Memorial: A Poem

714 IMPROVEMENT ERA horses, picturesque mozos were going about with fat, lighted candles, and I imagine that some of the guests hugged their fighting cocks to their breasts. At Huberta's desk, in her room, between the patios (which are gardens in the middle of the house, vaulted by the blue sky of heaven), I stared at her row of books and marveled at what realms the Spanish language opened up, for there was Boccaccio in Italian, Cervantes in Spanish, De Musset in French. But I had no inclination to open a book, for the strains of a Mexican orchestra were wafted up on zephyrs redolent with the scent of magnolia and orange-blossoms, and the narcotic fragrance of the strange flower which only exudes its perfume at night. As the last wail of the violin died away, there came the splash of the tropic rain on the plantains. Memorial (April 15, 1912) A hush has fallen on the heart, a silence on the lips, Expression bears the quivering lines of pain, (For life must ever agonize for death;) And through the stillness breaks, like falling rain, The tears of those who mourn their noble dead. The great unshrouded dead, but not unknelled, For long as shall the sea its wonder roll, In rhythm of the ceaseless ebb and flow Must sound a fuller note, each hero's toll, To name him o'er and o'er as hallowed. A hush has fallen on the heart, a silence on the lips, For souls with selfless love, grown strongly brave. O tones of melody breathed out with life, Ye echo and re-echo from the wave, To teach man how to die and how to live! Grace Ingles Frost, waterloo, utah