From leaf to leaf


Material Information

From leaf to leaf a volume of poems with illustrations
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. ; 22 cm.
Waithman, H. M ( Helen Maud )
Mack, Robert Ellice
Nister, Ernest ( Publisher )
Ernest Nister
Place of Publication:
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
English poetry   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1895
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London


Statement of Responsibility:
selected and arranged by Robert Ellice Mack.
General Note:
Many poems signed by Helen Maud Waithman.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002043923
oclc - 33343938
notis - AKN1821
System ID:

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Full Text


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SEAVES in my garden, bright leaves and flowers
Fed by brave sunshine, kissed by sweet showers;
Rose leaf and vine leaf-myrtle and bay,
Blossoms immortal-leaves of a day.

Leaves in my book here-flowers shut between,
Flowers from life's garden, glorious and green
Leaves of life's story-love, fame, and grief,
Dew from the flower gone, bloom from the leaf!

Range through my garden, butterflies, bees!
Since you love blossoms, come and love these.
Sad is the garden where no bright wing goes
Over the bloom of the rue and the rose,

Turn these leaves over-song-blooms lie here,
Gathered in many a beautiful year;
This was a white rose-this was a red;
Song is immortal tho' roses be dead.


Stands, safe sheltered from sun and breeze
That wayside seat neath the drooping trees;
'Tis a welcome true for all who pass;
From the poet pale to the village lass;
The old wife resting from steps of pain,
A pedlar counting his modest gain.
"Stay, stay," it seems to say,
Rest and peace to borrow;
Here awhile
Rest and smile
Though you tire to-morrow!

The children stop for a boisterous game,
The boor, to carve an unknown name;
The student comes with a wearied look,
Preferring his own to nature's book.
It has no word for those, I deem,
But to lovers twain who sit and dream,
"Stay, stay," it seems to say,
In the world is sorrow,
Stay and smile,
Love awhile,
Though you frown to-morrow !

In those time-worn arms, in the days agone,
I have laughed with others, and mused alone,
And the moss around, so green and fine,
Was the fresher once for a tear of mine.
It has nursed sweet hopes'in the happy past,
And if ever I sought it with brow o'ercast,
"Stay, stay, it seemed to say,
Banish sighs and sorrow;
Wait awhile,
Life may smile
Brighter far, to-morrow!
Ellis Walton.


IHE year is young and the world is gay,
The sun shines out with a golden sheen,
The sweet birds twitter and sing all day,
And endless delicate shades of green
Are creeping over the woodland brown,
For life is waking in Leafy Town."

Then roses open and days grow long;
The lazy breezes that wander by
Go whispering ever, the leaves among,
The latest news of the sea and sky;
And each tree rustles her dainty gown,
For now is "the Season" in Leafy Town.

The corn is carried, the daylight wanes,
The stripling breeze to a wind is grown.
There is hardly a rose on the bush remains;
The Summer's birds to the south are flown,-
And scarlet, crimson, and shades of brown,
Are now "the Fashion" in Leafy Town.

The year is old, and the days grow chill;
The rain is heavy, the skies are grey;
The frost is sharp, and the wind is shrill
And blows in pitiless gusts all day.
Then shuddering, sadly, the leaves fall down,
And life is over in Leafy Town.
Helcl Jiaud TValizman.


After a wreck the body of a baby was washed ashore; it was
buried, and the above words graven on its tombstone.

" VO'D knows!"
Oh, little babe so lonely sleeping,
Enfolded on the kind
Earth-Mother's breast,
No fond hearts bend above thee, sadly .:.;'.
No sound of grief disturbs
thy perfect rest.

J I.

None deck thy little grave because they love thee,
But God's sun shines o'er it, God's daisy grows,
And God's green grass waves tenderly above thee,
For nothing is forgotten that God knows."

We have no name for thee; but up in glory,
WVhere baby angels see this face: of those
Thou art a playmate, and they know thy story,
And call thee by the hidden name God knows.

Thy mother has not lost thee, little baby;
When she awakes, at last, from her repose,
She'll cry "Where is my child?" and, then-ah, maybe,
God's voice will say, "Here is thy child, 'God knows.'"
Helen Milaud Wailltan.

S OMETITIERE in story they found her:
In a myth-robe grey
She was hidden away,
With the mists of the morning round her.

But they dragged her out to the light of day,
And decked her all in a garment gay,
And with wreaths of fancies crowned her.

