Part 1
Autumn Leaves
Copyright, by Ardelia Maria Barton 1908
Press of Bruce Brough San Francisco
Preface
=Autumn Leaves= was in the hands of the Publisher (BRUCE BROUGH) at the time of the Great Fire of April, 1906, and not a single page of the original manuscript was saved. I could only recall a few titles, and a line or two here and there, not knowing though where they belonged. I began to rewrite on the 12th of June, 1908, and on the 12th of September, 1908, it was ready for publication. It has given _me_ new courage, and by searching, perhaps _you_ may find one leaf among my =Autumn Leaves= that you will feel was painted expressly for you, and is worthy to be pressed upon the tablet of your heart.
ARDELIA MARIA BARTON
Dedication
TO MY MOTHER
Who ever watched with loving care My childhood’s tender years. She ever soothed my little woes, And kissed away my tears.
She guided me o’er Life’s rough road, And pointed out the snares, And pitfalls that are e’er in life; And all the many tares,
And brambles that beset Life’s paths, And if I fell by way, She helped me up with loving hands, And tender words alway.
Contents
_Page_ Autumn Leaves 1
Write 2
Dreamland 6
What Will The Harvest Be? 8
We Know What The Harvest Will Be 10
Meridian 12
The Indian Lover’s Plea 14
Winona’s Reply 16
At Last 18
The Awakening Of The Lillies 20
Conquered 25
The Water Spirit 26
The World Is Asleep 29
What Is The Future Of The Race? 30
Love’s Path 33
A Prayer 34
Life’s Road 37
Where Is Heaven? 38
Destiny 40
Why? 43
Liberty 44
My Soul and I 46
Forsaken 48
Farewell 51
The Pebble’s Soliloquy 52
An Angel’s Message 54
The Race Of Life With Time 56
“O Death Where Is Thy Sting?” 59
The Mother’s Plea 60
To A Friend 63
Time Waits For No Man 64
Tide Waits For No Man 66
Freedom 68
Reverie 71
A Mohammedan’s Prayer 72
Nature’s Plan 74
The Sunbeam’s Wooing 76
The Progression of The Rose 78
All Life Hath Soul 80
It Matters Not 82
“What Is Man That Thou Art Mindful of Him?” 84
As a Man Thinketh So Is He 86
My Guests 88
God Is Everywhere 90
Dead Hopes 92
Buried Hopes 93
Love’s Message 95
A Fable 96
Deplore Not The Shadows of Life 99
Love’s Garland 100
Let Us Build Above The Stars 103
Ghosts Of The Attic 104
Not Yet 107
Duty 108
Life’s Plans 111
Brotherhood of Man 112
Man Defying The Dying Sun 114
If There Is No Hereafter 118
Love’s Song 120
Forgive 122
Forget 123
Yesterdays 124
Tomorrow 125
Consolation 126
The Dead Summer 127
There Is A Rift In The Clouds 128
To A Comet 130
Love’s Dart 131
Weeds 132
The Blind Beggar’s Appeal 134
The Threads of Life 136
Memory’s Book 138
Do Not Borrow Trouble 140
Give Smiles, Not Tears 142
Farewell To The Dying Year 144
The Book Of Gifts 146
Unkind Words 147
Seek For The Good In Life 148
Love’s Crown 150
My Soul’s Desire and Destiny 152
Incarnation 155
Reincarnation 156
Life’s Burdens 159
To Mount Sierra 160
Oft Poisoned Is The Wine Of Life 162
The Game of Life 164
“The Old, Old Story” 166
The Ghost of Love 168
I Shall Sing It Sometime 170
When I Am Dead 174
’Tis Folly To Be Wise 177
The Old Oak’s Reverie 178
Ingratitude 181
Judge Not 182
Our Virtues Are Carved Upon Our Tombstones 184
Honor, Fame, or Love 186
Courage 188
Persevere 190
Speak But Kind Words 192
Vagary 194
The Home Beautiful 197
The Beatitudes 198
Bury The Past 200
To A Friend On Her Birth-day 202
Have Ideals 203
Selfishness 204
Life Is Nothing Without Love 207
The Century Flower 208
Life’s Music 210
Love’s Garden 212
The Last Port 214
Canst Tell Me 216
The Soul Seeking For Perfection 219
Life’s Thoughtlessness 221
The Flower’s Prayer For Immortality 223
Love’s Offering 226
Love’s Acceptance 228
Autumn Leaves 230
Finale 231
AUTUMN LEAVES.
