The Amaranth
Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here. . . . Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns And the tremendous Amaranth descends Sweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns?
The Angel and the Clown
I saw wild domes and bowers And smoking incense towers And mad exotic flowers In Illinois. Where ragged ditches ran Now springs of Heaven began Celestial drink for man In Illinois. There stood beside
A Curse for Kings
A curse upon each king who leads his state, No matter what his plea, to this foul game, And may it end his wicked dynasty, And may he die in exile and black shame.
Here's to the Mice!
(Written with the hope that the socialists might yet dethrone Kaiser and Czar.) Here’s to the mice that scare the lions, Creeping into their cages. Here’s to the fairy mice that bite The elephants
A Prayer to All the Dead among Mine Own People
Are these your presences, my clan from Heaven? Are these your hands upon my wounded soul? Mine own, mine own, blood of my blood be with me, Fly by my path till you have
The Gamblers
Life’s a jail where men have common lot. Gaunt the one who has, and who has not. All our treasures neither less nor more, Bread alone comes thro’ the guarded door. Cards are foolish
The Drunkards in the Street
The Drunkards in the street are calling one another, Heeding not the night-wind, great of heart and gay, – Publicans and wantons – Calling, laughing, calling, While the Spirit bloweth Space and Time away.
The Strength of the Lonely
(What the Mendicant Said ) The moon’s a monk, unmated, Who walks his cell, the sky. His strength is that of heaven-vowed men Who all life’s flames defy. They turn to stars or shadows,
Sunshine
FOR A VERY LITTLE GIRL, NOT A YEAR OLD. CATHARINE FRAZEE WAKEFIELD. The sun gives not directly The coal, the diamond crown; Not in a special basket Are these from Heaven let down. The
To Reformers in Despair
‘Tis not too late to build our young land right, Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan, Devout like early Rome, with hearths like hers, Hearths that will recreate the breed called man.
What the Gray-Winged Fairy Said
The moon’s a gong, hung in the wild, Whose song the fays hold dear. Of course you do not hear it, child. It takes a FAIRY ear. The full moon is a splendid gong
The Moon is a Painter
He coveted her portrait. He toiled as she grew gay. She loved to see him labor In that devoted way. And in the end it pleased her, But bowed him more with care. Her
The Knight in Disguise
[Concerning O. Henry (Sidney Porter)] “He could not forget that he was a Sidney.” Is this Sir Philip Sidney, this loud clown, The darling of the glad and gaping town? This is that dubious
Love and Law
TRUE Love is founded in rocks of Remembrance In stones of Forbearance and mortar of pain. The workman lays wearily granite on granite, And bleeds for his castle, ‘mid sunshine and rain. Love is
The Wedding of the Rose and the Lotos
The wide Pacific waters And the Atlantic meet. With cries of joy they mingle, In tides of love they greet. Above the drowned ages A wind of wooing blows: – The red rose woos