sad heart hath proved;
He sang of doubt, and dreams that end in naught ...
Then, smiling, turned and kissed the lips he loved.

The poet wrought a song of joyance, thrilled
With all the peace the world's glad heart hath kept;
He sang of hope and happy dreams fulfilled ...
Then bent his face upon his hands and wept.

In Fortune's Twilight

The old house totters 'neath its weight of years,
Bowed, like the form of him who shelters there,
Old, friendless, lone--save for the wanton, Care,
Who flouts him, mocks his grief with gibes and jeers
And laughs to see his piteous hopes grow fears.
Not his the joy of placid, sun-crowned age--
His dim eyes falter as he scans the page
Of Life's worn album, blotted with his tears.
He sees in dreams the wife he loved--long dead;
The son--once proud to bear his father's name--
Who mixed his honest blood with dire disgrace;
The wayward girl who wrought her father shame ...
He sits alone with Care; the day has fled
And twilight falls, upon the furrowed face.

Fate

Thro' countless aeons sunless and remote
A Soul went searching for its spirit mate,
Thro' star-stained space, o'er wind-swept deep, afloat,
Forever desolate.

Anon, another spirit, lone of heart
Goes forth thro' voiceless void to seek its mate;
Eftsoon they meet, these twain, strike hands ... and part!
And this is Fate.

The Path of Dreams

Beside the stream that silverly steals on
To swell the song of that far-sounding sea
Which breaks upon the utmost shore of Thought,
They who have drunk at Song's immortal spring
Walk with glad feet the upland path of dreams
That whitely winds thro' long low-lying lands--
By one, yclept the Way of Fools--a plain
Of dust and ashes and of Dead Sea fruit;
But by another called the Path of Hope
That leads far up the slope of heart's desire;--
And haply both speak truth--for oft the way
Is set with stones that tear the climbing feet,
And oft for roses there is bitter rue,
And oft for singing there is idle scorn,
And sneers full oft for smiles. Yet well we know
The upland Path of Dreams that whitely winds
(Yclept or Way of Fools or Path of Hope)
Leads upward ever to the Hills of Song!

Beside the silent stream whose soundless tide
Sets ever to the unknown tideless sea
They who have drunk of Slumber's poppied draught
Walk with unsandalled feet the path of dreams
That winds thro' gray, low-lying fields of sleep
To dim dream shores girt with