st were wed?"
"_Oh mother, my hen that never had chicks
Has hatched out six!_"

Back she came through the flaming dusk;
And her mother spoke and said:
"What gives your eyes that dancing light,
What makes your lips so strangely bright,
And why are your cheeks so red?"
"_Oh mother, the berries I ate in the lane
Have left a stain._"

Back she came through the faltering dusk;
And her mother spoke and said:
"You are weeping; your footstep is heavy with care--
What makes you totter and cling to the stair,
And why do you hang your head?"
"_Oh mother--oh mother--you never can know--
I loved him so!_"

IN THE STREETS

Boy, my boy, it is lonely in the city,
Days that have no pity and the nights without a tear
Follow all too slowly and I can no more dissemble;
I am frightened and I tremble--and I would that you were here.
Oh boy--God keep you.

Boy, my boy, I had sworn to weep no longer.
Time I thought was stronger than the evenings long gone by;
The ardent looks, the eager hands, the whispers hot and hurried--
But they all come back unburied and not one of them will die.
Oh boy--God save you.

Boy, my boy, you were bold with youth and power;
Your love was like a flower that you wore upon your sleeve.
And wherever you may go there'll be a girl with eyes that glisten;
A girl to watch and listen, and a girl for you to leave.
Oh boy--God help her!

ENVY

The willow and the river
Ripple with silver speech,
And one refrain forever
They murmur each to each:

"Brook with the silver gravel,
Would that your lot were mine;
To wander free, to travel
Where greener valleys shine--
Strange ventures, fresh revealings,
And, at the end--the sea!
Brook, with your turns and wheelings,
How rich your life must be."

"Tree with the golden rustling,
Would that I were so blessed,
To cease this stumbling, jostling,
This feverish unrest.
I join the ocean's riot;
You stand song-filled--and free!
Tree, with your peace and quiet,
How rich your life must be."

_The willow and the river
Ripple with silver speech,
And one refrain forever
They murmur each to each._

A BIRTHDAY

Again I come
With my handful of Song--
With my trumpery gift tricked out and made showy with rhyme.
It is Spring, and the time
When your though