Biut the ghosts that loved her in days long dead,
Know her not with her crowned head
And her robes of silver and golden thread.

They mourn the robe that she wore erewhile;
The faint soft flush and the fair sweet smile;
The lip retiring and free from guile.

They mourn, and will not be comforted.

For who would know that the garish dame,
With the bold bright eyes and the lips of flame,
And the doubtful praise of a well-known name,
Could be the same
As the pale sweet May
In the myth-robe grey,
With the mists of the morning round her?
Helen MAaud TVaithman.

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7J19Y! how the sweet bells chime!
Swinging to and fro;
To the lilt of laughing rhyme
Seasons come and go.

Maying-time, haying-time,
Blossom-time, and all,
Yellow leaves, harvest sheaves,
Golden fruits, that fall:

To the joy-bells' peal they glide,
StIil.;_. ebb and flow,
Till the bells of Christmas-tide
Ring across the snow.

Time is old, who once was young,
Yet, through woods of May,
Bells, by laughing cupids rung,
Cheer him on his way.

Round the :1 ,_- i.. steps of Time,
Ringing clear and free,
Sound the golden bells a-chime,
Bells of Poesy.
HelnZ 7. Wood.


T HE shallows murmur soft and low,
The beeches, robed in ruddy gold,
On sward and stream their wealth bestow,
Their treasure never bought nor sold.
The flowers are gone, the swallows fled,
But autumn skies smile sweet and calm;
And those, whom Nature's hands have led,
In all hours feel her healing balm.

In bygone springs I wandered here,
Beneath the beeches' spreading boughs,
When all was new, and one was dear;
The air was full of lovers' vows,
The nesting birds sang sweet and shrill,
We plucked the wild-flowers blossoming;
But now the air is calm and still,
The wild-flowers wait another spring.

The stream flows on, the red leaves fall;
Like leaves my days have drifted by,
And still my heart is glad for all,
Fair things of earth, and stream, and sky.
The stream flows on to seek the sea,
My years stretch on to reach their goal,
Where all things bright and fair shall be-
The sunset haven of the soul.
Maurice Ford.


" Oh, i/tat I had wings like a do,'e!
lThen ilduld I fce away, and be at res/."

OULD you do so, my heart, would you do so?
Where would you go?
Where is there rest for you on land or sea?
On what fair branches of what tall, great tree,
'Mid leaves that sigh and whisper in the wind,
Rest would you find?

There is no rest, my heart, for you; no rest,
No place to nest.
What though with wearied wings you strive to fly
Ten I.!l;:i_ miles beneath the heedless sky
To seek it ?-Though you fly till night shall fall,
No rest at all!

There is no rest, my heart, for you, because
Unspoken laws
Say surely that the heart who rest would know
Must take it with him. If he do not so
He will not find it anywhere. Is rest
Within your breast?


~~nA~~~ '4~r~lY~

And so 'tis wise, 0 heart,
to sit and wait
The ways of fate;
Nor spend your energies
in useless flight,
But hoard them for the fresh
oncoming fight.
Patience will bring her sister,
Rest, anon,
If you wait on.
Helen Malud Waithmazn.


SA V them standing in a wood,
Just where the light fell strong and clear;
I peeped-I don't suppose I should!
They did not know that I was near.

It was a morning in the Spring:
The world was gay, the sun was bright,
And all the little birds that sing,
Were telling of their hearts' delight.

And just where larchen branches hide
The path from view of this their nook,
Those two were standing side by side,
And near them ran a tinkling brook.

I knew 'twas Love's Spring holiday,
For they most certainly were dressed
In garments very fresh and gay-
I noticed his canary vest.

I could not hear the words 'they said,
But they were talking, it was plain;
For now and then he bobbed his head,
And then she nodded back again.


Z WTVITTER, twitter,-Chatter, chatter, birds
among the budding trees.
f' What's their talk of nests and nestlings-
Fostering sun or biting breeze?
J Birds among the whitening orchard
or the bush green meadow clo.e
Do they sing the dying blossom-
or the coming of the rose?

Do they sing of men and manners-wonder why we never fly;
Wonder why we are contented with the earth-when there's the sky;-
Do they twitter questions to us-greetings-kindly wishes send,
Wishes such as bright light birds give to a heavy human friend?

