RONDEL

BY J. KEITH TORBERT

I could not boast of anything;
Were I the scarlet of a rose,

The softest breeze that summer blows,

An artist, prophet, or a king,
The breath with which the poets sing
The secret that nobody knows,

I could not boast of anything.
Were I a maiden's sweet repose,
The love that makes her lover cling,
Were I the scarlet of a rose

And blushes to her cheeks should bring,
I could not boast of anything.

BY HILDEGARDE ELIZABETH KALB

Oh soft blue haze of mystery,
Enfolding all the prairie-land
In lovely mists of dreaminess,
Drawn gently by some master hand
Across the brilliant summer skies;
All pregnant with some promise vague
That still unseen, undreamt of, lies
Concealed behind thy veil!

What may not wait in thy soft depths?
What prophecies mayst thou not hold,
Thou dim, uncertain loveliness-

What secrets mayst thou not unfold,
What dreams of mine, what hopes and fears,
Hast thou in store for later days?
What may I meet in after years
Along thy misty trail?

The world is wrapped in pensiveness,
In veil-like clouds of What-May-Be,-
All hushed, expectant, tip-toe poised,
All steeped in poignant mystery;
Atilt to catch the faintest hist
Of promise trembling unfulfilled
Behind this curtain-fall of mist

That hides such witchery.

Much hast thou brought in days agone,
Enchantress of the Purple Haze-
Of wonder to the marv'ling soul,
Of beauty to the ling'ring gaze.
Enriched by all thou hast bestowed,
Uplifted by thy sorcery,

I long to tread the wid'ning road,—
To pierce thy mystery.

LONGING

By W. F. MCCALEB

I thought of you the long night long,
For in my soul a sibyl song

Of you sang on incessantly.

As one who sleeping by the sea
Hears in his ears low murmurings
And then betimes the threshing wings
Of hurricanes, so in my heart
Your memory sweet would start
Anon slow rhythmic beats to rise
In paling circles till the cries

Would almost crush my life out!-Then
In pained subsidence slow again
The songs of you would echo deep
Within my heart, where I shall keep
You safe-Oh you, with lips and eyes
And hair and mouth!-A lover-prize.

THE MAGNOLIA GRANDIFLORA OF THE SWAMP

BY ELIZABETH HOWARD WEST

Fragrance of passion and purity's virginal white,
Calmness of power and riot of young life at play,
Mingle in thee, ideal of a swift-passing day,
Vision that, beckoning, vanishest into the night.

Soul of the swamp that arisest in fervor and might

Up from the mire and miasma of slow-moving streams, Seeking the clean upper air and the healing sunbeams, Sick of decay and corruption and longing for light,

Maugre corruption that soon shall cast o'er thee its blight,
Mire and miasma and venoming mists of decay,
Spring voices subtly shall woo thee to burgeoning fair;
Life in its cycle triumphant shall leap to the height.

BY MRS. W. S. HENDRIX

RAISON D'AIMER

Why do I love you? Ask me why
The lark soars singing to the sky
Or why the timid doves are cooing;
Go-question them why they are wooing
If reason you must have, forsooth,
There's only one and of a truth

They'll give it you, but-do you pause?
They love, I love, dear-just because.

A HINDU LOVE SONG

Oh, thou little timid bride,
Lakamooni-lo, thy maidens

Lead thee blushing to thy lover.

Thou art silent, oh my love

And thine eyes are cast down in modesty.

Truly art thou the Beloved:

Draw near and raise the purdahs of those mysterious eyes, Standing unabashed before me. And behold!

Thy crimson sari half reveals

Thy body fragrant as the odorous flowers

That strew our bridal chamber. Oh Beloved!

Thy lotus feet are rimmed with the rich red dye,
And thine ankles are musical with tinkling bells.

A thousand jewels gleam about thee

Encircling neck and forehead

And glimmer in those shadowy tresses

Like fireflies dancing wantonly among

The trembling leaves at Even. Oh Beloved!
Like to the cool shade in the desert heat,

Like to the perfume on the summer breeze,
Like to the golden light that ripples,

Like to some vagrant melody,

Like to all these thy love indeed is-Oh! Beloved.