A

A MAN'S IDEAL.

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 Phrynne 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.

WAR SONNETS.

I.

WAR is destructive, wasteful, brutal, yet

WAR

The energies of men are brought to play,

And hidden valor by occasion met

Leaps to the light, as precious jewels may

When earthquakes rend the rock. The stress and strain

Of war stirs men to do their worst and best. Heroes are forged on anvils hot with pain

And splendid courage comes but with the test Some natures ripen and some virtues bloom

Only in blood-red soil; some souls prove great Only in moments dark with death or doom.

This is the sad historic jest which fate Flings to the world, recurring time on time. Many must fall that one may seem sublime. II.

Above the chaos of impending ills,

Through all the clamor of insistent strife, Now while the noise of warring nations fills

Each throbbing hour with menaces to life, I hear the voice of Progress! Strange indeed The shadowed pathways that lead up to light. But as a runner sometimes will recede

That he may so accumulate his might,
Then with a will that needs must be obeyed

Rushes resistless to the goal with ease,
So the whole world seems now to retrograde,

Slips back to war, that it may speed to peace.
And in that backward step it gathers force
For the triumphant finish of its course.

MY LAUNCH AND I.

WHAT glorious times we have together,

WHAT

My launch and I, in the summer weather! My trim little launch with its sturdy sides

And its strong heart beating away as it glides
Out of the harbor and out of the bay,

Wherever our fancy may lead away,
Rollicking over the salt sea track
Hurrying seaward and hurrying back.

My boat has never a braggart sail,

To boast in the breeze, in the calm to quail,

No tyrant boom deals a sudden blow,

Saying, "You are my lackey, bend low, bend low!".

No mast struts over a windless sea

To show how powerless pride may be.

But sure and steady and true and staunch
It bounds o'er the billows,--my little launch.

Ready and willing and quick to feel

The slightest touch of my hand on the wheel
It laughs in the teeth of a driving gale,
Or skims by the cat-boat's drooping sail.
Its head held high when the Sound is still,
Then dipping its prow like a water bird's bill

Down under the waves of a rolling sea

Oh, my gay little launch is the boat for me!

Ofttimes when the great Sound seethes and swirls I carry a cargo of laughing girls.

Bare-armed, bare-limbed, and with hanging bair They are bold as mermaids and twice as fair.

They swarm from the cabin,-they perch on the

prow.

When the tenth wave batters them, breast and brow, They bloom the brighter, as sea flowers do

While their shrill, sweet merriment bursts anew.

And oft when the sunset dyes the bay
O'er a mirror-like surface, we glide away,
My launch and I, to follow the breeze
That has jilted the shore for the deeper seas.
When the full moon flirts with the perigee tide
On a track of silver, away we ride —
Oh, glorious times we have together,
My boat and I, in the summer weather.