THE RED MAPLE
A master artist in the sun-kissed leaves
Of a scarlet maple loved by me for years,
First paints a verdant robe until appears
The autumn time, then marvel great conceives.
Through darkest night, high noon, and splendent eves
His wondrous work goes on, unknown to fears,
Although my maple has her unshed tears,
Until her greatest glory he achieves.
Then yields she all her riches quite content;
For man and bird and beast her life is spent;
In turn to every tree hath prophesied,
To mortal man hath plainly said, “The best
Waits him who gives his all, then goes to rest;
Thus life and even death are glorified.”
A SONNET TO
MRS. O. C. BULLOCK
Again rare riches thou hast gently shown,
And I drink sweetness from thy royal heart.
Again I rise and claim the nobler part,
And bless the friendship in thee made known.
Full forty years, in public or alone,
I’ve studied men, high heaven’s sovereign art
And thee—thy virtue’s smiles, and whence they start,
Adoring Truth’s sweet balm, which is thine own.
Let turmoils come and go; let fools foment
Disaster dire, till many shall lament
Their natal hour, their present lot and all.
Thy friendship true, which grows from bud to bloom
And fruit eternal, dissipates all gloom—
Again I’ve entered love’s pure banquet hall.