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Title: Rain and roses

Author: Jeannette Fraser Henshall

Release date: October 4, 2020 [eBook #63373]

Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAIN AND ROSES ***

RAIN AND ROSES

RAIN AND ROSES

By

JEANNETTE FRASER HENSHALL

To My Daughter

BEULAH

1923

THE STRATFORD CO., PUBLISHERS

Boston, Massachusetts

Copyright, 1923

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers

Boston, Mass.

The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A.

Contents

Page

Inadequate

1

Old Masonry

2

Hymn of Adoration

4

Sweet Distress

5

The Chastening

6

The Four Winds of Heaven

8

Friend

9

Humility

10

Shadows

11

Two Roads

12

The Reason

14

When June Comes

15

Through Loving Eyes

17

Worship

18

Evermore

20

A City Guest

22

Reminders

24

Soul

25

Farewell

26

Rainbow Ribbons

28

My Neighbor’s Roses

30

The Long Twilight

31

A Lone Walk

33

A Death Blow

35

The Breath of Life

36

A Day in Spring

38

Autumn

39

Little Girl

40

My Old House and The Weather

42

Blue Stone River, W. Va.

44

Sea Hunger

46

Tree Sounds

47

A Wish

48

Middle Creek, W. Va.

49

Endie

50

In Our Old Street

52

Honey

54

Moon Dazzle

55

To Friends

56

To a Meadow Lark

57

Broken Numbers

58

I’m Going Out

60

Ingleside

62

Friendship

63

This Year

65

Spring Walkers

66

Winter Woods

68

Brother O’ Mine

71

Dream

73

Shine and Shower

75

Lines to Death

76

To the New Year

78

Homesickness

80

To Love

81

Your Friend

82

Draw Close to the Fire

83

What Love Is

84

Inadequate

FRIEND of my heart when you’re away

I fashion for my tongue,

A thousand things to say to you

But dear heart when you come,

How needless is my well formed phrase,

And my care chosen words,

Take swift and sudden flight away,

Like small wind-riven birds.

And with you here, my full glad heart

Can only say, you’ve come.

For all your touching, pleading ways

But serve to make me dumb.

Old Masonry

LONG, long ago in our old street

Back from the busy road,

An old deserted stone house stood

Breaking beneath its load.

Such ruin that remained of peaks

Stood out against the skies.

And the memory of old things

Looked from behind its eyes.

In summer time this dead old house

Set in its flowery space.

One likened to a stranger

In a much too friendly place.

In winter time its creaking frame

With all its falling beams,

Was like a sea rocked sailor

Grown weary of his dreams.

It leaned a little westward.

And now I think it knew,

And was waiting other voices

It long had listened to.

Once I was part of this old ruin

When I myself were young.

Out of pity I must leave you

And half the song unsung.

Hymn of Adoration

I AM grown weary for new scenes

But not of human make.

But O! for hills and long green fields,

A splintered, glittering lake.

This day I am an intimate

With sky and bird and tree.

With budding boughs and turbulent streams

And God’s immensity.

I am enamored with fresh days

Drenched with rain and sun.

The tho’t of thine omnipotence

O! God has made me dumb.

Thy goodness is so wide, a thing

Beat, for me slower time.

I cannot sing so great a song

In one short life like mine.

Sweet Distress

I HAVE known the beauty

Of a firegold west.

And from the hurt in rainsong

I shall never rest.

I heard the water running

From a green hill’s crest,

But what is sweet in sorrow

Hearts remember best.

The Chastening

I SEE thee now thine innocence

Writ on thy soul’s clear skies.

Thy laughter loving mouth

Thy love provoking eyes.

I mark thy soft girl fairness

Thy strong young body’s grace,

The woman soul that I have nursed

Dawning behind thy face.

I note with fear thy heedless

And unchided turbulence.

Unfaltering faith in life and love

Thine air of confidence.

And then I see as seers might see

Even as one’s own God.

Thy straight, slim youthfulness

Bend to the chastening rod.

I writhe to think I may not bear

The blows, for thine own sake

I can not, tho’ ’tis mine to know

How one small heart can ache.

In the winds of thy fierce breaking

God grant I never see

Thy flashing spirit sullen,

Or thy lips in mutiny.

But rather child, I’d have thee know

Even as I the rod,

As a tuning fork to bring thy song

Back to the harp of God.

The Four Winds of Heaven

WHEN I hear the north wind

It never fails to bring,

Reminders of for-get-me-nots

And sunny days in spring.

And O! the east wind carries

Upon its scented sail,

The tho’t of pink arbutus

In some secluded vale.

And how I’d like to gather

When winds are in the west,

A brace of orange blossoms

To hold against my breast.

But O! I love the south wind

That breathes across the loam,

For O! the tender south wind

Just whispers dear “come home!”

Friend

LAST night when I was watching shadows lengthen

From twilight into deeper, darker lines,

The lazy river caught my little boat dear,

And swept it in among the clinging vines.

And somehow in the mirror of the current

I saw your kindly face look back at me.

