"Go by mad life and old pursuits, The wine cup and the golden fruits, The gilded mirrors, rosewood flutes, I would praise God forevermore With harps of gold and silver lutes." She stripped the velvet from her couch Her broken spirit to avouch. She saw the devils slink and slouch, And passion like a leopard crouch Half mirrored on the polished floor. Next day she found the saint and said: I would be God's bride, I would wed Poverty and I would eat the bread That you for anchorites prepare, For my soul's sake I am in dread. Go then, said Francis, nothing loth, Put off this gown of green snake cloth, Put on one somber as a moth, Then come to me and make your troth And I will clip your golden hair. She went and came. But still there lay, A gem she did not put away, A locket twixt her breasts, all gay In shimmering pearls and tints of blue, And inlay work of fruit and spray. St. Francis felt it as he slipped His hand across her breast and whipped Her golden tresses ere he clipped-- He closed his eyes then as he gripped The shears, plunged the shears through. The waterfall of living gold. The locks fell to the floor and rolled, And curled like serpents which unfold. And there sat Lady Clare despoiled. Of worldly glory manifold. She thrilled to feel him take and hide The locket from her breast, a tide Of passion caught them side by side. He was the bridegroom, she the bride-- Their flesh but not their spirits foiled. Thus was the Lady Clare debased To sack cloth and around her waist A rope the jeweled belt replaced. Her feet made free of silken hose Naked in wooden sandals cased Went bruised to Bastia's chapel, then They housed her in St. Damian And here she prayed for poor women And here St. Francis sought her when His faith sank under earthly woes. Antonio cursed St. Clare in rhyme And took to wine and got the lime Of hatred on his soul, in time Grew healed though left a little lame, And laughed about it in his prime; When he could see with crystal eyes That love is a winged thing which flies; Some break the wings, some let them rise From earth like God's dove to the skies Diffused in heavenly flame. THE COCKED HAT Would that someone would knock Mr. Bryan into a cocked hat.--WOODROW WILSON.