Arthur Macy

I sit before the firelight's glow
    With all the world in apogee,
And con good Master Florio
    With pipe a-light; and as I see
    Queen Bess herself with book a-knee,
Reading it o'er and o'er again,
    Here, 'neath my cosy mantel-tree,
I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.

Now howls the wind and drives the snow;
    The traveler shivers on the lea;
While, with my precious folio,
    Behold a happy devotee
    To book and warmth and reverie!
The blast upon the window-pane
    Disturbs me not, as trouble-free,
I smoke my pipe and read Montaigne.

I am content, and thus I know
    A mind as calm as summer sea, -
A heart that stranger is to woe.
    To happiness I hold the key
    In this rare, sweet philosophy;
And while th...

[PARIS, 1896]


Oh, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot,
With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so,
        Pray what should I do
        When a girl like you
Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh
On the first fond fool that is passing by,
Who listens and longs as the sweet words flow
From her pretty red lips at the Porte Maillot?

There were lips as red ere you were born,
Now wreathed in smiles, now curled in scorn,
        And other bright eyes
        With their truth and lies,
That broke the heart and turned the brain
Of many a tender, lovelorn swain;
But never, I ween, brought half the woe
That comes from the lips at the Porte Maillot.

A charming picture, there you stand,
A perfect work from a master's hand!
        W...

Poet, my master, come, tell me true,
    And how are your verses made?
Ah! that is the easiest thing to do: -
You take a cloud of a silvern hue,
A tender smile or a sprig of rue,
    With plenty of light and shade,

And weave them round in syllables rare,
    With a grace and skill divine;
With the earnest words of a pleading prayer,
With a cadence caught from a dulcet air,
A tale of love and a lock of hair,
    Or a bit of a trailing vine.

Or, delving deep in a mine unwrought,
    You find in the teeming earth
The golden vein of a noble thought;
The soul of a statesman still unbought,
Or a patriot's cry with anguish fraught
    For the land that gave him birth.

A brilliant youth who has lost his way
    On the winding road of l...

This is a valentine for you.
    Mother made it. She's real smart,
I told her that I loved you true
    And you were my sweetheart.

And then she smiled, and then she winked,
    And then she said to father,
"Beginning young!" and then he thinked,
    And then he said, "Well, rather."

Then mother's eyes began to shine,
And then she made this valentine:
"If you love me as I love you,
No knife shall cut our love in two,"
And father laughed and said, "How new!"
And then he said, "It's time for bed."

So, when I'd said my prayers,
Mother came running up the stairs
And told me I might send the rhymes,
And then she kissed me lots of times.
Then I turned over to the wall
And cried about you, and - that's all.

All on a golden summer day,
As through the leaves a single ray
Of yellow sunshine finds its way
            So bright, so bright;
The wakened birds that blithely sing
Seem welcoming another spring;
While all the woods are murmuring
            So light, so light.

All on a golden summer day,
When to my heart a single ray
Of tender kindness finds its way,
            So bright, so bright;
Then comes sweet hope and bravely dares
To break the chain that sorrow wears -
And all my burdens, all my cares
            Are light, so light!

At Marliave's when eventide
Finds rare companions at my side,
    The laughter of each merry guest
    At quaint conceit, or kindly jest,
Makes golden moments swiftly glide.
No voice unkind our faults to chide,
Our smallest virtue magnified;
    And friendly hand to hand is pressed
                        At Marliave's.

I lay my years and cares aside
Accepting what the gods provide,
    I ask not for a lot more blest,
    Nor do I crave a sweeter rest
Than that which comes with eventide
                        At Marliave's.

At twilight time when tolls the chime,
    And saddest notes are falling,
A lonely bird with plaintive word
    Across the dusk is calling.
Vain doth it wait for one dear mate,
    That ne'er shall know the morrow;
Then sinks to rest with drooping crest
    In one long dream of sorrow.

Dearest, when night is here,
    To thee I'm calling,
Sadly as tear on tear
    Is slowly falling,
Oh, fold me near, more near -
    In love enthralling!
Here on thy breast,
    While life shall last,
With thee I stay.
    Here will I rest
Till night is past,
    And comes the day!

[TO O. R.]


Out from the Land of the Future, into the Land of the Past
A comrade sails to the East, the sport of the wave and the blast.
Oh, billow and breeze, be kind, and temper your strength to your guest,
Kind for the sake of the friend, - for the sake of the hands he pressed.

Oh, tenderest billow and breeze, welcome him even as we
Would welcome if you were the friend and we were the wind and the sea!
Welcome, protect him, and waft him westward and homeward at last
Into the Land of the Future, out from the Land of the Past!

