By Stephen Vincent Benêt

Illustrations By Henry Raleigh

Copyright, 1922 By Henry Holt And Company

First printing, August 1922

CONTENTS

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII  

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV  

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI  

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

XXXI

XXXII

XXXIII

XXXIV

XXXV

XXXVI

XXXVII

XXXVIII

XXXIX

XL

XLI

XLII

XLIII

XLIV

XLV

XLVI

XLVII

XLVIII

XLIX

TO ROSEMARY If I were sly, I'd steal for you that cobbled hill, Montmartre, Josephine's embroidered shoes, St. Louis' oriflamme, The river on grey evenings and the bluebell-glass of Chartres, And four sarcastic gargoyles from the roof of Notre Dame. That wouldn't be enough, though, enough nor half a part; There'd be shells because they're sorrowful, and pansies since they're wise, The smell of rain on lilac-bloom, less fragrant than your heart, And that small blossom of your name, as steadfast as your eyes. Sapphires, pirates, sandalwood, porcelains, sonnets, pearls, Sunsets gay as Joseph's coat and seas like milky jade, Dancing at your birthday like a mermaid's dancing curls —If my father'd only brought me up to half a decent trade! Nothing I can give you—nothing but the rhymes— Nothing but the empty speech, the idle words and few, The mind made sick with irony you helped so many times, The strengthless water of the soul your truthfulness kept true. Take the little withered things and neither laugh nor cry —Gifts to make a sick man glad he's going out like sand— They and I are yours, you know, as long as there's an I. Take them for the ages. Then they may not shame your hand. “... For there groweth in great abundance in this land a small flower, much blown about by winds, named 'Young People's Pride'...” DYCER'S Herbal

YOUNG PEOPLES PRIDE