LO, upon the carpet, where Throned upon a heap of slain Blue-eyed dolls of beauty rare (Ah, they pleaded all in vain!) Sits the Infant Tamerlane!

It fell upon a summer night The village folk were soundly slee… Unconscious of the glamour white In which the moon all things was s… One window only showed a light;

IN Youth, when through our veins… The bright red stream of life, The Soul’s Voice is a trumpet-bla… That calls us to the strife. The Spirit spurns its prison-bars…

ONCE a poet—long ago— Wrote a song as void of art As the songs that children know, And as pure as a child’s heart. With a sigh he threw it down,

METHOUGHT I came unto a world… Where souls stood thick as grain a… And many reapers, full of pious pr… With rapid scythe-sweeps mowed the… And zealous binders bound them up…

GOOD fellows are laughing and dr… (To-night no heart should grieve), But I am of old days thinking, Alone, on Christmas Eve. Old memories fast are springing

Through the noiseless doors of De… Three passed out, as with one brea… Two had faces stern as Fate, Stamped with unrelenting hate. One upon her lips of guile

The pale discrowned stacks of maiz…    Like spectres in the sun, Stand shivering nigh Avonaise,    Where all is dead and gone. The sere leaves make a music vain,

The night is young yet; an enchan… In early summer: calm and darkly b… I love the Night, and every littl… She brings, to soothe the sleep of… Hearst thou the Voices? Sough! S…

We said farewell, my youth and I, When all fair dreams were gone or… And Love’s red lips were cold and… When white blooms fell from tree-t… Our Austral winter’s way of snowi…

Half waking and half dreaming, While starry lamps hung low I saw a vision splendid Upon the darkness glow. The Capital Australian,

Unto the Person kind there came A young girl bearing her fruit of… She fell and it had to pay the pri… Innocent Lamb of Sacrifice! Lovingly then the Person smiled,

Dedicated to Louis Becke You are now in London town, Louis Becke, Keeping up your old renown, Writing yarns of women brown,

There was a Boy, long years ago, Who hour by hour awake would lie, And watch the white moon gliding s… Along her pathway in the sky. And every night as thus he lay

These broken lines for pardon crav… I cannot end the song with art: My grief is gray and old—her grave Is dug so deep within my heart. IT was a day of sombre heat: