Dear, I lie dying, and thou dost not know-- Thou whom of all the world I love the best, And wilt not know until I lie at rest, With lips forever closed and lids dropped low. O Love, O Love, I cannot leave thee so! Cannot, still undivined, still unexpressed, Unheeding to the last my heart’s behest, Dumb into the eternal silence go! What reck I in this moment of disgrace? Albeit the whole world hear what my heart saith, I cry aloud to thee across all space, To thee--to thee--I call with my last breath! O Love, lean forth from out thy dwelling-place! Listen, and learn I loved thee, Love, till death. [Illustration: THOMAS JEFFERSON FROM THE STATUE BY KARL BITTER, FOR THE JEFFERSON MEMORIAL IN ST. LOUIS This statue will be unveiled in the presence of a congressional committee on April 30, 1913, the one hundred and tenth anniversary of the Louisiana Purchase.] [Illustration] TO A SCARLET TANAGER BY GRACE HAZARD CONKLING My tanager, what crescent coast, Curving beyond what seas of air, Invites your elfin commerce most? For I would fain inhabit there. Is it a corner of Cathay, That I could reach by caravan, Or do you traffic far away Beyond the mountains of Japan? If, where some iridescent isle Wears like a rose its calm lagoon, You plan to spend a little while,-- An April or a fervid June,-- Deign to direct my wanderings, And I shall be the one who sees Your scarlet pinnace furl its wings And come to anchor in the trees. Do you collect for merchandise Ribbons of weed and jeweled shells, And dazzle color-hungry eyes With rainbows from the coral wells? But when your freight is asphodels, You must be fresh from Enna’s lawn. Who buys, when such a merchant sells, And in what market roofed with dawn? Much would it ease my spirit if To-day I might embark with you, Low-drifting like the milkweed-skiff, Or voyaging against the blue, To learn who speeds your ebon sails, And what you do in Ispahan. Do you convey to nightingales Strange honey-dew from Hindustan? With you for master mariner, I yet might travel very far; Discover whence your cargoes were, And whither tending, by a star; Or what ineffable bazaar You most frequent in Samarkand; Or even where those harbors are Keats found forlorn in fairy-land. [Illustration: Owned by Mrs. Frank H. Scott THE SCARLET TANAGER FROM THE PAINTING, IN WATER-COLORS, BY ALFRED BRENNAN] [Illustration] A WAR WORTH WAGING THE SUCCESSFUL FIGHT TO IMPROVE THE HEALTH OF NEW YORK CITY (AVERAGE LIFE IN 1866, THIRTY YEARS; IN 1912, SIXTY-SIX YEARS. DEATH-RATE IN 1866, 34 PER THOUSAND; IN 1912, 14.11 PER THOUSAND) BY RICHARD BARRY