The Washington herald., 1907-03-03
Even the Spring Poets Are
Beginning to Work.
THE HERALD BARDs COMPOSE
Philosopher and the Critic Dis
course of Spring Poetry-The BOY
Deure-The Treasury Man Turns
Out to Have an Inspiring Family.

4f'o as eAtA~tGAiii fto@c~NSN ~ -+a''N ms
pipe.
why? I suppose your contributors
have been busy, and you have some more
poetry to infict upon me. II that is
true, I shall, indeed, need a reserve force
Of optimism"
Well. said the critic with a laugh:
Read DER this:
And after. this: and then 10 breakfast, with
What appetite you have.
You seem to be pessimistic yourself
to-day" rejoined the Philosopher; who
is ths by?"
''That." replied the Critic. CHANGING at
Il, lis by the fifteen-year-old lad who
contributed once before. He was a
stranger then: we are friends now. or
at least I may hope so. He came 10 see
me and brought me this. and l, pedantic-
like, discoursed to the lad about meters
and such-like. and commended him TO
POe's essays on poetry for a better knowl-
edge Of meter. The lad is a comeiy
youth, with an honest face and a keen
desire TO do well. and worthy ambition.
would not discourage him; industry In
youth of our modern times is too rare
quality; not for me TO
TEL how hard it is TO climb
The steep where flames proud temple shines sfar.'
You are not all unkindly. then" said
the Philosopher
Il hope not" said the Critic. Il like,
too. the frank way in which the lad has
headed his verse. a Boys Eulogy on
Shakespeare. Usually when they're old
enough TO hold pen they want to be
thought men. Here is his verse:
He gave this world glorious crown.
With more than wisdom % rcnoVn-
Ills mind vas deep. his brain far-sccins
lie uTCfe the Inm0st soul Of human beng
III brain could many moods unfold,
And picture them forth n words q gold
Deep-laid plots % nights dark hours;
Others like sunshine radiant AS flowers.
The greatest n inteliacts vas has.
And 10 hs PLAYS orr nature is.
IL WCte 0f thought. OF plans for gain.
or family strife. q h0w q grain
OF suspicion. when harborel by tie brain.
May throw the darkest bots on worldly fame
That otherwise might d. both fair and pure
How emueIors faiI. what men Viii endure.
a history. Dis works became Ter men
Who read them over and User again
Palmer Ravley.
"I don't claim that that is good said
the Critic. but ] DO think that the boy
who wrote il had some encouraging
thoughts in his brain
And have you heard this week from
the gilded halls OF finance
"Oh. yes. Ny fnane.al poet IS blossom
ing under the tender warmth OF prin.,
and this week he falls into sentiment.
Here is his poem:
BEDTIME
am sitting in my armchair. trying hard 10 read a
But il proves a dismal failure. for / cannot help
but JOCK
At the picture on the hrarthrug. where charming
group Of three
Form a subject for a painter. we're he only here
20 see.
There is Dorothy. the youngest such bouncing
rosy mink.
And Marie. little older, quite srovn-up' now,
she thinks;
And IS finding out how many tbiass little EIrl
must know.
The freight elovs brightly on the form, replsts
OF M daTIines' tender mother, with her happy
smuag face
Bending los above the children, as they kneel be
fore her there
/ On The heaIth-ug in their nishtics,' while they
lisp their evening prayer.
liy broau-syed little Dorothy, her chubby hand.
One moment bows her curly head. to destiny re
And murmars through her infant lips toh. surely
sod must bear
Her ''Now lay me down to sleep" and bod bles.
sister dear
The tender voice OF sweet Marie. child OF geutls
WAYS
Is frausht with earnest patbos as with reverence
She pgays;
less white
That angels from on high WI guard her safely
through the night
And now the prayers are over. There's 4 rsh fol
daddys knee,
I'm smothered in tvo pairs Of chubby arms. with
shouts Of glce.
Two pairs o. fragrant rosered lips 10 mine ar5
warmly pressed.
And on my back they scramble. to be carried tc
their nest
At last my darling sirlies are tucked snusly down
With a dolly cuadled up beside each curly Htu,
head
And ! breathe heartfelt murmur Of thanksgirin:
pure and deep
AZ ] tiptcc from the chamber, where lay darling.
are asleep.
Herbert &. Hopkins.
Hes not so young rs you thought, is
he?" asked the Philosopher
Evidently not It's rather a pretty
picture Of domestic felicity he has drawn.
1 should like TO tell Mr.. Hopkins that /
think that this is his best vein-if he
likes TO write he should keep on along
these lines"
Yes; but wait until some night when
he is tired, and Dorothy and Marie wake
up and I'll VOW he does not write about
/ them so pTettily ANY mOre?"
Another contributor who has APP
/ peared before has sent me poem. This,
too, seems to be better than her last
She calls it
COMPENSATION.
cannot meet men with cloudcd brow,
Or cherries eve.
Yet s0Tow, that unwelcome traveller
Passed me not by.
She mingled bitter aloes in my cup,
And called 1t wine:
In the rose garden Of ny youth she set
\ cypress vine
babe her go. She needed not my words
But fingered long.
Looked into mine 1ith her unwayoTing eyes,
And said: "Be strong.
For one there Is viii surely come TO you,
When. ] know net
No wayfarer ]. she win abide,
And bless your lot.
Love her y0u must there I. by wonder held,
Reproach did cease;
And one fair morning felt upon my brow
The kiss Of Peace.
Elizabeth Fenner Baker.
1T jingles all right" calculated the
Philosopher; but what does it mean?"
ooh, well, If you're going into that
/ here, look at my last one:
SPRING.
The droary days Of ice and snow.
VIII vanish soon before tie rains;
The world again its youth viii know
The sap strong running through its veins.