Whether he dreamed a dream in Asia He never could forget by day, Or gave his youth to some Aspasia, Or gamed his heritage away-- Once lost, across the Empire’s border This man would seek his peace in vain; His look arraigns a social order Somehow entrammelled with his pain. “The dice of gods are always loaded”; One gambler, arrogant as they, Fierce, and by fierce injustice goaded, Left both his hazard and the play. Incapable of compromises, Unable to forgive or spare, The strange awarding of the prizes He had no fortitude to bear. Tricked by the forms of things material,-- The solid-seeming arch and stone, The noise of war, the pomp Imperial, The heights and depths about a throne-- He missed, among the shapes diurnal, The old, deep-travelled road from pain, The thoughts of men, which are eternal, In which, eternal, men remain. _Ritratto D’ignoto_; defying Things unsubstantial as a dream-- An empire, long in ashes lying-- His face still set against the stream-- Yes, so he looked, that gifted brother I loved, who passed and left no trace, Not even--luckier than this other-- His sorrow in a marble face. THE SWEDISH MOTHER (NEBRASKA) _“You shall hear the tale again--_ _Hush, my red-haired daughter.”_ _Brightly burned the sunset gold_ _On the black pond water._ _Red the pasture ridges gleamed_ _Where the sun was sinking._ _Slow the windmill rasped and wheezed_ _Where the herd was drinking._ _On the kitchen doorstep low_ _Sat a Swedish mother;_ _In her arms one baby slept,_ _By her sat another._ “All time, ’way back in old countree, Your grandpa, he been good to me. Your grandpa, he been young man, too, And I been yust li’l’ girl, like you. All time in spring, when evening come, We go bring sheep an’ li’l’ lambs home. We go big field, ’way up on hill, Ten times high like our windmill. One time your grandpa leave me wait While he call sheep down. By de gate I sit still till night come dark; Rabbits run an’ strange dogs bark, Old owl hoot, an’ your modder cry, She been so ’fraid big bear come by. Last, ’way off, she hear de sheep, Li’l’ bells ring and li’l’ lambs bleat. Then all sheep come over de hills, Big white dust, an’ old dog Nils. Then come grandpa, in his arm Li’l’ sick lamb dat somet’ing harm. He so young then, big and strong, Pick li’l’ girl up, take her ’long,-- Poor li’l’ tired girl, yust like you,-- Lift her up an’ take her too. Hold her tight an’ carry her far,-- ’Ain’t no light but yust one star. Sheep go ‘bah-h,’ an’ road so steep; Li’l’ girl she go fast asleep.”