The Cornflower, and Other Poems Part 13

There's n.o.body making a noise to-day, There's n.o.body stamping the floor, 'Tis strangely silent upstairs and down-- White ribbons upon the door.

The terrier's whining out in the sun: "Where's my comrade?" he seems to say.

Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog, There's no frolic for you to-day.

The freckle-faced girl from the house next door Is sobbing her young heart out.

Don't cry, little girl, you'll soon forget The laugh and the merry shout.

The grown-up sister is kissing his face, And calling him "angel" and "sweet,"

And the maiden aunt is nursing the boots He wore on his restless feet.

So big, so solemn the old house seems-- No uproar, no racket, no din, No shrill peal of laughter, no voice shrieking out, "O sakes! I wish I was a twin!"

A man and a woman white with grief Watch the wearisome moments creep-- Oh! the loneliness touches everything, The boy of the house is asleep!

SLY BOY.

I was the slyest boy at home, The slyest boy at school, I wanted all the world to know That I was no one's fool.

I kept my childish hopes and schemes Locked closely in my breast, No single secret shared with Bob, The chum I liked the best.

I never showed my squirrel's nest, Nor beaver dam, nor cave, Nor fortress where I used to go To be a soldier brave.

Oh, I was sly, just awful sly, In winter, summer, spring, While Bob would tell me all he knew, I never told a thing.

And yet Bob always got ahead; I'd find the careless knave Asleep within my fortress walls, And fishing in my cave.

"What, yours!" he said, in great surprise, "You should have told me so.

You never said a word, old chum, And how was I to know?"

My slyness hurt more than it helped; If Bob had known, you see, He was too kind to do his best To get ahead of me.

I still was sly when I grew up.

I fell in love with Nan, But scorned to own it to myself Or any other man.

So sly was I, Nan never guessed-- No more did handsome Bob-- That every time she looked my way My heart, it stirred and throbbed.

The same old story! Ere I knew, My chum had loved and won.

When I explained I'd picked her out To be my very own,

"What, yours!" he said in great surprise, "You should have told me so.

You never said a word, old chum, And how was I to know?"

I've learned my lesson, lost my girl; You'll own 'tis rather rough.

Henceforward I'll not be too sly-- I'll be just sly enough.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

QUEEN VICTORIA.

1837.

The sunshine streaming through the stained gla.s.s Touched her with rosy colors as she stood, The maiden Queen of all the British realm, In the old Abbey on that soft June day.

Youth shone within her eyes, where G.o.d had set All steadfastness, and high resolve, and truth; Youth flushed her cheek, dwelt on the smooth white brow Whereon the heavy golden circlet lay.

The ashes of dead kings, the history of A nation's growth, of strife, and victory, The mighty past called soft through aisle and nave: "Be strong, O Queen; be strong as thou art fair!"

A virgin, white of soul and unafraid, Since back of her was G.o.d, and at her feet A people loyal to the core, and strong, And loving well her sweetness and her youth.

1901.

Upon her woman's head earth's richest crown Hath sat with grace these sixty years and more.

Her hand, her slender woman's hand, hath held The weightiest sceptre, held it with such power All homage hath been hers, at home, abroad, Where'er hath dwelt a chivalrous regard For strength of purpose and for purity, For grand achievement and for n.o.ble aim.

To-day the cares of State no longer vex; To-day the crown is laid from off her brow.

Dead! The great heart of her no more will beat With tenderness for all beneath her rule.

Dead! The clear eyes of her no more will guard The nation's welfare. Dead! The arm of her No more will strike a mighty blow for right And justice; make a wide world stand amazed That one so gentle as old England's Queen Could be so fearless and so powerful!

Full wearily the sense of grief doth press And weight us down. The good Queen is no more; And we are fain to weep as children weep When greedy death comes to the home and bears From thence the mother, whose unfailing love Hath been their wealth, their safeguard, and their pride.

O bells that toll in every zone and clime!

There is a sound of sobbing in your breath.

East, west, north, south, the solemn clamor goes, Voicing a great, a universal grief!

THANKFULNESS.

I thank Thee, Lord, For every joyous hour That has been mine!

For every strengthening and helpful word, For every tender sound that I have heard, I thank Thee, Lord!

I thank Thee, Lord, For work and weariness That have been mine!

For patience toward one groping toward the light, For mid-day burden and for rest of night, I thank Thee, Lord.