Yes-they sing "Poor walking creatures-we will wish you may rejoice
In a mate as sweet as ours is-in as sweet a singing voice.
But the birds'kind heart must wish you-more than all life's brightest things,
Just what life will never give you: Yes-poor men, we wish you wings.'


SrL Ilpses by for you and me;
S_ ',n! sweet days pass us by and flee,
.'AI1l _-vermore death draws us nigh;
il,. llie fades fast out of our sky,
I!.- ripple ceases from our sea.
hV.,t i. I would we not give, you and I,
iT.: -.:,!y sweet of life to buy?
-Alas sweetheart that cannot be;
Life lapses by.

But though our young days buried lie,
Shall love with Spring and Summer die?
What if the roses faded be?
We in each other's eyes will see
New Springs, nor question how or why
Life lapses by.
John Payne.

W,1JTIJX c].

A lT eventide I wait down by the wicket gate,
(Shine, bonny moon! shine, silver, moon!)
And listen to the fleet soft music of her feet.
(Cometh she soon? cometh she soon?

Sweet Philomela fills the night with plaintive trills,
(Shine, bonny moon! shine, silver moon?)
And from her heart, the rose a luscious odour throws.
(Cometh she soon? cometh she soon?)

The stars look down and say, "Why does she thus delay?"
(Shine, bonny moon! shine, silver moon!)
The fountain, ghostly bright, reflects their broken light.
(Cometh she soon? cometh she soon?)

'Tis sweet to wait alone for her, my love, my own!
(Shine, bonny moon? shine, silver moon!)
But sweeter far when she is standing here with me.
(Cometh she soon? cometh she soon.?)

Life has no jewelled prize so bright as are her eyes,
(Shine, bonny moon! shine, silver moon!)
And love no guerdon bliss so deai as in her kiss.
(Cometh she soon? cometh she soon?)

Shine forth, oh moon, to light her, light her, light her!
Beam, shining stars, yet brighter, brighter, brighter.
Sing nightingale, sing clearer, clearer, clearer!
For I can hear her, hear her
Coming nearer, nearer,
Ah! she is here!
She is here!

O STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.

Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art,
Ior surely that would touch her heart
Who kills me with disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nought but love and sorrow joined
Such notes of woe could waken.

Thou tells o' never-ending care,
0' speechless grief, and dark despair!
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair,
Or my poor heart is broken.


-I HE air was filled with wild, tumultuous sound:
The rush of many waters, and the crash
Of breaking waves; the madness of rebound
When one returning met, witl furious clash,
His fast oncoming brother, and they twain
Rose in one mighty spray to fall again.

Yet dark and darker grew the angry night;
But evermore along the curved sea-wall
Rose gleaming sprays, unearthly, grand and white,
That flashed and vanished. Then, most strange of all,
A round red moon, veiled weird and mistily,
Leapt up in gloomy splendour from the sea.

But, climbing soon beyond the vapoury veil
In red magnificence, across the wan
Wild waves she threw a :f;:1.:iN fiery trail,
That o'er the troubled surface fitful shone.
Then, paling ever as she reached her height,
She filled with floods of silver all the night.
HIfelen Jland T-a/il/zhman.


HIIE buds of the lilac are breaking,
Japonica glows on the wall;
The nuts' dainty tassels are shaking
Till clouds of the pollen dust fall.
All Spring's fairest blossoms are waking,
And sweetly their bird voices call.

The wind-blossom's delicate whiteness
Is nodding in every breeze;
The fairy cups marvellous brightness
Peeps out, here and there, 'ncath the trees;
And joying in Spring life and lightness,
The daffodils crowd on the leas.

The wind's balmy odours are bringing
From banks where pale primroses blow;
The streamlets are laughing and singing,
As clear 'mid their cresses they flow;
And the trees all their branches are swinging
To the tune of the waters below.

The sun-who in strictest seclusion
Has lived all the sad Winter days,
Till his memory was deemed a delusion,
And hushed were all songs in his praise-
Now pours forth in golden effusion,
And sets all the world in blaze.

The dew-drops are twinkling and glancing.
Forth to labour is flying the bee;
The shadows are waving and dancing,
Like children at play on the lea.

Oh come! By your presence enhancing
The beauty of all things to me.

What to me is the sun's golden beaming?
What to me are the shadows at play?
What to me all the glow and the gleaming,
And the flowers that are strewn on the way?
S,. Ah! nought but a shadow, a seeming,
If you, queen of all, are away.

