[From _Poems_ (New York, 1911)]
Passion? not hers! who held me with pure eyes: One hand among the deep curls of her brow, I drank the girlhood of her gaze with sighs: She never sighed, nor gave me kiss or vow.
So have I seen a clear October pool, Cold, liquid topaz, set within the sere Gold of the woodland, tremorless and cool, Reflecting all the heartbreak of the year.
Sweetheart? not she! whose voice was music-sweet; Whose face loaned language to melodious prayer.
Sweetheart I called her.--When did she repeat Sweet to one hope, or heart to one despair!
So have I seen a wildflower's fragrant head Sung to and sung to by a longing bird; And at the last, albeit the bird lay dead, No blossom wilted, for it had not heard.
A TWILIGHT MOTH
[From the same]
Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on its state Of gold and purple in the marbled west, Thou comest forth like some embodied trait, Or dim conceit, a lily bud confessed; Or of a rose the visible wish; that, white, Goes softly messengering through the night, Whom each expectant flower makes its guest.
All day the primroses have thought of thee, Their golden heads close-harmed from the heat; All day the mystic moonflowers silkenly Veiled snowy faces,--that no bee might greet, Or butterfly that, weighed with pollen, passed;-- Keeping Sultana charms for thee, at last, Their lord, who comest to salute each sweet.
Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day's Too fervid kisses; every bud that drinks The tipsy dew and to the starlight plays Nocturnes of fragrance, thy wing'd shadow links In bonds of secret brotherhood and faith, O bearer of their order's shibboleth, Like some pale symbol fluttering o'er these pinks.
What dost thou whisper in the balsam's ear That sets it blushing, or the hollyhock's,-- A syllabled silence that no man may hear,-- As dreamily upon its stem it rocks?
What spell dost bear from listening plant to plant, Like some white witch, some ghostly ministrant, Some specter of some perished flower of phlox?
O voyager of that universe which lies Between the four walls of this garden fair,-- Whose constellations are the fireflies That wheel their instant courses everywhere,-- Mid faery firmaments wherein one sees Mimic Bootes and the Pleiades, Thou steerest like some faery ship of air.
Gnome-wrought of moonbeam-fluff and gossamer, Silent as scent, perhaps thou chariotest Mab or King Oberon; or, haply, her His queen, Titania, on some midnight quest.-- Oh for the herb, the magic euphrasy, That should unmask thee to mine eyes, ah me!
And all that world at which my soul hath guessed!
FOOTNOTES:
[43] Copyright, 1896, by Copeland and Day.
[44] Copyright, 1903, by the Author.
[45] Copyright, 1906, by the Author.
[46] Copyright, 1907, by the Author.
[47] Copyright, 1910, by the Author.
[48] Copyright, 1911, by the Macmillan Company.
GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN
Mrs. George Madden Martin, the mother of _Emmy Lou_, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, May 3, 1866. She is the sister of Miss Eve Anne Madden, who has also written several delightful books for children.
She was educated in the public schools of Louisville, but on account of ill-health her training was concluded at home. In 1892 Miss Madden was married to Mr. Attwood R. Martin, and they have made their home at Anchorage, Kentucky, some miles from Louisville, ever since. Mrs.
Martin's first book was _The Angel of the Tenement_ (New York, 1897), now out of print, which she seemingly regards with so little favor that it is seldom found in the list of her works. _Emmy Lou--Her Book and Heart_ (New York, 1902), made her famous throughout the English-reading world. It ran serially in _McClure's Magazine_ during 1900. It is a masterpiece and, though she has published several stories since, this remains as her best book hitherto. Little "Emmy Lou" gets into the reader's heart in the most wonderful way, and, once there, she will not be displaced. She is the most charming child in Kentucky literature, a genuine creation. Mrs. Martin's short novel, _The House of Fulfillment_ (New York, 1904) won her praise from people who could not care for her child, though the heroine was none other than "Emmy Lou" in long skirts. This was followed by _Abbie Ann_ (New York, 1907); _Letitia: Nursery Corps, U. S. A._ (New York, 1907), was a very winsome little girl, who causes the men of the army many trials and vexations at various military posts where her parents happened to be stationed. _Emmy Lou_ and _Letitia_, as has been pointed out by one of Mrs. Martin's keenest critics, regard childhood through the eyes of age and are best appreciated, perhaps, by adults; while _Abbie Ann_ sees childhood through a child's eyes, and is certainly more appreciated by children than by grown-ups. Two of Mrs.
Martin's most recent stories, _When Adam Dolve and Eve Span_, appeared in _The American Magazine_ for October, 1911; and _The Blue Handkerchief_, in _The Century_ for December, 1911.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _McClure's Magazine_ (February, 1903); _The Outlook_ (October 1, 1904); _McClure's Magazine_ (December, 1904).
EMMY LOU'S VALENTINE[49]
[From _Emmy Lou--Her Book and Heart_ (New York, 1902)]
About this time rumors began to reach Emmy Lou. She heard that it was February, and that wonderful things were peculiar to the Fourteenth.
At recess the little girls locked arms and talked Valentines. The echoes reached Emmy Lou.
The Valentines must come from a little boy, or it wasn't the real thing.
And to get no valentine was a dreadful thing--dreadful thing. And even the timidest of the sheep began to cast eyes across at the goats.
Emmy Lou wondered if she would get a valentine. And if not, how was she to survive the contumely and shame?
You must never, never breathe to a living soul what was on your valentine. To tell even your best and truest little girl friend was to prove faithless to the little boy sending the valentine. These things reached Emmy Lou.
Not for the world would she tell. Emmy Lou was sure of that, so grateful did she feel she would be to anyone sending her a valentine.
And in doubt and wretchedness did she wend her way to school on the Fourteenth day of February. The drug-store window was full of valentines. But Emmy Lou crossed the street. She did not want to see them. She knew the little girls would ask her if she had gotten a valentine. And she would have to say, No.
She was early. The big, empty room echoed back her footsteps as she went to her desk to lay down book and slate before taking off her wraps. Nor did Emmy Lou dream the eye of the little boy peeped through the crack of the door from Miss Clara's dressing-room.
Emmy Lou's hat and jacket were forgotten. On her desk lay something square and white. It was an envelope. It was a beautiful envelope, all over flowers and scrolls.
Emmy Lou knew it. It was a valentine. Her cheeks grew pink.
She took it out. It was blue. And it was gold. And it had reading on it.
Emmy Lou's heart sank. She could not read the reading. The door opened.
Some little girls came in. Emmy Lou hid her valentine in her book, for since you must not--she would never show her valentine--never.
The little girls wanted to know if she had gotten a valentine, and Emmy Lou said, Yes, and her cheeks were pink with the joy of being able to say it.
Through the day, she took peeps between the covers of her Primer, but no one else might see it.
It rested heavy on Emmy Lou's heart, however, that there was reading on it. She studied surreptitiously. The reading was made up of letters. It was the first time Emmy Lou had thought about that. She knew some of the letters. She would ask someone the letters she did not know by pointing them out on the chart at recess. Emmy Lou was learning. It was the first time since she came to school.
But what did the letters make? She wondered, after recess, studying the valentine again.
Then she went home. She followed Aunt Cordelia about. Aunt Cordelia was busy.
"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou.