We'd build a little bungalow, If you and I were one, And carefully we'd plan it, so We'd get the morning sun. I'd rise each day at rosy dawn And bustle gaily down; In evening's cool, you'd spray the lawn When you came back from town. A little cook-book I should buy, Your dishes I'd prepare; And though they came out black and dry, I know you wouldn't care. How valiantly I'd strive to learn, Assured you'd not complain! And if my finger I should burn, You'd kiss away the pain. I'd buy a little scrubbing-brush And beautify the floors; I'd warble gaily as a thrush About my little chores. But though I'd cook and sew and scrub, A higher life I'd find; I'd join a little women's club And cultivate my mind. If you and I were one, my dear, A model life we'd lead. We'd travel on, from year to year, At no increase of speed. Ah, clear to me the vision of The things that we should do! And so I think it best, my love, To string along as two. _The Veteran_ When I was young and bold and strong, Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong! My plume on high, my flag unfurled, I rode away to right the world. "Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I, And wept there was but once to die. But I am old; and good and bad Are woven in a crazy plaid. I sit and say, "The world is so; And he is wise who lets it go. A battle lost, a battle won-- The difference is small, my son." Inertia rides and riddles me; The which is called Philosophy. _Prophetic Soul_ Because your eyes are slant and slow, Because your hair is sweet to touch, My heart is high again; but oh, I doubt if this will get me much. _Verse for a Certain Dog_ Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes, Dear little friend of mine, I never knew. All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise. (For heaven's sake, stop worrying that shoe!) You look about, and all you see is fair; This mighty globe was made for you alone. Of all the thunderous ages, you're the heir. (Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!) A skeptic world you face with steady gaze; High in young pride you hold your noble head; Gayly you meet the rush of roaring days. (_Must_ you eat puppy biscuit on the bed?) Lancelike your courage, gleaming swift and strong, Yours the white rapture of a wingèd soul, Yours is a spirit like a May-day song. (God help you, if you break the goldfish bowl!)