



Produced by David Garcia, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)









PATH FLOWER




_All rights reserved_




            PATH FLOWER
                AND
           OTHER VERSES

                BY
          OLIVE T. DARGAN


             [Device]


              MCMXIV
  LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
 NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS




CONTENTS


                                       PAGE
 PATH FLOWER                              1
 THE PIPER                                6
 TO A HERMIT THRUSH                       8
 THANKSGIVING                            14
 THE ROAD                                16
 LA DAME REVOLUTION                      23
 THE REBEL                               24
 THESE LATTER DAYS                       25
 ABNEGATION                              26
 THE LITTLE TREE                         27
 THE GAME                                28
 BALLAD                                  31
 A DIRGE                                 37
 HIS ARGUMENT                            39
 THE CONQUEROR                           40
 TO MOINA                                41
 "THERE'S ROSEMARY"                      42
 AT THE GRAVE OF HEINE                   43
 TO A LOST COMRADE                       45
 FOR M. L. P.                            46
 TO SLEEP                                47
 "LE PENSEUR"                            48
 VISION                                  49
 SAFE                                    50
 ON BOSWORTH FIELD                       52
 OLD FAIRINGDOWN                         53
 THE KISS                                58
 YOUTH                                   60
 TO MIRIMOND                             62
 SOROLLA                                 63
 IN THE BLUE RIDGE                       66
 YE WHO ARE TO SING                      70
 "AND THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST"           73
 MAGDALEN TO HER POET                    76
 FRIENDS                                 85
 TRYST                                   89
 IN THE STUDIO                           90
 LOVERS' LEAP                            91
 HAVENED                                 94
 MID-MAY                                102
 THE LOSS                               104
 CALLED                                 105
 SONG OF TO-MORROW                      108
 LITTLE DAUGHTERS                       110




    _The author thanks the editors of "Scribner's Magazine," "The
    Century," "The Atlantic Monthly," and "M'Clure's" for permission to
    reprint the greater part of the verse included in this volume._




PATH FLOWER


    A red-cap sang in Bishop's wood,
      A lark o'er Golder's lane,
    As I the April pathway trod
      Bound west for Willesden.

    At foot each tiny blade grew big
      And taller stood to hear,
    And every leaf on every twig
      Was like a little ear.

    As I too paused, and both ways tried
      To catch the rippling rain,--
    So still, a hare kept at my side
      His tussock of disdain,--

    Behind me close I heard a step,
      A soft pit-pat surprise,
    And looking round my eyes fell deep
      Into sweet other eyes;

    The eyes like wells, where sun lies too,
      So clear and trustful brown,
    Without a bubble warning you
      That here's a place to drown.

    "How many miles?" Her broken shoes
      Had told of more than one.
    She answered like a dreaming Muse,
      "I came from Islington."

    "So long a tramp?" Two gentle nods,
      Then seemed to lift a wing,
    And words fell soft as willow-buds,
      "I came to find the Spring."

    A timid voice, yet not afraid
      In ways so sweet to roam,
    As it with honey bees had played
      And could no more go home.

    Her home! I saw the human lair,
      I heard the hucksters bawl,
    I stifled with the thickened air
      Of bickering mart and stall.

    Without a tuppence for a ride,
      Her feet had set her free.
    Her rags, that decency defied,
      Seemed new with liberty.

    But she was frail. Who would might note
      The trail of hungering
    That for an hour she had forgot
      In wonder of the Spring.

    So shriven by her joy she glowed
      It seemed a sin to chat.
    (A tea-shop snuggled off the road;
      Why did I think of that?)

    Oh, frail, so frail! I could