AUGUST 23.

THE PAEAN OF THE POPPIES.

The mountains sway with flame
Where the frail glories tremble--
Fair fallen stars of fire!
The valleys green acclaim
The legions that assemble
In royal robe and tire,
With timbrel, shawm and choir.

* * * * *

Afar in darker lands
I feel their kisses burning
As sweet, uncertain lips.
As faint, unhindered hands
Are felt by exiles yearning
On shores when tears eclipse
The wan and westering ships.

HERMAN SCHEFFAUER,
in _Looms of Life._

AUGUST 24.

PEACE.

No hand have I on rudder laid;
All my oars lie idly by;
All my sheets are steadfast made.
For Love now guides me silently.

His are the waves and flowing tide;
He is my bark and chart and hand;
He is companion at my side;
His the coming and departed land.

Somewhere, I know, I port shall win;
Somewhen I know, dear friends, I'll see;
Love, "The I Am" is lord within!
Daily he brings mine own to me.

HENRY HARRISON BROWN,
in _Now, March_, 1900.

AUGUST 25.

IN THE SEASON OF POPPIES.

From the shoulders of Dawn the night shadow slipped,
As the shy, saintly Moon evaded her tryst
With the roystering Sun, who eagerly sipped
From the valley's green cup the golden-white mist.
Day flashed like a smile from Dawn's rosy mouth,
With a passion of birds and fragrant appeals,
And the warm winds up from the sleepy South
Sluiced the red, scented gold of our poppy fields.

HARLEY R. WILEY,
in _Overland Monthly, Sept._, 1908.

AUGUST 26.

WHEN THE POPPY GOES TO SLEEP.

Now the sandman comes a-calling,
And those eyes can scarcely peep:
It is little children's bedtime
When the poppy goes to sleep.
In the west the sun is sinking,
And the chickens go to roost:
And the poppy folds its petals
That the beaming sun had loosed.

* * * * *

And the poppy like the Arab,
Silent in the close of day,
Fearful of the coming darkness,
Folds its tent and steals away.
Hear the sandman's final warning
On the land and on the deep,
Saying, "Good night, good night, good night,"
When the poppy goes to sleep.

CHARLES McKNIGHT SAIN,
in _The Call of the Muse._

AUGUST 27.

THE SIERRA SNOW-PLANT.

Thou growest in eternal snows
As flower never grew;
Th