[In memory of E. S. Frazee, R… Into the acres of the newborn stat… He poured his strength, and plowed… And, when the traders followed him… Towering above their furtive souls…

The Lion is a kingly beast. He likes a Hindu for a feast. And if no Hindu he can get, The lion-family is upset. He cuffs his wife and bites her ea…

FOR A VERY LITTLE GI… CATHARINE FRAZEE WAKEF… The sun gives not directly The coal, the diamond crown; Not in a special basket

A Song in Chinese Tapestries<… “How, how,” he said. “Friend Chan… “San Francisco sleeps as the dead… Ended license, lust and play: Why do you iron the night away?

Your pen needs but a ruffle To be Pavlova whirling. It surely is a scalawag A-scamping down the page. A pretty little May-wind

(IN THE BEGINNING) The sun is a huntress young, The sun is a red, red joy, The sun is an indian girl, Of the tribe of the Illinois.

(What Grandpa told the Childre… The moon? It is a griffin’s egg, Hatching to-morrow night. And how the little boys will watch With shouting and delight

There dwelt a widow learned and de… Behind our hamlet on the eastern h… Three sons she had, who went to fi… They promised to return, but wande… The cities used them well, they wo…

I saw Lord Buddha towering by my… Saying: “Once more, good youth, I… Saying: “I bring you my fair Law… And from your withering passion fu… Release from that white hand that…

[This is the hymn to Eleanor,… This is a song to the white-armed… Cold in the breast as the frost-wr… Whose feet are slow on the hills o… Whose round mouth rules by whisper…

Climbing the heights of Berkeley Nightly I watch the West. There lies new San Francisco, Sea-maid in purple dressed, Wearing a dancer’s girdle

The moon’s a brass-hooped water-ke… A wondrous water-feast. If I could climb the ridge and dr… And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the fl…

In a nation of one hundred fine, m… There are plenty of sweeping, swin… And knock your old blue devils out… I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan,… Candidate for president who sketch…

The moon’s an open furnace door Where all can see the blast, We shovel in our blackest griefs, Upon that grate are cast Our aching burdens, loves and fear…

I went down into the desert To meet Elijah’€” Arisen from the dead. I thought to. find him in an echoi… For so my dream had said.