Short Poems

Did ye ken our Rose as the Lady Gay,
Have ye heard her tell how she rode away,
To the crack of the whip at the break of day,
With the horse and the hounds in the morning?
Oh! the sound of the horn on the echoing hill,
And the cry of the pack as they ran at will,
And our dear Lady Gay, — I can hear her still,
As she told of the hunt in the morning.

Two names that seem to all of us but one,
What memories arise of happy fun!
Two names we hold together in the heart;
Twice " Welcome Home " when they are not apart,
For neither to the other glory yields,
Immortal Weber!
And immortal Fields!

Nazimova, none but your potent gift,
Could Ibsen's Hedda to perfection lift,
Half woman, and half serpent, wholly vile,
Yet Hedda in your person doth beguile.

Iago, — sinister, unhappy r├┤le,
The Bard with swift unswerving instrument
Portrays the pit for every human soul
That is not with a purer purpose blent.
Degraded man!
Supreme indeed the art
Of one who may interpret such a part.

Subtle, sincere, illumining, illusive,
Convincing, captivating, and delusive,
You who can thrill until we hold our breath,
And hang suspended as 'twixt life and death —
Who are you then, but one of two? — and yet
You must be Sherlock Holmes —
You are Gillette!

When Sidney Carton in the twice-told tale
Would have us weeping, or perchance turn pale,
The price of such sweet pain we gladly pay
Is it not Henry Miller's " Only Way " ?

" She stoops to conquer, "
But a star in falling,
Brings a new gleam on earth,
A heaven recalling.

Protest supreme against the Law's lost soul,
Your fine presentment would lay bare the whole
Of tangled lack of justice, till in awe,
We shudder at Life's wreck, " Within the Law. "

Come listen to the " Dickey Bird, "
The gayest song you ever heard,
Sung by a tramp as fresh and gay
As ever wandered by the way —
Incorrigible, fickle, fond,
The first " Beloved Vagabond. "

There is a land of language exquisite,
Where every word may to the gesture fit,
A tongue that's fashioned for divine finesse,
Each syllable a song or a caress,
From that fair land we have with us to-night,
Mlle. Dorziat for our delight.