"Write me," she ordered, nodding her head, "A song of the rippling Spring that is gone-- A song that's different from songs that are dead-- Different as sunset is from the dawn. Sparkling with happiness, heavy with dew, Trilling and thrilling, all the way through; Fill it with heaven's own laughing blue-- Write it!" she said. So I wrote it--"Love's Pawn." I spoke of the sunshine caught in her hair; I sang of the peach blossom's pink in her face; I mentioned the heavenly blue with great care That colored her wonderful eyes. And her grace I likened to that of a slender young tree Bowing and laughing when breezes blow free; In fact, there was naught in the Spring I could see Save this girl who with Love would ever keep pace. She took it and read it, that poor thing of mine-- Old as a saga, young as the year-- Drank in the similes (flattering wine!), Then gave her verdict, "You are a _dear_; Surely no girl ever had such a song Written for her; I will treasure it long; It's _so_ original--clever--and strong; How _could_ you know me so well--in one year?" I read it myself--and grew red, I confess, As a good workman should, when a poor job is done; But the joy of her laugh and the sweet, swift caress Overpaid me, a hundred to one!... And then as she stood on the brow of the hill And swayed in the wind, as Youth ever will, I think that I heard her silv'ry laugh trill.... But perish the thought that she'd spoken in fun! UNFINISHED The radiant dawn flows up the empty sky, Its singing colors heralding the day, And yet, before the tardy sun is high, Unfinished morning fades and slips away. While Nature holds her fragrant breath at dawn Watching the loveliness she's made--it's gone! From dew-drenched garden thrills a thrush's call-- That liquid note that all night long was stilled-- The living chalice, brown and bright and small, Seems with the joy of living overfilled-- Then suddenly, unfinished, clear and sweet The song is drowned in noises from the street. So at the edge of dusk my love for you Would speak to your white soul, would humbly come To tell the age-old story, ever new-- But in the pulsing twilight Love is dumb! Oh, heart of mine, within your quiet breast Unfinished dawn--and song--and love--find rest! PAID IN ADVANCE What is the cost of a day in Spring-- A wind-swept, rain-washed golden day? A day that with joy is bubbling-- And dancing adown a world mad-gay? You've paid for that day with days gone by-- The gloomy days and the days of rain; The days that you'd like to forget--and try-- Days that were tuned to a note of pain. Others there are who will never forget The lowering clouds and the sodden world, But--though you paid as they paid, eyes wet-- Your banner of courage was still unfurled! That was the price of this day in June, Paid in advance with a shrug and a smile-- While others complained, you heard a tune, Making the gloomiest day worth while! WE RODE AT NIGHT