Kitabı oku: «Bramble Brae», sayfa 6

IN “SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS”

 
The Sonnets—bound by Rivière
And newly illustrated!
As though the words that Shakespeare wrote
By outward dress are rated!
 
 
The soul—the fine, immortal part
That lives without the binding,
Is something from the poet’s heart;
’Tis here—and worth the finding.
 

IN “SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE”

 
In this book a woman wrote her heart—
Etching there the image of a Man.
Faithful woman! But the years depart,
And love is dust, and life a broken span!
 

IN GEORGE MEREDITH’S POEMS

 
Here is a forest tangle—
Rank weeds, luxuriant ferns, and giant trees,
All in a hoarse-voiced wrangle,
With creaking branches swaying in the breeze.
But if you care to listen,
Above the noise you’ll hear the piping of a bird,
Gay feathers in the tree-tops glisten,
And over all the sweetest music ever heard.
 

IN “THE KING’S LYRICS”

 
Behold “The Lyrics of the King”!
As though a crown on those who sing
Could make their music sweeter!
To-day we’ll choose the better part—
The gentle music of the heart
That masters rhyme and metre.
 

THE SONG OF TEMBINOKA, KING OF APEMAMA

TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

 
Sing, my warriors, sing! men of the sharklike race!
Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face.
He from the cold, gray North, I, in these tropic isles,
Meet as brothers and bards, with eloquent songs and smiles—
Meet as brothers, though singing words that are strange and proud.
Pale and wan is his face, while mine is a thunder-cloud;
But the heart of a man is hidden by neither language nor skin—
To love as a man and a brother maketh the whole world kin.
The tales that he tells are of heroes who fought like braves to the death—
Bone of our bone are these heroes, the very breath of our breath!
Then sing, my warriors, sing! men of the sharklike race!
Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face!
 

From Overheard in Arcady

IN THE MANNER OF KIPLING

 
“Show me the face of Truth,” the Sahib said—
“Show me its beauty, before I’m dead!”
“Look!” said the priest, “with unflinching eyes;
This is the World, and not Paradise.
Look! It is wicked, and cruel, and strong, and wise!”
 

From Overheard in Arcady

FOR A NOVEL OF HALL CAINE’S

AFTER KIPLING

 
He sits in a sea-green grotto with a bucket of lurid paint,
And draws the Thing as it isn’t for the God of Things as they ain’t!
 

IN “HELBECK OF BANNISDALE”

 
The foolish story of a man and maid
Who loved each other but were dire afraid
To follow where their true hearts surely led
And, risking all things, bravely to be wed.
 
 
What’s in a creed to keep two souls apart?
The universal solvent is the heart!
 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING

 
Good luck, good cheer, throughout the year!
A bright fire on the hearthstone burning;
A gleam of rose at evening’s close
When, wearied, you are homeward turning!
By ingle-nook a soothing book—
A few old friends in Mem’ry’s castle;
A bit of rhyme at Christmas-time
To wish you fortune at your wassail!
 

IN NICHOLSON’S “ALMANAC OF SPORTS”

(WITH VERSES BY KIPLING)

 
In all your Calendar of Sports
Why, Rudyard, do you slight the wheel?
Were you, then, never out of sorts
Until you felt the vibrant steel
Skim over miles of level track?
For youth, with all its hope and cheer,
When we’re a-wheel comes rolling back—
And it is Summer all the year!
 

IN NICHOLSON’S “CITY TYPES”

 
The City’s roar is rising from the street;
The old, bedraggled “types” are shuffling through the strife;
They plod and push, and elbow as they meet,
And glare and grin, and sadly call it “life.”
 
 
For us the fireside hearth is all aglow,
And those we love make up the life we know.
 

IN “THE GOLDEN TREASURY”

 
The year is old, the way is far;
I catch your image like a star
That’s mirrored in a crystal brook;
For love of you I send a book!
 

A VALENTINE

 
Though all the streams are white with frost
And all the fields with snow,
Though earth its greenery has lost,
And biting gales do blow—
Still I’ll recall the summer hours,
The blue skies and the vine—
The hillsides pink with Alpine flowers
To greet my Valentine!
 

IN “HALLO, MY FANCY!”

(BY CHARLES HENRY LÜDERS AND S. D. S., JR.)

 
“Hallo, my Fancy! View Hallo!”
The nimble game has broken cover
And skims the valley to and fro;
By cooling brooks it seems to hover,
Then bounds along. “Ho, View Hallo!”
The huntsmen cry from brake to loch;
The chase grows ardent—“View Hallo!”
From quiet shelter echoes, Droch.
 

THE BOOK SPEAKS

TO EUGENE FIELD

 
I’m keeping jolly comp’ny
In a room that’s full of books;
I’m cheek by jowl with Horace
And a lot of ancient crooks.
But the boys I like to play with,
When the boss takes off his coat,
Are the wild and woolly heroes
From Casey’s tabble-dote.
And when the lamp is lighted
And cosey hours ensue,
I talk with All-Aloney
And the little Boy in Blue.
But when the man that owns the books
Throws one kind glance at me
I sing just like the Dinkey
In the Amfelula Tree.
 

IN HERFORD’S VERSES

 
To weep with those who weep is human;
We give our praises to the man of grit,
And honor with our trust the true man;
Let’s laugh a little with a man of wit!
 

IN A BOOK OF GIBSON’S DRAWINGS

 
You may turn these pages over,
Looking for the priceless pearl;
You may search from back to cover
For the finest Gibson girl.
You can save yourself the trouble—
It’s no earthly use to look:
The charming girl who takes the medal
Is a-holding of the book.
 

IN A VOLUME OF MISS GUINEY’S POEMS

 
A maker of smooth verse and facile rhymes,
And lover of quaint legends from old times;
A joyous singer in New England bleak—
Her heart is Irish and her mind is Greek.