 | [Poems by Carryl in] Cap and gown |  |
10
Pallas.
You say there's a sameness in my style,
You long for the savor of something new,
You tell me that love is not worth while,
You wish for verse that is strong and true.
Well, I will leave the choice to you—
Prose or poetry, short or long,
Only we'll let this be the cue—
Love is excluded from the song.
You long for the savor of something new,
You tell me that love is not worth while,
You wish for verse that is strong and true.
Well, I will leave the choice to you—
Prose or poetry, short or long,
Only we'll let this be the cue—
Love is excluded from the song.
I'll sing of some old cathedral pile,
Where, as we sit in a carved oak pew,
The sunlight illumines nave and aisle,
And peace seems thrilling us through and through.
No? you don't think that will do?
How would you like a busy throng,
A battle, Elizabeth's retinue?
But love is excluded from the song.
Where, as we sit in a carved oak pew,
The sunlight illumines nave and aisle,
And peace seems thrilling us through and through.
No? you don't think that will do?
How would you like a busy throng,
A battle, Elizabeth's retinue?
But love is excluded from the song.
A journey, a voyage, a tropic isle,
The hush of the forest, the ocean blue,
A lament for all that is false and vile,
A pæan for all that is good and true,
Pompadour's fan, or Louis's queue,
Mournful or merry, right or wrong.
Subjects, you'll find, are not so few,
But love is excluded from the song.
The hush of the forest, the ocean blue,
A lament for all that is false and vile,
A pæan for all that is good and true,
11
Mournful or merry, right or wrong.
Subjects, you'll find, are not so few,
But love is excluded from the song.
Oh! for a song of yourself you sue!
Do you think you can trap me? You are wrong.
Sing of your eyes and your smile and—Pooh!
Love is excluded from the song.
Do you think you can trap me? You are wrong.
Sing of your eyes and your smile and—Pooh!
Love is excluded from the song.
21
The Convert.
I wrote lots of trash about Cupid,
And the telling bewitchment of curls,
And that men were excessively stupid
To be madly devoted to girls.
I remarked that true love was unstable,
As compared with position or pelf,
'Til one day I met you, little Mabel,
And learned what it felt like, myself!
And the telling bewitchment of curls,
And that men were excessively stupid
To be madly devoted to girls.
I remarked that true love was unstable,
As compared with position or pelf,
'Til one day I met you, little Mabel,
And learned what it felt like, myself!
Don't read all the things I have written
When I knew that my heart was my own,
But since I confess I am smitten,
Read these little verses alone.
And sincerely I trust I'll be able
To convince you, you sly little elf,
To grant me your heart, little Mabel,
And learn what it feels like yourself!
When I knew that my heart was my own,
But since I confess I am smitten,
Read these little verses alone.
And sincerely I trust I'll be able
To convince you, you sly little elf,
To grant me your heart, little Mabel,
And learn what it feels like yourself!
31
A Fickle Heart.
A fickle heart! Let subtler poets sing
Of changeless love and all that kind of thing,
Of hearts in which a passion never dies—
My heart's as fickle as the summer skies
Across whose face the changing cloud-forms wing.
Of changeless love and all that kind of thing,
Of hearts in which a passion never dies—
My heart's as fickle as the summer skies
Across whose face the changing cloud-forms wing.
Unfailing loves unfailing troubles bring.
I love to touch on Cupid's harp each string,
Though each unto my questioning touch replies
A fickle heart.
I love to touch on Cupid's harp each string,
Though each unto my questioning touch replies
A fickle heart.
So, 'twixt some thirty loves I'm wavering,
To each the same unstable vows I fling,
Reading the first glad gleam of love's surprise
In thirty pair of brown and azure eyes,
Finding in all the same thought answering
A fickle heart.
To each the same unstable vows I fling,
Reading the first glad gleam of love's surprise
In thirty pair of brown and azure eyes,
Finding in all the same thought answering
A fickle heart.
41
Then and Now.
When first we met she was three feet high,
And three, I think, was her age as well,
A touch of the heaven was in her eye;
I cannot say she was very shy,
(As you'll see by her actions by and by),
But the way I behaved I blush to tell.
