And hears the nightingale That sadly sings. Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed over brow and breast; Her face is toward the west, The purple land. She cannot see the grain Ripening on hill and plain; She cannot feel the rain Upon her hand. Rest, rest, for evermore Upon a mossy shore; Rest, rest at the heart's core Till time shall cease: Sleep that no pain shall wake, Night that no morn shall break Till joy shall overtake Her perfect peace. AT HOME. WHEN I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each. I listened to their honest chat: Said one: "To-morrow we shall be Plod plod along the featureless sands And coasting miles and miles of sea." Said one: "Before the turn of tide We will achieve the eyrie-seat." Said one: "To-morrow shall be like To-day, but much more sweet.” "To-morrow," said they, strong with hope, And dwelt upon the pleasant way: To-morrow," cried they one and all, Their life stood full at blessed noon; I shivered comfortless, but cast No chill across the tablecloth; I all-forgotten shivered, sad To stay and yet to part how loth : I passed from the familiar room, I who from love had passed away, Like the remembrance of a guest That tarrieth but a day. A TRIAD. SONNET. THREE sang of love together one with lips Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow, Flushed to the yellow hair and finger tips; And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show; And one was blue with famine after love, Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low The burden of what those were singing of. One shamed herself in love; one temperately Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife; One famished died for love. Thus two of three All on the threshold, yet all short of life. LOVE FROM THE NORTH, I HAD a love in soft south land, Beloved through April far in May; He waited on my lightest breath, And never dared to say me nay. He saddened if my cheer was sad, But gay he. grew if I was gay; We never differed on a hair, My yes his yes, my nay his nay. The wedding hour was come, the aisles Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; I pacing balanced in my thoughts: "It's quite too late to think of nay.”— |