Who knows? For on her tongue
What never may be sung

Seemed trembling, and we wait

To catch the strain complete,
More full, but not more sweet,
Beyond the golden gate.

A WEED.

How shall a little weed grow

That has no sun?

Rains fall and north winds blow-
What shall be done?

Out come some little pale leaves
At the spring's call,

But the harsh north winds blow,
And the sad rains fall.

Dost try to keep it warm

With fickle breath?

He must, who would give life,
Be Lord of death.

Some day you forget the weed-
Man's thoughts are brief-
And your coldness steals like frost
Through each pale leaf,

Till the weed shrinks back to die
On kinder sod;

Shall a life which found no sun,
In death find God?

HOW LONG?

IF on my grave the summer grass were growing,

Or heedless winter winds across i blowing, Through joyous June, or desolate December,

A PROBLEM.

My darling has a merry eye,

And voice like silver bells: How shall I win her, prithee, sayBy what magic spells?

If I frown she shakes her head,

If I weep she smiles;

Time would fail me to recount

All her wilful wiles.

She flouts me so-she stings me soYet will not let me stir

In vain I try to pass her by,

My little chestnut bur.

When I yield to every whim

She strait begins to pout. Teach me how to read my love, How to find her out!

For flowers she gives me thistle blooms-
Her turtle doves are crows-

I am the groaning weather-vane,
And she the wind that blows.

My little love! My teazing love!
Was woman made for man-

A rose that blossomed from his side?
Believe it-those who can.

I went to sleep—I'm sure of it—
Some luckless summer morn;
A rib was taken from my side,
And of it made a thorn.

But still I seek by some fond art
To link it to my life,

Come, solve my problem, married men :
Teach me to win my wife.

MAY-FLOWERS.

remember,

How long, dear love, how long?

For brightest eyes would open to the sum

mer,

And sweetest smiles would greet the sweet

new-comer,

And on your lips grow kisses for the taking, When all the summer buds to bloom are breaking,

How long, dear love, how long?

To the dim land where sad-eyed ghosts walk only,

Where lips are cold, and waiting hearts are lonely,

I would not call you from your youth's warm blisses,

Fill up your glass and crown it with new kisses,

How long, dear love, how long? Too gay, in June, you might be to regret me, And living lips might woo you to forget me; But ah, sweetheart, I think you would remember

When winds were weary in your life's December,

So long, dear love, so long.

And follow the odorous hint

Through woods where the dead leaves

rustle,

And the golden mosses glint,

Along the spicy sea-coast,

Over the desolate down,
You will find the dainty May-flowers
When you come to Plymouth town.
Where the shy Spring tends her darlings,
And hides them away from sight,
Pull off the covering leaf-sprays,
And gather them pink and white,
Tinted by mystical moonlight,

Freshened by frosty dew,
Till the fair, transparent blossoms

To their pure perfection grew.
Then carry them home to your lady,

For flower of the spring is she,— Pink and white, and dainty and slight, And lovely as lovely can be.

Shall they die because she is fair,

Or live because she is sweet? They will know for which they were born, But you must wait at her feet.

EXPECTATION.

THROUGHOUT the lonely house the whole day long

The wind-harp's fitful music sinks and swells,

A cry of pain, sometimes, or sad and strong, Or faint, like broken peals of silver bells.

Across the little garden comes the breeze, Bows all its cups of flame, and brings to

e

Its breath of mignonette and bright sweet peas,

With drowsy murmurs from the encircling

sea.

In at the open door a crimson drift

Of fluttering, fading woodbine leaves is blown,

And through the clambering vine the sunbeams sift,

And trembling shadows on the floor are thrown.

I climb the stair, and from the window lean Seeking thy sail, O love, that still delays; Longing to catch its glimmer, searching keen The jealous distance veiled in tender haze. What care I if the pansies purple be,

Or sweet the wind-harp wails through the slow hours;

Or that the lulling music of the sea

Comes woven with the perfume of the flowers?

Thou comest not! I ponder o'er the leaves, The crimson drift behind the open door : Soon shall we listen to a wind that grieves, Mourning this glad year, dead forever

more.

And, O my love, shall we on some sad day Find joys and hopes low fallen like the leaves,

Blown by life's chilly autumn wind away In withered heaps God's eye alone perceives?

Come thou, and save me from my dreary thought!

Who dares to question Time, what it may bring?

Yet round us lies the radiant summer, fraught

With beauty: must we dream of suffering? Yea, even so. Through this enchanted land, This morning-red of life, we go to meet The tempest in the desert, hand in hand, Along God's paths of pain, that seek His

feet.

But this one golden moment,-hold it fast! The light grows long: low in the west the

sun,

Clear red and glorious, slowly sinks at last, And while I muse, the tranquil day is done. The land breeze freshens in thy gleaming sail!

Across the singing waves the shadows creep:

Under the new moon's thread of silver pale, With the first star, thou comest o'er the deep!