I- .. .i. ,: h 1 I y your returning
..'f i.l,, II,,rI,. II:r soul of the Spring,
S.... ..I.,.- II ,l,- -pir t is yearning.
I, ,, ,- 1 ..... Love's rapid wing!
:,, ., ,-,,r .,i: ,," thoughts ever turning,
Aid f.-,r 3-.LI, -,A1 you only, I sing.
h Helen Manld W aitlioan.


.c c~V1~&-i~C1L

d sr i.Cc Q

OF PS,1/(LS.

T 4SkLS, happy pearls that lightly cling
About my lady's ivory throat,
Or gently twine your shining string
Amid her golden locks afloat:
Your silver sheen befits her well,
Pure jewels for a soul as pure !
No gems outshine your simple spell,
Each pearl a mcc- in miniature.

Pearls, gleaming pearls together strung
Upon a slender golden thread,
Like dew-drops on a lily I ....
Or tears by grieving angels shed,
Drawn from the depths of sapphire seas,
The milk-white harvest of the main;
'Tis ours to praise in sunny ease
These perfect fruits of toil and pain.

Pearls, lovely pearls of poet-lore,
Drawn from the ._I1.. i "!, of the heart:
We count your white spheres o'er and o'er,
And watch you, loosened, slip apart;
1.. .i i.i!:.,,- of the light divine,
Rare gems upon Life's rosary,
For ever loved and treasured shine
The garnered Pearls of Poesy.

He'1c ) Wood.

T- 77re sU'C'Cs WrOOI3Gq.

'-, .~. grey Dawn stood in quiet mood,
h Fhe merry Sun crept up behind her,
d..d laughing o'er her shoulder, strove
... ,Vith sudden blaze of light to blind her.
, ,l.. ir-ned, and gazing in his face,
l... lost herself in his embrace.
Helen Maud Waithmvan.

./I D8,ID FLO[VE'R\.

P OOR little faded token
Of time long passed away,
Of words of love, soft-spoken,
Of fervent vows now broken
For aye.

The breeze, in passing over,
Would steal a scented kiss;
The butterfly, thy lover,
Thought that near thee to hover
Was bliss.

And so I keep you hidden
Where none but I can see;
You raise sad ghosts unbidden:
Ghosts that will not be chidden,
And flee.

But ask with speechless pleading
That 1 shall not forget.
Ah! do ye think it needing?
I am not grown u needing!
Not yet!

Once all the Wise King's splendour
Could not have vied with you;
Aurora's fingers slender
\Were not of rose so tender
Of hue.

Where now, 0 fair magician,
The spell that once you cast?
\\here now your sway, patrician ?
Like some old-world tradition,
'Tis past.

Poor, faded, brown, and blighted,
You lie within this book,
And none would be delighted
At you to be invited
To look.

In rooms where once the flutter
Of Love's soft wings was heard,
They moan, and wail, and mutter,
And wringing pale hands, utter
No word;

As from the bygone golden,
Thou bringest back with thee
These ghosts of mcm'ries olden,
Dead flow'r thou'rt priceless holden
By me.
HelAen Mlaud T[7uT1/unuan.

IVH&2Q T-I-e'8 .]'-IT Is Y0u7Q.

O J.! merry goes the time when the heart is young,
There's nought too high to climb when the heart is young
A spirit of delight
Scatters roses in her flight,
And there's magic in the night when the heart is young!

But weary go the feet when the heart is old.
Time cometh not so sweet when the heart is old;
From all that smiled and shone
There is something lost and gone,
And our friends are few or none when the heart is old!

Yet an angel from its sphere, though the heart be old,
Whispers comfort in our car, though the heart be old,
Saying, "Age from out the tomb
Shall immortal youth assume,
And Spring eternal bloom, where no heart is old!"
Chailcs Swa;yin.

CLANnG!" said the Bell;
W I toll a knell.
SThe old year diet fast.
Se fights with Death
't ev'ry breath,
S.\, soon 'twill be his last."
"" -lang said the Bell;
I toll a knell.
Good night, old friend!
Old Year, farewell!"

Clang !" said the Bell,
My voice shall swell
To call the New Year in;
I hear his tread,
The hour is sped,
His reign shall now begin."
" Clang !" said the Bell, "the pass-word tell!
Pass in, New Year! All's well! all's well!"
Ielen Maud Waitliman.



