The Plastic Age, Percy Marks [top 10 books of all time TXT] 📗

Woman's Heart!

 

  Where Art Thou Gone? Thy Love A Moment Only

    Endured,  And I For Ever Need Its Power;

  Gone Like The Stream That Leaves The Lily Lonely,

    When The Dam Breaks,  To Mourn Her Dying Flower.

 

  Thou Never Didst A Thing To Cause Me Anguish;

    I Never Did A Thing To Work Thee Harm;

  Why Should I Thus In Vain Affliction Languish?

    Why Not Return To Bless Thy Grieving Charm?

 

  Of Playful Chastisements Art Thou Reminded,

    Thy Flirtings Punished By My Girdle-Strands,

  Thine Eyes By Flying Dust Of Blossoms Blinded,

    Held For Thy Meet Correction In These Hands?

 

  I Loved To Hear The Name Thou Gav'st Me Often

    'Heart Of My Heart,' Alas! It Was Not True,

  But Lulling Phrase,  My Coming Grief To Soften:

    Else In Thy Death,  My Life Had Ended,  Too.

 

  Think Not That On The Journey Thou Hast Taken

    So Newly,  I Should Fail To Find Thy Track;

  Ah,  But The World! The World Is Quite Forsaken,

    For Life Is Love; No Life,  When Thee They Lack.

 

  Thou Gone,  My Love,  What Power Can Guide The Maiden

    Through Veils Of Midnight Darkness In The Town

  To The Eager Heart With Loving Fancies Laden,

    And Fortify Against The Storm-Cloud's Frown?

 

  The Wine That Teaches Eyes Their Gladdest Dances,

    That Bids The Love-Word Trippingly To Glide,

  Is Now Deception; For If Flashing Glances

    Lead Not To Love,  They Lead To Naught Beside.

 

  And When He Knows Thy Life Is A Remembrance,

    Thy Friend The Moon Will Feel His Shining Vain,

  Will Cease To Show The World A Circle's Semblance,

    And Even In His Waxing Time,  Will Wane.

 

  Slowly The Mango-Blossoms Are Unfolding

    On Twigs Where Pink Is Struggling With The Green,

  Greeted By Koïl-Birds Sweet Concert Holding--

    Thou Dead,  Who Makes Of Flowers An Arrow Keen?

 

  Or Weaves A String Of Bees With Deft Invention,

    To Speed The Missile When The Bow Is Bent?

  They Buzz About Me Now With Kind Intention,

    And Mortify The Grief Which They Lament.

 

  Arise! Assume Again Thy Radiant Beauty!

    Rebuke The Koïl-Bird,  Whom Nature Taught

  Such Sweet Persuasion; She Forgets Her Duty

    As Messenger To Bosoms Passion-Fraught.

 

  Well I Remember,  Love,  Thy Suppliant Motion,

    Thy Trembling,  Quick Embrace,  The Moments Blest

  By Fervent,  Self-Surrendering Devotion--

    And Memories Like These Deny Me Rest.

 

  Well Didst Thou Know Thy Wife; The Springtime Garland,

    Wrought By Thy Hands,  O Charmer Of Thy Charm!

  Remains To Bid Me Grieve,  While In A Far Land

    Thy Body Seeks Repose From Earthly Harm.

 

  Thy Service By The Cruel Gods Demanded,

    Meant Service To Thy Wife Left Incomplete,

  My Bare Feet With Coquettish Streakings Banded--

    Return To End The Adorni Wife Left Incomplete,

  Mr His Audience Knew

That The Lyric Was Immortal,  But Its Tender,  Passionate Beauty Caught

And Held Them.

 

 

 

 

                "The Wandering Airs They Faint

                 On The Dark,  The Silent Stream--

                 The Champak Odors Fail

                 Like Sweet-Thoughts In A Dream;

                 The Nightingale's Complaint

                 It Dies Upon Her Heart,

                 As I Must Die On Thine

                 O Beloved As Thou Art!

