BY THE WICKET-GATE.

I ROSE up, and, following her dark eyes,
Felt earth as air beneath me, till I reach'd
The wicket-gate, and found her standing
there.

There sat we down upon a garden-mound,
Two mutually enfolded; Love, the third,
Between us, in the circle of his arms
Enwound us both; and over many a range
Of waning lime the grey cathedral towers,
Across a hazy glimmer of the mist,
Reveal'd the shining windows: from them
clash'd

The bells we listen'd: with the time we play'd:

We spoke of other things; we coursed about The subject most at heart, more near and

near.

Then, in that time and place, I spoke to her,
Requiring, tho' I knew it was mine own,
Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear,

Requiring at her hand the greatest gift,
A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved;
And in that time and place she answer'd
me,

And in the compass of three little words,
More musical than ever came in one,
The silver fragments of a broken voice,
Made me most happy, faltering "I am thine."
Tennyson.

THE LOVERS' MEETING.

IN the glinting of the gloaming, With its streaks of golden red, With its gathering purple curtains, With the evening star o'erhead;

Like a silver gem instudded

On a bank of velvet black, Showing in the amber setting, Of the dying daylight's track,