TELL my secret? No, indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows,
And you're too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret 's mine, and I won't tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there 's none;
Suppose there is no secret after all,
But only just my fun.
To-day's a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl,
A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
I cannot ope to every one who taps,
And let the draughts come whistling through my hall;
Come bounding and surrounding me,
Come 11-.1. .astounding me,
Nipping and clipping through my wraps and all.
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows
His nose to Russian snows
To be pecked at by every wind that blows?
You would not peck? I thank you for good will,
Believe, but leave that truth untested still.


O H, you winsome little fairy, Goldilocks!
Oh, you dancing, light, and airy Goldilocks!
With your eyes that shine so brightly,
Little feet that trip so lightly,
And your ways so gay and sprightly, Goldilocks!

Oh, your mouth is like a cherry, Goldilocks!
Set in dimples, sweet and merry, Goldilocks!
And your peals of happy laughter
Leave a cheerful echo after,
As they ring from every rafter, Goldilocks!

Yes, you really are perfelion, Goldilocks!
And a cure for all dejection, Goldilocks!
With your speeches, quaint and funny,
And your kisses, sweet as honey,
And your little face so sunny, Goldilocks!

Life to you is very pleasant, Goldilocks!
For you life but in the Present, Goldilocks!
And you never stoop to borrow
Any thought of care or sorrow
From the coming of To-morrow, Goldilocks!
Helnm Mlaud Waithman.

. ';.-


SWEST Wind, blowing wild and free,
I I every obstacle away
That stands between my love and me;
Blow clearly to the utmost sea,
And leave us free as thou art free.

O West Wind, blowing fresh and gay,
Blow sorrow from my love and me;
Sweep all the mists and shadows grey,
So clear the darkness from the day,
And leave us gay as thou art gay.

O West Wind, blowing far and wide,
Blow joy unto us as you go;
Draw all sweet things from every side,
Up on your great wings let them ride,
So bring joy to us far and wide.

O West Wind, blowing to and fro,
Blow love to us whatever betide,
That we its presence feel and know,
That it may follow high and low;
Oh, leave love with us as you go!
Ile/en iMaid Tai/lHniiian.



B EHIND that misty ridge of blue
The suns of all the yesterdays
Fill all the valley, hid from view,
With one transcendent golden blaze.
What other treasures harbour here:
Lost treasures that the Past have blest?
Perchance the snows of yester-year,"
The birds that flew from last year's nest.

There, where the gilded light is fed
With suns of all the yesterdays,
The roses of lost Summers shed
Their scented petals o'er the ways,
'Mid sounds of all the brooks that purled,
And whisp'ring trees, and songs of birds;
Lost myriad voices that the world
Makes music to the heart's own words.

Here, too, their beauty re-illumed
By suns of all the yesterdays,
Our lost illusions lie entombed
In shimmering veils of sunset haze.
Those glints of Heaven that with us stayed
'When thence to Earth we newly stepped,
But doomed, ah me! to fail and fade,
As slowly on thro' life we crept.

Here, dallying in the golden beams
Of suns of ;Ill the ycsterdays,
Are drealms--that once were only dreams-
And hopes, fulfilled without delays.
Here life's lost niorning breaks once more
With bloom of lovely youth eterne,
And Time from out his garnered store
Lets all our wasted hours return.

And here, maybe, we'll find crewhile,
\Vith suns of all the yesterdays,
Lost voices speak, lost laces smile,
Lost eyes look back our lovin g aze.
Old love will live, old hearts Ihe healed,
Old ills forgot in new-found good;
And in that glorious light revealed,
Old errors will be understood.

.- Farewell, 0 sun, that joins the night:
. ~ A The suns of all your yesterdays,
\I _. ing your solitary light
In their entirety. The days
1 \ Are shortening now; when done they I-c,
I I. .11 the ridge-that lies so far
i i ch it now-and see
1 ii Illey where lost sunsets are."
del mm Hd Maud TTaithmam .

-,--.-- \


/ "

~I \I /:

'y '--

I, ,.. ITfe E H. 7. :,,.-^s.

T -O-D. IY, I have a voice that sings
S Like a wee bird within my heart;
My spirits fly on joyful wings,
No longer life hath teen or smart:
Its stings

To-morrow, finds me sad, distressed,
Bowed down with burden of my woe;
So sorrow-laden and opprest,
As if my weary heart could know
No rest

To-day, it is a joy to be;
To see the children of the Spring
Up-hreak in blossom gloriously,
And all things to her welcoming
To sing.

