For human woes, for human ills, My learned Muse an anodyne distills,-- A priceless panacea for the sad. Some balm she has, some extracts of herbs she gathers among the hills, (Take one small teaspoonful if you’re really feeling bad) Some tinctures rare she stores, of sweet, medicinal water-flowers,-- (Warranted to “kill pain” in two hours!) Some infusions of lotus leaves, fresh plucked from pools in fancy’s rills (Oh, what a long-felt want, this “all-curative” fills!) Just one minim will do you much good;--a gill will make you unusually glad. (Only known sure specific for poor human wights gone mad.) Truly there’s nothing better in Earth’s pharmacies! Try one “free-trial package” every fortnight if you choose. A “prize gift box” will flush pale cheeks and brighten saddened eyes; And enough of the wonderful “stuff” just knocks the socks off of the blues. Sad friend--have hope! have hope! Don’t fret, don’t fuss, don’t mope; Just take your dope! Just take your dope! No good, no good to swear or pine, (When, Great Scot’s! There’s heaps of virtue in our anti-trouble pills!) And zounds--look at the price! That surely should suit fine:-- “Doc” pays the bills! “Doc” pays the bills! _TO THOSE DARK EYES THAT HAUNT ME STILL_ We met--’twas while passing through the crowded street-car door. We met--for one brief moment her dark eyes gazed into mine. Oh, what wonderful, beautiful, bewildering brown, black eyes they were! Large, languorous--“swimming in the stream!” Seeming to melt to their own beam. Great lustrous, magnetic orbs, o’erfilled with glints of passion and with dreams divine! We met--we gazed--her modest glances fell, then, to meet mine nevermore. We met--we parted--but, oh! those dark, resplendent, dream-eyes they haunt me still. Potent influences they hold for good or ill. Star-lights, that could lead man’s wandering foot-steps safely up the steeps to Paradise, Or plunge him downward dazzled to the depths of hell! Beatific lady! I wonder will for me those peerless lenses ever beam again! And, oh (in modesty) have they not beveiled their fires from mine before? Descendant of some enchantress, princes, peasant-girl, or queen. Have not we known each other, long ere this, upon some foreign shore? In aeons past,--by Time’s wide river drifted far apart,-- Did we not once dwell happy in a better land? Reincarnated spirits, are not ours, spirits of lovers oft parted, tho’ ever loth to part? Lady--lady--did not we as old-time sweethearts once walk fondly hand in hand? _MY MOTOR-CYCLE GIRL AND I_