g birds their coming bliss presage
With lilt and lyric brimming o'er the page
Of Nature's volume bound in green and gold.
Here 'mid the birds and blossoms 'neath the blue--
My heart unburthened of the old regret--
Let me forget long striving to forget;
For life is sweet to-day and hope seems true--
And yet...

The Master-Player

Mute was the mighty organ. None might break
The silence that had thralled it since was stilled
The master-hand beneath whose touch it thrilled
To music such as choiring seraphs make--
Until a mightier Master came to wake
Th' elusive chords and subtle harmonies
That lay imprisoned in the cold white keys
And once again the soul of Music spake.
Methought my soul's most perfect melodies
No hand again to sonance could evoke--
A silent harp whose potence none might prove--
But, lo! one came who swept its chords and woke
Celestial strains, divinest harmonies,
Responsive to the master-touch of Love.

Afterbloom

Gay was her garden as some gorgeous fabric
Weft on an Orient loom,
Star-set upon the sward quaint, old-time blossoms
Wrought broidery of bloom.

Verbenas, dahlias, asters, scarlet cannas
Like torches flaming tall;
(Methought the fair, old face, enframed in silver,
The sweetest flower of all!)

And one rare rose she watched each year with hoping
Till the dear eyes grew dim--
But ere a single blossom burst in beauty
God took her home to Him.
Yet when the Spring next woke the earth to laughter
And boon of blossom gave,
Starred was the rose with white, unearthly flowers--
We laid them on her grave.

* * * * *

And so, meseems, the buds we woo most fondly
Nor light nor perfume shed;
And Love's gold-hearted rose and Hope's star-flower
Oft bloom when we are dead.

To Bliss Carman

Great hearted brother to the wilderness,
Comrade of Wind and Sea! Interpreter
Of nomad Nature! Ere the quick'ning stir
Of Spring-sap thrills the wood from sullen stress
Of Winter's spell--away from thronged press
Of urban ways thy wild feet wander far
Tracking the steps of some white Northern star
Whose rays are beacon to thy restlessness.
Weird mystic of the Northland's mystery,
Thou 'front'st the Unseen Shadow, nor dost fear
To meet the Scarlet Hunter on the trail;
Pagan as Pan; to all things sylvan dear,
Nature's own vagrant, buoyant, driftless, free--
All winds and woods and waters cr