A secret place her burning Prince
Decks, while his heart-strings quiver.
Homesick for our cinder world,
Her low-born shoulders shiver;
She longs for sleep in cinders curled—
We, for the day-dream river.
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Where a river roars in rapids
Where peace has decked the pasturesOur guardian angels met.Long they had sought each otherIn God’s mysterious name,Had climbed the solemn chaos tidesAlone, with hope aflame:Amid the demon deeps had woundBy many a fearful way.As they beheld each otherTheir shout made glad the day.No need of purse delayed them,No hand of friend or kin —Nor menace…
O dandelion, rich and haughty,
Each day is coronation time,You have no humble hours.I like to see you bring a troopTo beat the blue-grass spears,To scorn the lawn-mower that would beLike fate’s triumphant shears,Your yellow heads are cut away,It seems your reign is o’er.By noon you raise a sea of starsMore golden than before.
It is portentous, and a thing of state
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,Near the old court-house pacing up and down.Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yardsHe lingers where his children used to play,Or through the market, on the well-worn stonesHe stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,A famous high top-hat and plain…
Romance was always young.
Just eight years oldWith marvellous dark hair.Younger than Dante found youWhen you turnedHis heart into the wayThat found the heavenly stair.Perhaps we must be strangers.I confessMy soul this hour is Dante’s,And your careShould be for dollsWhose painted hands caressYour marvellous dark hair.Romance, with moonflower faceAnd morning eyes,And lips whose thread of scarlet prophesiesThe canticles of…
(Written with the hope that the socialists might yet dethrone Kaiser and Czar.)
Creeping into their cages.Here’s to the fairy mice that biteThe elephants fat and wise:Hidden in the hay-pile while the elephant thunder rages.Here’s to the scurrying, timid miceThrough whom the proud cause dies.Here’s to the seeming accidentWhen all is planned and working,All the flywheels turning,Not a vassal shirking.Here’s to the hidden tunneling thingThat brings the mountain’s…
A chant for a children’s pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted by George Mather Richards.
I saw a proud, mysterious catToo proud to catch a mouse or rat—Mew, mew, mew.But catnip she would eat, and purr,But catnip she would eat, and purr.And goldfish she did much prefer—Mew, mew, mew.I saw a cat—’twas but a dream,I saw a cat—’twas but a dreamWho scorned the slave that brought her cream—Mew, mew, mew.Unless…