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Path Flower and Other Verses   By: (1869-1968)

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PATH FLOWER

All rights reserved

PATH FLOWER AND OTHER VERSES

BY OLIVE T. DARGAN

[Device]

MCMXIV LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD. NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

CONTENTS

PAGE PATH FLOWER 1 THE PIPER 6 TO A HERMIT THRUSH 8 THANKSGIVING 14 THE ROAD 16 LA DAME REVOLUTION 23 THE REBEL 24 THESE LATTER DAYS 25 ABNEGATION 26 THE LITTLE TREE 27 THE GAME 28 BALLAD 31 A DIRGE 37 HIS ARGUMENT 39 THE CONQUEROR 40 TO MOINA 41 "THERE'S ROSEMARY" 42 AT THE GRAVE OF HEINE 43 TO A LOST COMRADE 45 FOR M. L. P. 46 TO SLEEP 47 "LE PENSEUR" 48 VISION 49 SAFE 50 ON BOSWORTH FIELD 52 OLD FAIRINGDOWN 53 THE KISS 58 YOUTH 60 TO MIRIMOND 62 SOROLLA 63 IN THE BLUE RIDGE 66 YE WHO ARE TO SING 70 "AND THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST" 73 MAGDALEN TO HER POET 76 FRIENDS 85 TRYST 89 IN THE STUDIO 90 LOVERS' LEAP 91 HAVENED 94 MID MAY 102 THE LOSS 104 CALLED 105 SONG OF TO MORROW 108 LITTLE DAUGHTERS 110

The author thanks the editors of "Scribner's Magazine," "The Century," "The Atlantic Monthly," and "M'Clure's" for permission to reprint the greater part of the verse included in this volume.

PATH FLOWER

A red cap sang in Bishop's wood, A lark o'er Golder's lane, As I the April pathway trod Bound west for Willesden.

At foot each tiny blade grew big And taller stood to hear, And every leaf on every twig Was like a little ear.

As I too paused, and both ways tried To catch the rippling rain, So still, a hare kept at my side His tussock of disdain,

Behind me close I heard a step, A soft pit pat surprise, And looking round my eyes fell deep Into sweet other eyes;

The eyes like wells, where sun lies too, So clear and trustful brown, Without a bubble warning you That here's a place to drown.

"How many miles?" Her broken shoes Had told of more than one. She answered like a dreaming Muse, "I came from Islington."

"So long a tramp?" Two gentle nods, Then seemed to lift a wing, And words fell soft as willow buds, "I came to find the Spring."

A timid voice, yet not afraid In ways so sweet to roam, As it with honey bees had played And could no more go home.

Her home! I saw the human lair, I heard the hucksters bawl, I stifled with the thickened air Of bickering mart and stall.

Without a tuppence for a ride, Her feet had set her free. Her rags, that decency defied, Seemed new with liberty.

But she was frail. Who would might note The trail of hungering That for an hour she had forgot In wonder of the Spring... Continue reading book >>




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