Read Ebook: Cap and Gown A Treasury of College Verse by Knowles Frederic Lawrence Compiler

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1048 lines and 39500 words, and 21 pages

CAP AND GOWN

A Treasury of College Verse

Selected by

Frederic Lawrence Knowles

TO THE REVERED MEMORY OF A GREAT SCHOLAR AND GREAT TEACHER WHOM I WAS ONCE PROUD TO CALL MY FRIEND,

Frances James Child,

THIS LITTLE BOOK IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED.

PREFATORY NOTE

The gay verses which celebrate undergraduate life must not be taken too seriously. 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. Happy they who have not yet traded cap and bells for the

"Sable stole of cypress lawn."

Happier still if they never need make such a sorry exchange.

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.

While I have confined myself, for the most part, to verse printed in the college publications of the past five years, I have overstepped this limit in a few instances. None of the poems in the present book, however, were included in the first series published in 1892.

F.L.K.

COLLEGE PUBLICATIONS REPRESENTED.

~Soap-Bubbles.

~As a little child at play Blows upon a pipe of clay Bubbles, evanescent, bright, With their iridescent light, So I fling upon the wind Verses of the bubble kind.

And my friend with eyes of blue Looks my dainty verses through, Pauses from his books awhile, With an intellectual smile; For my fancy seems as naught To this man of deeper thought.

Still I plead as my excuse: "Even bubbles have their use. They are perfect while they live, And their short career may give, As they shimmer, and are flown, Some suggestion for our own.

"Let their beauty, pure and glad, Make another soul less sad, And, as upward they are whirled, Let them show their little world, Floating clouds and perfect sky, Warmly mirrored, ere they die."

~Love Laughs.

~"Love laughs at locksmiths," laughs ho! ho! Still Thisbe steals to meet a beau, Naught recks of bolt and bar and night, And father's frown and word despite. As in the days of long ago, In southern heat and northern snow Still twangs the archer's potent bow, And as his flying arrows smite, Love laughs.

~Where Cupid Dwells.

~Way over the seas, is a far, far land, Where skies are blue and gold; Where ripples break on a silver sand, And sunbeams ne'er grow old; There's a dale where Cupid dwells, they say, And 'tis there that he rests from his frolic play.

Oh, there's many a lass and many a swain That knows of his shafts made there; For Cupid spares naught of a deep heart-pain. Though love be all his care. And I think he should make a reflection or two, When he rests over there from his play. Don't you?

~To Ruby Lips.

~Two ruby lips are hers; a pair Of eyes a cynic to ensnare, A tinted cheek, a perfect nose, A throat as white as winter's snows, And o'er her brow bright golden hair.

But, though she's everything that's fair, My captured fancy's focused where A saucy smile suffuses those Two ruby lips.

~A Gift.

~My friend holds careless in his palm A glittering stone. He does not know a jewel rare Is all his own.

But in its flashing lights I see A diamond shine, And though he holds it in his hand, The gem is mine.

~Jacqueminot.

~Are you filled with wonder, Jacqueminot, Do you think me mad that I kiss you so? If a rose could only its thoughts express, I'd find you mocking, I more than guess; And yet if you vow me a fond old fool, Just think if your own fine pulse was cool When you lay in her tresses an hour ago, Jacqueminot.

~Don't You Wish You Knew!

~Glancing in the moonlight, Gliding in the dark, Down the river slowly, Floats our dainty bark. Sweetly sound two voices, Shadows hide the view; Heard the rushes something? Don't you wish you knew!

Gently sigh the zephyrs, Shine the stars above, Eyes of brighter lustre Speak of lasting love. Quickly pass the hours, Glides the bark canoe; Heard the rushes something? Don't you wish you knew!

~Prom-Roses.

~Only a bunch of roses fair, A duster of pink and white, Roses that nod to the music low, The flowers she wore that night.

She tenderly lifts each drooping head That gracefully tosses there, And the dainty flowers, nestling close, Smile back at the maiden fair.

"How beautiful they are," she said, As she pressed them to her cheek, "Why, the opened petals almost seem As if they were trying to speak."

I wonder why she cannot hear The song that the flowers sing, I wonder if she knows or cares For the message the roses bring.

~A Lyric.

~Beneath the lilac-tree, With its breathing blooms of white, You waved a parting kiss to me In the deepening amber light.

Your face is always near, Your tender eyes of brown. I see your form in dreams; I hear The whisper of your gown.

Once more the lilac-tree With twilight dew is wet; But, oh, I would that you might be Alive to love me yet.

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. Well, I will leave the choice to you-- Prose or poetry, short or long, Only we'll let this be the cue-- Love is excluded from the song.

I'll sing of some old cathedral pile, Where, as we sit in a carved oak pew, The sunlight illumines nave and aisle, And peace seems thrilling us through and through. No? you don't think that will do? How would you like a busy throng, A battle, Elizabeth's retinue? But love is excluded from the song.

A journey, a voyage, a tropic isle, The hush of the forest, the ocean blue, A lament for all that is false and vile, A paean for all that is good and true. Pompadour's fan, or Louis's queue, Mournful or merry, right or wrong. Subjects, you'll find, are not so few, But love is excluded from the song.

Oh! for a song of yourself you sue! Do you think you can trap me? You are wrong. Sing of your eyes and your smile and--Pooh! Love is excluded from the song.

~How I Love Her.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet