46 NATURE-STUDY REVIEW [13:2— Feb., 1917 



Golden forever, eagles, crying flames, 



And set them as a banner, that men may know, 



To dare the generations, burn, and blow 



Out on the wind of time, shining and streaming. . . . 



These I have loved: 



White plates and cups, clean-gleaming, 

 Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; 

 Wet roofs beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust 

 Of friendly bread; and many- tasting food; 

 Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood; 

 And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; 

 And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours, 

 Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon; 

 Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon 

 Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss 

 Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is 

 Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen 

 Unpassioned beauty of a great machine; 

 The benison of hot waters; furs to touch; 

 The good smell of old clothes; and other such — 

 The comfortable smell of friendly fingers, 

 Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers 

 About dead leaves and last year's ferns. . . . 



Dear names, 

 And thousand other throng to me! Royal flames; 

 Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap to spring; 

 Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing; 

 Voices in laughter, too; and body's pain, 

 Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train; 

 Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam 

 That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home; 

 And washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold 

 Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould; 

 Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew; 

 And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new; 

 And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass; — 

 All these have been my loves. 



Ye teachers, ye who stand so close to life, ye who have so firm a 

 hold on objects and their phenomena, here is your better half. 

 Here are the materials, and yet here is no materialism. Here 

 are realities to your fingers, realities to your sight, realities to 

 your nostrils. Here are things practical, abiding within the day. 

 Here are things you know, every waking minute one of them or 

 one like them — every minute of sixteen waking hours — one 

 thousand realities every day. 



