Some men may differ from our creed,-- Give our good advice small heed. Some men may not be our way of thinking. But if they are honest they surely should be frank, And not behind one’s back, go winking, blinking! And say, “behold! a crank--there goes a crank!” Or else hide in a crowd and yell: “An infidel! An infidel! A ski-shod pilgrim, coasting blindly down the road to hell.” Fellow--churlish fellow, if thou never cans’t be joyous, Why with constant fretting thus wilfully annoy us? Does thy sorrow so need company That thou wouldst meanly pester those who would gladly comfort thee? How selfish, then--how unkindly such must be As would wish to force unwilling ones to share with them their self-imposed misery. _IN THE FOREST_ In the leafy fastness of the forest, there are sounds of mirth and gladness, Strange wild symphonies that tell of peace and rest, Dulcet cadences, unlike, unakin unto the noises heard in marts of human strife and madness, Vile discords that make existence in life’s crowded hippodromes seem displeasurable, irreligious and unblest. Deep, deep in the shady sanctuaries of the wildwood Druid lives of old were happily lived and beautiful I find; What tho’ Nature’s children sometimes seem harsh and rude! They never really are ungrateful or unkind. Deep, deep in the peaceful quiet sylvans, rosebuds fall and fade. Littering the green-sward o’er whereon I lie, Yet dreaming still “beneath my bowers, blossom-woven shade” Blissfully I linger, while the summer days go by. _MY SUMMER GIRL AND ME_ Under the green-wood tree Joyfully, Rest my summer girl and me. Fonder, franker pair, hath never been A-courting here upon the lawn. Oh, my dear, you look so sweet, All in lace and satin white, With that rosebud in your hair, And those lips that seem to say, “You may, you may,--nay, nay,--nay, nay,” “You may kiss me--don’t you dare!” Under the green-wood tree Life is full of witchery. Listen, then, dissembling girl, to me: Come, come, fair one; no more delay. Come, come, sweetheart, and marry me? What, what care we for worldly state? For mansion proud, or titles great? My humble cot, beside the Platte, With thee its mistress, well might seem Fairy May Queen’s bower, and life an Eden dream. With hope, with health, enough to eat, Our cup of joy were full indeed. For having all that makes Earth dear, How could, how could we wish for more? Come, then, my love; no more delay; Name, name, oh, name our wedding day! Under the green-wood tree Soon married we shall be, My dainty summer girl and me. _A REQUIEM_