Part 7 (1/2)

And do his bauble-bells beyond the clouds Ring out, and shake with mirth the planets bright?

No doubt he brings the blessed dead good cheer, But silence broods on Elsinore tonight.

That little elf, Ophelia, eight years old, Upon her battered doll's staunch bosom weeps.

(”O best of men, that wove glad fairy-tales.”) With tear-burned face, at last the darling sleeps.

Hamlet himself could not give cheer or help, Though firm and brave, with his boy-face controlled.

For every game they started out to play Yorick invented, in the days of old.

The times are out of joint! O cursed spite!

The n.o.ble jester Yorick comes no more.

And Hamlet hides his tears in boyish pride By some lone turret-stair of Elsinore.

Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress

In ”Man's Genesis”, ”The Wild Girl of the Sierras”, ”The Wharf Rat”, ”A Girl of the Paris Streets”, etc.

I

The arts are old, old as the stones From which man carved the sphinx austere.

Deep are the days the old arts bring: Ten thousand years of yesteryear.

II

She is madonna in an art As wild and young as her sweet eyes: A frail dew flower from this hot lamp That is today's divine surprise.

Despite raw lights and gloating mobs She is not seared: a picture still: Rare silk the fine director's hand May weave for magic if he will.

When ancient films have crumbled like Papyrus rolls of Egypt's day, Let the dust speak: ”Her pride was high, All but the artist hid away:

”Kin to the myriad artist clan Since time began, whose work is dear.”

The deep new ages come with her, Tomorrow's years of yesteryear.

Two Old Crows

Two old crows sat on a fence rail, Two old crows sat on a fence rail, Thinking of effect and cause, Of weeds and flowers, And nature's laws.

One of them muttered, one of them stuttered, One of them stuttered, one of them muttered.

Each of them thought far more than he uttered.

One crow asked the other crow a riddle.

One crow asked the other crow a riddle: The muttering crow Asked the stuttering crow, ”Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?

Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?”

”Bee-cause,” said the other crow, ”Bee-cause, B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.”

Just then a bee flew close to their rail:-- ”Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ.”