Speeds on the shortest day,
Curtails the sun;

With its bleak raw wind

Lays the last leaves low,

Brings back the nightly frosts,
Brings back the snow.

THE QUEEN OF HEARTS.

H

OW comes it, Flora, that, whenever we
Play cards together, you invariably,
However the pack parts,

Still hold the Queen of Hearts?

I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze,
Resolved to fathom these your secret ways:
But, sift them as I will,

Your ways are secret still.

I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again;
But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain :
Vain hope, vain forethought, too;

That Queen still falls to you.

I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel : "There should be one card more,"

You said, and searched the floor.

I cheated once: I made a private notch

In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch;

Yet such another back

Deceived me in the pack:

The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown
An imitative dint that seemed my own;

This notch, not of my doing,

Misled me to my ruin.

It baffles me to puzzle out the clew,

Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you:
Unless, indeed, it be

Natural affinity.

I

ONE DAY.

WILL tell you when they met :
In the limpid days of Spring;
Elder boughs were budding yet,
Oaken boughs looked wintry still,
But primrose and veined violet

In the mossful turf were set,

While meeting birds made haste to sing

And build with right good will.

I will tell you when they parted :

When plenteous Autumn sheaves were brown,

Then they parted heavy-hearted;
The full rejoicing sun looked down
As grand as in the days before;
Only they had lost a crown ;

Only to them those days of yore
Could come back nevermore.

When shall they meet? I cannot tell, Indeed, when they shall meet again, Except some day in Paradise :

For this they wait, one waits in pain. Beyond the sea of death love lies Forever, yesterday, to-day;

Angels shall ask them, "Is it well?" And they shall answer, "Yea."

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW.

‘ROAK, croak, croak,”

"CR

Thus the Raven spoke,

Perched on his crooked tree

As hoarse as hoarse could be.

Shun him and fear him,

Lest the Bridegroom hear him;

Scout him and rout him

With his ominous eye about him.

Yet, "Croak, croak, croak,"

Still tolled from the oak;

From that fatal black bird,
Whether heard or unheard:
"O ship upon the high seas,
Freighted with lives and spices,

Sink, O ship," croaked the Raven:
"Let the Bride mount to heaven."

In a far foreign land

Upon the wave-edged sand,
Some friends gaze wistfully

Across the glittering sea.

"If we could clasp our sister,"

Three say, "now we have missed her!" "If we could kiss our daughter!"

Two sigh across the water.

O, the ship sails fast,

With silken flags at the mast,

And the home-wind blows soft;
But a Raven sits aloft,

Chuckling and choking,

Croaking, croaking, croaking:-
Let the beacon-fire blaze higher;
Bridegroom, watch; the Bride draws nigher.

On a sloped sandy beach,

Which the spring-tide billows reach,

Stand a watchful throng

Who have hoped and waited long.

"Fie on this ship, that tarries
With the priceless freight it carries.
The time seems long and longer :
O languid wind, wax stronger";

Whilst the Raven perched at ease
Still croaks and does not cease,
One monotonous note

Tolled from his iron throat:

"No father, no mother,

But I have a sable brother:

He sees where ocean flows to,

And he knows what he knows, too."

A day and a night

They kept watch worn and white;

A night and a day

For the swift ship on its way:

For the Bride and her maidens,
Clear chimes the bridal cadence,
For the tall ship that never
Hove in sight forever.

On either shore, some
Stand in grief loud or dumb
As the dreadful dread

Grows certain though unsaid.
For laughter there is weeping,
And waking instead of sleeping,
And a desperate sorrow

Morrow after morrow.