Alice with smiles along her lips; Dolores still and tender; Iris whose eyes can tell me more than tongue shall ever say; They offer to my open arms their bodies soft and slender, Bringing the best of summer here, they garlanded to-day.

Into my study they have swept, and bra.s.ses from Benares, Vases from Venice they have filled, and hung their wreaths around The portrait where their mother smiles like the tall tranquil Maries That Perugino used to paint, with hair like sunlight crowned.

"Mother is coming home to-day." (The words themselves are singing.) "How long it is," our litany, forgotten, they repeat, Making their last response to love, their last oblation bringing Till at the hour of evensong, their voices still more sweet, Tremble and sanctify the house where happy hearts shall meet.

JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD

THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN

When to the garden of untroubled thought I came of late, and saw the open door, And wished again to enter, and explore The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, It seemed some purer voice must speak before I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, That Eden lost unknown and found unsought.

Then just within the gate I saw a child,-- A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; He held his hands to me, and softly smiled With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; I am the little child you used to be."

HENRY VAN d.y.k.e

A WONDER GARDEN

"And a little child shall lead them"

Into her world, beneath her smiling skies; A little child with wide, wondering eyes Deep with the mystery that in them lies.

Her soft hand plucks a stem asunder, And with the dream that is a part Of Childhood's heart, She questions: "Now I want to wonder!"

She "wants to wonder" how so fair a thing Is born; from what it springs, and why it blooms: Whence comes its sweet, elusive odor rare,-- The garnered fragrance of a hundred Junes.

Was it all planned,--or just some lovely blunder?

Thus gazing, with the seeking look that lies In Childhood's eyes, She questions: "Now I want to wonder!"

Dear Child, your groping mind seeks far and true: Mankind and Nature,--all "want to wonder" too.

FREDERIC A. WHITING

FROM A CAR-WINDOW

Pines, and a blur of lithe young gra.s.ses; Gold in a pool, from the western glow; Spread of wings where the last thrush pa.s.ses-- And thoughts of you as the sun dips low.

Quiet lane, and an irised meadow ...

(_How many summers have died since then?_) ...

I wish you knew how the deepening shadow Lies on the blue and green again!

Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow Etched in gray when a star appears: Sunset,... twilight,... and dark to follow,...

And thoughts of you thro' a mist of tears.

RUTH GUTHRIE HARDING

SONG OF THE WEARY TRAVELLER

I am weary. I would rest On the wide earth's swelling breast, Nurtured by the quiet sod Where the fragrant dew has trod, Soothed by all the winds that pa.s.s, Hearing voices in the gra.s.s Of the little insect things Happier than the mightiest kings!

I am weary. I would sleep In some quiet perfumed deep Where no human touch could bring Tears to me or anything.

There I would forget to weep And my silent cloister keep,-- There I would the earth embrace Meeting Beauty face to face.

I am weary. I would go Where the fields are white with snow, Where the violets are lain Far from human strife and pain-- Far from longing and delight, Thro' the endless starry night, There I would forget to weep, And my silent cloister keep.

BLANCHE SHOEMAKER WAGSTAFF

COBWEBS

Who would not praise thee, miracle of Frost?

Some gesture overnight, some breath benign, And lo! the tree's a fountain all a-shine, The hedge a throne of unimagined cost; In wheel and fan along a wall embossed, The spider's humble handiwork shows fine With jewels girdling every airy line; Though the small mason in the cold be lost.

Web after web, a morning snare of bliss Starring with beauty the whole neighbourhood, May well beget an envy clean and good.

When man goes too into the earth-abyss, And G.o.d in His altered garden walks, I would My secret woof might gleam so fair as this.

LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY

BLIND

The Spring blew trumpets of color; Her Green sang in my brain-- I heard a blind man groping "Tap--tap" with his cane;

I pitied him his blindness; But can I boast, "I see?"

Perhaps there walks a spirit Close by, who pities me,--

A spirit who hears me tapping The five-sensed cane of mind Amid such unguessed glories-- That I--am worse than blind!

HARRY KEMP

HERB OF GRACE

I do not know what sings in me-- I only know it sings When pale the stars, and every tree Is glad with waking wings.

I only know the air is sweet With wondrous flowers unseen-- That unaccountably complete Is June's accustomed green.

The wind has magic in its touch; Strange dreams the sunsets give.

Life I have questioned overmuch-- To-day, I live.

AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR

BEFORE MARY OF MAGDALA CAME

Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre.... The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early ... unto the sepulchre....

And ... she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing....

Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him ... Master. St. John.