The Kingdom of Love | Page 4

Reverie
His Youth
Under The Sheet
A
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The Coming Man
THE KINGDOM OF LOVE
In the dawn of the day when the sea and the earth
Reflected the sunrise above,
I set forth with a heart full of courage
and mirth
To seek for the Kingdom of Love.
I asked of a Poet I met on the way
Which cross-road would lead me aright;
And he said "Follow me, and
ere long you shall see
Its glittering turrets of light."

And soon in the distance a city shone fair.
"Look yonder," he said; "How it gleams!"
But alas! for the hopes that
were doomed to despair,
It was only the "Kingdom of Dreams."
Then the next man I asked
was a gay Cavalier,
And he said: "Follow me, follow me";
And with laughter and song
we went speeding along
By the shores of Life's beautiful sea.
Then we came to a valley more tropical far
Than the wonderful vale of Cashmere,
And I saw from a bower a face
like a flower
Smile out on the gay Cavalier;
And he said: "We have come to
humanity's goal:
Here love and delight are intense."
But alas and alas! for the hopes of
my soul -
It was only the "Kingdom of Sense."
As I journeyed more slowly I met on the road
A coach with retainers behind;
And they said: "Follow me, for our
Lady's abode
Belongs in that realm, you will find."
'Twas a grand dame of fashion,
a newly-made bride,
I followed, encouraged and bold;
But my hopes died away like the
last gleams of day,
For we came to the "Kingdom of Gold."

At the door of a cottage I asked a fair maid.
"I have heard of that realm," she replied;
"But my feet never roam
from the 'Kingdom of Home,'
So I know not the way," and she sighed.
I looked on the cottage; how
restful it seemed!
And the maid was as fair as a dove.
Great light glorified my soul as I
cried:
"Why, HOME is the 'Kingdom of Love'!"
MEG'S CURSE
The sun rode high in a cloudless sky
Of a perfect summer morn.
She stood and gazed out into the street,
And wondered why she was born.
On the topmost branch of a
maple-tree
That close by the window grew,
A robin called to his mate enthralled:
"I love but you, but you, but you."
A soft look came in her hardened face -
She had not wept for years;
But the robin's trill, as some sounds will,
Jarred open the door of tears.
She thought of the old home far away;
She heard the whr-r-r of the mill;
She heard the turtle's wild, sweet
call,
And the wail of the whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
She saw again that dusty road

Whence he came riding down;
She smelled once more the flower she
wore
In the breast of her simple gown.
Out on the new-mown meadow she
heard
Two blue-jays quarrel and fret,
And the warning cry of a Phoebe bird
"More wet, more wet, more wet."
With a blithe "Hello" to the men below
Who were spreading the new-mown hay,
The rider drew rein at her
window-pane -
How it all came back to-day!
How young she was, and how fair she
was;
What innocence crowned her brow!
The future seemed fair, for Love
was there -
And now--and now--and now.
In a dingy glass on the wall near by
She gazed on her faded face.
"Well, Meg, I declare, what a beauty
you are!
She sneered, "What an angel of grace!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
What a thing of beauty and grace!"
She reached out her arms with a
moaning sob:
"Oh, if I could go back!"
Then, swift and strange, came a sudden
change;
Her brow grew hard and black.

"A curse on the day and a curse on that man,
And on all who are his," she cried;
"May he starve and be cold, may
he live to be old
When all who loved him have died."
Her wild voice frightened the
robin away
From the branch by the window-sill;
And little he knew as away he
flew,
Of the memories stirred by his trill.
He called to his mate on the grass below,
"Follow me," as he soared on high;
And as mates have done since the
world begun
She followed, and asked not why.
The dingy room seemed curtained
with gloom;
Meg shivered with nameless dread.
The ghost of her youth and her
murdered truth
Seemed risen up from the dead.
She hurried out into the noisy street,
For the silence made her afraid;
To flee from thought was all she
sought,
She cared not whither she strayed.
Still on she pressed in her wild
unrest
Up avenues skirting the park,
Where fashion's throng moved gayly
along
In Vanity Fair--when hark!

A clatter of hoofs down the stony street,
The snort of a frightened horse
That was running wild, and a laughing
child
At play in its very course.
With one swift glance