O Mother of that heap of clay, so… Now do you stare at death, woman,… Now do you long to fare afar, and… Where he must wander all alone, hi… But I now, but I now—

Grand Cañon of Arizona Vishnu, the gods of eld are dead.… Are Zeus, Astarte, and that lotus… Isis of Egypt. Unto each his hour… Yet thou, silent within thy temple…

The ox-team and the automobile Stood face to face on the long red… The long red road was narrow At the turn of the hill, And below was the sun-dancing rive…

While I walk the pavement sooty In the town, Tread the stony path of duty Up and down, Oh, the Kern, all clad in beauty—

He built a tower for all to see, With sun-washed gardens planted wi… And there with pomp of pageantry, With men-at-arms and minstrelsy And moonbeam ladies fair and free,

The cactus in the desert stands Like time’s inviolate sentinel, Watching the sun-washed waste of s… Lest they their ancient secrets te… And the lost lore of mournful land…

Your voice, beloved, on the living… Borne to me by the spirit powerful Who binds the atoms and leaps out… Great suns together! Ah, what mag… Strung for God’s fingers, sounds…

The little world span round and ro… Singing along her sunny ways, And all the glory she unwound She gave to him for joy and praise… And he, whom lavish morning met

Oh, hero of our younger race! Great builder of a temple new! Ruler, who sought no lordly place! Warrior who sheathed the sword he… Lover of men, who saw afar

E. H. M. Nov. 17th, 1890—Feb. 13th, 1904 Still he lies, Pale, wan, and strangely wise. Under the white coverlet

You are a painter—listen— I’ll paint you a picture too! Of the long white lights that glis… Through Michigan Avenue; With the red lights down the middl…

BESIDE her ashen hearth she sat… Whence he she loved had fled,— His children plucking at her sombr… And calling for the dead. One came to her clad in the robes…

The patter of a baby’s feet Upon the floor, His babble at the door— Ah, these are sounds too sweet, to… Blue sky, save me from tears!

I See the snow-drops flutter Their white wings in the gale. I hear the robin utter On high his gallant tale. Look where the rash wind chases

Pearl-gray is the sky, And high within it, sailing by, Three sea-gulls fly. Pearl-white are they Against the sky’s obscurer gray—