The autumn leaves are like our lives, They serve their purpose for a day, They then return to mother Earth: They come but to decay.
The trees are gaunt, gaunt sentinels, Deprived of their warm dress. They shiver in their nakedness, And moan in their distress.
But, as with us, they live again, Again have garments fresh and new, And though they seem to die to earth, Again their lives renew.
Again the joy of living comes, And brighter now is their new life; They had a season of sweet sleep, And rest from worldly strife.
WRITE.
_Republished by special request._
Take thy pen and write, O man! Chronicle thy every thought; Hath thy life been full of joy? Hath this world all pleasure wrought?
If, before thou cam’st to earth, Knowing what thou knowest now, Free to choose to be, or not, To life’s problems wouldst thou bow?
Wouldst thou think thy life a boon? It with thankfulness accept, Or wouldst say O Lord, me spare! _I_ must weep, for man hath wept.
Dost thou think that life is sweet? Dost thou think its joys are more Than its griefs and misery? Hath thy bark ne’er touched bleak shore.
Stranded hath it never been? Thy sweet hopes forever lost, Wrecked thy bark on shoals by storm, On rough sea of life been tossed?
Is the wind and tide with thee? And is life without a tear? Manned is bark with happiness? Hath thy sky been ever clear?
Dost thou bless thy natal day? Long’st thou not for day of death? Art thou willing to live on Blessing God that thou hast breath?
Then, to thee, is life a joy, Blessed heritage of peace Was bequeathed to thee by Love, _God_ gave unto thee the _lease_.
* * * * *
I will write in book of life, Trace my thoughts with fadeless ink, With a pen of gold will write; Into hearts my words may sink.
Born to earth I wished it not, Earth conditions knew not I, E’en though filled with misery; I will never question why.
I am here; will do my work, Even though life stranded be, E’en though storms beset my way, Wrecked my ship on life’s rough sea.
Sunshine, aye, I look not for, Wind and tide are often wrong For my ship to leave its port; Sad, yea mournful, is life’s song.
But I love, and I am loved, Hope is strong within my heart, Courage, too, I’ll stem life’s tide, In the world do well my part.
Tears are shed. Then why should I E’er from care and grief be free? I must live, though oft I weep, Do my work, what e’er it be.
Born of Love--O blessed thought! Earth conditions I can bear; God is Love, in Him I live, Utter plaint I will not dare.
I will sail my ship of life, Steer it over shoals and rocks, Bring it safely into port, It will bear all storms and shocks.
When, at last, Life’s dream is o’er, Time--true censor--takes his flight, Death, as Captain of my fleet, In his Log my life will write.
DREAMLAND.
In our dreamland we are soaring ’Mong the stars, above the clouds, Naught seems strange, our dress is moonlight; Not one grief our heart enshrouds.
In this dreamland not one sorrow. All the world is filled with joy. There is naught but sweet contentment, All is peace with no alloy.
’Mong the clouds we e’er are soaring, All the heavens we control. Stars, and planets, are our footstools In the dreamland of the soul.
Butterflies are our companions, Singing birds make love for aye. Chariots are drawn by fire-flies; And ’tis sunshine every day.
When we wake, our dreams all vanish. We are in the work-day world. We are simply common mortals; From the uplands we are hurled.
Vanished now is shadowy dreamland; Most prosaic is the dawn. Chariots are common waggons, Not by fireflies are they drawn.
There are clouds, and rain is falling. Trouble meets us everywhere. We must battle with conditions; Many griefs we now must bear.
But we dream, e’en though not sleeping, Nothing ever us debars, Nothing seems to us unreal, Though we soar above the stars.
WHAT WILL THE HARVEST BE?
We are sowing, we are reaping, We are laughing, we are weeping For the seeds we sow.
We are giving, we are hoarding, Are withholding or dispersing Broadcast o’er the land.
Are they thorns, or are they roses? Are they weeds, or are they posies? That we cull from life?
What confronts us at Life’s evening? What will greet us on awaking? Will it be Love’s flowers?
