A placid earth, an air serene and still;
In misty blue the gradual smoke is thinned—
Only the grasses, leaning to his will,
The grasses hold a memory of wind.
INSTINCT
TO Reason with the praise of one I go
To fall back, silent, at her whispered “No.”
And always of the other says she, “Trust—
He doeth thus and thus, O thou unjust!”
Yet meet one eye to eye and queries end—
An eager hand goes out to greet a friend,
And let the other please me, soon or late
Wakes with a hiss the little snake of hate.
SAN FRANCISCO NEW YEAR’S, 1907
SAID the Old Year to the New: “They will never welcome you
As they sang me in and rang me in upon my birthday night—
All above the surging crowd, bells and voices calling loud—
A throng attuned to laughter and a city all alight.