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SUMMER SONG[1]
TALCOTT M. BANKS '90
Come, friend scholar, cease your bending Over books with eager gaze; Time it were such work had ending,-- Well enough for rainy days.
Out with me where sunlight pours, Life to-day is out of doors!
Busy? Pshaw! what good can reach you Frowning o'er that dog-eared page?
Yonder rus.h.i.+ng brook can teach you More than half your Cla.s.sic Age.
Banish Greeks and Siren sh.o.r.es, Let your thoughts run out of doors!
Rest we here where none can spy us, Deep in rippling fields of gra.s.s; Scented winds blow softly by us, Lazy clouds above us pa.s.s; Higher yet my fancy soars-- All my soul is out of doors!
_Literary Monthly_, 1888.
[Footnote 1: Copyright, 1907, by T.M. Banks. With permission.]
THE BACKWARD LOOK[1]
TALCOTT M. BANKS '90
Once on a bright October day, I took the road whose winding track Leads up among the hills away Across Taconic's s.h.a.ggy back, Leaving the valley broad and fair For barren heights in upper air.
At last I stood upon the crest; The ruddy sun was sinking low, And all the country to the west Lay flooded with a golden glow-- A fairyland of misty light, Unsullied by the touch of night.
I turned, and lo, a sudden change Had swept across the valley's face.
The shadow of Taconic's range Had fallen on the lovely place; And darkness followed thick and fast Behind the shadow as it pa.s.sed.
Since then the changeful years have flown Till now once more I seem to stand Upon the mountain top alone, And look abroad upon the land.
But all before is gray and dim, Half-hidden in the cloud-wrack grim; While in the Berks.h.i.+re valley stays The light that dawned in happier days.
_Literary Monthly_, 1893.
[Footnote 1: Copyright, 1907, by T.M. Banks. With permission.]
SERENADE
ARTHUR OLIVER '93
If all the stars were gems, love, And all those gems were mine, I'd give them in exchange, love, For that dear heart of thine.
But, since the stars so bright, love, Are neither gems nor mine, What can I do, but sigh and rue My luckless lot, and pine, And gaze on high, where night winds sigh, Across thy lattice vine?
If all the little birds, love, That twitter 'mid the dew, Could sing in words and tell, love, The love I bear to you, They would not end their song, love, The night's long vigil through; But all the wings that morning brings Would soar amid the blue, And float along on waves of song, With carols sweet and new.
_Literary Monthly_, 1893.
OLD TRINITY
FREDERICK D. GOODWIN '95
Placed 'midst the city's busiest life, Not a stone's throw from the deadly strife Of the metropolitan mart, Old Trinity stands; her spire, like a hand, Points ever upward; her chimes demand From the hardened world a heart.
Cl.u.s.tered around her, buried, lie Many whose names can never die, Founders of their country's weal: Patriot churchmen, statesmen, soldiers, There they sleep who were its moulders; Sculptured stones their deeds reveal.
Trinity's self was new-born with the nation; Springing from ashes of desolation, She helped to forge posterity.
Now she looks from her chosen station, At pageant, starvation, begg'ry, ovation, Results of her sons' prosperity.
Within, away from the din and crowd And the mendicants' cries and the laughter loud, Of Pleasure in hand with Youth, Is the silent yet eloquent reign of Peace And the utterance of words which shall not cease While the earth has a place for Truth.
When peal on peal the organ's voice Calls the a.s.sembled to rejoice For blessings unsurpa.s.sed, Or when its milder tones tell Grief, Then e'en Death's triumph is but brief, Old Trinity's charm but half is grasped.
Far sweeter it is in the twilights glim, When the symbolled altar is growing dim, And the wayward shadows dart, To watch the golden light stream in Each lofty window, as though all sin At its entrance must depart.
Saints' and martyrs' pictured graces, Illumined by these heavenly traces, s.h.i.+ne in blue and saffron and red; But in the sun's last traces, above their faces, Beam the eyes which no might from the soul effaces, And the Christ's mock-crowned head.
_Literary Monthly_, 1894.
TWO TRIOLETS OF AUTUMN
KARL E. WESTON '96
'Neath fading leaves and dreary skies, A late-born rose burst into bloom And gazed about with sad surprise, 'Neath fading leaves and dreary skies; Let fall from Summer's bier, it lies In Autumn's pathway 'mid the gloom Of fading leaves and dreary skies, A late-born rose, burst into bloom.
Beside the ever restless sea Fair Autumn stands. With beckoning hand She hails the pa.s.sing days, which flee Across the ever restless sea,-- Their sealed ears hearing not the plea Which sea-winds waft from that fair land Beside the ever restless sea, Where Autumn stands with beckoning hand.
_Literary Monthly_, 1894.
NANTUCKET