 

                "Oh Lift Me From The Grass!

                 I Die,  I Faint,  I Fail!

                 Let Thy Love In Kisses Rain

                 On My Cheeks And Eyelids Pale.

                 My Cheek Is Cold And White,  Alas!

                 My Heart Beats Loud And Fast;

                 Oh! Press It Close To Thine Again

                 Where It Will Break At Last."

 

 

 

 

There Was Silence For A Moment After Hugh Finished. The Shadows,  The

Moonlight,  The Boy's Soft Young Voice Had Moved Them All. Suddenly A

Girl On The Veranda Cried,  "Bring Him Up!" Instantly Half A Dozen Others

Turned To Their Escorts,  Insisting Shrilly: "Bring Him Up. We Want To

See Him."

 

Hugh Jerked The Guitar Cord From Around His Neck,  Banded The Instrument

To Collings,  And Tried To Run. A Burst Of Laughter Went Up From The

Freshmen. They Caught Him And Held Him Fast Until The Tuxedo-Clad

Upper-Classmen Rushed Down From The Veranda And Had Him By The Arms.

They Pulled Him,  Protesting And Struggling,  Upon The Veranda And Into

The Living-Room.

 

The Girls Gathered Around Him,  Praising,  Demanding More. He Flushed

Scarlet When One Enthusiastic Maiden Forced Her Way Through The Ring,

Looked Hard At Him,  And Then Announced Positively,  "I Think He's Sweet."

He Was Intensely Embarrassed,  In An Agony Of Confusion--But Very Happy.

The Girls Liked His Clean Blondness,  His Blushes,  His Startled Smile.

How Long They Would Have Held Him There In The Center Of The Ring While

They Admired And Teased Him,  There Is No Telling; But Suddenly The

Orchestra Brought Relief By Striking Up A Fox-Trot.

 

"He's Mine!" Cried A Pretty Black-Eyed Girl With A Cloud Of Bobbed Hair

And Flaming Cheeks. Her Slender Shoulders Were Bare; Her Round White

Arms Waved In Excited,  Graceful Gestures; Her Corn-Colored Frock Was A

Gauzy Mist. She Clutched Hugh's Arm. "He's Mine," She Repeated Shrilly.

"He's Going To Dance With Me."

 

Hugh's Cheeks Burned A Deeper Scarlet. "My Clothes," He Muttered,

Hesitating.

 

"Your Clothes! My Dear,  You Look Sweet. Take Off Your Cap And Dance With

Me."

 

Hugh Snatched Off His Cap,  His Mind Reeling With Shame,  But He Had No

Time To Think. The Girl Pulled Him Through The Crowd To A Clear Floor.

Almost Mechanically,  Hugh Put His Arm Around Her And Began To Dance. He

_Could_ Dance,  And The Girl Had Sense Enough Not To Talk. She Floated In

His Arm,  Her Slender Body Close To His. When The Music Ceased,  She

Clapped Her Little Hands Excitedly And Told Hugh That He Danced

"Won-Der-Ful-Ly." After The Third Encore She Led Him To A Dark Corner In

The Hall.

 

"You're Sweet,  Honey," She Said Softly. She Turned Her Small,  Glowing

Face Up To His. "Kiss Me," She Commanded.

 

Dazed,  Hugh Gathered Her Into His Arms And Kissed Her Little Red Mouth.

She Clung To Him For A Minute And Then Pushed Him Gently Away.

 

"Good Night,  Honey," She Whispered.

 

"Good Night." Hugh's Voice Broke Huskily. He Turned And Walked Rapidly

Down The Hall,  Upon The Veranda,  And Down The Steps. His Classmates Were

Waiting For Him. They Rushed Up To Him,  Demanding That He Tell Them What

Had Happened.

 

He Told Them Most Of It,  Especially About The Dance; But He Neglected To

Mention The Kiss. Shyness Overcame Any Desire That He Had To Strut.

