"  Where  does  the  rainbow  end  ?    And  why
Did — Captain  Kidd — bury  the  gold  there  ?    When

Will  this  world  burn  ?    And  will  the  firemen  try
To  put  the  fire  out  with  the  engines  then  ?


"  If  you  should  ever  die,  may  we

Have  pumpkins  growing  in  the  garden,  so

My  fairy  godmother  can  come  for  me,
When  there's  a  prince's  ball,  and  let  me  go  ?

"  Read  Cinderella  just  once  more —

What  makes — men's  other  wives — so  mean  ?  "  I  know
That  I  was  tired,  it  may  be  cross,  before

I  shut  the  printed  book  for  her  to  go.
Hours  later,'  from  a  child's  white  bed

I  heard  the  timid,  last  queer  question  start :

"  Mamma,  are  you — my  stepmother  ?  "  it  said.
The  innocent  reproof  crept  to  my  heart.
^.  M.  B.  Piatt.
S.   M.  B.   PIATT.  393


MY  ARTIST.
So  slight  and  just  a  little  vain,
Of  eyes  and  amber-tinted  hair

Such  as  you  will  not  see  again —
To  watch  him  at  the  window  there,

Why,  you  would  not  expect,  I  say.
The  rising  rival  of  Dor6.
No  sullen  lord  of  foreign  verse

Such  as  great  Dante,  yet  he  knows ;

No  Wandermg  Jew's  long  legend-curse
On  his  light  hand  its  darkness  throws  ;

Nor  has  the  Bible  suffered  much

So  far,  from  his  irreverent  touch.
Yet,  can  his  restless  pencil  lack
A  master  Fancy,  weird  and  strong

In  black-and-white — but  chiefly  black ! —
When  at  its  call  such  horrors  throng  ?

What  Fantasies  of  Fairyland

More  shadowy  were  ever  planned  ?

But  giants  and  enchantments  make

Not  all  the  glory  of  his  Art :
His  vast  and  varied  power  can  take

In  real  things  a  real  part.
