His first published poem appeared in a little story paper, February, 1890, at Belvidere, Ills. Nearly all of Mr. Conant’s poems were written in Wisconsin, his native state. The selected poems forming this volume reflect the young poet’s individuality to a sensible degree. The trend of his thoughts and genius is toward the more solemn and religious aspects of nature, and of human experience. He dwells in the forest’s shade, on the banks of rivers flowing through lea and woodland, by the grave of a little child, and wanders back to his old New England home--to the scenes of his childhood. Henry Reed Conant, like many other beginners in the literary arena, commits his poems to a critical public with the full consciousness of their poetical deficiencies. Criticism he must await, and gladly accept as the basis of that future development through which every poet must pass ere he attain that popular following that is the reward not only of genius, but of bitter disappointments. A. K. G. Appleton, Wis., Nov. 22, 1893. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. --_Bailey._ POEMS. _LIFE._ Life is a race in which all compete, Hastening onward with restless feet, Eagerly striving for some great prize That out in the hidden future lies: The sturdy youth with visions bright, The stalwart form of manhood’s might, And tottering age, are borne along In the mighty rush of the endless throng. Like the waves of the sea that forever roll ’Tis a livelong race to an unseen goal; But the prize is gained at the end of the strife, For it lies just beyond this earthly life, Where fears, tribulations and trials cease, In the golden realms of eternal peace. _DREAM OF A FAIRY._ When all the air was filled with song At morning’s early beam, In musing mood I strolled along Beside a placid stream. And as I roved the meadow sweet, What bade my heart rejoice? Was it the daisies at my feet? Nay, nor the songster’s voice. For glancing toward the crystal stream I spied a little child, Upon whose brow the morning beam, With all its beauty smiled: And on her cheek, so wondrous fair, I saw the ruddy glow,-- Beheld her locks of flaxen hair Wave gently to and fro. Then with delight I nearer drew, But lo! here ends my theme; I waked--the fairy fled my view-- ’Twas but a happy dream. [Illustration] _TOGETHER._ ’Neath an aged elm sat a loving pair, A long, long time ago-- A youthful man and a maiden fair, With faces all aglow: The birds’ sweet notes in the boughs above And the balm of the sweet June weather Seemed to say, “’Tis the time for love,” As they chatted and laughed together.