  Harrison Conrard, poet, was born at Dodsonville, Ohio, September 21, 1869. He was educated at St. Xavier's College, Cincinnati. From 1892 until the spring of 1899 Mr. Conrard lived at Ludlow, Kentucky, when he removed to Arizona to engage in the lumber business at Flagstaff, his present home. While living at Ludlow he published his first book of poems, entitled Idle Songs and Idle Sonnets (1898), which is now out of print. Mr. Conrard's second and best known volume of verse, called Quivira (Boston, 1907), contained a group of singing lyrics of almost entrancing beauty. These are the only books he has so far published. "Some day," the poet once wrote, "I shall roll up my bedding, take my fishing rod and wander back east, and Kentucky will be good enough for me." He has, however, never come back. A new volume of his verse is to be issued shortly.
IN OLD TUCSON [From Quivira (Boston, 1907)] In old Tucson, in old Tucson, What cared I how the days ran on? A brown hand trailing the viol-strings, Hair as black as the raven's wing, Lips that laughed and a voice that clung To the sweet old airs of the Spanish tongue Had drenched my soul with a mellow rime Till all life shone, in that golden clime, With the tender glow of the morning-time. In old Tucson, in old Tucson, In old Tucson, in old Tucson, How soon the parting day came on! But I oft turn back in my hallowed dreams, And the low adobe a palace seems, Where her sad heart sighs and her sweet voice sings To the notes that throb from her viol-strings. Oh, those tear-dimmed eyes and that soft brown hand! And a soul that glows like the desert sand— The golden fruit of a golden land! In old Tucson, in old Tucson, The long, lone days, O Time, speed on! A KENTUCKY SUNRISE [From the same] Faint streaks of light; soft murmurs; sweet Meadow-breaths; low winds; the deep gray Yielding to crimson; a lamb's bleat; Soft-tinted hills; a mockbird's lay: And the red Sun brings forth the Day. A KENTUCKY SUNSET [From the same] The great Sun dies in the west; gold And scarlet fill the skies; the white Daisies nod in repose; the fold Welcomes the lamb; larks sink from sight: The long shadows come, and then—Night. |
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