(After seeing the reel called "Oil and Water".) Beauty has a throne-room In our humorous town, Spoiling its hob-goblins, Laughing shadows down. Rank musicians torture Ragtime ballads vile, But we walk serenely Down the odorous aisle. We forgive the squalor And the boom and squeal For the Great Queen flashes From the moving reel. Just a prim blonde stranger In her early day, Hiding brilliant weapons, Too averse to play, Then she burst upon us Dancing through the night. Oh, her maiden radiance, Veils and roses white. With new powers, yet cautious, Not too smart or skilled, That first flash of dancing Wrought the thing she willed:-- Mobs of us made noble By her strong desire, By her white, uplifting, Royal romance-fire. Though the tin piano Snarls its tango rude, Though the chairs are shaky And the dramas crude, Solemn are her motions, Stately are her wiles, Filling oafs with wisdom, Saving souls with smiles; 'Mid the restless actors She is rich and slow. She will stand like marble, She will pause and glow, Though the film is twitching, Keep a peaceful reign, Ruler of her passion, Ruler of our pain! Sunshine For a Very Little Girl, Not a Year Old. Catharine Frazee Wakefield. The sun gives not directly The coal, the diamond crown; Not in a special basket Are these from Heaven let down. The sun gives not directly The plough, man's iron friend; Not by a path or stairway Do tools from Heaven descend. Yet sunshine fashions all things That cut or burn or fly; And corn that seems upon the earth Is made in the hot sky. The gravel of the roadbed, The metal of the gun, The engine of the airship Trace somehow from the sun. And so your soul, my lady-- (Mere sunshine, nothing more)-- Prepares me the contraptions I work with or adore. Within me cornfields rustle, Niagaras roar their way, Vast thunderstorms and rainbows Are in my thought to-day. Ten thousand anvils sound there By forges flaming white, And many books I read there, And many books I write; And freedom's bells are ringing, And bird-choirs chant and fly-- The whole world works in me to-day And all the shining sky, Because of one small lady Whose smile is my chief sun. She gives not any gift to me Yet all gifts, giving one.... Amen. An Apology for the Bottle Volcanic