WAITING IN THE ANTE-ROOM.
I saw her face in the pansy,
I caught her breath in the rose,
And my heart went out on a fine love scout
To the land where the daisy grows.
In the brook I heard her laughter
Like an anthem from afar,
Or the echoing where the angels sing
And the gates are just ajar.
Then I closed my eyes in dreamland
And joined my heart on the scout;
And I wandered away to a mound of clay
Where she sleeps since the light went out.
And there in the Southwest sun land
I knelt by my darling’s tomb,
And I whispered low: “My dear child, you know,
I am here in the ante-room.”
—Capt. Jack Crawford.
FRED EMERSON BROOKS.
Fred Emerson Brooks, the poet-humorist of the West, who loves the South and is one of the favorites of Southern people. No more beautiful tribute has ever been paid to the valor of the Southern soldier than is paid in Mr. Brooks’ great poem, “Pickett’s Charge.”