Then I reached my eager hands toward you

As one would do to friends across the sea.

Friend O! mine, don’t think that I’ve forgotten,

Tho’ parted now by many a weary mile.

In every little pool I see reflected,

Your eyes forever tender with a smile

And someday when GOD calls me from my dreaming

And draws me from life’s loneliness apart,

I’ll carry all these things that I remember—

About you, up to heaven in my heart.

Humility

I HAVE come a long way

Over sea and sod.

I found nothing small as me,

Nothing great as GOD.

God has in his keeping

Eternities of time.

He hears worlds of trouble

But, gives ear to mine.

He sways stars and planets,

“Keeps the keys of death.”

But in his loving kindness

Paused to give me breath.

I have seen a mountain

Sweet flowers, a bird, a tree.

God has lovely children

Dare he look on me?

Shadows

I SAT with dreams and mated them with shadows

Where sunlight flecked the grass and trickled thru

Each swaying twig and branch of spruce and elder

Adoringly, they somehow spoke of you.

I sat tense-eyed, my longing vision sensing,

An unseen, art-wise hand begin to trace.

With all love’s magic trickery displaying

To me; your hair, your pallid waiting face.

In all these voiceless years of night and grieving

Above thy grave I grasp this gleam of grace.

Perhaps sometime, where is no pain or parting

I’ll smile again into your waiting face.

Two Roads

THERE are two roads near Joppa town

And here I doubting stood,

For one went winding round the hill

The other thru the wood.

And if I took the winding road

’Twould lead me thru the mall,

Of noise and gossipers for which

I have no heart at all.

Sweet briar nodded from the hill,

The blue bells from the shade.

A purple finch decided me,

So in the wood I stayed.

A brooding bird and restless young,

Began to chide and fret.

And wonder in bird fashion what

I ever came to get.

A green snake ran across my path

Its eyes were jewel small.

A flying squirrel left a tree,

That seemed ten paces tall.

I picked a fern that had uncurled

Itself from out the ground.

And O! the wood delighted me,

The way it stood around.

And there were holy moments when

My very soul went still.

And sad I was for folks who took

The road around the hill.

And when I left the sancted place,

My arms were loaded down.

It cost me not one pang to shun,

The road to Joppa town.

The Reason

WHEN I was but a little girl

Mere flotsam on life’s sea,

Because of youth a lovely rose

Meant, just a rose to me.

Before I knew that love was life,

And life were all of love.

The sky was only atmosphere

And God frowned up above.

But now I am a woman grown

And know love tenderly,

I can not tell you dear how much

God’s roses mean to me.

When June Comes

WHEN June comes back again I’ll sit

Away back from the road and dip

My face and arms in clover blooms,

And drink my fill of their perfumes,

And steep myself in one great gleam

Of sunlight, and I’ll dream,

And dream,

And dream.

I’ll lean back in the grass and sigh

And look love at the blue, blue sky.

Until my senses reel and reel,

Like elm tree branches and a feel—

Of drowsiness oozes between,

My eyelids, while I dream,

And dream,

And dream.

A lethargy binds tongue and lips,

And creeps down to my fingertips.

Troubles, cares and everything,

Float out past my remembering.

And all the world is one great beam

Of gladness, while I dream,

And dream,

And dream.

Through Loving Eyes

LIKE a careless child in the drifts it stood

Against the darkness of the wood,

Even the path was not cut through

Up to the door it led you to.

Beauty untarnished, but never a sound

Save for the whispering trees around.

Its shining eyes on the cold world shone

Warm and bright from its snowy comb.

Cheer was the word the blue fume wrote

As it cleared itself from the chimney’s throat.

The drifts that lay on the tent like sheds

Were like the covers of untouched beds.

A great white garment of snow and frost

Was laid on the fence, but the hedge was lost.

A-while away the home garden park

Divides itself from the woods soft dark.

Dear God I said, you had meant to please

When giving man such gifts as these.

Worship

I DID not always know ’twas kind

Of thee to let me pass,

And with my sacrilegious feet

Walk lightly thru thy grass.

How could I know, when I was young

’Twas one of thine own dreams,

To tender me the license of

Thy hills and singing streams.

How could’st thou take even a part

Of thy remotest time,

And weld me, poor unworthly link,

Into this chain of thine.

One day I learned at cost of pain

Among the shadows dim,

Thy gift of violets, Oh! God

Their fragrance cutting in.

I set apart one hallowed day

Forever dear to me.

Because thou taughtest me to love

A flowering apple tree.

And since I’ve older grown and drawn

To solitudes apart,

I find I cannot tell the Lord

All that is in my heart.

Evermore

Then I go on from here I’ll take

The ever pleasant memory of a lake.

I’ll tightly lock within my spirit breast

The picture of a grim old mountain’s crest.

A little stream’s song running ever clear

And all the lonely places I hold dear.

A mocking bird, a drenched and dripping tree.

O! I shall keep my hunger for the sea.

I shall keep my knowledge of the paths I know

The gates of many mornings and the glow,

Of sunset, on a firegold window pane,

The mist on young nasturtiums after rain.

