Helen Leah Reed

    For thee he thought,
    The Greek, who by the sea
    Lay in his lithe-limbed grace, as dreamily
    He gazed upon the sky begemmed with stars,
    And pondered mysteries. Ah, few the bars
    To stop that lofty spirit in its flight
    Compared with those that lock our souls in night.
    For thee he thought!
    For thee he wrought,
    The Tyrian, who of old
    His rich web wove of purple dye and gold;
    Whose little bark, outstanding many a storm,
    To ruder lands the spirit and the form
    Of Eastern culture bore. Ah! what we owe
    To him today, let sage and poet show.
    For thee he wrought!
    For thee he fought!
    The Saxon, who upheld
    The freedom of our race; whose broad-ax felled
    Imperial legions in the forest ...

    No warrior he, a village lad,
            needing nor words nor other prod
    To point his duty; he was glad
            to tread the path his fathers trod.
    Week days he worked in wood and field;
            with homely joys he decked his life;
    The sword of hate he would not wield,
            nor take a part in cankering strife.
    On Sunday in the little choir
            he sang of Peace and brotherly love,
    And as his thoughts soared higher and higher,
            they reached unmeasured heights above.

    A cry for Freedom rent the Land -
            "Our Country calls, come, come, 'tis War;
    Together let us firmly stand;"
            he answered, though his heart beat sore
    At leaving home, and kin, and one
            i...

    Companioned by the lonely hours,
        My vigil with the stars I keep, -
        The happy stars that never weep, -
        The wakeful stars that never sleep,
    Spirit of me that frets and cowers,
        Ah, what am I, that I should be
        And breathe in this Infinity?

    Unburdened of the weight of self,
        Toward the highest heights I am borne,
        Below lies Earth, begrimed and worn,
        Far, far from me her praise, her scorn,
    Her joys, her woes, her loss, her pelf,
        One with the happy stars am I!
        Our limits the unbounded sky!

    Crinkled oak-leaves, twinkling in the sun,
        Splashed by midday showers, dripping cold -
    Serrate oak-leaves, silvered by the sun
        That has brushed yon dull brown grass with gold.

    Green and crinkled oak leaves, tremble now -
        Strong you would be, strong would be and bold,
    Ah! green oak-leaves, you are trembling now -
        By the saucy wind deceived - cajoled!

    Trembling oak leaves - you are soon to fall,
        Soon to hide the earth with yellowing mould
    Twinkling, crinkling oak-leaves, soon you'll fall
        For the autumn sun is shining cold.

    God's mean and careless servant - while I wander
        Deep in the madness of Philosophy, -
    Now backward I must set my sail, and ponder
        Where my forsaken course retraced shall be.
    For Jupiter, who with his glittering fire
        So often cleaves apart the threatening clouds,
    His wingèd car and thundering horses higher
        Toward air has driven where no shadow shrouds.

    Whereat the sluggish earth, each vagrant river, -
        The Styx, and hated Tænarus' dread abode,
    And the Atlantic borders shake and shiver.
        Ah - to reverse high things and low, our God
    Is able, and the mighty he can lower,
        The obscure can raise. From this man Fortune steals
    The crown to give to that one; - in her power,
        Sh...

    Well satisfied with all his own, he stands
    Holding a trembling balance in his hands;
    On one scale - wealth and ease, men's praises, too -
    Whatever charms the soul, and keeps it true.
    But on the other scale - lo - the foul street
    Where pallid children play, where poor folk greet,
    And crowded houses dirty, dimly lit,
    On whose dull walls all misery is writ,
    Houses wherein the herded cannot fight
    The ambushed evil lurking day and night.
    Has he - contented one - who counts his gain,
    Balanced the cost - the wretchedness and pain
    Of those who help him hoard his heap of gold?
    Ah, human life may be too dearly sold!
    For see, the one scale weighs the other down.
    His gold, his ease, his honors - by Heaven's frown<...

    Serbia, valiant daughter of the Ages,
    Happiness and light should be thy portion!
    Yet thy day is dimmed, thine heart is heavy;
    Long hast thou endured - a little longer
    Bear thy burden, for a fair to-morrow
    Soon will gleam upon thy flower-spread valleys,
    Soon will brighten all thy shadowy mountains;
    Soon will sparkle on thy foaming torrents
    Rushing toward the world beyond thy rivers.
    Bulgar, Turk and Magyar long assailed thee.
    Now the Teuton's cruel hand is on thee
    Though he break thy heart and rack thy body,
    'Tis not his to crush thy lofty spirit.
    Serbia cannot die. She lives immortal,
    Serbia - all thy loyal men bring comfort
    Fighting, fighting, and thy far-flung banner
    Blazons to the world thy...