O the joy of loving, living, If to others we are giving Out of our heart’s store.
Let us do what is before us, Not discouraged, not unhappy, If some good we’ve done.
When we wake in the hereafter, Is it tears, or is it laughter, That will meet us there?
We shall sometimes be confronted, And by phantoms shall be haunted-- Phantoms of our past.
Let no thought of dire deception In our hearts have e’er inception, Then not haunted we
By the ghosts of indiscretion, By ill deeds and degradation.-- Let us all beware
Of temptations e’er surrounding, And of evil e’er abounding.-- We must shun them all.
WE KNOW WHAT THE HARVEST WILL BE.
We plant a bright flower for the butterfly; We plant a sweet flower for the bee. We feed and we clothe the hungry and cold, “We know what the harvest will be.”
We plant a good thought in some weary heart, The thought that we plant goes to seed; Increasing in strength full an hundred fold, The thought will become a good deed.
A deed that will live in many a heart, Will travel forever, and on; Forgotten will never be words nor deeds; They live and will thrive when we’re gone.
A well we may dig in a desert land, Some traveler stops on the road, And quenches his thirst in the living spring, And lighter will now seem his load.
We may plant a tree, and its cooling shade Will shelter some traveler worn, And never from memory will it fade, And never from heart can be torn.
In all of this life, ’tis the little things That help and will cheer our lone way, A sip of cold water, a little word, Will many a sorrow allay.
And if in our hearts no envy doth reign, From malice we ever are free, Have nothing but love for even a foe; “We know what the harvest will be.”
MERIDIAN.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian.--. My work is not half done. Turn back the hands upon Life’s clock, For it must not strike one.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian, Time faster, faster goes. All heedless he of my distress, Unheedful of my woes.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian, My life is now half gone, ’Tis useless to begin anew; Anew life’s pages con.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian, Ambition now is gone. I cannot take up stitches dropped; My work cannot go on.
I’m tired and weary, will now rest, Let time go on his way. Life’s race is almost over now, Time will not for me stay.
For wasted time now dead, and gone, A requiem sad, time tolls. All squandered hours, all work undone, In winding-sheet he rolls.
THE INDIAN LOVER’S PLEA.
Winona! Winona! O list to my plea! O why wilt thou leave me, O canst thou not see How barren this world if deprived of thy love, ’Twas given to me by the Great Spirit above.
Winona! Winona! Return unto me-- From bonds of the white man O cut thyself free. Thy heart is still mine, but the glitter of gold Enticed thee away from thy lover of old.
The white man will weary of thee in a day, Forsaken thou’lt be, dishonored for aye. Thy beauty will fade, alas! for thee then! Reviled, and dishonored, forsaken of men.
Forsaken, degraded, and then cast aside; Dost think that the white man will make thee his bride? My camp-fire is out, and my wigwam is cold, The white man has won thee by the promise of gold.
I feel that I’ve loved thee in ages long gone, Have fought for thy smiles, have always them won, Winona dear heart, I will fight for them still, Though broken thy troth, unbroken my will.
My arrows are broken, my bow is unstrung, My powder-horn empty, on high it is hung. Come back to the forest where we’ve wandered alone; Come back to my wigwam, and I will condone
The sin of thy leaving, for thou didst not know The wiles that the white man around thee couldst throw. The white man will tire of thy beauty so rare, His plaything thou’lt be, O Winona beware!
Return to thy lover before ’tis too late-- The love of an Indian is as strong as his hate. Winona! Winona! this is my last plea! Return unto me! O return unto me!
WINONA’S REPLY.
Oswega! Oswega! I’ll listen to thee-- Return to thee gladly, again will be free. ’Tis true, for a moment, the glitter of gold Enticed my vain heart from my lover of old.
The white man so subtile flattered my pride-- He promised me honor for aye by his side. I loved him not ever, ’twas only my pride That caused me to waver, and leave thy dear side
I beg dear Oswega that thou wilt forgive, And that in thy love-light again I shall live. Yes, I will return to my lover so brave, For home without love is as cold as the grave.
Yes, now dear Oswega I’ll come back to thee; Though false I have seemed, I am true unto thee. I will care for thy wigwam, will keep up thy fire, Of thee my Oswega ne’er more will I tire.