Virginia creeper on some quaint old garden wall

The sound of dropping nuts, I’ll take them all.

The falling leaves, the closing of the year,

I’ll not forget, tho’ I go on from here.

These tho’ts I shall retain (e’en past the gates of death),

Of burnished autumn leaves, a tiny baby’s breath.

In my heart I’ll take the Heaven’s most untried height

A moon drowned flower, from some star riven night.

I shall remember thru great ages of GOD’S time

The wind in clover, rain in summer time.

Think you I could forget, thru death’s wild fret and pain

The look of slim young birches in the rain?

A City Guest

THE wonder never went out of her eyes

When she saw the sweep of our wide blue skies,

The things we farmers forget in the pain

Of sowing and planting and reaping again.

Things taken for granted loose the touch

Of newness and dazzle we love so much.

While she, soft-eyed and with shining face,

Found pleasure in all things about the place.

She gathered the flowers in wind and rain

That we called common and tho’t real plain.

From the sweep of our lawn to the poppy bed

Flaunting their colors about her head.

Till we ourselves looked with glad new eyes

On an old, old setting, but a new sunrise.

Cold grey days she would rise and sing

For she found beauty in everything.

Will she ever know in the city street

How we think of her when the snow and sleet,

Make houses enjoyable things to own,

How often we mention her name at home?

Can she ever know with her warm flower heart,

How she gave us back what we lost in part.

How the thought of her when it’s cold with rain,

Fills the house and the halls, with herself again.

Reminders

THE sun, the wind, and rain

The trees, the flowers and skies,

A grosbeak’s note

From its flaming throat

And my bosom is tossed with sighs.

Eyebeams and locks of hair

The curve of a white cheek near,

Each day of the week

Filled full of the sweet

Reminders of you, my dear.

The crowd and the city street,

A hill that is bleak and bare.

A fleecy cloud

Floating high and proud

And I think of my darling’s hair.

A voice that is strangely like

Your own that I turn to see;

A silvery laugh,

Convincing me half

My dreams have been fooling me.

Soul

BECAUSE,

There never was a voice on earth

Could soothe its harrowings,

That’s why these souls God gave to us

Are always lonely things.

Because,

Life is so short, and death so sure,

And worlds uncertain things,

And time so fleet and heaven so high

Souls have such restless wings.

Because,

’Twas fashioned in the heavenly realm

Of God’s creative schemes,

That’s why a soul goes hungrily

From dream to shining dream.

Farewell

WHEN you are twining wreaths of rose and columbine

To soften outlines of a tomb too new,

Remember, spring makes little tents all green and cool

For soldier boys this old world never knew.

When spring comes tripping down the lane once more

And children bring you violets of blue,

When your tender heart is strained, beyond the breaking

Let this be my farewell, dear heart, to you.

When spring comes romping, singing, back again,

Dressed in her garments fragrant, fresh and new;

When once more robins sing among the budding trees

All honey sweet, with apple blooms and dew.

When you have searched the woods as once you did

For specimens of moss and long, dank fern,

Remember, that I too have loved the flowers

But, look no more, no more for my return.

Rainbow Ribbons

BRING me rainbow ribbons

And a band of blue,

Bring me threads of silver

From the moonbeams’ hue.

Bring a pure cloud fleecy,

Snatch a sunbeam bright,

Tints from twilight evenings,

Matchless and just right,

To mate with all her beauty.

These amassed will make the dreams

Tender, pure and holy

Of a girl just turned thirteen.

Bring me rainbow ribbons

From the sunset too

Then a white tho’t from the angels

Who are holding hands with you.

Bring the rosebud’s fragrance

And the apple blossom’s bloom

The hushed voice from the morning

Then leave a little room,

For a thousand transient colors

From a God’s infinite dream

And you’ll have the soul and fancies

Of a girl just turned thirteen.

My Neighbor’s Roses

MY neighbor’s roses always grow

In such a tantalizing row,

Of fragrance and perfume,

A riotous mass of twilight bloom.

And I am tempted oftentimes

When walking where the stray ones climb,

To reach my willing hands out so

And clasp each crimson, flaming glow.

A breeze steals softly thru the day

And brushes them too far away.

Christ! make me kind enough to give

Of roses while my friends yet live.

And if they reach their eager hands,

To where my flowers with clinging bands,

Are nodding, tempting, from the row.

Oh! Christ I pray let breezes blow

A thousand fragrant, tender charms

Into my neighbor’s outstretched arms.

Then keep my burning heart and tho’t,

Tender enough to stay them not.

The Long Twilight

WHEN “Pop” is bald, and my hair is white,

And the stage is set, for a long twilight;

When we are alone in our little den

He with his pipe and I with my pen,

’Twill not be regrets that make us sigh

For we will have things that the world can’t buy.

For we have snatched from the mirth mad throng

A little of love and a deathless song.

A few glad dreams and our tho’ts all white,

The silence of God, in the long twilight.

When “Pop” is bald and my hair is white,

And we’re nearing the end of the long twilight,

’Twill not seem cold in the darksome wood

For we have been friends with solitude.

