CORONATION

AT the king's gate the subtle noon Wove filmy yellow nets of sun; Into the drowsy snare too soon

The guards fell one by one.

On the king's gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They called him dead;

And made his eldest son one day

Slave in his father's stead.

MORN

IN what a strange bewilderment do we Awake each morn from out the brief night's sleep.

Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep

Its slow way back, as if it could not free
Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory,
Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep
The joy or grief which it had last to keep
For us; and by the joy or grief we see
The new day dawneth like the yesterday;
We are unchanged; our life the same we
knew

Before. I wonder if this is the way
We wake from death's short sleep, to
struggle through

A brief bewilderment, and in dismay
Behold our life unto our old life true.

EMIGRAVIT

WITH Sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs.

Strange names shine out beneath her figure head.

What glad farewells with eager eyes are said!

What cheer for him who goes, and him who stays!

Fair skies, rich lands, new homes, and untried days

Some go to seek: the rest but wait instead, Watching the way wherein their comrades led,

Until the next stanch ship her flag doth raise. Who knows what myriad colonies there are Of fairest fields, and rich, undreamed-of gains

Thick planted in the distant shining plains Which we call sky because they lie so far? Oh, write of me, not "Died in bitter pains," But "Emigrated to another star!"

POPPIES IN THE WHEAT

ALONG Ancona's bills the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air, with ebb and flow Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat

Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet

Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. The farmer does not know

That they are there. He walks with heavy feet,

Counting the bread and wine by autumn's gain,

But I, -I smile to think that days remain Perhaps to me in which, though bread be

sweet

No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain,

I shall be glad remembering how the fleet, Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat.

A LAST PRAYER

FATHER, I scarcely dare to pray,
So clear I see, now it is done,
That I have wasted half my day,
And left my work but just begun;

So clear I see that things I thought
Were right or harmless were a sin;
So clear I see that I have sought,
Unconscious, selfish aims to win;

So clear I see that I have hurt
The souls I might have helped to save;
That I have slothful been, inert,

Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave.

In outskirts of thy kingdoms vast, Father, the humblest spot give me; Set me the lowliest task thou hast; Let me repentant work for thee!

HABEAS CORPUS

My body, eh? Friend Death, how now ? Why all this tedious pomp of writ? Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow

For half a century, bit by bit.

In faith thou knowest more to-day
Than I do, where it can be found!

SAMUEL HOAR

A YEAR ago how often did I meet
Under these elms, once more in sober bloom,
Thy tall, sad figure pacing down the
street,

But now the robin sings above thy tomb. Thy name on other shores may ne'er be known,

Though austere Rome no graver Consul knew;

But Massachusetts her true son doth own:
Out of her soil thy hardy virtues grew.
She loves the man who chose the con-
quered cause,

The upright soul that bowed to God alone,

The clean hand that upheld her equal laws,

The old religion, never yet outgrown,
The cold demeanor and warm heart be-

neath,

The simple grandeur of thy life and death.

ARIANA1

SWEET saint! whose rising dawned upon the sight

Like fair Aurora chasing mists away,
Our ocean billows, and thy western height
Gave back reflections of the tender ray,
Sparkling and smiling as night turned to
day:

Ah! whither vanished that celestial light?
Suns rise and set, Monadnoc's amethyst
Year-long above the sullen cloud appears,
Daily the waves our summer strand have
kissed,

But thou returnest not with days and years: Or is it thine, yon clear and beckoning star,

Seen o'er the hills that guarded once thy home?

Dost guide thy friend's free steps that widely roam

Toward that far country where his wishes are ?

AT CHAPPAQUA

With rapture still. This breeze once fanned

his brow.

This is the peaceful Mecca all men know!

THE SCARLET TANAGER

A BALL of fire shoots through the tamarack
In scarlet splendor, on voluptuous wings;
Delirious joy the pyrotechnist brings,
Who marks for us high summer's almanac.
How instantly the red-coat hurtles back!
No fiercer flame has flashed beneath the sky.
Note now the rapture in his cautious eye,
The conflagration lit along his track.
Winged soul of beauty, tropic in desire,
Thy love seems alien in our northern zone;
Thou giv'st to our green lands a burst of fire
And callest back the fables we disown.
The hot equator thou mightst well inspire,
Or stand above some Eastern monarch's
throne.