A SONG OF FAIRIES

Oh, the beauty of the world is in this garden, I hear it stir on every hand.

See how the flowers keep still because of it!

hear how it trembles in the blackbird's song!

There is a secret in it, a blessed mystery.

I fain would weep to feel it near me, my eyes grow dim before these unseen wings.

And the secret is in other places, it is in songs and music and all lovers' hearts.

Hush now, and walk on tiptoe, for these are fairy things.

ELIZABETH KIRBY

A SONG TO BELINDA

Belinda in her dimity, Whereon are wrought pink roses, Trips through the boxwood paths to me, A-down the garden-closes, As though a hundred roses came, ('Twas so I thought) to meet me, As though one rosebud said my name And bent its head to greet me.

Belinda, in your rose-wrought dress You seemed the garden's growing; The tilt and toss o' you, no less Than wind-swayed posy blowing.

'Twas so I watched in sweet dismay, Lest in that happy hour, Sudden you'd stop and thrill and sway And turn into a flower.

THEODOSIA GARRISON

SWEETHEART-LADY

De roses lean ter love her an' des won't leave de place; De climbin' mawnin'-glories sweet-smilin' in her face; De twinklin' pathway know her an' seem ter pa.s.s de word, An' de South Win' singin' ter her ter match de mockin'-bird.

She sweetheart ter de Springtime, W'en de dreamy roses stir, An' Winter shine lak' Summer An' wear a rose fer her.

"Sweetheart!" sing de Medder, w'en lak' de light she pa.s.s; De River take de tune up: "Make me yo' lookin'-gla.s.s!"

But des who her true lover she never let 'em know; De Win' is sich a tell-tale, an' de River run on so!

But Springtime come a-courtin'

An' let de blossoms fall, An' Summer say: "I loves you!"

She sweetheart ter 'em ALL!

FRANK L. STANTON

HEART'S GARDEN

I have a garden filled with many flowers: The mignonette, the sweet-pea, and the rose, Daisies, and daffodils, whose color glows The fairer for the verdure which embowers Their beauty, and sets forth their hidden powers To charm my heart, whenever at the close Of day's dull hurry I would seek repose In my still garden through the darkening hours.

Thus, Lady, do I keep a place apart, Wherein my love for you cloistered shall be, Far from the rattle of the city cart, Even as my garden, where daily I may see The flowers of your love, and none from me May win the hidden secret of my heart.

NORREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR

A ROSE LOVER

Do thou, my rose, incline Thy heart to mine.

If love be real Ah, whisper, whisper low That I at last may know.

Quick! breathe it now!

A sigh,--a tear,--a vow: Oh, any lightest thing Its cadences to sing That loved am I, and not, Ah, not forgot!

FREDERIC A. WHITING

SONNET

The sweet caresses that I gave to you Are but the perfume of the Rose of Love, The color and the witchery thereof, And not the Rose itself. Each is a clue Merely, whereby to seek the hidden, true, Substantial blossom. Like the Jordan dove A kiss is but a symbol from above-- An emblem the Reality shines through.

The Rose of Love is ever unrevealed In all its beauty, for the sight of it Were perilous with purpose of the world.

The hand of Life has cautiously concealed The pollen-chamber of the infinite Flower, and its petals only half uncurled.

ELSA BARKER

A SONG IN A GARDEN

Will the garden never forget That it whispers over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette?

Where is your lover--your lover?"

Oh, roses I helped to grow, Oh, lily and mignonette, Must you always question me so, "Where is your lover, Nanette?"

Since you looked on my joy one day, Is my grief then a lesser thing?

Have you only this to say When I pray you for comforting?

Now that I walk alone Here where our hands were met, Must you whisper me everyone, "Where is your lover, Nanette?"

I have mourned with you year and year, When the Autumn has left you bare, And now that my heart is sere Does not one of your roses care?

Oh, help me forget--forget, Nor question over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette?

Where is your lover--your lover?"

THEODOSIA GARRISON

"IT WAS JUNE IN THE GARDEN"

It was June in the garden, It was our time, our day; And our gaze with love on everything Did fall; They seemed then softly opening, And they saw and loved us both, The roses all.

The sky was purer than all limpid thought; Insect and bird Swept through the golden texture of the air, Unheard; Our kisses were so fair they brought Exaltation to both light and bird.

It seemed as though a happiness at once Had skied itself and wished the heavens entire For its resplendent fire; And life, all pulsing life, had entered in, Into the fissures of our beings to the core, To fling them higher.

And there was nothing but invocatory cries, Mad impulses, prayers and vows that cleave The arched skies, And sudden yearning to create new G.o.ds, In order to believe.

EMILE VERHAEREN

TWO ROSES