THE SANDPIPER.

ACROSS the narrow beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high As up and down the beach we flit,One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds

Scud black and swift across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach

I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,—
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry.
He starts not at my fitful song,

Or flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong;
He scans me with a fearless eye.
Stauch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night
When the loosed storm breaks furiously!
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
For are we not God's children both,
The tempest rushes through the sky:
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

THE MINUTE-GUNS.

I STOOD within the little cove,
Full of the morning's life and hope,
While heavily the eager waves

Charged thundering up the rocky slope

The splendid breakers! How they rushed,
All emerald green and flashing white,
Tumultuous in the morning sun,
With cheer and sparkle and delight!

And freshly blew the fragrant wind,

The wild sea wind, across their tops, And caught the spray and flung it far

In sweeping showers of glittering drops. Within the cove all flashed and foamed

With many a fleeting rainbow hue; Without, gleamed bright against the sky, A tender wavering line of blue,

Where tossed the distant waves, and far
Shone silver-white a quiet sail;
And overhead the soaring gulls

With graceful pinions stemmed the gale.

And all my pulses thrilled with joy,

Watching the winds' and waters' strife, With sudden rapture,-and I cried,

"O sweet is Life! Thank God for life!"

Sailed any cloud across the sky,
Marring this glory of the sun's?
Over the sea, from distant forts,

There came the boom of minute-guns!
War-tidings! Many a brave soul fled,
And many a heart the message stuns!
I saw no more the joyous waves,
I only heard the minute-guns.

Then purple Iris smiles, and hour by hour, The fair procession multiplies; and soon, In clusters creamy white, the elder-flower Waves its broad disk against the rising

moon.

O'er quiet beaches shelving to the sea Tall mulleins sway, and thistles; all day long

Flows in the wooing water dreamily,

With subtle music in its slumberous song.

Herb-robert hears, and princess' - feather bright,

And gold-thread clasps the little skull-cap blue;

And troops of swallows, gathering for their flight,

O'er golden-rod and asters hold review. The barren island dreams in flowers, while blow

The south winds, drawing haze o'er sea and land;

Yet the great heart of ocean, throbbing slow, Makes the frail blossoms vibrate where

they stand;

And hints of heavier pulses soon to shake

Its mighty breast when summer is no more, And devastating waves sweep on and break, And clasp with girdle white the iron shore. Close folded, safe within the sheltering seed, Blossom and bell and leafy beauty hide; Nor icy blast, nor bitter spray they heed, But patiently their wondrous change abide.

The heart of God through his creation stirs, We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers That die to live again,-his messengers,

To keep faith firm in these sad souls of

ours.

The waves of Time may devastate our lives, The frosts of age may check our failing breath,

They shall not touch the spirit that survives Triumphant over doubt and pain and death.

A SUMMER DAY.

AT day-break in the fresh light, joyfully
The fishermen drew in their laden net;
The shore shone rosy purple and the sea
Was streaked with violet;

And pink with sunrise, many a shadowy sail
Lay southward, lighting up the sleeping
bay;
still and

And in the west the white moon, pale,

Faded before the day.

Silence was everywhere. The rising tide
Slowly filled every cove and inlet small;
A musical low whisper, multiplied,
You heard, and that was all.

No clouds at dawn, but as the sun climbed | higher,

White columns, thunderous, splendid, up the sky

Floated and stood, heaped in his steady fire, A stately company.

Stealing along the coast from cape to cape The weird mirage crept tremulously on, In many a magic change and wondrous shape, Throbbing beneath the sun.

At noon the wind rose, swept the glassy sea
To sudden ripple, thrust against the clouds
A strenuous shoulder, gathering steadily
Drove them before in crowds;

Till all the west was dark, and inky black
The level-ruffled water underneath,

And up the wind cloud tossed,— -a ghostly rack,

In many a ragged wreath.

Then sudden roared the thunder, a great peal

Magnificent, that broke and rolled away; And down the wind plunged, like a furious keel,

Cleaving the sea to spray;

And brought the rain sweeping o'er land and sea.

And then was tumult! Lightning sharp
and keen,

Thunder, wind, rain,-a mighty jubilee
The heaven and earth between!

Loud the roused ocean sang, a chorus grand;
A solemn music rolled in undertone
Of waves that broke about on either hand
The little island lone;

Where, joyful in His tempest as His calm,
Held in the hollow of that hand of His,
I joined with heart and soul in God's great
psalm,

Thrilled with a nameless bliss.

Soon lulled the wind, the summer storm soon died;

The shattered clouds went eastward, drifting slow;

From the low sun the rain-fringe swept aside,

Bright in his rosy glow,

And wide a splendor streamed through all the sky;

O'er sea and land one soft, delicious blush, That touched the gray rocks lightly, tenderly; A transitory flush.

