Hours fly,Flowers die:New days,New ways:Pass by!Love stays.**Time isToo Slow for those who Wait,Too Swift for those who Fear,Too Long for those who Grieve,Too Short for those who Rejoice;But for those who Love,Time is not.
On his "Book of Joyous Children"Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers;Joyous children delight to play there;Weary men find rest in its bowers,Watching the lingering light of day there.Old-time tunes and young love's laughterRipple and run among the roses;Memory's echoes, murmuring after,Fill the dusk when the long day closes.Simple songs with a cadence olden—These you learned in the Forest of Arden:Friendly flowers with hearts all golden—These you borrowed from Eden's garden.This is the reason why all men love you;Truth to life is the charm of art:Other poets may soar above you—You keep close to the human heart.December, 1903.
At his Birthday FeastWith memories old and wishes newWe crown our cups again,And here's to you, and here's to youWith love that ne'er shall wane!And may you keep, at sixty-seven,The joy of earth, the hope of heaven,And fame well-earned, and friendship true,And peace that comforts every pain,And faith that fights the battle through,And all your heart's unbounded wealth,And all your wit, and all your health,—Yes, here's a hearty health to you,And here's to you, and here's to you,Long life to you, Mark Twain.
Our college rhymes,—how light they seem,Like little ghosts of love's young dreamThat led our boyish hearts awayFrom lectures and from books, to strayBy flowery mead and flowing stream!There's nothing here, in form or theme,Of thought sublime or art supreme:We would not have the critic weighOur college rhymes.Yet if, perchance, a slender beamOf feeling's glow or fancy's gleamStill lingers in the lines we layAt Alma Mater's feet today,The touch of Nature may redeemOur college rhymes.May, 1904.
In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon,Catching the lilt of every easy tune;But when the day departs he sings of love,—His own wild song beneath the listening moon.March, 1904.
A flawless cup: how delicate and fineThe flowing curve of every jewelled line!Look, turn it up or down, 't is perfect still,—But holds no drop of life's heart-warming wine.April, 1904.
THE HOUSEThe cornerstone in Truth is laid,The guardian walls of Honour made,The roof of Faith is built above,The fire upon the hearth is Love:Though rains descend and loud winds call,This happy house shall never fall.
THE DOORSTEADThe lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride:The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside:The doorband strong enough from robbers to defend:This door will open at a touch to welcome every friend.
THE HEARTHSTONEWhen the logs are burning free,Then the fire is full of glee:When each heart gives out its best,Then the talk is full of zest:Light your fire and never fear,Life was made for love and cheer.
THE SUN-DIALTime can never takeWhat Time did not give;When my shadows have all passed,You shall live.
This is the soldier brave enough to tellThe glory-dazzled world that 'war is hell':Lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife,And rides through hell to save his country's life.April, 1904.
The shadow by my finger castDivides the future from the past:Before it, sleeps the unborn hourIn darkness, and beyond thy power:Behind its unreturning line,The vanished hour, no longer thine:One hour alone is in thy hands,—The NOW on which the shadow stands.March, 1904.