And often yearned in the shadows cold

For the friendly smiles the gods withold.

Hearts all the braver for the feel of pain,

For a rose grows sweeter every time it rains.

A few glad notes from a comrade’s song

We’ll sing in the night as we go along.

For we carry the blossoms a frost ne’er blights

And we’ll have no morning till we’ve said goodnight.

A Lone Walk

WHEN I had left the city street

And lost the open road,

I breathed contentedly and deep

As one who shifts a load.

I wasn’t caring where I went

Or where I meant to go.

But I was tossing from my path

The brown leaves drifted so.

When I was wondering aimlessly

Just what my quest would bring.

I saw a pink arbutus bloom

And heard a warbler sing.

The sky seemed blue and higher here

Than it was back in town.

And Oh! the wind delighted me,

The way it blew around.

And then I sought the grey glen road.

Went with it thru the wood.

And in its long green isles I walked

And worshipfully stood.

My neighbor questioned from the fence

What I had seen out there?

I said I sought adventure

And I found it everywhere.

A Death Blow

HE said goodbye, you hobbled out,

The Doctor shut the door.

From your face I knew he’d told you

Things we had guessed before.

I saw you slightly tremble

But I reached you ere you fell.

Your fixèd face said many things

More than you cared to tell.

One does not receive death warrants

As one would a courtesy.

After awhile your head went up

And you talked it all out with me.

Brave little woman I knew you

Knew you were never afraid.

Not for yourself, You forbid me—

To speak and my questions you staid.

All I could give was silence.

Your pride forbade me much.

Tho’ I longed to bear your burden

Even to be your crutch.

The Breath of Life

I’D like to lift the threads of life

And weave them on a loom

And make a pattern beautiful,

As any day in June.

I’d put ten thousand violets

And shimmering leaves of green,

Around the edge and over it,

To hide each vulgar seam.

Because, death brushed me with dark wings,

Reluctant passed me by,

I take the threads of life again

And weave and smile and sigh.

But if I had a God-like power

Omnipotence of mind,

To put the tho’t of suffering

And death a league behind.

Life would be violets to me

Much sweeter than a dream.

The pattern on my loom would show

No raw and ghastly seam.

But then methinks it is because

Of what the looms disclose.

The breath of life is sweeter

Than the fragrance of a rose.

A Day in Spring

GO slow, O! day immaculate;

Much slower than the rest.

Master of time, mark every hour

As tho’ thou were not pressed,—

Or hurried. But more leisurely

And gently let them chime.

Oh! morn, take off thy wings of speed

And let this day be mine.

O! day, immaculate and kind,

Make no rude haste or speed.

But loiter in less trodden paths

Walk lightly o’er the mead.

Spring and I are holding hands

On a green hill’s dazzling crest.

Make this day, God, go very slow

More slowly than the rest.

Autumn

I SEE you now, your autumn gown

In wanton fashion hung,

Your crimson scarf half rakishly,

To trifling breezes flung.

I was distressed and sad to think

You did not even care.

But once your harp sang low and sweet

You breathed a solemn prayer.

You sang soft broken numbers

Sad as your soul’s distress,

And I loved you no matter how wanton

Or scarlet or scanty your dress.

Little Girl

FROM out the calendar of time

Grant me one glorious day.

And let me follow singing streams,

So cool with tossing spray.

And riot in their pebbled beds

Where willows bend and swirl

Their giddy heads, as once they did

When I was, “little girl.”

And let me feel again the clutch

One gets down in the throat

From long admiring, silent things

Faint sounds and clouds afloat.

Let afternoon slip languidly,

Tree branches bend and twirl

Adoringly: as once they did

When I was “little girl.”

Give me one riotous unbound day

To climb a dizzy hill.

Waist deep in laurel, where wood birds

Gyrate and mock and trill.

Where even timid walkers’ steps

Unloose great rocks that hurl,

Delightedly, to depths I feared

When I was “little girl.”

Grant me one free unbounded day

Wherein I may explore,

The land where dream folks’ houses shed

Moon dazzle from the door.

Oh! riotous day detain my steps

Clasp me from this mist whirl

And let me live the dreams I dreamed

When I was “little girl.”

My Old House and the Weather

I GROW so very weary

Of the city’s crowded street

The babbling of voices

The restlessness of feet.

I often wish my friends would talk

Less dexterous and less clever,

And let me say a word about

My old house and the weather.

I long to stop those restless feet

And if I only could,

I’d still their babbling tongues awhile

With back-home quietude.

I long to let them know about

Birches that stand together,

And the hand that threw the blooms around

My old house and the weather.

But as it is I only take

Mere twigs of it to town,

The lilacs when they’re on the bush

And roses tumbling round.

But folks forget so hurriedly

And talk of fuss and feather,

I think they’d best come out and

My old house and the weather.

Bluestone River, W. Va.

SOMETIME in my day dreaming

Thru’ my half-lidded eyes,

I’m seeing old Virginia

And Old Virginia skies.

