-Violet 90

Heart of my Heart 93

Witnesses 94

Wherefore 95

Pagan 96

"The Fathers of our Fathers" 97

"Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin" 99

Her Vivien Eyes 101

There was a Rose 102

The Artist 103

Poetry and Philosophy 103

"Quo Vadis" 104

To a Critic 105

FOREWORD.

_And one, perchance, will read and sigh:
"What aimless songs! Why will he sing
Of nature that drags out her woe
Through wind and rain, and sun, and snow,
From miserable spring to spring?"
Then put me by._

_And one, perhaps, will read and say:
"Why write of things across the sea;
Of men and women, far and near,
When we of things at home would hear--
Well, who would call this poetry?"
Then toss away._

_A hopeless task have we, meseems,
At this late day; whom fate hath made
Sad, bankrupt heirs of song; who, filled
With kindred yearnings, try to build
A tower like theirs, that will not fade,
Out of our dreams._

Only One Hundred and Fifty Copies Printed for Private Distribution.
A Few Copies For Sale.

IDYLLIC MONOLOGUES

The Brothers

Not far from here, it lies beyond
That low-hilled belt of woods. We'll take
This unused lane where brambles make
A wall of twilight, and the blond
Brier-roses pelt the path and flake
The margin waters of a pond.

This is its fence--or that which was
Its fence once--now, rock rolled from rock,
One tangle of the vine and dock,
Where bloom the wild petunias;
And this its gate, the iron-weeds block,
Hot with the insects' dusty buzz.

Two wooden posts, wherefrom has peeled
The weather-crumbled paint, still rise;
Gaunt things--that groan when someone tries
The gate whose hinges, rust-congealed,
Snarl open:--on each post still lies
Its carven lion with a shield.

We enter; and between great rows
Of locusts winds a grass-grown road;
And at its glimmering end,--o'erflowed
With quiet light,--the white front shows
Of an ol