My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet, And a wild young wood-thing bore him! The ways are fair to his roaming feet, And the skies are sunlit for him. As sharply sweet to my heart he seems As the fragrance of acacia. My own dear love, he is all my dreams,-- And I wish he were in Asia. My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart,-- And I wish somebody'd shoot him. _Indian Summer_ In youth, it was a way I had To do my best to please, And change, with every passing lad, To suit his theories. But now I know the things I know, And do the things I do; And if you do not like me so, To hell, my love, with you! _Philosophy_ If I should labor through daylight and dark, Consecrate, valorous, serious, true, Then on the world I may blazon my mark; And what if I don't, and what if I do? _For an Unknown Lady_ Lady, if you'd slumber sound, Keep your eyes upon the ground. If you'd toss and turn at night, Slip your glances left and right. Would the mornings find you gay, Never give your heart away. Would they find you pale and sad, Fling it to a whistling lad. Ah, but when his pleadings burn, Will you let my words return? Will you lock your pretty lips, And deny your finger-tips, Veil away your tender eyes, Just because some words were wise? If he whistles low and clear When the insistent moon is near And the secret stars are known,-- Will your heart be still your own Just because some words were true? ... Lady, I was told them, too! _The Leal_ The friends I made have slipped and strayed, And who's the one that cares? A trifling lot and best forgot-- And that's my tale, and theirs. Then if my friendships break and bend, There's little need to cry The while I know that every foe Is faithful till I die. _Finis_ Now it's over, and now it's done; Why does everything look the same? Just as bright, the unheeding sun,-- Can't it see that the parting came? People hurry and work and swear, Laugh and grumble and die and wed, Ponder what they will eat and wear,-- Don't they know that our love is dead? Just as busy, the crowded street; Cars and wagons go rolling on, Children chuckle, and lovers meet,-- Don't they know that our love is gone? No one pauses to pay a tear; None walks slow, for the love that's through,-- I might mention, my recent dear, I've reverted to normal, too.