The narrow, crooked roadway,

The path by which we came,

And then I see the river,

Bluestone river, in the rain.

Then there’s the drooping willows

Swaying, swirling, side by side.

And the hollyhocks keep nodding

To each other in the tide.

And the mists we love o’ mornings

Puts our dropping tears to shame.

When we see it clear the river,

Bluestone river, in the rain.

And there’s the little homestead

Just across the running stream,

It beckons from the mountain

Like a kind hand in a dream.

A soft, mellow light is breaking

From each golden window pane,

And it shines down on the river,

Bluestone river, in the rain.

Sea Hunger

I’VE languished under many moons

And loved them all. Ah me!

But now my heart is filled too full

Of hunger for the sea.

When thinking of the white gulls

That ride the creamy foam,

I almost hear the brave winds

O’er singing seas at home.

And when I think of white mists

That rise from shore to shore,

In utter weariness I weep

But cannot see them more.

And some day when I leave my dreams

These tides in which I’ve striven,

I’ll lock their memories in my breast

And carry them to heaven.

Tree Sounds

THE forest closed and folded

About me like a tent.

The tree tops swayed and toppled

Rain riven and wind-rent.

The old harp in the pine trees

Struck cords minor and deep.

So in the storm tossed forest

I was rocked to sleep.

That was long ago, O’ ages,

Yet thru these rushing years,

The sounds of a wind rent forest

Is ever in my ears.

A Wish

THEY called me girl, gave me the name

Of one I’ll never see.

I wish they’d given me instead

The name of some nice tree.

A tree that rocks with every wind,

Fast rooted in the ground,

Straining its eager branches up

To where God’s looking down.

A neighbor to the grass and flowers.

A friend to all the skies,

A lovely tree that dares to romp

With every bird that flies.

A spruce, an elm, a tamarack;

Dear heaven, how can there be

A lovelier name, and how I wish

They’d given one to me.

Middle Creek, W. Va.

I HAVE a longing for a hill

A passion for small streams.

And there’s a creek that winds itself

Among my muted dreams.

A tumbling stream, you know the kind,

With water running clear,

Where birds might bathe between its songs

And pilgrims hover near.

It twines itself, love-fashion, round

A flowering tree, then worms—

And oozes in between the roots,

Of sycamores and ferns.

Petals float down and mingle with

Ribbons of grass while I

Am conscious that I am dreaming,

And writing while I sigh.

Endie

I LIKE to visit Endie’s house

She’s like a dream herself,

She has the books I know and love

Upon her reading shelf.

And when I go to her we talk

About the clouds and wind,

And if I drop from clouds to clods

Why; Endie doesn’t mind.

I like the streams, the singing ones,

But Endie likes a fall;

And if I disagee with her

She doesn’t mind at all.

Endie has a thousand things

To plant in one small space;

When I find it can’t be done

Regret is in her face.

She often says O! dare we plant,

Narcissus in a row?

But she agrees and I agree

Where hollyhocks should grow.

I only need to mention tea

And Endie’s soft eyes shine.

And then she talks; her language flows

More eloquent than mine.

Once ambition burned my breast

Endie, too, was fired.

But here is where I stop to rest

For Endie’s getting tired.

In Our Old Street

WE children played in a queer old street

That persistently seemed to hide,

Itself and us in a kindly way

From the great wide world outside.

And how we loved in our childishness

God’s work on the sea and land.

But death was secretive, dark and deep,

And never showed us his hand.

With awe we gazed on his work, sad work

And the flutter of ribbons white,

Made us all catch hands, hold our breath and sob

In our restless dreams at night.

When a baby came to our queer old street

So downy and vague and new,

We tiptoed out of the soft, dark room,

And the mystery grew and grew.

But many things we have learned since then

For life has a strange sad way,

We left the hills and the queer old street

Where we used to shout and play.

One of the things we have learned is this:

Tho’ death rides around rough shod,

Back of our births and our deaths and our loves

Is the all-kind heart of GOD.

Honey

HIS eyes were wide and large and bright

As shining drops of dew,

In which two violets had drowned

Themselves and made them blue.

His lips were O! so soft to kiss

His smile was quaint and funny;

Couldn’t think of any name

To call him only Honey.

No one ever tho’t that I

Was his sister Sue.

For my eyes were just as black

As his eyes were blue.

And my hair was like a crow

His so golden sunny.

Father ridicules the name

But keeps on saying Honey.

Moon Dazzle

LAST night, as tho’ with new washed eyes

I looked upon a lake.

Something within me sharply stirred

An understanding ache.

An ardent willow swayed and dipped

The cool depths of lagoon.

Unstirred miles of grass and dew

Lay lonely to the moon.

It seemed I’d never seen a night

Or such a scene before.

The moonbeams stretched a splintered path

From shore to shadowed shore.

I marveled thus, and wondered how

In unveiled hours to come,

Could such a pulseless thing like death

Make one so eager, dumb.

To Friends

LAST night, when I was wearied to my soul,

I was slipping out to dreamland very fast.

When I tho’t about you, and the things you did,

The help you gave, for which I did not ask.

