Ay, deeper thoughts than these, though undefined,

Wake in the quickened soul at sight of

thee,

For this majestic orient faith enshrined Man's yearning hope of immortality.

And thou wert Egypt's symbol of the power
That under all decaying form lies hid;
The old world worshipped thee, O Lotus
flower,

Then carved its sphinx and reared its pyramid.

LITTLE WILD BABY1

THROUGH the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he said

I was the woman-I !—that he would wed; He sent a boat with men for his own white priest,

And he gave my father horses, and made a feast.

I am his wife: if he has forgotten me, I will not live for scorning eyes to see. (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going,

Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.)

Three moons ago - it was but three moons ago

He took his gun, and started across the

(Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going,

Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.

The river flows swiftly, the sea is dark and deep;

Little wild baby, lie still! Lie still and sleep.) MARGARET THOMSON JANVIER ("Margaret Vandegrift ")

'VIVÉROLS

BEYOND the sea, I know not where, There is a town called Vivérols;

I know not if 'tis near or far,

I know not what its features are,
I only know 'tis Vivérols.

I know not if its ancient walls

By vine and moss be overgrown;
I know not if the night-owl calls
From feudal battlements of stone,
Inhabited by him alone.

I know not if mid meadow-lands
Knee-deep in corn stands Vivérols;
I know not if prosperity
Has robbed its life of poesy;

That could not be in Vivérols,
They would not call it. Vivérols.

Perchance upon its terraced heights

The grapes grow purple in the sun; Or down its wild untrodden crags, Its broken cliffs and frost-bit jags, The mountain brooks unfettered run.

(How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head To listen to all that my lover said,

Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it!)

In the high, wet grass went the path to hide,
And the low, wet leaves hung over;
But I could not pass upon either side,
For I found myself, when I vainly tried,
In the arms of my steadfast lover.
And he held me there and he raised my
head,

While he closed the path before me, And he looked down into my eyes and

said

I am sure he knew, when he held me fast, That I must be all unwilling;

For I tried to go, and I would have passed, As the night was come with its dew, at last,

And the sky with its stars was filling. But he clasped me close when I would have fled,

And he made me hear his story,

And his soul came out from his lips and said

(How the stars crept out where the white moon led,

To listen to all that my lover said,

Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!)

I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell,

And I'm sure that the wind, precious

UNLESS

O TOUCH me not, unless thy soul
Can claim my soul as thine;
Give me no earthly flowers that fade,
No love, but love divine:
For I gave thee immortal flowers,
That bloomed serene in heavenly bowers.

Look not with favor on my face,

Nor answer my caress,

Unless my soul have first found grace
Within thy sight; express

Only the truth, though it should be
Cold as the ice on northern sea.

O never speak of love to me,
Unless thy heart can feel
That in the face of Deity

Thou wouldst that love reveal:
For God is love, and His bright law
Should find our hearts without one flaw.
ELLA DIETZ GLYNES

WINTER TWILIGHT

SOFT-SANDALLED twilight, handmaid of the night,

Before her noble lady's radiant face
Doth slowly come, with gentle, quiet pace,
And draweth rose and azure curtains light
Around the snowy couch, so pure, so white,
Whereon her mistress soon will rest.
With grace

Celestial she doth cover every trace
Of toil, and daily soil doth hide from sight.
So would I that before thy face my love
Might gently move, and ever from above
Such tender beauty draw about thy way
That when thou liest down to nightly rest
Earth-thoughts should fade, and there
should only stay

The peace of heaven within thy tranquil breast.

GEORGE TRACY ELLIOT

UNDER THE RED CROSS

SHE came and went as comes and goes A fragrance in the morning air, Where lay the shadowy shapes of those Who died in her sweet care.

Some doubted, when her face had flown,

Whether it was or only seemed, Whether one saw what he had known Or something he had dreamed.