So take the book again--forget All else,--long years, lost hopes, regret; Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain, Prayers we have lifted all in vain; Tears for the faces seen no more, Once as the roses at the door! Take the enchanted book--And lo, On grassy swards of long ago, Sprawl out again, beneath the shade The breezy old-home orchard made, The veriest barefoot boy indeed-- And I will listen as you read. TO--"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB" Well, it's enough to turn his head to have a feller's name Swiped with a _Literary_ Club!--But _you're_ the ones to blame!-- I call the World to witness that I never _agged_ ye to it By ever writin' _Classic-like_--_because I couldn't_ do it: I never run to "Hellicon," ner writ about "Per-nassus," Ner ever tried to rack or ride around on old "P-_gassus_"! When "Tuneful Nines" has cross'd my lines, the ink 'ud blot and blur it, And pen 'ud jest putt back fer home, and take the short way fer it! And so, as I'm a-sayin',--when you name your Literary In honor o' this name o' mine, it's railly nessessary-- Whilse I'm _a-thankin'_ you and all--to _warn_ you, ef you do it, I'll haf to jine the thing myse'f 'fore I can live up to it! LITTLE MAID-O'-DREAMS Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with your Eery eyes so clear and pure Gazing, where we fain would see Into far futurity,-- Tell us what you there behold, In your visions manifold! What is on beyond our sight, Biding till the morrow's light, Fairer than we see to-day, As our dull eyes only may? Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with face Like as in some woodland place Lifts a lily, chaste and white, From the shadow to the light;-- Tell us, by your subtler glance, What strange sorcery enchants You as now,--here, yet afar As the realms of moon and star?-- Have you magic lamp and ring, And genii for vassaling? Little Maid-o'-Dreams, confess You're divine and nothing less,-- For with mortal palms, we fear, Yet must pet you, dreaming here-- Yearning, too, to lift the tips Of your fingers to our lips; Fearful still you may rebel, High and heav'nly oracle! Thus, though all unmeet our kiss, Pardon this!--and this!--and this! Little Maid-o'-Dreams, we call Truce and favor, knowing all!-- All your magic is, in truth, Pure foresight and faith of youth-- You're a child, yet even so, You're a sage, in embryo-- Prescient poet--artist--great As your dreams anticipate.-- Trusting God and Man, you do Just as Heaven inspires you to. TO THE BOY WITH A COUNTRY DAN WALLINGFORD