“ Lips where a smile first comes, then goes.
And, oh! but she makes delicious tea.
So we sit and talk while the kettle sings,
And. life seems better at least to me,
The fleeting hours have golden wings,
When in that little spot I'm drinking tea.
Love? Ah, no, we are far above
Such folly. Our time we can better spend.
This world is brimming with loveless love,
But 'tis rarely enough one finds a friend. ”

“ They seldom pretend to the dignity of poetry. College verse, if I understand it, is verse suited to the period and point of view of undergraduate days. Light, graceful, humorous, sparkling,—this it should be for the most part; serious sometimes, it is true,—for young men and women about to take upon themselves the responsibilities of mature life are at heart by no means frivolous, but touching the note of grief, if at all, almost as though by accident. Life is often sad enough in the after-years, and for the period of sorrow, sad verse may be in place. ”

“ I can only tell you what the song was not.
Memory, unfaithful, has not kept that strain,
Heard once in the twilight, never heard again.
Every day brings twilight, but no twilight brings
To my ear that music on its quiet wings. ”

“ To-morrow.
Each sunset brings us nearer that
Which earth shall not behold,
Where, far away beyond the hills
And through the clouds of gold,
We see a glimpse of brighter hours
Than tongue of bard has told,
When marks of time will be effaced,
When men will not grow old—
To-morrow.
WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER. Dartmouth Literary Monthly. ”

“ I think the snow
Feels the mysterious passage and the flow
Of inarticulate streams that surge below.
And it is easy learning for the young;
When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue.
ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH. Smith College Monthly.
~Ye Gold-Headed Cane.~
It stands in the corner yet, stately and tall,
With a top that once shone like the sun.
It whispers of muster-field, playhouse, and ball,
Of gallantries, courtship, and fun.
It is hardly the stick for the dude of to-day,
He would swear it was deucedly plain,
But the halos of memory crown its decay—
My grandfather's gold-headed cane. ”

“ Languished the sprite, and in a swoon she sank,
While a delicious numbness born of death
Stilled the soft wings that stirred with each faint breath.
One summer morning, while the languid breeze
Strayed with a languid murmur thro' the trees,
It breathed a kiss upon a folded pair
Of pink flushed wings—and found them rooted there.
College Folio.
~A Song.~
Oh, the hopper grass is clattering and flying all the day
Round the tawny, trembling tassels of the corn,
While the dreamy, drowsy bumblebee goes bumbling on his way,
And the locust in the woodland sounds his horn. ”

“ As I draw you nearer, my love divine!
In the twilight dim we have found love's tether,
And are linked together, no more to part;
While the white stars swing in a maze of glory,
To hear the story that bares your heart. ”

“ A. Columbia Spectator.
~To Phyllis.~
I said your beauty shamed the rose's blush;
You thought the simile was trite, untrue;
But, oh, I saw each rose for pleasure flush
To hear itself compared, dear heart, to you!
ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE. Columbia Spectator.
~L'Amour, L'Amour.~
We catch the fleeting perfume of roses
As the evening closes the golden day,
And the rhythmic beating of waves in motion
Comes from the ocean a mile away;
In the west is dying the sunset's splendor,
And twilight tender enfolds the land ”

“ I marvel, Yesterday, to know
Thou still art childhood's Long Ago!
FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. Harvard Advocate.
~The Last Word.~
Life is a boat that is drifting,
Riding high, rocking low,
While the tide turns.
Love is the sands that are shifting
In and out, to and fro,
While the tide turns,
Let the boat drift, no oar to lift,
Clear sky above, calm sea below,
Till the tide turns.
Dream on the shore, wander it o'er;
Gold gleam the sands 'neath the sun's glow.
Till the tide turns.
Time enough, love, to be lifting
'Gainst the waves, then, thy oar
When the tide turns. ”

“ CORA ISABEL WARBURTON. Smith College Monthly.
~A Mystery.~
Once, a little while ago, 'twas so warm and still
Down here, in this soft, dark place. Now I feel a thrill
Darting through me. Shivering, quivering, bursts my wrappage brown,
Struggling, striving, something in me reaches up and down.
Ah! it must be death, this anguish that I cannot understand.
One inch more,—I lift my head above the parted mould,
Oh! what rapture! Falling on me something sweet and gold,
Something humming, singing, moving, growing on each side ”

“ The curves of her neck
Man's vow often wreck,—
She has the whole world at her call and her beck.
So how can a bachelor be at his ease
With such variant emotions at afternoon teas?
Behind sheltering palms, safe from gossips' sharp gaze,
Is acted in mime one of life's dearest plays,—
Sweet Bessie's brown eyes raised beseechingly up,
Her lips just released from the kiss of her cup,
And Fred, I much fear,
From small sounds that I hear,
Is as bold as the rim of her cup,—and as near,—
And how can a bachelor be at his ease
With such sights and such sounds at our afternoon teas? ”

