The Old Home Calls by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Come back to me, little dancing feet that roam the wide world o'er,
I long for the lilt of your flying steps in my silent rooms once more;
Come back to me, little voices gay with laughter and with song,
Come back, little hearts beating high with hopes, I have missed and mourned you long.

My roses bloom in my garden walks all sweet and wet with the dew,
My lights shine down on the long hill road the waning twilights through,
The swallows flutter about my eaves as in the years of old,
And close about me their steadfast arms the lisping pine trees fold.

But I weary for you at morn and eve, O, children of my love,
Come back to me from your pilgrim ways, from the seas and plains ye rove,
Come over the meadows and up the lane to my door set open wide,
And sit ye down where the red light shines from my welcoming fireside.

I keep for you all your childhood dreams, your gladness and delights,
The joy of days in the sun and rain, the sleep of carefree nights,
All the sweet faiths ye have lost and sought again shall be your own,
Darlings, come to my empty heart ­I am old and still and alone!

Not to Keep by Robert Frost 1917

They sent him back to her. The letter came
Saying ... And she could have him. And before
She could be sure there was no hidden ill
Under the formal writing, he was in her sight,
Living. They gave him back to her alive -
How else? They are not known to send the dead -
And not disfigured visibly. His face?
His hands? She had to look, and ask,
"What was it dear?" And she had given all
And still she had all - they had - they the lucky!
Wasn't she glad now?  Everything seemed won,
And all the rest for them permissable ease.
She had to ask, "What was it, dear?"

"Enough,
Yet not enough. A bullet through and through,
high in the breast.  Nothing but good care
And medicine and rest, and you a week,
Can cure me of to go again." The same
Grim giving to do over for them both.
She dared no more than ask him with her eyes
How was it with him for a second trial.
And with his eyes he asked her not to ask.
They had given them back to her, but not to keep.

Another le Belle Epoque Beauty, Gladys Cooper

Gladys Cooper was born Dec. 18, 1888 in London, England. She was a favorite child photographer's model and actress from age 6. She appeared on thousands of postcards that were immensely popular as souvenirs and to send to friends in the early 1900s. The postcards are still widely collected today.

Gladys was a popular musical comedy actress as a teenager and also starred in dramatic roles and silent films before World War I. Although unusual for a woman of that period, Gladys successfully managed the Playhouse Theatre from 1917 to 1933, starring in many roles including multiple plays by W. Somerset Maugham whom she was a favorite of.

By the 1930s, Gladys was starring regularly in the West Side and on Broadway frequently hopping back and forth across the Atlantic. She moved to Hollywood in 1940 where she found much success as a character actress. During that period she was nominated for three Academy Awards for Best Supporting Actress in Now Voyager with Bette Davis, The Song of Bernadette and in the role of Mrs. Higgins in My Fair Lady in 1964. She was also nominated for 2 of Broadway's Tony Awards as Best Actress for The Chalk Garden and A Passage to India.

Gladys continued acting on stage, film and television for the rest of her life - an acting career stretching over an astonishing 300 roles from 1905 until 1971 when she died. Among her televison appearances were three memorable episodes of Twilight Zone.

Gladys was married 3 times and had 3 children. She resided for many years in Santa Monica, California with her third husband until his death.

Although frequently living and working in the United States, Gladys Cooper lived most of her life in the United Kingdom, dying at Henley-on-Thames, England in 1971 at age 82.

Nature the Gentlest Mother by Emily Dickinson

Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child --
The feeblest -- or the waywardest --
Her Admonition mild --

In Forest -- and the Hill --
By Traveller -- be heard --
Restraining Rampant Squirrel --
Or too impetuous Bird --

How fair Her Conversation --
A Summer Afternoon --
Her Household -- Her Assembly --
And when the Sun go down --

Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket --
The most unworthy Flower --

When all the Children sleep --
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps --
Then bending from the Sky --

With infinite Affection --
And infiniter Care --
Her Golden finger on Her lip --
Wills Silence -- Everywhere --

We Are the Music Makers by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaunessy and Paintings by Albert Moore

"Dreamers" by Albert Moore

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.