She poured out nothing, very fast, the tea-pot tipped on high,

And in the bowl found sugar lumps unseen by my dull eye.

She added rich (pretended) cream seemed a wilful waste,

- it

Allowing only needful time to pour them, in between.

We stirred with massive pewter spoons, and sipped in courtly ease,

With all the ceremony of the stately Japan

ese.

At length she put the cups away. "Goodnight, Papa," she said;

And I went to a real tea, and Dorothy to bed.

THE SPIRIT OF THE MAINE

IN battle-line of sombre gray
Our ships-of-war advance,
As Red Cross Knights in holy fray
Charged with avenging lance.
And terrible shall be thy plight,
O fleet of cruel Spain !
For ever in our van doth fight
The spirit of the Maine!

As when beside Regillus Lake

The Great Twin Brethren came A righteous fight for Rome to make Against the Deed of ShameSo now a ghostly ship shall doom The fleet of treacherous Spain : Before her guilty soul doth loom The spirit of the Maine!

A wraith arrayed in peaceful white,
As when asleep she lay

Above the traitorous mine that night
Within Havana Bay,

She glides before the avenging fleet,

A sign of woe to Spain.

Brave though her sons, how shall they meet The spirit of the Maine !

CANDLEMAS

O HEARKEN, all ye little weeds

That lie beneath the snow,

(So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!)
The sun hath risen for royal deeds,
A valiant wind the vanguard leads;
Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds
Before ye rise and blow.

O furry living things, adream

On Winter's drowsy breast,

(How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest !)

Arise and follow where a gleam
Of wizard gold unbinds the stream,
And all the woodland windings seem
With sweet expectance blest.

My birds, come back! the hollow sky Is weary for your note. (Sweet-throat, come back! O liquid, mellow throat!)

Ere May's soft minions hereward fly,
Shame on ye, laggards, to deny
The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye,
The tawny, shining coat!

also,

Telling in silence these sad beads of days? So let it be: though no sweet numbers flow, My breath shall be Thy praise.

Yea, though Thou slay the life wherein

men see

The upward-mounting flame, the failing spark,

My heart of love, that heart Thou gavest

me,

Shall beat on in the dark.

LIFE

WHAT, comrade of a night,
No sooner meet than fight?
Before the word, the blow?
Well, be it so.

Yet think not Thou I yield,
Lost on a lonely field.
Lo! to my fainting breath,
My champion, Death!

When all the young year's way Grows sweeter day by day; When almond buds unclose, Who doubts of May's red rose?

YOSEMITE

FROM THE WASHINGTON SEQUOIA "

SOUL of a tree ungrown, new life out of God's life proceeding,

Folded close in the seed, waking-O wonder of wonders

Waking with power as a spirit to clothe thee in leaves and in branches, What, in thine age-long future, is the word thou art set here to say?

Far in the great Sierra dwell the mighty groups of thy kindred;

Aisles of the sounding pines; and colonnades dusky and fragrant, Pillared with ridgy shafts of tall and wonderful cedar,

Lead to their presence; and round them forever the mountains stand.

Deep in that inner temple listens the fortunate pilgrim,

Low where the red lilies tremble he lies while the still hours pass by him, Baring his brows to the silence, the dear and intimate greatness,

The touch of the friendly air, like a quiet and infinite hand.

Far, far up from the earth, in the lower spaces of heaven,

Shadowy green on the blue, rests the moving lace of the branches,

Holding the faint winds captive, dropping but lightest of murmurs,

Spirits of far-away sound, to the windless reaches below.

Deep in that inner temple listens the fortunate pilgrim;

Infinite things they say to him, the mighty groups of thy kindred,

Life beyond life, and soul within soul, and God around all as an ocean, Whispers his heart dimly guesses, secrets he never may know.