Look: the constant marigold Springs again from hidden roots. Baffled gardener, you behold New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots. Pull or stab or cut or burn, They will ever yet return. Gardener, cursing at the weed, Ere you curse it further, say: Who but you planted the seed In my fertile heart, one day? Ere you curse me further, say! New beginnings and new shoots String again from hidden roots Pull or stab or cut or burn, Love must ever yet return. THE LADY VISITOR IN THE PAUPER WARD Why do you break upon this old, cool peace, This painted peace of ours, With harsh dress hissing like a flock of geese, With garish flowers? Why do you churn smooth waters rough again, Selfish old skin-and-bone? Leave us to quiet dreaming and slow pain, Leave us alone. LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone; In his grotto the maiden sits alone. She gazes up with a weary smile At the rafter-hanging crocodile, The slowly swinging crocodile. Scorn has she of her master's gear, Cauldron, alembic, crystal sphere, Phial, philtre--"Fiddlededee For all such trumpery trash!" quo' she. "A soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad! "Oh, here have I ever lain forlorn: My father died ere I was born, Mother was by a wizard wed, And oft I wish I had died instead-- Often I wish I were long time dead. But, delving deep in my master's lore, I have won of magic power such store I can turn a skull--oh, fiddlededee For all this curious craft!" quo' she. "A soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad! "To bring my brave boy unto my arms, What need have I of magic charms-- 'Abracadabra!' and 'Prestopuff'? I have but to wish, and that is enough. The charms are vain, one wish is enough. My master pledged my hand to a wizard; Transformed would I be to toad or lizard If e'er he guessed--but fiddlededee For a black-browed sorcerer, now," quo' she. "Let Cupid smile and the fiend must flee; Hey and hither, my lad." SMOKE-RINGS BOY Most venerable and learned sir, Tall and true Philosopher, These rings of smoke you blow all day With such deep thought, what sense have they? PHILOSOPHER Small friend, with prayer and meditation I make an image of Creation. And if your mind is working nimble Straightway you'll recognize a symbol Of the endless and eternal ring Of God, who girdles everything-- God, who in His own form and plan Moulds the fugitive life of man. These vaporous toys you watch me make, That shoot ahead, pause, turn and break-- Some glide far out like sailing ships, Some weak ones fail me at my lips. He who ringed His awe in smoke, When He led forth His captive folk, In like manner, East, West, North, and South, Blows us ring-wise from His mouth. A CHILD'S NIGHTMARE