IF all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for ten thousand ages, day and night, The human race should write, and write, and write, Till all the pens and paper were used up, And the huge inkstand was an empty cup, Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink. THE ROSE AND THE FERN LADY, life's sweetest lesson wouldst thou learn, Come thou with me to Love's enchanted bower High overhead the trellised roses burn; Beneath thy feet behold the feathery fern,-- A leaf without a flower. What though the rose leaves fall? They still are sweet, And have been lovely in their beauteous prime, While the bare frond seems ever to repeat, "For us no bud, no blossom, wakes to greet The joyous flowering time!" Heed thou the lesson. Life has leaves to tread And flowers to cherish; summer round thee glows; Wait not till autumn's fading robes are shed, But while its petals still are burning red Gather life's full-blown rose! I LIKE YOU AND I LOVE YOU I LIKE YOU Met I LOVE You, face to face; The path was narrow, and they could not pass. I LIKE YOU smiled; I LOVE YOU cried, Alas! And so they halted for a little space. "Turn thou and go before," I LOVE YOU said, "Down the green pathway, bright with many a flower; Deep in the valley, lo! my bridal bower Awaits thee." But I LIKE YOU shook his head. Then while they lingered on the span-wide shelf That shaped a pathway round the rocky ledge, I LIKE You bared his icy dagger's edge, And first he slew I LOVE You,--then himself. LA MAISON D'OR (BAR HARBOR) FROM this fair home behold on either side The restful mountains or the restless sea So the warm sheltering walls of life divide Time and its tides from still eternity. Look on the waves: their stormy voices teach That not on earth may toil and struggle cease. Look on the mountains: better far than speech Their silent promise of eternal peace. TOO YOUNG FOR LOVE Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Tell reddening rose-buds not to blow Wait not for spring to pass away,-- Love's summer months begin with May! Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Too young? Too young? Ah, no! no! no! Too young for love? Ah, say not so, To practise all love learned in May. June soon will come with lengthened day While daisies bloom and tulips glow! Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Too young? Too young? Ah, no! no! no! THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN; OR, THE RETURN OF THE WITCHES