There was no time to spare: a wave E'en then broke growling at my feet; One last look to the sky I gave, Then sprang my eager foes to meet. Loud rang the fray above our grave I felt the vessel downward reel As my last thrust met thrusting steel. I heard a roaring in my ears; A green wall pressed against my eyes; And with my last expiring breath SLEEP IN a tangled, scented hollow, Light and song have flown away Death and Sleep the rest have wrought — Death and Sleep, who came unsought. HIS QUEST WHAT Seek'st thou at this madman's pace? And drowsy poppies nod and blow. Break wide before, then all is dark. Sometimes on plains, wide, still, and stark, I hear a voice; I seek the sound, To find her dwelling rode he forth, The blood in Pickett's heart Was of a ruddier hue Than the reddest bloom whose petals part I think the fairest flowers that blow By this historic dead. The immemorial years Such valor never knew As poured a flood of crimson blood Living and dead, in faith the same, Crowned with the rosy wreath of fame Not these had made afraid King Arthur's mystic sword Yours was the strain of high emprise, When Douglas flung the heart And said: "He leads. We do not part: No mightier impulse stirred his soul Of freedom in that fight. The fair goal was not won, Your deeds of mighty prowess shame With which Time's bloody pages flame. Unto the dead farewell! They are hid in the dark and cold; And the broken shaft and the roses tell What is left of the tale untold. They are deaf to the martial music's call Till a judgment dawn shall break, When the trumpet of Truth shall proclaim to all: "They perished for my sake!" A sinless touch, austere yet warm, Around her girlish figure pressed, Caught the sweet imprint of her breast, And held her, surely clasped, from harm. Truer than work of sculptor's art Comes this dear maid of long ago, Sheltered from woeful chance, to show A spirit's lovely counterpart, And bid mistrustful men be sure That form shall fate of flesh escape, And, quit of earth's corruptions, shape Itself, imperishably pure. A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE To put new shingles on old roofs; With seasonable flannel shirts; The Little Sister of the Poor. She carries, everywhere she goes, Kind words and chickens, jams and coals; Poultices for corporeal woes, And sympathy for downcast souls: Her currant jelly, her quinine, The lips of fever move to bless; She makes the humble sick-room shine With unaccustomed tidiness. A heart of hers the instant twin I also serve my fellow-men, Though in a somewhat different line. The Poor, and their concerns, she has Monopolized, because of which It falls to me to labor as A Little Brother of the Rich. For their sake at no sacrifice As ballast on their yachts I sail. And brave the chances of a storm; I even use my own inside To keep their wines and victuals warm. Those whom we strive to benefit I love my Rich, and I admit That they are very good to me. Succor the Poor, my sisters, - I, While heaven shall still vouchsafe r health, Will strive to share and mollify EGOTISM WITHOUT him still this whirling earth Might spin its course around the sun, And death still dog the heels of birth, And life be lived, and duty done. Without him let the rapt earth dree Comets may crash, or inner fire Or earth may lose Cohesion's tire, It's naught to me if he 's not here, Lizette Woodworth Hecse LYDIA BREAK forth, break forth, O Sudbury town, I hear it on the wharves below; The good folk as they churchward go My mother, just for love of her, For Lydia's bed must have the sheet The violet flags are out once more The thorn-bush at Saint Martin's door So, Sudbury, bid your gardens blow, Of all the words that I do know, ANNE SUDBURY MEETING-HOUSE, 1653 HER eyes be like the violets, Ablow in Sudbury lane; When she doth smile, her face is sweet As blossoms after rain; With grief I think of my gray hairs, And wish me young again. In comes she through the dark old door And she doth bring the tender wind Our parson stands up straight and tall, Most stiff and still the good folk sit And if these things be true, |