"Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend,
I loved
you for life, but life has an end;
Through sickness I was ready to tend;
But death mars all, which we cannot mend.

“Indeed I loved you; I love you yet

If you will stay where your bed is set,

Where I have planted a violet

Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet.”

"Life is gone, then love too is gone,

It was a reed that I leant upon :

Never doubt I will leave you alone

And not wake you rattling bone with bone.

"I go home alone to my bed,

Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head,
Roofed in with a load of lead,

Warm enough for the forgotten dead.

"But why did your tears soak through the clay,
And why did your sobs wake me where I lay?
I was away, far enough away:

Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day.”

A PORTRAIT.

I.

HE gave up beauty in her tender youth,

Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways;
She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze
On vanity, and chose the bitter truth.

Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth,
Servant of servants, little known to praise,

Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and

days:

She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth,
That with the poor and stricken she might make
A home, until the least of all sufficed

Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake,
Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss.
So with calm will she chose and bore the cross,
And hated all for love of Jesus Christ.

II.

They knelt in silent anguish by her bed,

And could not weep; but calmly there she lay.
All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray
Shone through upon her, warming into red
The shady curtains. In her heart she said:

"Heaven opens; I leave these and go away:
The Bridegroom calls, shall the Bride seek to
stay?"

Then low upon her breast she bowed her head.
O lily-flower, O gem of priceless worth,

O dove with patient voice and patient eyes,
O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth,

O maid replete with loving purities,

Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth To raise it with the saints in Paradise.

DREAM-LOVE.

YOUN

OUNG Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year,

Among the lilies,

Lapped in the tender light :
White lambs come grazing,

White doves come building there;

And round about him

The May-bushes are white.

Soft moss the pillow

For O, a softer cheek;
Broad leaves cast shadow

Upon the heavy eyes:

There winds and waters

Grow lulled and scarcely speak;

There twilight lingers

The longest in the skies.

Young Love lies dreaming;

But who shall tell the dream? A perfect sunlight

On rustling forest tips;

Or perfect moonlight

Upon a rippling stream; Or perfect silence,

Or song of cherished lips.

Burn odors round him

To fill the drowsy air;

Weave silent dances

Around him to and fro;

For O, in waking,

The sights are not so fair, And song and silence

Are not like these below.

Young Love lies dreaming

Till summer days are gone, Dreaming and drowsing

Away to perfect sleep: He sees the beauty

Sun hath not looked upon,

And tastes the fountain

Unutterably deep.

Him perfect music

Doth hush unto his rest,

And through the pauses

The perfect silence calms:

O, poor the voices

Of earth from east to west, And poor earth's stillness

Between her stately palms.

Young Love lies drowsing
Away to poppied death;
Cool shadows deepen

Across the sleeping face:
So fails the summer

With warm, delicious breath;

And what hath autumn

To give us in its place?

Draw close the curtains

Of branched evergreen ; Change cannot touch them With fading fingers sere: Here the first violets

Perhaps will bud unseen,

And a dove, maybe,
Return to nestle here.

୪