on thy shrine, For thou, sweet maid, art all divine, For worship thou art meet.

Let those who never felt the glow That summer suns have spread o'er flowery meads, Whose hearts have never thrilled at arch-ed bow, Or when the cascade's crystal flow Is sparkling into beads,

Deny thy charms. To me thy smile Is sweeter boon than untried worlds can yield; No creed of priests can ever lure me while Thy wondrous love so free from guile, Is everywhere revealed.

The severing clouds at early dawn Blush red as roses bursting into bloom At thy deft touch; and on the dewy lawn The drapery of night withdrawn I find no hint of gloom.

And when at noon the streets I quit For dappled shade or thickest leafy bower, Then, blushing, thou dost come with me to sit And read the poems thou hast writ In leaf and tint of flower.

At evening walking arm in arm With thee through glen or by the river's brink, I watch the shades descend o'er distant farm And still the world has lost no charm That soul can wish or think.

The loom of fancy never wove Beneath the starlit skies of southern seas A dream of beauty thy enchanting love On hill or stream or sheltered cove, Or on the open leas

Has not supplied; and thou, sweet maid, Dost never weary, but from day to day, And season unto season, every shade In sky or cloud is new inlaid With colors soft or gay.

Yon mountain late enrobed in snow Thou clothest now in dress of shimmering green; Ere long another garb wilt thou bestow Upon her, lest thy lover grow Aweary of the scene.

And when the sheen of summer sky Shall fade into October's sombre gray, And Autumn's gayest flowers a-withered lie, For me yon mountain thou will tie Into a rare bouquet.

HER EYES

I dare not look again!

In those vast depths of infinite blue There are visions of joy and love as true As ever haunted a poet's ken.

This sordid earth's my lot; Those dreams must be forgot-- I dare not look again.

I dare not look again!

Those dreams must be forgot The infinite blue, with its love so true And the visions I dare not pen.

This sordid earth's my lot.

Heavens! might I but look again!

THE ROSE OF LOVE

The flowers closed their autumn bloom Awhile the bleak winds blew, And meekly bowing to their doom They lay in shroud of frozen gloom The whole long winter through.

There's ever been the same sad tale To tell of Nature's loves; Her artful methods never fail To win the hearts they once a.s.sail, Though she inconstant proves.

Last spring I heard the whisperings low To modest Daffodil That won her smile ere yet the snow Had melted and begun its flow Adown the little rill.

And soon her soft caresses proved Too much for Meadow Rue; And next Anemone was moved; Spring Beauty whom the nymphs had loved In shady woods to woo.

But some less trustful, still were slow To yield their loves' perfume, Till, melted by the summer's glow, They let their pent-up pa.s.sions flow Through many colored bloom.

But Nature soon withdrew her smile; I saw their petals pale And droop, now conscious of the guile Their fickle lover used the while She wooed them in the vale.

All winter I had breathed upon The clos-ed bud of love; Its milk-white petals, one by one At last unfolded in the sun My heart had longed to prove.

And when it reached its full broad blow It shed a fragrance sweet From out its bosom lilied snow,-- And incense that the G.o.ds I know Had smiled with joy to greet.

And Nature now begins again Her courtship with the flowers; She chants in groves her minstrel strain, She smiles, and frowns, and weeps in rain Of gentle April showers.

And while she tries with song of thrush Once more those hearts to move, I've seen her oft relentless crush,-- My bud still blooms forever fresh-- It is the _Rose_ of _Love_!