And three, I think, was her age as well,
A touch of the heaven was in her eye;
I cannot say she was very shy,
(As you'll see by her actions by and by),
But the way I behaved I blush to tell.
We met at a party, on the stair;
She was decked in ribbons and silk galore,
She smiled with a most bewitching air,
And then, I'm afraid, I pulled her hair.
You know you can't expect savoir-faire
Of a cavalier of the age of four!
She was decked in ribbons and silk galore,
She smiled with a most bewitching air,
And then, I'm afraid, I pulled her hair.
You know you can't expect savoir-faire
Of a cavalier of the age of four!
She only laughed with her subtle charm,
And took it more sweetly than you'd have believed,
But later she really took alarm—
When she wanted to kiss me I pinched her arm,
And she ran away to escape from harm;
At which, no doubt, I was much relieved.
And took it more sweetly than you'd have believed,
But later she really took alarm—
When she wanted to kiss me I pinched her arm,
And she ran away to escape from harm;
At which, no doubt, I was much relieved.
She did not offer to kiss again;
I saw her go off with another beau,
She pretended to hold up her ten-inch train,
And whispered low to her new-found swain.
I was eating ice-cream with might and main,—
And that was some seventeen years ago.
I saw her go off with another beau,
She pretended to hold up her ten-inch train,
42
I was eating ice-cream with might and main,—
And that was some seventeen years ago.
I see her to-night on the winding stair,
She replies with a smile to my sober bow;
The palms lean lovingly toward her hair,
And her foot keeps time to a distant air.
I'm afraid she does not recall or care
She does not offer to kiss me now!
She replies with a smile to my sober bow;
The palms lean lovingly toward her hair,
And her foot keeps time to a distant air.
I'm afraid she does not recall or care
She does not offer to kiss me now!
Heigho! What a sad, what a sweet affair,
What a curious mixture life seems to be!
I am fast in the net of love, and there,
With another man on the winding stair,
Is the girl I love,—and I pulled her hair
When she wanted a kiss at the age of three!
What a curious mixture life seems to be!
I am fast in the net of love, and there,
With another man on the winding stair,
Is the girl I love,—and I pulled her hair
When she wanted a kiss at the age of three!
51
L'Amour, L'Amour.
We catch the fleeting perfume of roses
As the evening closes the golden day,
And the rhythmic beating of waves in motion
Comes from the ocean a mile away;
In the west is dying the sunset's splendor,
And twilight tender enfolds the land;
Where the tide is flying a-down the river,
And the grasses quiver, we silent stand.
As the evening closes the golden day,
And the rhythmic beating of waves in motion
Comes from the ocean a mile away;
In the west is dying the sunset's splendor,
And twilight tender enfolds the land;
Where the tide is flying a-down the river,
And the grasses quiver, we silent stand.
In your radiant eyes the sun unknowing
Has left his glowing to deeper glow,
And your tender sighs sound far more sweetly
Than the winds that fleetly and blithely blow
And first all shyly your small hand lingers
With trembling fingers within my own,
The blushes slyly and swiftly starting,
And then departing like rose-leaves blown.
Has left his glowing to deeper glow,
And your tender sighs sound far more sweetly
Than the winds that fleetly and blithely blow
And first all shyly your small hand lingers
With trembling fingers within my own,
The blushes slyly and swiftly starting,
And then departing like rose-leaves blown.
Alas, the envious time is fleeting,
But your heart is beating in time with mine,
And Cupid's rhyme rings louder—clearer,
As I draw you nearer, my love divine!
In the twilight dim we have found love's tether,
And are linked together, no more to part;
While the white stars swing in a maze of glory,
To hear the story that bares your heart.
But your heart is beating in time with mine,
And Cupid's rhyme rings louder—clearer,
As I draw you nearer, my love divine!
52
And are linked together, no more to part;
While the white stars swing in a maze of glory,
To hear the story that bares your heart.
62
A Memory.
We sat in the lamplight's gentle glow,
Alone on the winding stair,
And the distant strains of a waltz fell low
On the fragrance-laden air.