Of sweethearts I have had a score,
    And time may bring as many more;
Tho' I remember all the rest,
    Just now I worship dear Céleste;
Hers may not be the greatest love,
    But ah! it is the latest love.

        For little Cupid's never stupid,
        As I've found out;
        And love is truest when 'tis newest,
        Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.

Of sweethearts I have had a score,
    Céleste says I deserve no more;
I take revenge on dear Céleste,
    By telling her I love her best;
Hers may not be the greatest love,
    But ah! it is the latest love.

        For little Cupid's never stupid,
        As I've found out;
        And love is truest when 'tis newest,
        Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.

I first saw Phebe when the show'rs
Had just made brighter all the flow'rs;
        Yet she was fair
        As any there,
And so I loved her hours and hours.

Then I met Helen, and her ways
Set my untutored heart ablaze.
        I loved at sight
        And deemed it right
To worship her for days and days.

Yet when I gazed on Clara's cheeks
And spoke the language Cupid speaks,
        O'er all the rest
        She seemed the best,
And so I loved her weeks and weeks.

But last of Love's sweet souvenirs
Was Delia with her sighs and tears.
        Of her it seemed
        I'd always dreamed,
And so I loved her years and years.

But now again with Phebe met,
I love the first one of the set.
        "Fickle," you s...

Dainty little Love came tripping
    Down the hill,
Smiling as he thought of sipping
    Sweets at will.
        SHE said, "No,
        Love must go."
Dainty little Love came tripping
    Down the hill.

Dainty little Love went sighing
    Up the hill,
All his little hopes were dying -
    Love was ill.
        Vain he tried
        Tears to hide.
Dainty little Love went sighing
    Up the hill.

Of all the joys on earth that be
There is no sweeter one to me
Than sitting with a merry lass
From consommé to demi-tasse.

And yet a golden hour I'd steal,
Reverse the order of the meal,
And countermarching, backward stray
From demi-tasse to consommé.

I fill my goblet to the brim
And clink the glasses rim to rim.
Across the board I waft a kiss
With thanks for such an hour as this,
And clasping joy, bid sorrow flee,
And welcome you my vis-à-vis.

Give me but a bit to eat,
    And an hour or two,
Just a salad and a sweet,
    And a chat with you.
Give me table full or bare,
    Crust or rich ragout;
But whatever be the fare,
    Always give me you.

Time and I have fallen out;
We, who were such steadfast friends.
So slowly has it come about
That none may tell when it began;
Yet sure am I a cunning plan
Runs through it all;
And now, beyond recall,
Our friendship ends,
And ending, there remains to me
The memory of disloyalty.

Long years ago Time tripping came
With promise grand,
And sweet assurances of fame;
And hand in hand
Through fairy-land
Went he and I together
In bright and golden weather.
Then, then I had not learned to doubt,
For friends were gods, and faith was sure,
And words were truth, and deeds were pure,
Before we had our falling out;
And life, all hope, was fair to see,
When Time made promise sweet to me.

When first my faithless friend grew cold<...

How nice 'twould be if knowledge grew
On bushes, as the berries do!
Then we could plant our spelling seed,
And gather all the words we need.
The sums from off our slates we'd wipe,
And wait for figures to be ripe,
And go into the fields, and pick
Whole bushels of arithmetic;
Or if we wished to learn Chinese,
We'd just go out and shake the trees;
And grammar then, in all the towns,
Would grow with proper verbs and nouns;
And in the gardens there would be
Great bunches of geography;
And all the passers-by would stop,
And marvel at the knowledge crop;
And I my pen would cease to push,
And pluck my verses from a bush!

I send,
O sweetest friend,
A kiss;
Such as fair ladies gave
Of old, when knights were brave,
And smiles were won
Through foes undone.
And this will be
For you to give again to me;
And then, its present errand o'er,
I'll give it unto you once more,
Ere briefest time elapse,
With interest, perhaps.
Its mission spent,
Again to me it may be lent.
And thus, day after day,
As we a simple law obey,
Forever, to and fro,
The selfsame kiss will go;
A busy shuttle that shall weave
A web of love, to soften and relieve
Our daily care.
And so,
As thus we share,
With lip to lip,
Our frugal partnership,
One kiss will always do
For two.
And, oh, how easy it will be
To practice this economy!

[To E. C.]


Oh, drop your eyelids down, my lady;
    Oh, drop your eyelids down.
'Twere well to keep your bright eyes shady
    For pity of the town!
But should there any glances be,
I pray you give them all to me;
For though my life be lost thereby,
It were the sweetest death to die!