To-morrow-Ah, the day is long!
If years be made of days like this,
One needs to suffer and be strong."
To days that are so much amiss
Not bliss.

To-day, a sunbcam radiance throws
That lights to gold the meanest things;
With light and warmth divine it glows;
The frozen heart anew upsprings,
And grows
And sings.

To-morrow, clouds obscure the sun,
And drown his golden rays in rain,
The shadows grow, and, one by one,
The happy, sparkling lights are slain,
Till none

Thus now, with fairest blooms of May,
Anon with Winter snows besprent,
Life passes. Thus unveiled in grey,
Or with fulfilment of content
Each day
Is spent.
Heleen IMaud T7-irY/tmaln.

E we and the world are young, ,life seems
,' i ''

Still dreams of the Past fill life with delight.
ay memory sew, through the sun's last rays,
Our happy dreams and our happy days!
E. Nesbit.
1. N~eslot.


IIAD a young cousin, so pretty was she;
Ah me, ah me!
Her eyes were as merry as merry could be.
Ah me, ah me!
She was just like a kitten for frolic and fun:
Her mischievous tricks, with the morning begun,
Were not at an end when the daylight was done.
Ahl me, ah menc
And so 'tis with woe that I dolefully ;.,,
"A pretty young cousin's a dangerous thing!"

I had a young cousin, so pretty was she;
Ah me, ah me!
I have a great hole where my heart used to be!
Ah me, ah me !
For that naughty young cousin she stole it one day,
And laughing so wickedly hid it away;
She will not return it, though humbly I pray.-
Ah me, ah me !
And so, etc.

If you have a cousin, and pretty is she;
Ah me, ah me !
Be warned by my story, and 1i .I'.i 11
Ah me, ah me!
She'll think she is licensed to play "ducks and drakes,"
With the heart of a cousin, and laugh if it aches,
Which is most unpleasant by way of mistakes.
Ah me, all me!
And so, etc.
I/ile/i Jlaniu II ari'//,d/a.


A Y, do you remember, John, in the Autumn weather,
Grain had ripened early, and Harvest Home was o'er;
We went picking apples, John, you and I together-
Picking in the ripened fruit to keep for Winter store?

Say, do you remember, John?
It was in September, John,
We went picking apples in the days gone by.

Father told us surely, John, to be careful, very;
Soberly he started as far as he could see;
But down in the orchard, John, oh, the hours were merry!
I stood by the ladder's foot while you climbed up the tree.

Say, do you remember, John?
It was in September, John,
We went picking apples in the days gone by.

,- How the sun was :1-i~iln, John,
on the apples rosy;
Baskets filled so quickly,
and night came on too soon.
S'. )" :As we wandered homeward, John,
you gave me a posy;
Just as you were kissing me,
up peeped the Harvest Moon.

W Say, do you remember, John?
I It was in September, John,
We went picking apples in the days gone by.

- ,J

Say, do you remember, John,
it was Winter weather-
Courting days were finished,
and the wedding service o'er-
We went down the chapel, John,
you and I together?
V''l,.i,, :- come of picking fruit
to keep for Winter store.

Say, do you remember, John?
It was in December, John,
When we were married in the days gone by.
Helen Maui WVaitihman.

D .i r"


SEY met beneath a tree, and lingered talking:
Her eyes were very sweet and clear and blue;
He said: "Supposing we continue i .,I i,
For I should like so much to walk with you ?"
She answered, with a blush and softly smiling:
"F!' '....l. -- .--supposing that we do?"

He said: "If I should tell you that I love you--
Have loved you long, and tenderly, and true;
Supposing-I am only just supposing-
That you for answer said, "I love you, too?"
The answer crept quite softly thro' the twilight:
"Supposing-ah !-supposing that I do ?"

HIe said: "If I should ask you for a kiss, dear,
And were not quite content with one, or two,
I wonder, would you take it much amiss, dear,
Supposing, pretty sweetheart, that 1 do?"
The answer was, like echo of a whisper:
"Supposing-oh !-supposing that you do?"
Helen AMlanld Waiiwitzali.

Jo7O RJIS\(, j ECHOeS.

HE sun came peeping up over the hill,
Over the hill,
On a world that lay sleeping so caln and still,
Calm and still.
At the first fair glint of his golden ray
The Fog maiden sitting there, cold and grey,
Gathered her garment and crept away,
Pale and chill.

