If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud,

And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

Perhaps my secret I may say,

Or you may guess.

ANOTHER SPRING.

IF I might see another Spring

I'd not plant summer flowers and wait:

I'd have my crocuses at once,

My leafless pink mezereons,

My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet

My white or azure violet,

Leaf-nested primrose; anything

To blow at once not late.

If I might see another Spring

I'd listen to the daylight birds

That build their nests and pair and sing,

Nor wait for mateless nightingale ;

I'd listen to the lusty herds,

The ewes with lambs as white as snow,

I'd find out music in the hail

And all the winds that blow.

If I might see another Spring-
Oh stinging comment on my past
That all my past results in "if".
If I might see another Spring
I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief ;
I would not wait for anything:
I'd use to-day that cannot last,
Be glad to-day and sing.

A PEAL OF BELLS.

STRIKE the bells wantonly,

Tinkle tinkle well;

Bring me wine, bring me flowers,

Ring the silver bell.

All my lamps burn scented oil,

Hung on laden orange trees,

Whose shadowed foliage is the foil
To golden lamps and oranges.

Heap my golden plates with fruit,

Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe ;

Strike the bells and breathe the pipe ;

Shut out showers from summer hours

Silence that complaining lute

Shut out thinking, shut out pain,

From hours that cannot come again.

Strike the bells solemnly,

Ding dong deep:

My friend is passing to his bed,

Fast asleep;

There's plaited linen round his head,

While foremost go his feet

His feet that cannot carry him.

My feast's a show, my lights are dim;

Be still, your music is not sweet,— There is no music more for him :

His lights are out, his feast is done;

His bowl that sparkled to the brim
Is drained, is broken, cannot hold ;
My blood is chill, his blood is cold;

His death is full, and mine begun.