The year is dying as the dolphin dies,
Not with the ashen hue,
Death's signal color, ere the fading eyes
See dimly, darkly through
The waxen lids. No pallor creeps along
The earth and sky; no tone
Floats through the air like a funeral song,
Or like a dying groan.
The warm rich sunlight gilds the autumn trees
Whose gorgeous tints are spread,
Each toning each, and fringed with heraldries
Of purple, gold, and red
The crimson myrtle burns upon its stem
As though a heart of fire,
The yellow maple, like an oriflamme,
Lifts up its banner higher.
The oak is rich with russet, bronze and brown,
And there a purple crest
Gleams o'er the forest like a lifted crown
Some color-god has blest.
Loosed by the frost, the sumac's pallid leaves
Like yellow lance-heads fall,
While lights and shadows ever shifting weave
A net-work over all.
O queenly autumn! though you proudly lead
The old year to its death,
A glory comes and goes where'er you tread
With every dying breath,
The year is dying—dying as a king
Dies in his purple. Now
His shroud is woven, and its colors fling
A glory o'er his brow.
The cold, the night, the storm, were especially congenial to him. He almost literally "kept open house" throughout the year; for he would hardly permit his doors to be closed even in the coldest weather. On his gallery he delighted to stand or walk and watch a thunder storm, especially by night, as his graphic picture of "The Night Storm" fully testifies. But nature in her gentler aspects was also at times very attractive to him, as this stanza must suffice to show:
"O warm South Wind! awake and send
Across the sea that breath of thine,
And let its lotus fragrance blend
With the rich odor of the pine.
O'er land and sea your treasures bring,
From zones with health and beauty rife,
To youth the fullness of its spring,
To age, the aftermath of life."
Particularly noticeable, and often fascinating through their witchery or weirdness are a number of Mr. Ward's poems. Of those through which fancy sports most winsomely are "The Lake of the Golden Isle," "St. Nicotine, a Christmas Phantasy," "Just Twenty-Two," and "Katie Did."
The last was extensively copied in the press and much admired. It will bear another repetition.