Your unselfishness and kind deeds true,

Kept coming up before me like a scroll.

I could not count the many things you did,

For me, when I was sick, in body and in soul.

My undeserving self grew very, very tired.

With all the counting of them, and I slept.

But, ’twas just to dream again of all these things,

And in my restless sleep, I wept, and wept, and wept.

To a Meadow Lark

AND when I saw him stamping over

My little patch of shrubs and clover,

His steel bright gun held shoulder high

I scarce could check, a smothered cry.

Because I knew your nest was low

So shuddered when I saw him go.

A gunshot and I scarce could see

You had flown screaming to a tree.

O little bird with troubled breast,

A miracle has saved your nest.

I’m sorry you were frightened so,

You should not build your nest so low.

Broken Numbers

A MYSTERY puzzled and vexed me,

Unsolvable, strange and deep.

Perplexed and worn out in spirit

It followed me into my sleep.

Then with eyes that were heavy with dreaming

I drifted from darkness to dawn.

For the raindrops scattered my shadows

With numbers of broken song.

I thought of the heavy mystery

That troubled me yesterday,

It seemed I never could solve it

Or drive it completely away.

And I thought of the thousands of moments

When each, to oneself stands alone,

Thrown back on oneself for the answer

The answer that never comes home.

As I pondered each sad broken number

The raindrops made on the pane,

The shine came to me, came in bundles,

For I heard the song in the rain.

Shine is a guest we have often

Grief being seldom is great.

I have no quarrel with mystery

I have no quarrel with fate.

I’m Going Out

I’M going out where breezes blowing round

Make trim kept acres look half country and half town.

Where March winds tossed and blew the leaves away

Into the fences corner yesterday.

Oaks that never dropt last summer’s leaves at all

Were coaxed at last today to leave them fall.

I’m going out to this street’s very end,

Where city atmosphere and country spaces blend,

And hear the whirring wings of lonely larks,

That circle like burnt embers o’er the park.

I’ll have my hair in torrents blowing wild

About my pallid features like some child,

That had its romping days of childish fun

Most strangled e’er they ever had begun.

I’d like to walk around a field that’s barr’d

From other pleasant places winter scarr’d.

Where drifts have filled the corners there I know

Is still a faint suggestion of late snow.

So when your luncheon hour and mine comes round,

I will have gone beyond the edge of town.

Ingleside

THE road that goes to Ingleside

Can’t be described at all,

’Tis sweet beyond the telling

And the trees are paces tall.

Spring o’ year at Ingleside

Is pungent sweet of breath.

And for its rainfilled, tumbling streams

I’m homesick unto death.

Confusing flowers fill the wood

Like nodding plumes of flame.

The like of which one’s never seen

And no one knows the name.

The hills that look on Ingleside

Are emerald to the brow.

And I would give a thousand dreams

If I could see them now.

Friendship

ONCE on a time there was a road

Went winding by my door.

And fain I was to travel it

In search of golden store.

And O! how oft with heavy heart

The weary miles I trod,

And many a sorry tale I learned

Upon the open road.

Often times I was made glad

And oft my heart was sore.

For folk who traveled on the road

That winded by my door.

Adventure came, aye many a time,

And even now I sigh.

And sorry am to count the times

The false gods caught my eye.

But now I keep a little spot

Just off the busy road,

And there I patient, wise-eyed wait

Those of the heavy load.

And kindly then I draw them in

While warm heart talks to heart.

And when night darkens I have found

We’re sorry for to part.

This happened too once on a time

When I was weak and sore.

I drew a jewel from the road

That winded by my door.

But then I very often find

Two roads so different meet,

And many a friend I’ve found and kept

For whom I did not seek.

This Year

THIS year’s breezes gently toss

A fern uncurling from the moss;

Arbutus trailing lengths along;

Brown thrush thrilling with his song.

The grosbeak sings a song of cheer,

“Ain’t” things beautiful this year?

The dandelions are here again

Amongst the grass like golden rain.

A hawthorn raining petals white,

Whilst dripping with the dews of night.

A mocker’s notes, round, sweet and clear.

“Ain’t” things beautiful this year?

So thankful that old winter’s gone

Fond hearts beat a tender song.

The meadow lark in circles high,

Sings songs of faith against the sky.

While in my heart I greatly fear,

Things are too beautiful this year.

Spring Walkers

ISN’T there just a hint in the air

That spring’s hiding out in the garden somewhere?

Remember the place where the violets grew?

Let’s all go and see if they’ve been stirring too.

That sounded like wings, O! look it’s a bird.

How did he know that the mosses had stirred.

Before we can really think it is spring

He’s here on his faith, and started to sing.

Someone’s been here, the leaves have been tossed

As if one were looking for things that were lost.

And ruthlessly left to the late April snow

The pale slender necks of the first buds below.

Let’s cover them up, it doesn’t seem fair

To leave them like this, see that birch over there?

We’ll remember the place and come back again,

When the sun is some warmer, and there’s been a rain.

Let’s walk thru the wood, and come back this way

I dislike to go home, I wish it were May.

