POEMS BY ELIZABETH STODDARD 1895 CONTENTS THE POET'S SECRET NOVEMBER MUSIC IN A CROWD "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE" THE HOUSE OF YOUTH THE HOUSE BY THE SEA CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN MARCH THE SPRING AFAR WHY? AUGUST OCTOBER "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW" "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT" AUTUMN THE AUTUMN SHEAF IN THE CITY "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN" NAMELESS PAIN A BABY SONG THE WIFE SPEAKS THE HUSBAND SPEAKS "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED" BEFORE THE MIRROR "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH" A SUMMER NIGHT "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR" "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT" "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" YOU LEFT ME "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG" "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE" THE COLONEL'S SHIELD A FEW IDLE WORDS VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ THE RACE THE WOLF-TAMER THE ABBOT OF UNREASON EL MANOLO MERCEDES THE BULL-FIGHT ON THE CAMPAGNA THE QUEEN DEPOSED A UNIT ZANTHON--MY FRIEND ACHILLES IN ORCUS ABOVE THE TREE TO AN ARTIST A LANDSCAPE FROM THE HEADLAND AS ONE THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE WE MUST WAIT UNRETURNING CLOSED MEMORY IS IMMORTAL THE TRYST NO ANSWER ON THE HILLTOP THE MESSAGE EXILE A SEASIDE IDYL THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL LAST DAYS POEMS THE POET'S SECRET. The poet's secret I must know, If that will calm my restless mind. I hail the seasons as they go, I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. I scan the lily and the rose, I nod to every nodding tree, I follow every stream that flows, And wait beside the steadfast sea. I question melancholy eyes, I touch the lips of women fair: Their lips and eyes may make me wise, But what I seek for is not there. In vain I watch the day and night, In vain the world through space may roll: I never see the mystic light Which fills the poet's happy soul. Through life I hear the rhythmic flow Whose meaning into song must turn; Revealing all he longs to know, The secret each alone must learn. NOVEMBER. Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; Long have I listened to the wailing wind, And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, For autumn charms my melancholy mind. When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled! Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier These waiting mourners do not sing for me! I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods. Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; The naked, silent trees have taught me this,-- The loss of beauty is not always loss! MUSIC IN A CROWD.