Baby Looking Out For Me

TWO little busy hands patting on the window,
Two laughing bright eyes looking out at me;
Two rosy red cheeks dented with a dimple;
Mother-bird is coming; Baby, do you see?

Down by the lilac-bush, something white and azure
Saw I in the window as I passed the tree;
Well I knew the apron and shoulder-knots of ribbon;
All belonged to Baby, looking out for me.

Talking low and tenderly
To myself, as mothers will,
Spake I softly, "God in Heaven,
Keep my darling free from ill.
Worldly good and worldly honors
Ask I not for her from Thee;
But from want and sin and sorrow,
Keep her ever pure and free."

poem by Ethel Lynn Beers
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Whisper Softly, Stainless Lilies

WHISPER softly, stainless Lilies,
As you fold each snowy cup
Over soldiers who are sleep,
With their war-tents folded up.

Bear to them our loving message,
In thy sweet unwritten speech;
Chime, white bells, above them softly,
Echoes only angels teach.

Tell them, Roses, as you wither,
Tho' their dust shall heed you not;
Still by song and flag and blossom
We would prove them unforgot.

Show them, Pansy's purple shadow,
Through thy heart of golden bloom,
How the light of deeds heroic
Overlies the darkened tomb.

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
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Noonday Rest

Calmer than midnight's deepest hush
Is the sun-bright Summer nooning,
With its cloudy shadows seeking rest,
That fall on the hillside swooning.

Great Night with its solemn starry eyes,
Over Day's gate asks us whither
We go, what our password is,
To the camp beyond the river.

But sunny Noon with its sleepy smile
Ripples the grain field over,
Without a thought of the silent graves
That may lie beneath the clover.

Knee-deep the drowsy cattle stand
In the water's golden glimmer,
While berry bush and bramble spray
Along the hot wall shimmer.

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
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Weighing The Baby

"How many pounds does baby weigh -
Baby who came but a month ago?
How many pounds from the crowning curl
To the rosy point of the restless toe?"

Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot,
Tenderly guides the swinging weight,
And carefully over his glasses peers
To read the record, "only eight."

Softly the echo goes around:
The father laughs at the tiny girl;
The fair young mother sings the words,
While grandmother smooths the golden curl.

And stooping above the precious thing,
Nestles a kiss within a prayer,
Murmuring softly "Little one,
Grandfather did not weigh you fair."

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from The Home Book of Verse, American and English (1912)
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Company K.

THERE'S a cap in the closet,
Old, tattered, and blue,
That would be little value,
It may be, to you;
But a crown jewel-studded
Could not buy it to-day,
With its letters of honor,
Brave "Company K."

The head that is sheltered
Needs shelter no more;
Dead heroes make holy
The trifles they wore;
so a wreath better winning
Than laurel and bay
Seems the cap of the soldier,
Marked "Company K."

For eyes have looked steady
Its visor beneath

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
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The Baggage Wagon

In from the ferry's pulsing door,
In by the railroad gate,
Comes all day long the baggage home,
Mighty in size and weight.

Trunks with their canvass quite unfurled;
Boxes in woeful trim,
With garments dried in country sun,
Tumbled and tossed within.

Under the locks what finery
Lies travel-stained and worn;
Limp muslins with the sea kiss on,
Flounces on fences torn.

(For how could Kitty stop to think
Of dress on sea-sand wet,
When Fred was whispering the while
A vow she don't forget?

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers
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The Picket Guard

"ALL quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
Except here and there a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of a battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night!
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
And their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night-wind
Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard o'er the army sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two on the low trundel bed,

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
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All Quiet along the Potomac

ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except, now and then, a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing—a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost—only one of the men
Moaning out all alone the death-rattle."

* * * * *

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon
Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-wind
Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping,
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
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Dog's Day Ended

I AM only a dog, and I've had my day;
So, idle and dreaming, stretched out I lay
In the welcome warmth of the summer sun,
A poor old hunter whose work is done.

Dream? Yes, indeed; though I am but a dog,
Don't I dream of the partridge I sprung by the log,
Of the quivering hare and her desperate flight,
Of the nimble gray squirrel secure in his height,

Far away in the top of the hickory-tree,
Looking down safe and saucy at Matthew and me,
Till the hand true and steady a messanger shot,
And the creature up-bounded, and fell, and was not?

Old Matthew was king of the wood-rangers then;
And the quails in the stubble, the ducks in the fen,
The hare on the common, the birds on the bough,
Were afraid. They are safe enough now,

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from Harper's New Monthly Magazine, vol. 30 (1865)
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Which Shall It Be

WHICH shall it be? Which shall it be?
I look'd at John—John look'd at me
(Dear, patient John, who loves me yet
As well as though my locks were jet);
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seem'd strangely low and weak:
"Tell me again what Robert said?"
And then I, listening, bent my head.
"This is his letter:

"'I will give
A house and land while you shall live,
If, in return, from out your seven,
One child to me for aye is given.'"
I look'd at John's old garments worn,
I thought of all that John had borne
Of poverty, and work, and care,
Which I, though willing, could not share;
I thought of seven mouths to feed,
Of seven little children's need,

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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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