I no can count how manny week, How manny day, dat he ees seeck; How manny night I seet an' hold Da leetla hand dat was so cold. He was so patience, oh, so sweet! Eet hurts my throat for theenk of eet; An' all he evra ask ees w'en Ees gona com' da spreeng agen. Wan day, wan brighta sunny day, He see, across da alleyway, Da leetla girl dat's livin' dere Ees raise her window for da air, An' put outside a leetla pot Of -- w'at-you-call? -- forgat-me-not. So smalla flower, so leetla theeng! But steell eet mak' hees hearta seeng: "Oh, now, at las', ees com' da spreeng! Da leetla plant ees glad for know Da sun ees com' for mak' eet grow. So, too, I am grow warm and strong." So lika dat he seeng hees song. But, Ah! da night com' down an' den Da weenter ees sneak back agen, An' een da alley all da night Ees fall da snow, so cold, so white, An' cover up da leetla pot Of -- w'at-you-call? -- forgat-me-not. All night da leetla hand I hold Ees grow so cold, so cold, so cold! Da spreeng ees com'; but oh, da joy Eet ees too late! He was so cold, my leetla boy, He no could wait. Agamede's Song. [Arthur Upson] Grow, grow, thou little tree, His body at the roots of thee; Since last year's loveliness in death The living beauty nourisheth. Bloom, bloom, thou little tree, Thy roots around the heart of me; Thou canst not blow too white and fair From all the sweetness hidden there. Die, die, thou little tree, And be as all sweet things must be; Deep where thy petals drift I, too, Would rest the changing seasons through. Why. [Bliss Carman] For a name unknown, Whose fame unblown Sleeps in the hills For ever and aye; For her who hears The stir of the years Go by on the wind By night and day; And heeds no thing Of the needs of Spring, Of Autumn's wonder Or Winter's chill; For one who sees The great sun freeze, As he wanders a-cold From hill to hill; And all her heart Is a woven part Of the flurry and drift Of whirling snow; For the sake of two Sad eyes and true, And the old, old love So long ago. The Wife from Fairyland. [Richard Le Gallienne] Her talk was all of woodland things, Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon, Deep in the haunted grass; For she had come from fairyland, The morning of a day When the world that still was April Was turning into May. Green leaves and silence and two eyes -- 'T was so she seemed to me, A silver shadow of the woods, Whisper and mystery. I looked into her woodland eyes, And all my heart was hers, And then I led her by the hand Home up my marble stairs; And all my granite and my gold Was hers for her green eyes, And all my sinful heart was hers From sunset to sunrise; I gave her all delight and ease That God had given to me, I listened to fulfill her dreams, Rapt with expectancy. But all I gave, and all I did, Brought but a weary smile Of gratitude upon her face; As though a little while,