Forth from little motes in Chaos,
We have come to what we are;
And no evil force can stay us—
We shall mount from star to star,
We shall break each bond and fetter
That has bound us heretofore;
And the earth is surely better
Than it ever was before.
A MAN’S IDEAL
A lovely little keeper of the home,
Absorbed in menu books, yet erudite
When I need counsel; quick at repartee
And slow to anger. Modest as a flower,
Yet scintillant and radiant as a star.
Unmercenary in her mould of mind,
While opulent and dainty in her tastes.
A nature generous and free, albeit
The incarnation of economy.
She must be chaste as proud Diana was,
Yet warm as Venus. To all others cold
As some white glacier glittering in the sun;
To me as ardent as the sensuous rose
That yields its sweetness to the burrowing bee
All ignorant of evil in the world,
And innocent as any cloistered nun,
Yet wise as Phryne in the arts of love
When I come thirsting to her nectared lips.
Good as the best, and tempting as the worst,
A saint, a siren, and a paradox.
THE FIRE BRIGADE
Hark! high o’er the rattle and clamour and clatter
Of traffic-filled streets, do you hear that loud noise?
And pushing and rushing to see what’s the matter,
Like herds of wild cattle, go pell-mell the boys.
There’s a fire in the city! the engines are coming!
The bold bells are clanging, “Make way in the street!”
The wheels of the hose-cart are spinning and humming
In time to the music of galloping feet.
Make way there! make way there! the horses are flying,
The sparks from their swift hoofs shoot higher and higher,
The crowds are increasing—the gamins are crying:
“Hooray, boys!” “Hooray, boys!” “Come on to the fire!”
With clanging and banging and clatter and rattle
The long ladders follow the engine and hose.
The men are all ready to dash into battle;
But will they come out again? God only knows.
At windows and doorways crowd questioning faces;
There’s something about it that quickens one’s breath.
How proudly the brave fellows sit in their places—
And speed to the conflict that may be their death!
Still faster and faster and faster and faster
The grand horses thunder and leap on their way
The red foe is yonder, and may prove the master;
Turn out there, bold traffic—turn out there, I say!