Chimneysmoke Part 16

Grimly the parent matches wit and will: Now, Weesy, three more spoons! See Tom the cat, _He'd_ drink it. You want to be big and fat Like Daddy, don't you? (Careful now, don't spill!) Yes, Daddy'll dance, and blow smoke through his nose, But you must finish first. Come, drink it up-- (_Splash_!) Oh, you _must_ keep both hands on the cup.

All gone? Now for the prunes....

And so it goes.

This is the battlefield that parents know, Where one small splinter of old Adam's rib Withstands an entire household offering spoons.

No use to gnash your teeth. For she will go Radiant to bed, glossy from crown to bib With milk and cereal and a surf of prunes.

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

Not long ago I fell in love, But unreturned is my affection-- The girl that I'm enamored of Pays little heed in my direction.

I thought I knew her fairly well: In fact, I'd had my arm around her; And so it's hard to have to tell How unresponsive I have found her.

For, though she is not frankly rude, Her manners quite the wrong way rub me: It seems to me ingrat.i.tude To let me love her--and then snub me!

Though I'm considerate and fond, She shows no gladness when she spies me-- She gazes off somewhere beyond And doesn't even recognize me.

Her eyes, so candid, calm and blue, Seem asking if I can support her In the style appropriate to A lady like her father's daughter.

Well, if I can't then no one can-- And let me add that I intend to: She'll never know another man So fit for her to be a friend to.

Not love me, eh? She better had!

By Jove, I'll make her love me one day; For, don't you see, I am her Dad, And she'll be three weeks old on Sunday!

[Ill.u.s.tration:

_ ... It's hard to have to tell_ _How unresponsive I have found her._]

AUTUMN COLORS

The chestnut trees turned yellow, The oak like sherry browned, The fir, the stubborn fellow, Stayed green the whole year round.

But O the bonny maple How richly he does shine!

He glows against the sunset Like ruddy old port wine.

THE LAST CRICKET

When the bulb of the moon with white fire fills And dead leaves crackle under the feet, When men roll kegs to the cider mills And chestnuts roast on every street;

When the night sky glows like a hollow sh.e.l.l Of l.u.s.tered emerald and pearl, The kilted cricket knows too well His doom. His tiny bagpipes skirl.

Quavering under the polished stars In stubble, thicket, and frosty copse The cricket blows a few choked bars, And puts away his pipe--and stops.

TO LOUISE

(A Christmas Baby, Now One Year Old.)

Undaunted by a world of grief You came upon perplexing days, And cynics doubt their disbelief To see the sky-stains in your gaze.

Your sudden and inclusive smile And your emphatic tears, admit That you must find this life worth while, So eagerly you clutch at it!

Your face of triumph says, brave mite, That life is full of love and luck-- Of blankets to kick off at night, And two soft rose-pink thumbs to suck.

O loveliest of pioneers Upon this trail of long surprise, May all the stages of the years Show such enchantment in your eyes!

By parents' patient b.u.t.tonings, And endless safety pins, you'll grow To ribbons, garters, hooks and things, Up to the Ultimate Trousseau--

But never, in your dainty prime, Will you be more adored by me Than when you see, this Great First Time, Lit candles on a Christmas Tree!

December, 1919.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

_... When you see, this Great First Time,_ _Lit candles on a Christmas Tree!_]

CHRISTMAS EVE

Our hearts to-night are open wide, The grudge, the grief, are laid aside: The path and porch are swept of snow, The doors unlatched; the hearthstones glow-- No visitor can be denied.

All tender human homes must hide Some wistfulness beneath their pride: Compa.s.sionate and humble grow Our hearts to-night.

Let empty chair and cup abide!

Who knows? Some well-remembered stride May come as once so long ago-- Then welcome, be it friend or foe!

There is no anger can divide Our hearts to-night.