Aye, even if you loved me not, You ne'er would frown at me or mock My love for you, or harshly speak, Or bid me not to kiss your hand; Instead you'd treat me as a child, You'd treat me as a child that's sick, And patiently you would submit To my caress; you would allow My feverish hands to stroke your hair, My quivering lips to kiss your brow, My famished eyes to feast on you, And my delirious heart to spin: To spin a spider's web of love, To make your heart its captive fly. Aye, even if you loved me not, If you but knew the pain I feel, Whene'er I think you love me not, You'd treat me as a little child; You'd tell me love's sweet fairy tale, I will believe love's fairy tale. Please tell me love's sweet fairy tale, Aye, even if you love me not. VIII The sun is warm and bright, All nature sings; The song of love and life is in the air, The flowing waters and the rolling hills, The grass we tread upon, the birds that fly, The humming insects, aye, all men, all beasts, All things are happy in the sun's caress. But in my heart, in my unhappy heart, The icy blast of winter still persists, And desolation reigns. Your frown obliterates the sun for me, And your indifference is worse than death. And in my heart, in my unhappy heart, Dire desolation reigns. IX This is the tale of an unhappy sculptor, A shaft of marble radiantly white, Whose adamantine substance would not yield To the impassioned efforts of the sculptor. The chisel struck the irresponsive rock Again, again, again, but all in vain Until at last discouraged and exhausted He sinks down at the foot of this cold stone. That might have been a living Galathea, But is alas the tombstone of Pygmalion. X It was a sepulchre I have been wooing: Fair to behold was she and seeming warm, But deep within as cold as death itself, And to love's fervent pleadings irresponsive; Aye, even as the tomb. Deaf to the voice of poetry and love, Alas! she's doubly deaf. It was a sepulchre I have been wooing. The October issue of THE GLEBE will present "The Azure Adder," a one-act comedy by Charles Demuth. Subscription price per year, $3.00 Transcriber's Notes The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors were silently corrected. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glebe 1913/09 (Vol. 1, No. 1): Songs, Sighs and Curses, by Adolf Wolff