I went to the place where my youth took birth In the slow, round kiss of an amorous girl, When sonnets and lace were the measure of earth, When death was forgotten and life was a whirl. I addled my brain with the memories flown Of Heatherby Kaiser and Muriel Moore; I thought of the women and men I had known,-- The glittering eyes and the bolt on the door-- The warm, gray walls and the odor of musk, The wine, the piano, the glistening feet, The eyes grown hazy like shadows at dusk, The minstreling music that rose from the street. I thought of Elise with her soft, gold hair; And the buttonhook hung from the chandelier. The spirit of passionate youth had been there-- But somehow the dream of it wasn’t quite clear, For the place had been altered; the walls were red, And the woodwork was stained with a desolate brown; And they told me a woman had lain in the bed For a year and a half with the curtains down. _Smart Set_ _Willard Huntington Wright_ THE OLD MAID I saw her in a Broadway car, The woman I might grow to be; I felt my lover look at her And then turn suddenly to me. Her hair was dull and drew no light, And yet its color was as mine; Her eyes were strangely like my eyes, Tho’ love had never made them shine. Her body was a thing grown thin, Hungry for love that never came; Her soul was frozen in the dark, Unwarmed forever by love’s flame. I felt my lover look at her And then turn suddenly to me-- His eyes were magic to defy The woman I shall never be. _The Forum_ _Sara Teasdale_ DEPARTURE The twilight is starred, The dawn has arisen; Light breaks from the east And Song from her prison. Faint odors and sounds The west-wind discloses Of laughter and birds, Of singing and roses. It is time to be gone-- Day scatters the gloom; But here at my side, But still in the room, Like the angel of life, Too kind to depart, You hang at my lips, You hang at my heart! _The Forum_ _John Hall Wheelock_ AN ADIEU Sorrow, quit me for a while! Wintry days are over; Hope again, with April smile, Violets sows and clover. Pleasure follows in her path, Love itself flies after, And the brook a music hath Sweet as childhood’s laughter. Not a bird upon the bough Can repress its rapture, Not a bud that blossoms now But doth beauty capture. Sorrow, thou art Winter’s mate, Spring cannot regret thee; Yet, ah, yet--my friend of late-- I shall not forget thee! _Harper’s_ _Florence Earle Coates_ HEART’S TIDE I thought I had forgotten you, So far apart our lives were thrust! ’Twas only as the earth forgets The seed the sower left in trust. ’Twas only as the creeks forget The tides that left their hollows dry; Or as the home-bound ship forgets Streamers of seaweed drifting by.