As she fled in haste and in fear profound,
In fear profound,
She scattered her jewels upon the ground,
Upon the ground;
There were emeralds green as the grass that grows,
And rubies red as the heart of rose,
Diamonds and sapphires, and things like those,
Lay all around.

The gay sun laughed as he picked them up,
He picked them up,
And filled to the brim his golden cup,
His golden cup.
The pearled drink of the Eastern queen
Had never a flavour, had never a sheen,
Like the nectar the sun had prepared, I ween,
For him to sup.

A light wind lifted
The lazy leaves. The lazy leaves,
And rustled "Good morn" in the
Golden sheaves, the golden sheaves.

It rippled the calm of the pool's still breast
And shook the little lilies that lay at rest,
It called the swallows from out their nest
Beneath the eaves.

The birds awoke and began to sing,
Began to sing,
And told the sun about everything,
They had dreamed or seen in the bygone night
O( tihe glittering stars and the moon's fair light,
(Of the owls uad bats with their stealthy flight
On silent wing.

The elves that nest in the sleeping 1 ;,
The sleeping flowers,
Drowsily slipped from their fragrant bowers,
Their fragrant bowers :
They washed their faces in drops of dew,
Robed them in petals of gorgeous line,
Then borrowed the butterflies' wings and :1
Thro' golden hours.

And silence fled in the pale moon's wake,
The pale moon's wake,
For the sounds of the music of day upbreak,
Of day upbreak;
'T;,.1n; of twitters of early birds,
With sleepy breathing of baby words
And mellow murmurs of distant herds
That now awake.
Helen Maud Waitkhmann.


ui)DD S,(jIC(HT, Old Year, good night
Your rapid flight
^ Is over qulite,
.\i-l now you vanish from our siglt.
-..I.-.3 night, Old Year, good night!

Adieu, Old Year, adieu!
Tried friend and true,
We cling to you!
May the New Year befriend us, too.
Adieu, Old Year, adieu!

Farewell, Old Year, 1 ,.. !!
With solemn swell
Your parting knell
Is tolling now from many a beil.
Farewell, Old Year, farewell!

Good-bye, Old Year, good-bye!
We sadly sigh
To see you die,
But we shall follow by-and-bye.
Good-bye, Old Year, good-bye!
Helen/e JfMad Waithzman.


7 LFOLD your wings, my thoughts, and fly away!
For ye the skies are blue, the world is wide;
Linger no more unsatisfied beside
The fretful fever of a weary clay.

Fly forth, for it is hot and dusty here.
Ah, now ye soar into the trackless blue,
Poising and wheeling as the sea-birds do,
With murmurous sea-music ever near.

Tasting the freshness of the soft salt wind
That flies so light across the downs. But now
I seemed to feel its touch on cheek and brow,
Till I remembered 1 was elet behind.

Yet lly! Far o'er yon wavy lines of blue
Lie purple tracts of moorland heather sweet:
There, in the slumberous scent and dreamy heat
Of perfect Summer, ye can feel anew.

The peace, the full content, that lies so deep
In clear still wells which have no ebb nor flow;
And I, who staying here, have watched ye go,
Awake at last, as from a blessed sleep.

Ah, swift-winged thoughts-come back, come back to me!
And bring from winds the freshness that they blow,
And bear the beauty of the Summer glow
Into this heart that waits so patiently.

And when again, 0 swallow thoughts, ye go,
Let it be ever unto sunny skies;
So shall we not forget that Paradise
Remains, though round us falls the Winter snow.
E. Diaw'so.

SSo Cg.

A S we sit in the midst of the time which is To-day
We hear the pipers piping, and the children at their play;
And the merry youths and maidens, as they dance, are singing gay

And we listen to their song till we, sighing, turn away;
Then we look, smiling-sighing-in each other's eyes, and say,
"T'here is never Now a song like the songs of Yesterday!"

So we listen, sitting still, with a smile and with a sigh.
Is the piping getting fainter? Are the children gone "a-bye"?
Are the singers growing weary, for the voices fail and die?

Or is our hearing failing? Are we failing you and I?
And we look, with a smile, in each other's eyes, and cry,
"There is never Now a song like the songs of By-and-bye!"

Helen Mooad TVna+?ooiai.


