Part 11 (1/2)

(But what is sadder than the sweets that cloy.)

My heart is green with leaf.a.ge; come and wake The old-time echoes with the songs of glee, For only echoes now are left to me, Though bloom and beauty cling to bush and brake.

A CRUSHED LEAF

An hour ago when the wind blew high At my lady's window a red leaf beat.

Then dropped at her door, where, pa.s.sing by, She carelessly trod it under her feet.

I have taken it out of the dust and dirt, With a tender pity but half defined.

Ah! poor bruised leaf, with your stain and hurt, 'A fellow-feeling doth make us kind.'

On winds of pa.s.sion my heart was blown, Like an autumn leaf one hapless day.

At my lady's window with tap and moan It burned and fluttered its life away.

Bright with the blood of its wasting tide It glowed in the sun of her laughing eyes.

What cared she though a stray heart died-- What to her were its sobs and sighs.

The winds of pa.s.sion were spent at last, And my heart like the leaf in her pathway lay; And under her slender foot as she pa.s.sed, My lady she trod it and went her way.

So I picked the leaf from its dusty place, With a tender pity--too well defined.

And I laid it here in this velvet case, Ah! a fellow-feeling doth make us kind.

A CURIOUS STORY

I heard such a curious story Of Santa Claus: once, so they say, He set out to see what people were kind, Before he took presents their way.

'This year I will give but to givers, To those who make presents themselves,'

With a nod of his head old Santa Claus said To his band of bright officer-elves.

'Go into the homes of the happy Where pleasure stands page at the door.

Watch well how they live, and report what they give To the hordes of G.o.d's suffering poor.

Keep track of each cent and each moment; Yes, tell me each word, too, they use: To silver line clouds for earth's suffering crowds, And tell me, too, when they refuse.'

So into our homes flew the fairies, Though never a soul of us knew, And with pencil and book they sat by and took Each action, if false, or if true.

White marks for the deeds done for others-- Black marks for the deeds done for self.

And n.o.body hid what he said or he did, For no one, of course, sees an elf.

Well, Christmas came all in its season, And Santa Claus, so I am told, With a very light pack of small gifts on his back, And his reindeers all left in the fold, Set out on a leisurely journey, And finished ere midnight, they say.

And there never had been such surprise and chagrin Before on the breaking of day,

As there was on that bright Christmas morning When stockings, and cupboards, and shelves Were ransacked and sought in, for gifts that were not in-- But wasn't it fun for the elves!