(I say I do; of course the fact,
For better or for worse, is,
My unerratic life denies
My too erotic verses).

I dote upon their waywardness,
Their foibles and their follies.
If there's a madder pate than Di's,
Perhaps it may be Dolly's.

They have no "problems" to discuss,
No "theories" to discover;

They are not "new;" and I—I am
Their very grateful lover.

I care not if their minds confuse
Alastor with Aladdin;

And Cimabue is far less

To them than Chimmie Fadden.

They never heard of William Blake,

Nor saw a Botticelli;

Yet one is, "Yours till death, Louise," And one, "Your loving Nelly."

views,

They never tease me for my
Nor tax me with my grammar;
Nor test me on the latest news,
Until I have to stammer.

They never talk about their "moods,"
They never know they have them;
The world is good enough for them,
And that is why I love them.

They never puzzle me with Greek,
Nor drive me mad with Ibsen;
Yet over forms as fair as Eve's
They wear the gowns of Gibson.

Bliss Carman.

B

BETWEEN THE SHOWERS

ETWEEN the showers I went my way,
The glistening street was bright with
flowers;

It seemed that March had turned to May

Between the showers.

Above the shining roofs and towers

The blue broke forth athwart the gray; Birds carolled in their leafless bowers.

Hither and thither, swift and gay,

The people chased the changeful hours; And you, you passed and smiled that day,

Between the showers.

Amy Levy.

GRACE'S CHOICE

WHEN

HEN first I saw fair-featured Grace, In dainty tailor-fashioned gown, I fell in love with her sweet face, And pooh-poohed at her escort, Brown. The fellow's rich, but such a clown! I did not fear he'd rival me

I, Reginald de Courcy Drowne, With wealth and-looks and pedigree.

I set the man a red-hot pace;

It was the talk of all the town;
I knew that I was loved by Grace-
I knew it by that yokel's frown.
My ancestors won great renown,
While Brown has no ancestral tree.

I knew I could the fellow down,
With wealth and looks and pedigree.

She's married now; has rare point lace,
And jewels fit to deck a crown.
The man who calls her "darling Grace,"
Is not the fellow they call Brown.
No, I'm the happiest man in town.
I knew she'd not say no to me,
One rarely sees Dame Fortune frown
On wealth and-looks and pedigree.

ENVOY

You thought that Grace would marry Brown,
As in most ballades that you see,

But she did not. For her no clown-
But wealth and-looks and pedigree.

Charles Battell Loomis.

TO VIOLET

(With a Bunch of Namesakes)

THER

HERE is a maid-I am afraid
To give her name to you—

Who makes great pets of violets—
I wish I were one, too.

Once in her youth, this all is truth,

She took some up to smell;-
In some strange way the records say,
Into her eyes they fell-

And there they stayed-they never fade—
She looks at me-sometimes,-
And then-Oh, then I seize my pen
And fall to writing rhymes.

But, sad mischance! My consonants
Desert-four vowels, too;

A, E, O, I, take wings, that's why

My rhymes are filled with U.

Robert Cameron Rogers.

WH

HER BONNET

HEN meeting-bells began to toll,
And pious folk began to pass,
She deftly tied her bonnet on,

The little, sober meeting lass,

All in her neat, white-curtained room, before her tiny looking-glass.

So nicely, round her lady-cheeks,

She smoothed her hands of glossy hair,
And innocently wondered if

Her bonnet did not make her fair

Then sternly chid her foolish heart for harboring such fancies there.

So square she tied the satin strings,
And set the bows beneath her chin;

Then smiled to see how sweet she looked;
Then thought her vanity a sin,

And she must put such thoughts away before the sermon should begin.

But, sitting 'neath the preached Word,
Demurely in her father's pew,

She thought about her bonnet still,

Yes, all the parson's sermon through,

About its pretty bows and buds which better than the text she knew.