I caught from her lips a murmured “yes,”
And the stately palms amid
There came a blissful, sweet caress—
I shouldn't have—but I did!
Alone on the winding stair,
And the distant strains of a waltz fell low
On the fragrance-laden air.
I caught from her lips a murmured “yes,”
And the stately palms amid
There came a blissful, sweet caress—
I shouldn't have—but I did!
I might forget that joyous night,
As the months slip swiftly by;
I might forget the gentle light
That shone in her hazel eye;
But I can't forget that whispered “yes”
That came the palms amid,
I can't forget that one caress—
I shouldn't have—but I did!
As the months slip swiftly by;
I might forget the gentle light
That shone in her hazel eye;
But I can't forget that whispered “yes”
That came the palms amid,
I can't forget that one caress—
I shouldn't have—but I did!
64
Ballade of Justification.
A jingle of bells and a crunch of snow,
Skies that are clear as the month of May,
Winds that merrily, briskly blow,
A pretty girl and a cozy sleigh,
Eyes that are bright and laughter gay,
All that favors Dan Cupid's art;
I was but twenty. What can you say
If I confess I lost my heart?
Skies that are clear as the month of May,
Winds that merrily, briskly blow,
A pretty girl and a cozy sleigh,
Eyes that are bright and laughter gay,
All that favors Dan Cupid's art;
I was but twenty. What can you say
If I confess I lost my heart?
What if I answered in whispers low,
Begged that she would not say me nay,
Asked if my love she did not know,
What if I did? Who blames me, pray?
Suppose she blushed. 'Tis the proper way
For lovely maidens to play their part.
Does it seem too much for a blush to pay
If I confess I lost my heart?
Begged that she would not say me nay,
Asked if my love she did not know,
What if I did? Who blames me, pray?
Suppose she blushed. 'Tis the proper way
For lovely maidens to play their part.
Does it seem too much for a blush to pay
If I confess I lost my heart?
What if I drove extremely slow,
Was there not cause enough to stay?
Such opportunities do not grow
Right in one's pathway every day;
Cupid I dared not disobey,
If he saw fit to cast his dart;
Is it a thing to cause dismay
If I confess I lost my heart?
Was there not cause enough to stay?
Such opportunities do not grow
Right in one's pathway every day;
65
If he saw fit to cast his dart;
Is it a thing to cause dismay
If I confess I lost my heart?
ENVOY.
What if I kissed her? Jealous they
Who scoff at buyers in true love's mart.
Who can my sound good sense gainsay
If I confess I lost my heart?
Who scoff at buyers in true love's mart.
Who can my sound good sense gainsay
If I confess I lost my heart?
77
A Passing Song.
Ah, only love I have ever known,
Ah, only love I shall ever know,
The careless hours of youth have flown
And the light-hearted past to the winds is thrown,
And faster and faster the hours go.
Ah, only love I shall ever know,
The careless hours of youth have flown
And the light-hearted past to the winds is thrown,
And faster and faster the hours go.
In your heart and mine there's a secret lying
While the spring's breath thrills in the air of May,
While life seems ever to be defying
The flight of time and the thought of dying,
And the great world runs on its careless way.
While the spring's breath thrills in the air of May,
While life seems ever to be defying
The flight of time and the thought of dying,
And the great world runs on its careless way.
Yet one dear thought in my heart is resting
As I face the path I must tread ere long,
When wearied with life's unending questing,
Its tawdry joys and its idle jesting,
I shall pass to the midst of the missing throng.
As I face the path I must tread ere long,
When wearied with life's unending questing,
Its tawdry joys and its idle jesting,
I shall pass to the midst of the missing throng.
That here I have known your heart's dear thrilling,
Your helping hand and your watchful eye,
My life with your tender love fulfilling.
I know but this, and am strangely willing
To learn your love and in learning—die.
Your helping hand and your watchful eye,
My life with your tender love fulfilling.
I know but this, and am strangely willing
To learn your love and in learning—die.
86
Friends.
The wintry sky may be chill and drear,
And the wind go sighing in mournful strain,
Or it may be the spring of the waking year,
When flowers and birds return again.