B LUE-EYED Sue and yellow-haired Joan
Tripped down the ll',i street while the sun
Golden was the sun, and blue was the sky,
But the cobbler worked in his house near by.
The lasses peeped through the casement wide:
"Dull work, indeed, for a Sunnier's day !" they cried.
IThey laughed, and they said, What a dry old stick,
With his tac-tic-tac and his tic-tac-tic!
All the day, every day, sitting there alone;"
" He doesn't care for company," said yellow-haired Joan.
" And don't break your heart for me, sure," cries saucy Sue;
"For whoever I may marry, I will never marry you!"

The cobbler stopped from his tac-tic-tac,
And puss on his shoulder she arched her back.
The cobbler laughed as he raised his head
(But I shouldn't like to say what the pussy-cat said).
The cobbler laughed, and he said, said he,
" Go, get along with you, and don't plague me:
Little girls like you, my dears, are better far at home;
No company at all, my dears, I much prefer to some;
And never will you marry, my merry little maid,
If you wait until I ask you," the cobbler said.

M~E 91,fIDSS


D OWN in the chasm below me you glitter, 0 swallow,
/ Fearless and free.
Winged and unfettered as you is my soul fain to follow
Out of the chasm and darkness, and up through the hollow,
On to the downs where the wind bloweth fresh from the sea.
Shall it not be?

Here on the downs, where the murmurous voice of the ocean
Rises and falls,
Lapping and laving, in restless, perpetual motion,
Kissing the feet of the cliffs with a tireless devotion-
Cliffs that rise up from it proudly, impregnable walls,
Victors-not thralls.

Down in the bay, see, the shadow lies dark and enthralling,
Sullen and grey,
But where the uttermost crag throws its shadow appalling,
Cutting it thro', lo! a pathway of glory is falling
Straight from the low-lying sun, at the gates of the Day
Passing away.

Glory that touches the shore where the darkness so present
Deepest must be;
Over a tremulous ocean of hues evanescent,
Leading away and away to a sky opalescent,
Distant and dim as a dream fading into the sea,
\Whither ? All me!

Had I but wings as thou last them, O swallow that fleeteth,
Then would I fly;
Fly where the uttermost end of the glory-line meeteth,
Close to the edge of the shore in the land that none weeteth;
There, where the sea melts to one with the hues of the sky-
Is that to die?

Wings are within us-ah sure !-They are clipped, but their
Vexes us sore;
Beating by day and at night time, and never fr.:i ntt;n.,
Freedom they knew, and a restlessness ever begetting,
Fraught with a longing to break all the trammels, and soar
Free evermore!



I 'M in love with pretty Mary
As sells fish upon the Quay;
But the women's tempers vary,
And their ways are so contrary
That I often think I'1l rary
Dare to mate along o' she.
But, I says to myself, says I, Oh, why should you be so shy ?
For as jolly a tar as any you are,.
And there's nothing like having a try,
There's nothing like having a try."

Now it really is a pity
That I can't make up my mind,
For she looks so sweet and pretty,
And she talks so smart and witty;
You may go through all the city,
Not a better girl you'll find.
So, says I to myself, says I, etc.

I really am despairing
At the state as things are in;
This suspense is very wearing
To a man as is sea-faring,
So I'm now about preparing
My proposal to begin.
For, says I to myself, etc.

But my courage I can't screw it
To the proper pitch to pop;
For once done, you can't undo it,
And I 'm fearful I should rue it;
And whene'er I get nigh to it,
O my heart goes flip-a-flop!
But says I to myself, etc.

I '1 just say:-" I've long intended
For to ask you to be mine;
Least is said is soonest mended,
And I hope you ain't offended;
Just say 'Yes,' and get it ended,
Or say 'No' if you incline.
For, says I to myself, etc.

IClcen 2/aud ffTit/zmnan.

r .


6vseNjJ\C -I

H8 sky is all hooded and shrouded in grey,
The night stealeth rapidly on,
But one little cloud that belonged to the day
Refuses to fade and be gone.
It drifts o'er the shadows, a delicate sprite,
In gossamer garments of apricot light,
And bids a delicious defiance to night.

Athwart all the shadows one tremulous ray
Of sunlight hath sought it, and shone
In sweet benediction, all golden and gay,
For that little cloudlet alone.
It climbs, as I watch it, that ladder of light,
And out thro' the greyness it passes from sight.
Who'll follow? Who'll follow? I would if I might.
Ife/ci Alaend 1-Cl1//imlan.

Ih e I Y7V al YI rwbg