“ A.M. WHITE, JR. Harvard Lampoon.
~I Love my Love.~
Every one thinks some face fairer
Than all others in the land,
Thinks this one alone is perfect,
Vows to her his heart and hand.
Then he sings in loudest praises
Of her wealth of golden hair,
Of her lips like ripest cherries,
She alone divinely fair.
But there's one that's quite forgotten,
One whose charms they fail to see ”

“ The water, that caresses, yields, resists,
Wrapping my sight in cooling, gray-green mists.
Another moment, my body swirls, I rise,
Shaking the water from my blinded eyes,
And strike out strong, glad that I am alive,
To swim back to the gray old pile from which I dive.
CORNELIA BROWNELL GOULD. Smith College Monthly. ”

“ Above the rattling cottonwoods that line the lisping stream,
The crow is proudly calling to the sun,
And the beetles in the bushes make the summer day a dream,
For they hum and cheep until the day is done.
When the lotus-flower closes, and the stars are in the sky,
Then the owl awakes and sings a plaintive song,
While the crickets in the thickets sing the soothing lullaby,
And the katydid is chirping all night long. ”

“ All seem to have a grace more fair,
When Margaret laughs.
Oh, youth! for her so bright and gay,
Oh, years! that slip so fast away,
Keep her, I pray thee, fresh and fair,
Dainty, bewitching, debonair,
For life is but a holiday
When Margaret laughs.
GEORGE B. KILBOURNE. Williams Literary Monthly. ”

“ What thoughts else in God, the world forthbringing?
In the moon's pulse and the sea's slow swinging,
Death that draws, and love that sighs beneath:
Yea, life's wine is mingled; sweet, and stinging,—
Love and death. ”

“ With twilight dew is wet;
But, oh, I would that you might be
Alive to love me yet.
EDWARD M. HULME. The Palo Alto.
Pallas
You say there's a sameness in my style,
You long for the savor of something new,
You tell me that love is not worth while,
You wish for verse that is strong and true. ”

“ And the light-hearted past to the winds is thrown,
And faster and faster the hours go.
To your heart and mine there's a secret lying
While the spring's breath thrills in the air of May,
While life seems ever to be defying
The flight of time and the thought of dying,
And the great world runs on its careless way. ”

“ Here's to the cup and its clinking!
Those moist lips, touched in single bliss,
More constant are than lovers';
Their foamy depth holds many a kiss,
And many a sigh it smothers.
Then ho for the blood of youth, say I,
And the mad, glad hopes it bringeth;
For the palsied step of Age draws nigh,—
"Sans hope, sans joy!" he singeth.
A. K. LANE. Tuftonian.
~A Ballade of College Girls.~
What do the dear girls learn nowadays,
At all the colleges where they go?
They've no cane-rushes nor football frays;
Whence can their wealth of wisdom flow?
Up at Wellesley they learn to row ”

“ A nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub.
Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay!
I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day.
"The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash we really must,
For, see our country's garments, how they're trampled in the dust;
And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I ween,
That nothing but a washing day will make it bright and clean."
The morning dawned, the washers came, the washing was begun;
The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanliness was won. ”

“ Grown wary of traps in its four years at college,
And able at last to keep clear of them all,—
Oh, what am I doing away from my classes
With a little blue eye and a brown little curl?
Ah me! fast again, and each precious hour passes
In slavery sweet to the prof's little girl.
She makes me a horse, and I mind her direction,
Though it takes me o'er many a Faculty green;
I'm pledged to the cause of her pussy's protection
From ghouls of the Lab and the horrors they mean ”

“ And what was that college man's name?
EVA LINNETTE SOULE. Cardinal.
IV. NATURE ~The American Partridge.~
Neglected minstrel of the single song,
Piping at twilight through the russet fields,
Thy two soft silver notes, one short, one long,
Rich with the careless joy that nature yields,
Rise from the stubble round the well-stocked fields,
Far from the chattering flock or warbling throng:
Bob White!
American! All hail, my countryman! ”

“ Shrewd maters watch Phyllis and Bessie and Fred,—
Each smile and each look and each toss of the head,—
And wonder and ponder and figure and scheme,
While fortune and fashion 'gainst love tip the beam.
For Bessie's dark locks
And Phyllis's smart frocks
Are but snares to entrap the society fox. ”

“ Now let him miss the German quiz, and fail to pass astronomy,
To football lore what's physics or political economy?
To have him bow is rapture now, to be o'erlooked adversity;
To catch his smile is worth the while attending University. ”

“ His jacket is far from white;
Bother these boys with their dapper ties,
Who come and compel me to turn my eyes
Away from a nobler sight!
The hills are red with the western sun,
The twilight comes like a dream ”

