File:A bar of song (1914) (14595236718).jpg

Identifier: barofsong00harm (find matches)
Title: A bar of song
Year: 1914 (1910s)
Authors: Harman, Henry Elliot, 1866-1928
Subjects:
Publisher: Columbia, S.C., State Company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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ns sing-As in the Grecian story And to the Christmas hearth I clingWith you and all its glory; For wintry sky and stars withoutPale moon and memories calling Encompass all my world about,Gods blessinii on me fallina. 14 CRIMSON POPPY Crimson poppy, bending idly in my garden by the wall,When I see you maiden footsteps from the orient softly fallAnd low whispers from a latticed casement seem to call! Crimson poppy from the desert, all the East in you is bred;Warmer suns have given colors to your jealous, queenly head;All the passion of the tropics in your lazy smile is wed. Exiled blossom, memory-haunted, one whose soul can never err,You have taught me tenser passion, like some Eastern sorcererAnd to worship, Arab-hearted, poppy crimsoned lips of her. A SONG No Siren call across a Scythian sea,No Circe note upon a rustic flute,Nor wine of Proserpine can ere disputeWith Loves soft voice the range of mysteryThat keeps the soul in thraldom absoluteAnd to the door of glory holds the key. 15
Text Appearing After Image:
I never knew the joy his presence meant—about this ingle nook/^ WHEN LOVE DEPARTED When Love went out and softly closed the door,Then paused to look with pathos in his eye,For me the noon-day sun went from the skyAlas, and I, Who had been rich—was desolate and poor! He kissed his hand from down the narrow laneThat wound unto our cottage of content,Then slowly turned about and outward went,Onward intent. Never to cross this little path again. I never knew the joy his presence meant About this ingle nook and down the hall,AVhere I so often heard his merry call,Until this pall Of his farewell brought me my punishment. 17 A PRAYER Dear God, when day riiiis swiftly in its might,With all its glitter and its gaudy haze,Its mockish pretense and oer crowded ways. My baser self stalks proudly up the height, And I forget Thy constant, watchful sight, That, like a sentry, ever with me stays: But when the night draws close its ebon veil.To hush the laughter and the noisy shout,iVnd silence fil

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