Falling asleep
September in the darkness; and the world

the herons, and the hounds . . .

I've known; all fading past me into peace.

Siegfried Sassoon

SLUMBER SONG1

Sleep; and my song shall build about your bed
A Paradise of dimness. You shall feel

The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell
Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold
Summer, and midnight, and immensity

Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream,
The stately gloom of foliage shall embower
Your slumbering thought with tapestries of blue.
And there shall be no memory of the sky,
Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords.
But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep
Through drowned and glimmering color, Time shall be
Only slow rhythmic swaying; and your breath;

And roses in the darkness; and my love.

Life has loveliness to sell,

All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.

By permission, from Picture-Show. Copyright by E. P. Dutton & Company.

Life has loveliness to sell,

Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,

Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,

Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy

Give all you have been, or could be.

Sara Teasdale

THINGS

Sometimes when I am at tea with you,

I catch my breath

At a thought that is old as the world is old
And more bitter than death.

It is that the spoon that you just laid down
And the
cup that you hold

May be here shining and insolent

When you are still and cold.

Your careless note that I laid away

May leap to my eyes like flame,

When the world has almost forgotten your voice

Or the sound of your name.

The golden Virgin da Vinci drew
May smile on over my head,
And daffodils nod in the silver vase
When you are dead.

So let moth and dust corrupt and thieves
Break through and I shall be glad,
Because of the hatred I bear to things
Instead of the love I had.

For life seems only a shuddering breath,
A smothered, desperate cry;

And things have a terrible permanence
When people die.

Aline Kilmer

YOUNG AND OLD

FROM The Water-Babies

When all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,

And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down:

Creep home, and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among:

God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.

Charles Kingsley

THE THREE FISHERS

Three fishers went sailing out into the West,
Out into the West as the sun went down;

Each thought on the woman who loved him the best;
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower,

And they trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down; They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown! But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come back to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep

And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

-Charles Kingsley

THE SANDS OF DEE

"O Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee!"

The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam,
And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see:

The rolling mist came down and hid the land-
And never home came she.

"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair —
A tress o' golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair

Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee."

They row'd her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea:

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee!

-Charles Kingsley

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide?

I'll wed ye to my youngest son,