So, if some day you come and say,
   They are sailing to Mars, I hear. 
I want you to know I am ready to go, —
   All ready, my dear, my dear.

FICTION AND FACT

In books I read, how men have lived and died,
   With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. 
While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
   Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.

In real life, I never chanced to see
   The woman who was loved, and did not know it,
And observation proves this fact to me: 
   No man can love a woman and not show it.

PROGRESS

There is no progress in the world of bees,
However wise and wonderful they are. 
Their wisdom makes not increase.  Lies the bar,
To wider goals, in that tense strife to please
A Sovereign Ruler?  Forth from flowers to trees
Their little quest is; not from star to star. 
This is not growth; the mighty avatar
Comes not to do his work with such as these.

So in the world of men; when legions toil
To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown,
They build before high heaven a narrowing wall
And the great purpose of Creation spoil. 
Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down;
The Race can rise but with the rise of all.

HOW THE WHITE ROSE CAME

The roses all were pink and red,
Before the Bumble Bee,
A lover bold, with cloak of gold,
Came singing merrily
Along the sunlit ways that led
From woodland, and from lea.

He paused beside an opening rose,
The garden’s pet and pride;
She burst in flower that very hour,
While wooing zephyrs sighed;
No smile had she for one of those,
And hope within them died.

The ardent butterfly in vain
On radiant wings drew near;
The hapless moth in vain grew wroth —
The fair rose leaned to hear
The deep-voiced stranger’s low refrain
That thrilled upon her ear.

She gave her heart in love’s delight
And let the whole world see;
Alas! one day, away, away,
Sped truant Bumble Bee;
’Twas then the red rose turned to white —
So was the tale told me.

I LOOK TO SCIENCE

I look to Science for the cure of Crime;
To patient righting of a thousand wrongs;
To final healing of a thousand ills. 
Blind runner now, and cruel egotist
It yet leads on to more than mortal sight,
And the large knowledge that means humbleness,
And tender love for all created things.

I look to Science for the Coming Race
Growing from seed selected; and from soil
Love fertilised; and pruned by wisdom’s hand,
Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods,
Strong primal creatures with awakened souls
And normal passions, governed by the will,
Leaving a trail of glory where they tread.