Here’s a place I adore, this tender dark wood.

It’s a source of delight, and if one only could

Just come here and visit awhile every day,

’Twould charm every heartache one has quite away.

This path has surprises at every bend.

This log has been here since I can’t tell you when.

We just walk around or climb over this way,

’Twould spoil the whole scene if they took it away.

This tree has been tired standing up long ago

’Twas March, the old roughneck, gave it the last blow.

It looks like a man-contrived arch o’er a drive,

The vines will cling round it and keep it alive.

I’m tired. Let’s go back, we’ve come a long way

I dislike to go home, I wish it were May.

Winter Woods

WOULD you like to walk to Elm Court

Now that winter’s here?

Yes it is a little chilly,

But you’ll like it, never fear.

I’d like to see that little path,

The one you sketched, you know,

After last night’s storm it surely

Must be rimmed around with snow.

The grey grouse slept I’m certain

Beneath the patches white,

The hills protrude a dazzling crest

Into the dawn’s cold light.

If attempts were made to climb

Up to its softened blue,

Every time we stepped up one

We’d slip back more than two.

But now, we’ll just go thru this woods

And this deep snow, my dear,

Will make a worth while picture

For it’s beautiful this year.

Let us plow thru this deep snow drift

To that small half frozen stream,

We’ll see nicer ferns I’ll wager

Than a summer’s ever seen.

Ferns in winter? yes there’s plenty.

Will you only just look here

How frost fashions from plain water

Things so beautiful and queer.

Wait awhile! here’s beauty,

This stream bank’s frozen dirt

Boasts an edge as sweet and dainty

As a lady’s underskirt.

In summer this is lovely

But old winter has its charms

When these tender little trees stand round

With ice clothes on their arms.

It’s very quiet, but lonely never,

You can push these twigs apart

And in the softened stillness

Almost feel and hear God’s heart.

And one may feel this darkness

Like soft velvet one unrolls,

Its very quiet is soothing,

To a city weary soul.

See these bushes! all the edges

Have a perfect picot hem,

Like women’s restless fingers

Had picked up now and then.

We must find the pathway back

When the sun comes stealing thru,

Like old magic, all these wonders

Will be dripping from our view.

I prefer to keep this picture

Just as we have seen it here,

This lovely morning, to my fancy

Is too beautiful, I fear.

Brother O’ Mine

DO you remember the cardinal’s call,

Brother O’ mine?

The hills that we climbed, be they ever so tall,

With never a fear for a hurt or a fall,

Wondering ever if skies did fall,

Brother O’ mine.

Many a hill we’ve climbed since then,

Brother O’ mine.

Been pelted with roses and rinsed with the rain

Of our sorrowing teardrops time and again;

Despair in our hearts and a clutch of pain,

Brother O’ mine.

And there were pebbles that hurt our feet

Brother O’ mine.

But the dust of the highway seemed velvet sweet

Tho’ many a cross and trials we’d meet,

With daisies and graves at our very feet,

Brother O’ mine.

Father we had in the bygone days,

Brother O’ mine.

And mother to wipe all our tears away.

Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be grey

God will speak clear of the mist some day,

Brother O’ mine.

Dream

THE flowers upon my lady’s hat,

Kept bobbing so this way then that,

Until the Church seemed faint and blurred

The morning Psalms I scarcely heard.

Unless I see I cannot hear,

So, I just admired that flower so near.

’Twas unlike any bloom that blows

On trees or waves in garden rows,

Where clings the morning glory vine

Or beds of phlox or columbine,

Like nothing in the drowsy south

With love songs oozing from its mouth,

In all the languorous, summer noons

Or riotous breaths of all perfumes,

Like nothing in my garden bed

Of flowers washed blue or drenched red;

Peculiarly designed it sat

And nodded on my lady’s hat.

I summoned all my powers to wit

But could not find a name for it.

I sought my couch with troubled breast,

I could not from my memory wrest

The name of that tormenting bloom,

Till wearied tossing, then I swooned

Into forgetfulness and dreamed

Of lands beyond where sunlight streamed,

In gardens where an angel talked

In soft glad whispers as he walked.

And touched each blossoming bud and bell

With pride and love ineffable.

But one he loved beyond compare;

He stooped and kissed the petals rare.

With eagerness I did persist

To see the flower the angel kissed.

And there it grew a thing intact,

The flower upon my lady’s hat.

It stood a straight slim tossing flame

And I had yet to learn its name.

With this in mind I tried to talk,

But the angel only sped his walk.

I could have cried for very shame,

Then someone called me by my name.

The room was pink with morning light,

Because dreams vanish with the night;

And things are not what they seem,

I called the little flower “dream.”

Shine and Shower

IT’S the cross that makes the triumph

A glorious thing to share,

It’s the sweet behind the bitter

Makes the burden light to bear.

It’s the shine past all the raining

Of the heart-break and the tear,

It’s the faith in dim tomorrow’s

Clears the mist from yesteryears.