Besides,  There Was Something About That Kiss That Made It Impossible For

Him To Tell Any One,  Even Carl. When He Went To Bed That Night,  He Did

Not Think Once About The Coming Football Game. Before His Eyes Floated

The Girl In The Corn-Colored Frock. He Wished He Knew Her Name....

Closer And Closer She Came To Him. He Could Feel Her Cool Arms Around

His Neck. "What A Wonderful,  Wonderful Girl! Sweeter Than Helen--Lots

Sweeter.... She's Like The Night--And Moonlight.... Like Moonlight

And--" The Music Of The "Indian Serenade" Began To Thrill Through His

Mind:

 

 

 

 

                "I Arise From Dreams Of Thee

                 In The First Sweet Sleep Of Night....

 

 

 

 

Oh,  She's Sweet,  Sweet--Like Music And Moonlight...." He Fell Asleep,

Repeating "Music And Moonlight" Over And Over Again--"Music And

Moonlight...."

 

      

 

The Morning Of The "Big Game" Proved Ideal,  Crisp And Cold,  Crystal

Clear. Indian Summer Was Near Its Close,  But There Was Still Something

Of Its Dreamy Wonder In The Air,  And The Hills Still Flamed With

Glorious Autumn Foliage. The Purples,  The Mauves,  The Scarlets,  The

Burnt Oranges Were A Little Dimmed,  A Little Less Brilliant--The Leaves

Were Rustling Dryly Now--But There Was Beauty In Dying Autumn,  Its

Splendor Slowly Fading,  As There Was In Its First Startling Burst Of

Color.

 

Classes That Saturday Morning Were A Farce,  But They Were Held; The

Administration,  Which The Boys Damned Heartily,  Insisted Upon It. Some

Of The Instructors Merely Took The Roll And Dismissed Their Classes,

Feeling That Honor Had Been Satisfied; But Others Held Their Classes

Through The Hour,  Lecturing The Disgusted Students On Their Lack Of

Interest,  Warning Them That Examinations Weren't As Far Off As The

Millennium.

 

Hugh Felt That He Was Lucky; He Had Only One Class--It Was With Alling

In Latin--And It Had Been Promptly Dismissed. "When The Day Comes," Said

Alling,  "That Latin Can Compete With Football,  I'll--Well,  I'll Probably

Get A Living Wage. You Had Better Go Before I Get To Talking About A

Living Wage. It Is One Of My Favorite Topics." He Waved His Hand Toward

The Door; The Boys Roared With Delight And Rushed Out Of The Room,

Shoving Each Other And Laughing. They Ran Out Of The Building; All Of

Them Were Too Excited To Walk.

 

By Half-Past One The Stands Were Filled. Most Of The Girls Wore Fur

Coats,  As Did Many Of The Alumni,  But The Students Sported No Such

Luxuries; Nine Tenths Of Them Wore "Baa-Baa Coats," Gray Jackets Lined

With Sheep's Wool. Except For An Occasional Banner,  Usually Carried By A

Girl,  And The Bright Hats Of The Women,  There Was Little Color To The

Scene. The Air Was Sharp,  And The Spectators Huddled Down Into Their

Warm Coats.

 

The Rival Cheering Sections,  Seated On Opposite Sides Of The Field,

Alternated In Cheering And Singing,  Each Applauding The Other's Efforts.

The Cheering Wasn't Very Good,  And The Singing Was Worse; But There Was

A Great Deal Of Noise,  And That Was About All That Mattered To Either

Side.

 

A Few Minutes Before Two,  The Raleigh Team Ran Upon The Field. The

Raleigh Cheering Section Promptly Went Mad. When The Sanford Team

Appeared A Minute Later,  The Sanford Cheering Section Tried Its Best To

Go Madder,  The Boys Whistling And Yelling Like Possessed Demons. Wayne

Gifford Brought Them To Attention By Holding His Hands Above His Head.

