Poor old Abner, old white-haired nigger! I remember when you were so strong you hung yourself by a rope round the neck in Doc Hollister's barn to prove you could beat the faker in the circus--and it didn't kill you. Now your face is in your hands, and your elbows are on your knees, and you are silent and broken. TO A FRIEND Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen men--and the baby hard to find a father for! What will the good Father in Heaven say to the local judge if he do not solve this problem? A little two pointed smile and--pouff!-- the law is changed into a mouthful of phrases. THE GENTLE MAN I feel the caress of my own fingers on my own neck as I place my collar and think pityingly of the kind women I have known. THE SOUGHING WIND Some leaves hang late, some fall before the first frost--so goes the tale of winter branches and old bones. SPRING O my grey hairs! You are truly white as plum blossoms. PLAY Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am, by what devious means do you contrive to remain idle? Teach me, O master. LINES Leaves are greygreen, the glass broken, bright green. THE POOR By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children's hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him, But by this familiarity they grew used to him, and so, at last, took him for their friend and adviser. COMPLETE DESTRUCTION It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard. Those fleas that escaped earth and fire died by the cold. MEMORY OF APRIL You say love is this, love is that: Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip-- branches drifting apart. Hagh! Love has not even visited this country. EPITAPH An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high bright tendrils and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood's edge. DAISY The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow is clotted with sorrel and crabgrass, the branch is black under the heavy mass of the leaves-- The sun is upon a slender green stem ribbed lengthwise. He lies on his back-- it is a woman also-- he regards his former majesty and round the yellow center, split and creviced and done into minute flowerheads, he sends out his twenty rays--a little and the wind is among them to grow cool there! One turns the thing over in his hand and looks at it from the rear: brownedged, green and pointed scales armor his yellow. But turn and turn, the crisp petals remain brief, translucent, greenfastened, barely touching at the edges: blades of limpid seashell. PRIMROSE