With—'You!—I thought you was in bed!'—

Only to tilt her book again,

And rooted in Romance remain.

[Pg 5]

[Pg 5]

OLD BEN

Sad is old Ben Thistlewaite,

Now his day is done,

And all his children

Far away are gone.

He sits beneath his jasmined porch,

His stick between his knees,

His eyes fixed vacant

On his moss-grown trees.

Grass springs in the green path,

His flowers are lean and dry,

His thatch hangs in wisps against

The evening sky.

He has no heart to care now,

Though the winds will blow

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