Part 33 (1/2)

All their sworded bodies must Lie low in their tower's dust . . .

Heel and toe, heel and toe, Blithely round the walls I go.

Heel and toe, heel and toe, -- I will blow a thunder note From my brazen bugle's throat Till the sand and thistle know The leveled walls of Jerico, Jerico, Jerico, Jerico. . . .

Students. [Florence Wilkinson]

John Brown and Jeanne at Fontainebleau -- 'T was Toussaint, just a year ago; Crimson and copper was the glow Of all the woods at Fontainebleau.

They peered into that ancient well, And watched the slow torch as it fell.

John gave the keeper two whole sous, And Jeanne that smile with which she woos John Brown to folly. So they lose The Paris train. But never mind! -- All-Saints are rustling in the wind, And there's an inn, a crackling fire -- (It's 'deux-cinquante', but Jeanne's desire); There's dinner, candles, country wine, Jeanne's lips -- philosophy divine!

There was a bosquet at Saint Cloud Wherein John's picture of her grew To be a Salon masterpiece -- Till the rain fell that would not cease.

Through one long alley how they raced! -- 'T was gold and brown, and all a waste Of matted leaves, moss-interlaced.

Shades of mad queens and hunter-kings And thorn-sharp feet of dryad-things Were company to their wanderings; Then rain and darkness on them drew.

The rich folks' motors honked and flew.

They hailed an old cab, heaven for two; The bright Champs-Elysees at last -- Though the cab crawled it sped too fast.

Paris, upspringing white and gold: Flamboyant arch and high-enscrolled War-sculpture, big, Napoleonic -- Fierce chargers, angels histrionic; The royal sweep of gardened s.p.a.ces, The pomp and whirl of columned Places; The Rive Gauche, age-old, gay and gray; The impa.s.se and the loved cafe; The tempting tidy little shops; The convent walls, the glimpsed tree-tops; Book-stalls, old men like dwarfs in plays; Talk, work, and Latin Quarter ways.

May -- Robinson's, the chestnut trees -- Were ever crowds as gay as these?

The quick pale waiters on a run, The round, green tables, one by one, Hidden away in amorous bowers -- Lilac, laburnum's golden showers.

Kiss, clink of gla.s.ses, laughter heard, And nightingales quite undeterred.

And then that last extravagance -- O Jeanne, a single amber glance Will pay him! -- ”Let's play millionaire For just two hours -- on princely fare, At some hotel where lovers dine A deux and pledge across the wine!”

They find a damask breakfast-room, Where stiff silk roses range their bloom.

The garcon has a splendid way Of bearing in grand dejeuner.

Then to be left alone, alone, High up above Rue Castiglione; Curtained away from all the rude Rumors, in silken solitude; And, John, her head upon your knees -- Time waits for moments such as these.

Tampico. [Grace Hazard Conkling]

Oh, cut me reeds to blow upon, Or gather me a star, But leave the sultry pa.s.sion-flowers Growing where they are.

I fear their sombre yellow deeps, Their whirling fringe of black, And he who gives a pa.s.sion-flower Always asks it back.

Which. [Corinne Roosevelt Robinson]