Be it March or May, it matters not,
Snow or violets on the ground,
I know a little bewitching spot,
Where it is fair the whole year round.
And the wind go sighing in mournful strain,
Or it may be the spring of the waking year,
When flowers and birds return again.
Be it March or May, it matters not,
Snow or violets on the ground,
I know a little bewitching spot,
Where it is fair the whole year round.
A low tea-table set out for two,
A divan with cushions piled on high,
Dresden tea-cups of pink and blue,
A fat little kettle simmering nigh,
In winter a fire that cracks and roars,
In summer a window where breezes play.
What if it hails or snows or pours,
In that little spot it is always May.
A divan with cushions piled on high,
Dresden tea-cups of pink and blue,
A fat little kettle simmering nigh,
In winter a fire that cracks and roars,
In summer a window where breezes play.
What if it hails or snows or pours,
In that little spot it is always May.
A girl—of course, you will say, when one
Describes such a haven from life's mad whirl.
There must be a wait till my song is done.
This is such an entrancing girl!
Cheeks as fresh as a summer rose,
Eyes that change like the changing sea,
Lips where a smile first comes, then goes,
And, oh! but she makes delicious tea.
Describes such a haven from life's mad whirl.
There must be a wait till my song is done.
This is such an entrancing girl!
87
Eyes that change like the changing sea,
Lips where a smile first comes, then goes,
And, oh! but she makes delicious tea.
So we sit and talk while the kettle sings,
And life seems better at least to me,
The fleeting hours have golden wings,
When in that little spot I'm drinking tea.
Love? Ah, no, we are far above
Such folly. Our time we can better spend.
This world is brimming with loveless love,
But 'tis rarely enough one finds a friend.
And life seems better at least to me,
The fleeting hours have golden wings,
When in that little spot I'm drinking tea.
Love? Ah, no, we are far above
Such folly. Our time we can better spend.
This world is brimming with loveless love,
But 'tis rarely enough one finds a friend.
103
The Captive.
I've sought for Cupid by day and night.
But he always contrived to elude me,
And kept discreetly out of my sight,
Nor showed his face, the crafty wight,
Nor e'er for a moment sued me.
But he always contrived to elude me,
And kept discreetly out of my sight,
Nor showed his face, the crafty wight,
Nor e'er for a moment sued me.
And often while for his face I sought
I thought with a thrill I had found him,
By my little wiles and my coaxing caught,
Or even for gold ignobly bought,
With his arrows and bow around him.
I thought with a thrill I had found him,
By my little wiles and my coaxing caught,
Or even for gold ignobly bought,
With his arrows and bow around him.
But now my pulse gives a fresh, wild start,
And a throb of joyous surprise, dear,
As I see him, armed with his subtle dart,
A fellow prisoner with my heart.
In the depths of your hazel eyes, dear.
And a throb of joyous surprise, dear,
As I see him, armed with his subtle dart,
A fellow prisoner with my heart.
In the depths of your hazel eyes, dear.
281
The Unwilling Muse.
Oh, nothing in all life worse is,
For abating superfluous pride,
Than having to scribble on verses
With the editor waiting outside;
I am hearing a lecture on Shelley,
Where I ought to be able to dream,
But my brain is as vapid as jelly,
And I cannot alight on a theme.
For abating superfluous pride,
Than having to scribble on verses
With the editor waiting outside;
I am hearing a lecture on Shelley,
Where I ought to be able to dream,
But my brain is as vapid as jelly,
And I cannot alight on a theme.
The bell rings. My friend, the Professor,
Is beginning to read out the roll.
How time drags! Am I present? Oh, yes, sir,
But, oh, what a blank is my soul.
I fear that my cunning has left me,
Inspiration refuses to guide,
The muse of her aid has bereft me,
And the editor's waiting outside.
Is beginning to read out the roll.
How time drags! Am I present? Oh, yes, sir,
But, oh, what a blank is my soul.
I fear that my cunning has left me,
Inspiration refuses to guide,
The muse of her aid has bereft me,
And the editor's waiting outside.
| [Poems by Carryl in] Cap and gown | |