Poems. John L. Stoddard

M.P.

       TO MISS MARY C. LOW

       IN MEMORIAM. G.M.M.

       TO C.M.D.

       TRANSLATIONS

       EMILY'S GRAVE

       SERENADE TO NINON

       THE RED TYROLEAN EAGLE

       ANDREAS HOFER

       STREAM AND SEA

      PROEM MY PROMENADE SOLITAIRE REINCARNATION TO THE "RING NEBULA" THE WAIF THE SILVER HERONS TO THE SPHINX YOUTH AND AGE SUNSET AT INTERLAKEN UNDER THE STARS CORSICA TO THE VENUS OF MELOS MORS LEONIS A STORY OF THE SEA OLD HYMN TUNES BEFORE A STATUE OF BUDDHA THE PILLARS OF HERCULES FRIENDSHIP TO MY DEAD DOG TO-DAY TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI THE DEATH OF ANTONINUS PIUS THE BUTTERFLY AFTER THE STORM FALLEN "AEQUANIMITAS" DREAMLAND ROME REVISITED ON THE PALATINE THE FAREWELL AT FONTAINEBLEAU JAPAN—OLD AND NEW THE UNFORGOTTEN HEROES A WINTER'S DAY ON THE PROMENADE SOLITUDE OUT OF THE RANKS AUTONOMY ORIENT TO OCCIDENT THE CAPTIVE WEARINESS A MAY MONODY MY LOST FRIENDS TO SLEEP AND TO FORGET IN SILENCE AT THE VILLA OF FREDERICK III IN A COLUMBARIUM DISCOURAGEMENT MÉSALLIANCE IN A MODERN CITY MY BORES GRATITUDE IN TENEBRIS TWO MOTHERS AT HOCHFINSTERMÜNZ THE GIFT OF JUNO THE AWAKENING THE WINE OF LIFE LIFE'S TRILOGY MYSTERIES STAR DRIFT

      TYROLEAN

      OBERMAIS CONTENTMENT TO MERAN'S NORTHERN MOUNTAINS AT SUNSET POST NUBES LUX THE HOME-COMING FROM ROME MY GARDEN THE MOUNTAINS OF MERAN OSWALD, THE MINNESINGER AFTER THE VINTAGE THE PASSING MOON AUTUMN IN MERAN THE STATUE OF THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH THE OUTCASTS HEIMWEIL MY LIBRARY TOUT PASSE

      BESIDE LAKE COMO

      THE FAUN ISOLA COMACINA THE OLD CARRIER EVENING ON LAKE COMO DELIO PATRI ACQUA FREDDA THE POSTERN GATE UNDINE JANUARY IN THE TREMEZZINA THE WANDERER SECLUSION ONE MORE UNDER THE PLANE TREE "CONJUGI CARISSIMAE" THE PAGAN PAST RETIREMENT IN NOVEMBER THE CALL OF THE BLOOD THE CASCADE BIRD SLAUGHTER THE IRON CROWN CONTRASTS IN MY PERGOLA EVANESCENCE LAKE COMO IN AUTUMN TO THE PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON DAY AND NIGHT PASSING AND PERMANENT TRIPOLI INFLUENCE LEO FAREWELL TO THE FAUN WAKEFULNESS VILLA PLINIANA POINT BALBIANELLO AT LENNO

      PERSONALLY ADDRESSED

      LINES WRITTEN FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING

       TO THE WALKING-STICK OF MY DEAD FRIEND

       TO C.

       TO MR. AND MRS. A.H.S.

       To M.C. OF ATHENS

       TO J.B.

       TO M.P.

       TO MISS MARY C. LOW

       IN MEMORIAM. G.M.M.

       TO HON. CHARLES M. DICKINSON

       TO J.C.Y.

       TO HON. JESSE HOLDOM

      TRANSLATIONS

      THE KISS TO THE FLAG EMILY'S GRAVE SERENADE TO NINON THE RED TYROLEAN EAGLE ANDREAS HOFER STREAM AND SEA

      * * * * *

      RACHEL

      MY "PROMENADE SOLITAIRE"

       Table of Contents

      Up and down in my garden fair,

       Under the trellis where grapes will bloom,

       With the breath of violets in the air,

       As pallid Winter for Spring makes room,

       I walk and ponder, free from care,

       In my beautiful Promenade Solitaire.

      Back and forth in the checkered shade

       Traced by the lattice that holds the vine,

       With the glory of snow-capped crests displayed

       On the sapphire sky in a billowy line,

       I stroll, and ask what can compare

       With the charm of my Promenade Solitaire.

      To and fro 'neath the nascent green

       Which clambers over its slender frame,

       With white peaks lighting up the scene,

       As snowfields glow with the sunset flame,

       I saunter, halting here and there

       For the view from my Promenade Solitaire.

      In and out through the silence sweet,

       Plash of fountain and song of bird

       Are the only sounds in my lov'd retreat

       By which the air is ever stirred;

       It is like a long-drawn aisle of prayer,

       So hushed is my Promenade Solitaire.

      Onward rushes the world without,

       But the breeze which over my garden steals

       Brings from it merely a distant shout

       Or the echo light of passing wheels;

       In its din and drive I have now no share,

       As I muse in my Promenade Solitaire.

      Am I dead to the world, that I thus disdain

       Its moil and toil in the prime of life,

       When perhaps a score of years remain

       To win more gold in its selfish strife?

       Am I foolish to choose the purer air

       Of my glorious Promenade Solitaire?

      Ah no! From my mountain-girdled height

       I watch the game of the world go on,

       And note the course of the bitter fight,

       And what is lost and what is won;

       And I judge of it better here than there,

       As I gaze from my Promenade Solitaire.

      It is ever the same old tale of greed,

       Of robbing and killing the weaker race,

       Of the word proved false by the cruel deed,

       Of the slanderous tongue with the friendly face;

       'Tis enough to make one's heart despair

       Even here in my Promenade Solitaire.

      They cheer, and struggle, and beat the air

       With many a stroke and thrust intense,

       And urge each other to do and dare,

       To gain some good they deem immense;

       But they look like ants contending there

       From the height of my Promenade Solitaire.

      Backward and forward they run and crawl,

       Houses and treasures they heap up high,

       Hither and thither their booty haul, …

       Then suddenly drop in their tracks and die!

       For few