Poems of Sentiment Part 9

You win me with your infant art; But when our play is o'er, The empty cradle in my heart Seems lonelier than before.

Sweet baby boy, you do not guess How oft mine eyes are dim, Or that my lingering caress Is sometimes meant for HIM.

DIAMONDS

The tears of fallen women turned to ice By man's cold pity for repentant vice.

RUBIES

The crimson life-drops from a virgin heart Pierced to the core by Cupid's fatal dart.

SAPPHIRES

Lost rays of light that wandered off alone And down through s.p.a.ce were hurled From that great sapphire sun beyond our own Pale, puny little world.

TURQUOISE

A baby went to heaven while it slept, And, waking, missed its mother's arms, and wept.

Those angel tear-drops, falling earthward through G.o.d's azure skies, into the turquoise grew.

REFORM

The time has come when men with hearts and brains Must rise and take the misdirected reins Of government; too long left in the hands Of aliens and of lackeys. He who stands And sees the mighty vehicle of State Hauled through the mire to some ign.o.ble fate And makes not such bold protest as he can, Is no American,

A MINOR CHORD

I heard a strain of music in the street - A wandering waif of sound. And then straightway A nameless desolation filled the day.

The great green earth that had been fair and sweet, Seemed but a tomb; the life I thought replete With joy, grew lonely for a vanished May.

Forgotten sorrows resurrected lay Like bleaching skeletons about my feet.

Above me stretched the silent, suffering sky, Dumb with vast anguish for departed suns That brutal Time to nothingness has hurled.

The daylight was as sad as smiles that lie Upon the wistful, unkissed mouths of nuns, And I stood prisoned in an awful world.

DEATH'S PROTEST

Why dost thou shrink from my approach, O Man?

Why dost thou ever flee in fear, and cling To my false rival, Life? I do but bring Thee rest and calm. Then wherefore dost thou ban And curse me? Since the forming of G.o.d's plan I have not hurt or harmed a mortal thing, I have bestowed sweet balm for every sting, And peace eternal for earth's stormy span.

The wild mad prayers for comfort sent in vain To knock at the indifferent heart of Life, I, Death, have answered. Knowest thou not 'tis he, My cruel rival, who sends all thy pain And wears the soul out in unending strife?

Why dost thou hold to him, then, spurning me?

SEPTEMBER

My life's long radiant Summer halts at last, And lo! beside my path way I behold Pursuing Autumn glide: nor frost nor cold Has heralded her presence; but a vast Sweet calm that comes not till the year has pa.s.sed Its fevered solstice, and a tinge of gold Subdues the vivid colouring of bold And pa.s.sion-hued emotions. I will cast

My August days behind me with my May, Nor strive to drag them into Autumn's place, Nor swear I hope when I do but remember.

Now violet and rose have had their day, I'll pluck the soberer asters with good grace And call September nothing but September.

WAIL OF AN OLD-TIMER

Each new invention doubles our worries an' our troubles, These scientific fellows are spoilin' of our land; With motor, wire, an' cable, now'-days we're scarcely able To walk or ride in peace o' mind, an' 'tisn't safe to stand.

It fairly makes me crazy to see how tarnal lazy The risin' generation grows--an' science is to blame.

With telephones for talkin', an' messengers for walkin', Our young men sit an' loaf an' smoke, without a blush o' shame.

An' then they wer'n't contented until some one invented A sort o' jerky tape-line clock, to help on wasteful ways.

An' that infernal ticker spends money fur 'em quicker Than any neighbourhood o' men in good old bygone days.

The risin' generation is bent so on creation, Folks haven't time to talk or sing or cry or even laugh.

But if you take the notion to want some such emotion, They've got it all on tap fur you, right in the phonograph.

But now a crazy creature has introduced the feature Of artificial weather, I think we're nearly through.