WHEN I REMEMBER. HEN I remember something which I had, WHE But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad, Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout; It makes me sigh to think on it but yet My days will not be better days, should I forget. When I remember something promised me, But which I never had, nor can have now, Because the promiser we no more see In countries that accord with mortal vow; When I remember this, I mourn, — but yet My happier days are not the days when I forget. COMFORT IN THE NIGHT. SHE thought by heaven's high wall that she did stray Till she beheld the everlasting gate; And she climbed up to it to long, and wait, It opened; there fell out a thread of light, REGRET. THAT word Regret ! There have been nights and morns when we have sighed, "Let us alone, Regret! We are content To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep We did amiss when we did wish it gone That we have wept. But O! this thread of gold, LOVE'S THREAD OF GOLD. We would not have it tarnish; let us turn HAPPY years are short. LOVE. 61 WHO veileth love should first have vanquished fate. She folded up the dream in her deep heart, Her fair full lips were silent on that smart, Thick fringed eyes did on the grasses wait. What good? One eloquent blush, but one, and straight The meaning of a life was known; for art Is often foiled in playing nature's part, And time holds nothing long inviolate. Earth's buried seed springs up - slowly, or fast: LOVE'S THREAD OF GOLD. N the night she told a story, IN In the night and all night through, 'T was my life she told, and round it In the night I saw her weaving I must weep But your name did lend it glory, And your love its thread of gold. WE FAILURE. E are much bound to them that do succeed: But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound To such as fail. They all our loss expound; They comfort us for work that will not speed, And life itself a failure. Ay, his deed, Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound, Therefore the worse? Ah, no! so much to dare, LOVE AND PEACE. He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne. He pours out love's disconsolate sweet moan 63 ONE LOVE AND PEACE. NE morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, hear the story! "Hear the story, And the lark sang, "Give us glory!" Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove; When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty! When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!" She made answer, "Give us love!" Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved: Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase, |