Works

I sit before the firelight's glow
With all the world in apogee,
And con good Master Florio
With pipe a-light; and as I see
Queen Bess herself with book a-knee,
Reading it o'er and o'er again,...

[PARIS, 1896]


Oh, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot,
With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so,
Pray what should I do
When a girl like you
Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh...

All on a golden summer day,
As through the leaves a single ray
Of yellow sunshine finds its way
So bright, so bright;
The wakened birds that blithely sing
Seem welcoming another spring;...

I. - SHE

I fain would write on pleasant themes;
So let me prate
Awhile of Kate;
And if my rhyming effort seems
Uncouth or rough,
At any rate,
She's Kate,
And that's enough.
...

When faltering fingers bid me cease to write,
And, laying down the pen, I seek the Night,
May those, to whom the Daylight still is sweet,
With loving lips my name ofttimes repeat....

Whoso his book of life doth con
From title-leaf to colophon
May read, if he but wrongly look,
Some sorry pages in his book.

But if he read aright each line,
Interpreting the scheme divine,...

You know,
Don't you, Joe,
Those merry evenings long ago?
You know the room, the narrow stair,
The wreaths of smoke that circled there,
The corner table where we sat
For hours in after-dinner chat,...

Two halves of an oyster shell, each a shallow cup;
Here once lived an oyster before they ate him up.
Oyster shells are smooth inside; outside very rough;
Very little room to spare, but he had enough....

A White Rose said, "How fair am I.
Behold a flower that cannot die!"

A lover brushed the dew aside,
And fondly plucked it for his bride.
"A fitting choice!" the White Rose cried.
...