AN OLD HEART How young I am!  Ah! heaven, this curse of youth   Doth mock me from my mirror with great eyes,And pulsing veins repeat the unwelcome truth,   That I must live, though hope within me dies. So young, and yet I have had all of life.   Why, men have lived to see a hundred years,Who have not known the rapture, joy, and strife   Of my brief youth, its passion and its tears. Oh! what are... more...

o not begin the new year by recounting to yourself or others all your losses and sorrows. Let the past go. Should some good friend present you with material for a lovely garment, would you insult her by throwing it aside and describing the beautiful garments you had worn out in past times? The new year has given you the fabric for a fresh start in life, why dwell upon the events which have gone, the joys, blessings and advantages of the past!... more...

THREE WOMEN My love is young, so young;Young is her cheek, and her throat,And life is a song to be sungWith love the word for each note. Young is her cheek and her throat;Her eyes have the smile o' May.And love is the word for each noteIn the song of my life to-day. Her eyes have the smile o' May;Her heart is the heart of a dove,And the song of my life to-dayIs love, beautiful love. Her heart is the heart of a dove,Ah, would it but fly to... more...

THE KINGDOM OF LOVE In the dawn of the day when the sea and the earth   Reflected the sunrise above,I set forth with a heart full of courage and mirth   To seek for the Kingdom of Love.I asked of a Poet I met on the way   Which cross-road would lead me aright;And he said “Follow me, and ere long you shall see   Its glittering turrets of light.” And soon in the distance a city shone... more...

MAURINE PART I. I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune,Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June!Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair:The climbing rose‑tree grew about me there,And checked with shade the sunny porticoWhere, morns like this, I came to read, or sew.I heard the gate click, and a firm quick treadUpon the walk. No need to turn my head;I would mistake, and doubt my own voice sounding,Before his... more...

High Noon Time's finger on the dial of my lifePoints to high noon! and yet the half-spent dayLeaves less than half remaining, for the dark,Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end. To those who burn the candle to the stick,The sputtering socket yields but little light.Long life is sadder than an early death.We cannot count on raveled threads of ageWhereof to weave a fabric. We must useThe warp and woof the ready present yieldsAnd toil while... more...

To Mr. Ray Gilbert Late Student, Aged Twenty-three Were you an older man, my dear Ray, your letter would be consigned to the flames unanswered, and our friendship would become constrained and formal, if it did not end utterly. But knowing you to be so many years my junior, and so slightly acquainted with yourself or womankind, I am going to be the friend you need, instead of the misfortune you invite. I will not say that your letter was a... more...