Oh, for a soul that fulfils
Music like that of a bird!
Thrilling with rapture the hills,
Heedless if any have heard.
Or, like the flower that blooms
Lone in the midst of the trees,
Filling the world with perfume,
Careless if anyone sees.
Or, like the wandering wind,
Over the meadow that swings,
Bringing wild sweets to mankind,
Knowing not that which it brings.
Oh, for a way to impart
Beauty, no matter how hard!
Like unto nature, whose art
Never once dreams of reward.
—Madison Cawein, in Lippincott’s Magazine.
INDEX.
Volume X—June, 1901, to December, 1901, Inclusive.