“ Yes, like all sound art, college verse must, above all else, be honest. Let us not say, however, that the thoughtful moods of young men and women may not sincerely be set to the music of verse. One department in this collection bears the name "In Serious Mood," and its sentiment rings as true as that of any other.
In looking over very many undergraduate papers, I have been struck with several facts. I will give them for what they are worth, leaving their explanation to others. First, there seems to be a general fondness for the sonnet, and a very general lack of success in writing it. ”

“ But if you'd like to see a man as badly off as he,
Who hasn't any place at all to stay on land or sea,
Who has no spot he may enjoy to any great extent,
Just wait until you see some time the man without a cent.
H.F.H. Amherst Literary Monthly. ”

“ I have work to do—
Four conditions in a term—
For I loved but you.
Brunonian.
~Evening on the Campus.~
Behind a screen of western hills
The sunset color fades to-night;
Along the arching corridors
Long shadows steal with footsteps light.
The banners of the day are furled;
Thro' darkening space the twilight creeps
And smooths the forehead of the world
Until he sleeps.
The oak-trees closer draw their hoods;
A bird, belated, wings his dim,
Uncertain flight, and far above
A star looks down and laughs at him;
The sky and mountains melt in one;
Tall gum-trees range their ranks around ”

“ All men are listening to your note,
And as they listen, understand.
Sing on, then, while the heart of youth
In glad accordance answ'ring thrills,
And life and love have still their truth,
As spring has still its daffodils.
ARTHUR KETCHUM. Williams Literary Monthly.
~With a Copy of Keats.~
Like listless lullabies of sail-swept seas
Heard from still coves, and dulcet-soft as these,
Such is the echo of his perfect song,
It lives, it lingers long!
We love him more than all his wonder tales,
Sweeter his own song than his nightingale's ”

“ Drink to the heyday of youth, boys,
Mindless of after-moans.
JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. Brown Magazine.
~Comforting Reflections of a Nonentity.~
I cannot boast of learning deep,
Nor can I much to art aspire;
My poetry loses me no sleep,
Nor oratory's burning fire.
I do not row upon the crew,
Nor on th'eleven glory win;
I am not of the chosen few
Who sing or play the mandolin.
I am not any social star,
But then—within my certain knowledge,
Like me, unknown to fame, there are
Some fifteen hundred men in college.
S.M. WILLIAMS. Harvard Lampoon. ”

“ Will all be sure to help him in a purely social way;
And all the strength that he's acquired from milking them each trip
Will come in mighty handy when he tries to learn the grip.
For father will go barefoot, and mother dear will scrub
The neighbors' dirty linen within a sudsy tub,
And Jane will wear no Sunday hat, and Jim no Sunday tie,
So Sam can go to Harvard to adorn the Zeta Psi.
Then nearly every morning, at the druggist's, for a bluff,
He'll ask the clerk for vichy, to make him think he's tough.
That boy will smoke a cigarette, and quite forget the plow! ”

“ Your paleness and your blush so finely blent,"
He gently said; "tell me my happy lot:
I'd draw the knot."
But ere he could the eager phrase repeat,—
The phrase his manly fancy found so sweet,—
The modest maiden toward him turned her face:
Her eyes met his a moment's rapturous space,—
She spoke, her firm glance faltering scarce a jot,
"I'd rather not."
J.J. MACK, JR. Harvard Lampoon.
~The Ladye of the Lab.~
He fareth in a joyous wise
Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies—
How should his canine heart surmise
That where the red-roofed towers rise
The blood is red upon the slab? ”

“ These, more easily lending themselves to gay moods than does the sonnet, are written with much greater success. Triolets are perhaps least often, rondeaus most often, successful. Third, purely sentimental verse is little written in women's colleges, its place being taken by poetry of nature or of reflection. Oddly enough, when it is attempted, the writer usually fancies herself the lover, and describes feminine, not masculine, beauty. College girls show possibly more maturity of reflective power than do their brothers, but they are notably weaker in the sense of humor. ”

“ Some one sang at twilight, very sweet and low.
PHILIP C. PECK. Yale Literary Magazine.
~The Truth-Seekers.~
They who sought Truth since dawn
And sought in vain,
Now, at the close of day.
Come with slow step and faces drawn
With nameless pain,
To meet the night half-way.
"She whom we love is not! ”

“ But then, 'twas only Jack, you know,
And so I really didn't care!
He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe,
Although I said ft wasn't fair!
GERTRUDE CRAVEN. Smith College Monthly.
~Song.~
The April sun smiles bright above,
The skies are deep and blue,
I walk among the growing fields
And dream, sweetheart, of you.
And as I go, from out the wood
A mocking-bird calls clear,
"Sweetheart, sweetheart," and I turn,
Half hoping thou art here.
Alas! the sunlight floods the earth,
Yet all is dark to me;
The flowers may gaily bud and bloom,
The earth be fair to see ”