    "For nearly eighteen years upon my head
    The crown of Empire heavily has set.
    The burden on my shoulders I have borne
    Of an estate encumbered far and wide
    With debts I had to pay. Ah! everywhere
    Murmurs, revolts, or wars assailed my throne.
    Now quiet comes - even in Britain here,
    The most disturbing Province of them all.
    Yet I must go, the profits I must leave
    To others to enjoy - to hold with ease
    What I with bitter travail have obtained.
    Peace there must be, and mutual amity,
    The one support to hold the Empire firm,
    To keep the Glory of the Empire bright.
    Discord would be the ruin of the pile,
    That my poor hands have built so painfully.
    Only when Peace prevails may we behold
    How smal...

    He has a taste that's superfine who flouts at every subway sign,
    He reckons not that some there be, who cannot tell, unless they see
    Spelled plain before them on the wall, what things their own they ought to call
    For instance, when I come to town, whom you may dub a country clown -
    How should I know what things to buy, if not a subway sign were nigh
    To show - the pills I ought to take my all-consuming thirst to slake; -
    The hair restorer that will soothe my infant son with his first tooth; -
    The ruddy catsup that is sure all family jars and ills to cure; -
    The dollar watch that daintily we'll serve, wound-up, for early tea; -
    The window-screens that will not hide our failings from the country-side; -
    What breakfast-food is our true friend, the di...

    On every bush are roses blooming, everywhere the nightingale
    To his love again is warbling plaintively his oft-told tale.
    Now within our balmy garden dances the tall cypress tree,
    And the poplar never ceases clapping his slim hands in glee.
    From the height of every bough-tip you can hear the turtle sing,
    With loud voice proclaiming gaily the glad coming of the spring.
    On the head of the narcissus gleams as bright his diadem,
    As the crown of China's Emperor decked with many a costly gem.
    Here the west wind, there the north wind, in true token of their love,
    At the feet of yonder rose lay treasure poured down from above.
    All the earth with musk is scented, and musk-laden is the air.
    Everything proclaims that daily now draws nearer spring t...

    Antæus, as the ancient poets sing,
        Though in his contest with the God of Power
            Doomed to be conquered, stayed the fatal hour,
    And the onlookers set to wondering.
    For overborne, to Earth he'd closely cling,
        Until he rose again, a mighty tower.
        Thus could the Earth with strength her lover dower,
    And very near to victory could bring.
        So when I feel thy tender hand in mine,
            I, too, dear love, against the world could stand,
                Courage divine comes with thy lightest touch.
        Afar from thee Antæus-like I pine,
            But strength returns now as I clasp thy hand.
                Ah! that so slight a thing should mean so much.

    Oh, the noise of Piccadilly - its rumble and its roar!
    A tide of life's broad ocean surging toward the shore.
    Who once has listened, ever can hear its long refrain
    With haunting echo drowning or dirge or flaunting strain.
    Who heeds it, in his vision may see a world-throng pass -
    And over there the Green Park with laughing lad and lass;
    While weary men and women and careless youth go by,
    Where windows glow and glitter, and in the evening sky
    A crescent moon is watching the laughing lass and lad.
    The long, warm London twilight! Happy they are, though sad.
    With kiss and tear they are parting. 'Tis late - the rush and roar -
    The life of Picadilly is waning - is no more.

    Ah, the dark, the cold, the stillness of the trenches in ...

    "Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage"
    High halls do not a College make, nor book-lined shelves a sage.
    So might I follow haltingly these olden words to show
    That even in this newer home the Annex may not know
    A greater zeal for learning than the old house could bestow.
    But comparisons are odious, so I'll merely try to say
    That cherished deep within the hearts of many here today
    Is the memory of that early home in the classic Appian Way.
    There first did the young Annex (whose real Christian name
    Contains as many syllables as it has liens on fame)
    Win laurels even brighter than its friends had hoped to claim.
    And there, too, in their search, for intellectual recreation
    Its students formed the short-livedAppia...