He Called For The Usual Regular Cheer For The Team And Then For A Short

Cheer For Each Member Of It,  Starting With The Captain,  Sherman

Walford,  And Ending With The Great Half-Back,  Harry Slade.

 

Suddenly There Was Silence. The Toss-Up Had Been Completed; The Teams

Were In Position On The Field. Slade Had Finished Building A Slender

Pyramid Of Mud,  On Which He Had Balanced The Ball. The Referee Held Up

His Hand. "Are You Ready,  Sanford?" Walford Signaled His Readiness. "Are

You Ready,  Raleigh?"

 

The Shrill Blast Of The Referee's Whistle--And The Game Was On. The

First Half Was A See-Saw Up And Down The Field. Near The End Of The Half

Raleigh Was Within Twenty Yards Of The Sanford Line. Shouts Of "Score!

Score! Score!" Went Up From The Raleigh Rooters,  Rhythmic,  Insistent.

"Hold 'Em! Hold 'Em! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The Sanford Cheering Section

Pleaded,  Almost Sobbing The Words. A Forward Pass Skilfully Completed

Netted Raleigh Sixteen Yards. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

 

The Timekeeper Tooted His Little Horn; The Half Was Over. For A Moment

The Sanford Boys Leaned Back Exhausted; Then They Leaped To Their Feet

And Yelled Madly,  While The Raleigh Boys Leaned Back Or Against Each

Other And Swore Fervently. Within Two Minutes The Tension Had Departed.

The Rival Cheering Sections Alternated In Singing Songs,  Applauded Each

Other Vigorously,  Whistled At A Frightened Dog That Tried To Cross The

Field And Nearly Lost Its Mind Entirely When Called By A Thousand

Masters,  Waited Breathlessly When The Cheer-Leaders Announced The

Results From Other Football Games That Had Been Telegraphed To The

Field,  Applauded If Harvard Was Losing,  Groaned If It Wasn't,  Sang Some

More,  Relaxed And Felt Consummately Happy.

 

Sanford Immediately Took The Offensive In The Second Half. Slade Was

Consistently Carrying The Ball. Twice He Brought It Within Raleigh's

Twenty-Five-Yard Line. The First Time Raleigh Held Firm,  But The Second

Time Slade Stepped Back For A Drop-Kick. The Spectators Sat Silent,

Breathless. The Angle Was Difficult. Could He Make It? Would The Line

Hold?

 

Quite Calmly Slade Waited. The Center Passed The Ball Neatly. Slade

Turned It In His Hands,  Paid Not The Slightest Attention To The Mad

Struggle Going On A Few Feet In Front Of Him,  Dropped The Ball--And

Kicked. The Ball Rose In A Graceful Arc And Passed Safely Between The

Goal-Posts.

 

Every One,  Men And Women Alike,  The Raleigh Adherents Excepted,  Promptly

Turned Into Extraordinarily Active Lunatics. The Women Waved Their

Banners And Shrieked,  Or If They Had No Banners,  They Waved Their Arms

And Shrieked; The Men Danced Up And Down,  Yelled,  Pounded Each Other On

The Back,  Sometimes Wildly Embraced--Many A Woman Was Kissed By A Man

She Had Never Seen Before And Never Would Again,  Nor Did She

Object--Wayne Gifford Was Turning Handsprings,  And Many Of The Students

Were Feebly Fluttering Their Hands,  Voiceless,  Spent With Cheering,  Weak

From Excitement.

 

Early In The Fourth Quarter,  However,  Raleigh Got Its Revenge,  Carrying

The Ball To A Touch-Down After A Series Of Line Rushes. Sanford Tried

Desperately To Score Again,  But Its Best Efforts Were Useless Against

The Raleigh Defense.

 

The Final Whistle Blew; And Sanford Had Lost. Cheering Wildly,  Tossing

Their Hats Into The Air,  The Raleigh Students Piled Down From The Grand

Stand Upon The Field. With