I love thee Oswega, will love thee for aye-- ’Twas but for a time that my heart went astray. I’ll come to thy wigwam, will care for thy home, And never again from my lover will roam.
Oswega! Oswega! my heart is as true As thine is for me, and I bitterly rue That vanity caused my heart to grow cold, By flattering words and the glamour of gold.
The dream is now o’er, it was but for a day. My vain heart was flattered, I could not say nay. My beauty may fade, but I know that thy heart Will ever be mine, and ne’er more shall we part.
AT LAST.
I struggle on blindly; I know not the way, I falter by wayside Forever and aye.
I seek the right pathway, ’Tis hidden in gloom, ’Tis cold as the grave, and As dark as the tomb.
So deep are the shadows I see not the road, My burden is heavy I sink ’neath the load.
So long seems the journey; O when will it end? I’m tired, and weary, ’Neath burdens I bend.
No light in my pathway, No hope in my soul. My life seems a failure, Far distant my goal.
* * * * *
I’ll rise from my languor, And hope for the best.-- Now, clouds are dispelling, I’ll come to my rest.
Though trials, and sorrows Have e’er been my lot, I’ll cast them aside now, Life’s battles are fought.
I’ve gained in the battles, All clouds will now break. When journey is ended In heaven I’ll awake.
THE AWAKENING OF THE LILIES.
Beneath the placid waters A lily bulb had birth; It slept in sweet reliance In arms of mother earth.
In home beneath the waters, It slept in calm repose; With sweetness of the lily, And beauty of the rose.
One morn the Sun looked downward, And loving words he spake. The lily bulb awakened From dreams, beneath the lake.
A little bud shot upward To meet the sun-god’s call, It sent forth all its fragrance Its lover to enthrall.
It sprang from out the waters, And donned its pure white gown. No sin defiled its beauty, Its virtue was its crown.
The little bud then blossomed,-- So fragrant, pure and sweet, The air was filled with fragrance, And many stopped to greet
The pure white lily blossom That on the water lay; A ruthless hand then plucked it, But threw it soon away.--
It faded, and then withered; The earth was not its home; It missed the sparkling water, Nor wished from it to roam
* * * * *
Upon life’s turbid waters A human flower was born. As pure as water-lily, With beauty of the dawn.
’Twas in a vine-clad cottage Close by the lily’s home; Where dwelt this pure young maiden, Nor wished she e’er to roam.
To her there came a lover-- But soon he cast aside The crushed and faded blossom Who was his promised bride.
* * * * *
In lone, and dreary hovel A weeping woman lay. No loving hand to tend her, And naught but shadows gray.--
She sinned in loving, trusting, And what was her reward? Dishonored, and forsaken, No friend had she but God.
And in this lonely hovel A little child was born.-- A little human lily First saw the light of dawn.
Unheralded its coming, Unwelcome was its birth. This little human lily Was born from out the earth.
It came without love’s greeting, Its death caused not one tear; ’Twas born into conditions That cost its mother dear.--
This child was pure and holy, Though it was born of sin.-- Its heavenly father loved it, So took it from the din
Of earthly cares and sorrows. He took the mother too. The child is with her sleeping, No tears their grave bedew.
Together in one coffin The human lilies lie; Dishonored, and forsaken, They blossomed but to die.
They lie upon the hillside.-- Some pitying hand now gave A pure, white lily blossom, To deck the outcasts’ grave.
CONQUERED.
I am beaten in the race of life, Will acknowledge my defeat. As I struggle on the uphill road, Naught but failure do I meet.
I have fought the fight, have conquered been At every stage of life. For the battle is not for the weak; Not fitted they for strife.
I must leave the battle ground of life Where I have found but woe. And at last will give the warfare up, Lay down my arms to foe.
For “the race of life is for the swift,” “The battle for the strong.” And my place has been marked out for me Among the defeated throng.--
THE WATER SPIRIT.
Beneath the wave tossed waters, Upon the ocean bed; There dwelt a water spirit, To sea-king she was wed.
Years passed in happy wedlock, And pledges to them came Of love beneath the ocean; For love is e’er the same.
They lived in sweet communion Among their sea-weed flowers. ’Twas ever peace and gladness Within their love-lit bowers.