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THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

Sad, aching hearts have grown weary of song,

No answering echo their notes prolong;

Then take me, oh Death, to thy grim embrace!

Press quickly thy kiss on my eager face,

For I have been promised, oh, bridegroom dread,

Both love and.fame, when I am dead!

The best known of Californian women writers is Ina D. Coolbrith, who stands peerless at the head. There is strength and there is beauty in every line she writes.

Emma Francis Dawson is the author of that celebrated poem “Old Glory.” Virna Woods has written “The Amazons,” a beautiful little drama of Greek life. Lillian Hinman Shuey has issued a book called “California Sunshine.” A quatrain of hers upon the Golden State runs thus:

Sown is the golden grain! planted the vines;

Fall swift, oh loving rain, lift prayers olivines!

Oh green land, oh gold land, fair land of the sea The trust of thy children reposes in thee.

A poem by Carrie Stevens Walter is entitled

A WIFE OF THREE YEARS.

He goes his daily way and gives no sign Or word of love I deemed once fondly mine.

He meets my warm caress or questioning eye Without the tender thrill of days gone by.

Once at my lightest touch or glance or word The mighty being of his love was stirred.

And now the clasping of my yearning hand He meets unanswering, does not understand.

He gives no word of praise through toiling years,

To say he reads my truth through smiles or tears.

I cannot take for granted as my own The love that speaks not in caress or tone.

For this, my life’s sweet hopes fade sad away;

For this, my heart is breaking day by day.

Madge Morris Wagner is a woman upon whose talents an entire chapter might be spent. Suffice it to say that the Liberty Bell, which has lately been cast, was done so at the instance of her poem upon that subject, and she is invited here to the Columbian Exposition to set that bell ringing. But she is a frail creature, physically, in spite of her splendid literary powers, and fears that possibly she may not have the strength for this wonderful day that is awaiting her.

A poem by Madge Morris is as follows:

ON THE DESERT.

Thou brown, bare-breasted, voiceless mystery,

Hot sphinx of nature, cactus-crowned, what hast thou done?

Unclothed and mute as when the groans of chaos turned Thy naked, burning bosom to the sun.

The mountain silences have speech, the rivers sing,

Thou answerest never unto anything.