So I’ll take my shine and shower

The bitter with the sweet,

And I’ll make a friend of sorrow

Every time we chance to meet.

Give me triumph with disaster

And my share of gain and loss

And I’ll not be asking angels

For a sweeter, gentler cross.

Lines to Death

THE harp like strings of destiny

Stretched taut awhile, then broke,

So life gives o’er the battle

To death’s relentless stroke.

What’s wealth with all its glitter

When the sands of life are spent?

It cannot unfold the curtain

Of that solitary tent.

Fame is just a tempting bauble

That comes when least we call,

And fate stands thus dividing

Rain and roses ’mongst us all.

Life is just a few short summers,

Breath of roses and a prayer.

Then a little tent to sleep in

When we grow too tired to care.

The high, the low, the haughty,

The humble, too, meet here.

And share like common brothers

The sorrow and the tear.

But life must have its raining

For the master wills it so;

And broken harps are mended,

After death has struck the blow.

To the New Year

THIS morning when I saw you

Looking into my bedroom window,

I thought that I disliked you very much,

For all I could see

You very much resembled other days

Spotless and so wholesome,

With all your tinsel bright,

But, your beauty touched me not at all.

But I decided to put up with you

As one would with strange, unwelcome guests.

I turned you around and about many, many times,

As a child would a new toy.

You were a lovely sight,

And yet I felt a bit depressed,

Till of a sudden I thought

I saw you smile.

Or was it only fancy?

Then I gave you my profoundest thought

For a short while.

And way down in your remotest depths

Great possibilities looked out at me,

And I thought of all the things you might do

For this restless world.

So I fell in love with you,

Before you were a half hour old.

Homesickness

THE folks whom we visit, but once in a while

Those friends who are far, far away,

May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a fault

And kindness itself every day.

Not even the hills with the mist on the top

And the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam,

Can make me forget, nor still the wild fret

In my heart for the place I call home.

The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:

They are washed with the dews of the morn.

They but serve to depress me and make me a prey

To longings both sad and forlorn.

The lilt of the trees and the song of the birds

Once so cheery have sobered their tone,

For my heartstrings are tied, to a little fireside

In a place that I love to call home.

To Love

THO’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,

For this I know you feel and understand.

Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,

With wonder at the touches of your hand.

Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lids

Appraise my flushes, and you understand

How fain I am to go, yet do draw near,

And tremble at the touches of your hands.

Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,

And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,

I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinks

If then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.

Your Friend

THO’ you’re a heathen to the core

And cause him untold pain,

He knows everything about you

But loves you just the same.

You need not always seek him

For he’s often seeking you.

He has a welcome for the stranger

But a warmer heart for you.

He is rather scarce on talking

But at listening he is good.

You love to be around him

But respect his solicitude.

He is tactful of your failings,

Well acquainted with your whim;

And there’s nothing in this wide, wide world

You would not do for him.

Draw Closer to the Fire

THE summer sweets have faded,

The hedge, the vine, and briar,

Come, put your hand in mine, my friend,

Draw closer to the fire.

From footstools let us view the heights

To which great minds aspire;

Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,

Draw closer to the fire.

A brave refrain from unknown bards

And Byron’s brave satire,

Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,

Draw closer to the fire.

Tho’ cold the winds and fierce the blast,

And thwarted our heart’s desire,

We’ve Robert Frost to cheer the hearth,

Draw closer to the fire.

Give me your hand, my steadfast friend;

The words that friends require

Stay with me thru the dying year,

Draw closer to the fire.

What Love Is

LOVE is a magnetism

That enables two people

To see one another as

No one else can see them,

A compelling unresisting element

Drawing them into each other’s arms.

Love is an unselfish devotion,

Giving service without reward,

Sacrifice without compensation,

Suffering without alleviation.

It is a power, a force,

The fundamental principle of life,

Without which, the mere act of living

Becomes a farce and a mockery.

Love is the foundation of every

Unselfish act, in this grey old world.

It is the rosy amber hearthstone

Of earth’s flaming paradise, and

A stepping stone to a better world called heaven.

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Table of Contents

Rain and Roses

Contents

Inadequate

Old Masonry

Hymn of Adoration

Sweet Distress

The Chastening

The Four Winds of Heaven

Friend

Humility

Shadows

Two Roads

The Reason

When June Comes

Through Loving Eyes

Worship

Evermore

A City Guest

Reminders

Soul

Farewell

Rainbow Ribbons

My Neighbor’s Roses

The Long Twilight

A Lone Walk

A Death Blow

The Breath of Life

A Day in Spring

Autumn

Little Girl

My Old House and the Weather

Bluestone River, W. Va.

Sea Hunger

Tree Sounds

A Wish

Middle Creek, W. Va.

Endie

In Our Old Street

Honey

Moon Dazzle

To Friends

To a Meadow Lark

Broken Numbers

I’m Going Out

Ingleside

Friendship

This Year

Spring Walkers

Winter Woods

Brother O’ Mine

Dream

Shine and Shower

Lines to Death

To the New Year

Homesickness

To Love

Your Friend

Draw Closer to the Fire

What Love Is

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