Warm, odorous gusts blew off the distant land,

With spice of pine-woods, breath of hay O'er miles of waves and sea, scents cool and

new-mown,

bland,

Full in our faces blown.

Sow faded the sweet light, and peacefully
The quiet stars came out, one after one:
The holy twilight fell upon the sea,
The summer day was done.

Such unalloyed delight its hours had given, Musing, this thought rose in my grateful mind,

That God, who watches all things, up in heaven,

With patient eyes and kind,

Saw and was pleased, perhaps, one child of his

Dared to be happy like the little birds, Because He gave his children days like this Rejoicing beyond words;

Dared, lifting up to Him untroubled eyes In gratitude that worship is, and prayer, Sing and be glad with ever new surprise, He made his world so fair!

NOVEMBER.

THERE is no wind at all to-night
To dash the drops against the pane;
No sound abroad, nor any light,

And sadly falls the autumn rain;
There is no color in the world,

No lovely tint on hill or plain; The summer's golden sails are furled, And sadly falls the autumn rain. The Earth lies tacitly beneath,

As it were dead to joy or pain: It does not move, it does not breathe,— And sadly falls the autumn rain. And all my heart is patient too,

I wait till it shall wake again; The songs of spring shall sound anew, Though sadly falls the autumn rain.

YELLOW-BIRD.

YELLOW-BIRD, where did you learn that song,

Perched on the trellis where grape-vines clamber,

In and out fluttering, all day long,

With your golden breast bedropped with amber?

Where do you hide such a store of delight,
O delicate creature, tiny and slender,
Like a mellow morning sunbeam bright,
And overflowing with music tender!
You never learned it at all, the song

Springs from your heart in rich completeness,

Beautiful, blissful, clear and strong,

Steeped in the summer's ripest sweetness. To think we are neighbors of yours! How

fine!

PER TENEBRAS, LUMINA.

I KNOW how, through the golden hours When summer sunlight floods the deep, The fairest stars of all the heaven

Climb up, unseen, the effulgent steep.
Orion girds him with a flame;

And king-like, from the eastward seas
Comes Aldebaran, with his train
Of Hyades and Pleiades.

In far meridian pride, the Twins

Build, side by side, their luminous thrones; And Sirius and Procyon pour

A splendor that the day disowns. And stately Leo, undismayed,

With fiery footstep tracks the sun, To plunge adown the western blaze, Sublimely lost in glories won.

I know if I were called to keep

Pale morning-watch with grief and pain, Mine eyes should see their gathering might Rise grandly through the gloom again. And when the winter Solstice holds

In his diminished path the sun;
When hope and growth and joy are o'er,
And all our harvesting is done;
When, stricken like our mortal life,

Darkened and chill, the Year lays down
The summer beauty that she wore,

Her summer stars of harp and crown; Thick trooping with their golden tread, They come as nightfall fills the sky, Those stronger, grander sentinels,

And mount resplendent guard on high! Ah, who shall shrink from dark and cold, Or dread the sad and shortening days, When God doth only so unfold

A wider glory to our gaze? When loyal truth and holy trust,

And kingly strength, defying pain, Stern courage, and sure brotherhood

Are born from out the depths again? Dear country of our love and pride! So is thy stormy winter given! So, through the terrors that betide, Look up, and hail thy kindling heaven!

BEHIND THE MASK.

It was an old, distorted face,

An uncouth visage, rough and wild,Yet, from behind, with laughing grace, Peeped the fresh beauty of a child.

And so, contrasting strange to-day,
My heart of youth doth inly ask
If half earth's wrinkled grimness may
Be but the baby in the mask.
Behind gray hairs and furrowed brow
And withered look that life puts on,
Each, as he wears it, comes to know
How the child hides, and is not gone.
For while the inexorable years

To saddened features fit their mould,
Beneath the work of time and tears
Waits something that will not grow old!
The rifted pine upon the hill,

Scarred by the lightning and the wind, Through bolt and blight doth nurture still Young fibres underneath the rind ; And many a storm-blast, fiercely sent, And wasted hope, and sinful stain, Roughen the strange integument

The struggling soul must wear in pain; Yet when she comes to claim her own,

Heaven's angels, haply, shall not ask For that last look the world hath known, But for the face behind the mask!

LARVE.

My little maiden of four years old-
No myth, but a genuine child is she,
With her bronze-brown eyes and her curls
of gold-

Came, quite in disgust, one day, to me.

Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her,

She cried, "O mother! I found on my arm A horrible, crawling caterpillar!"

And with mischievous smile she could scarcely smother,

Yet a glance in its daring half awed and shy,

She added, "While they were about it, mother,

I wish they 'd just finished the butterfly!" They were words to the thought of the soul that turns

From the coarser form of a partial growth, Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns With an unknown glory to crown them both.

Ah, look thou largely, with lenient eyes,

On whatso beside thee may creep and cling.