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At sunset, as I calmly stand,

A stranger on an alien strand,

Familiar as my childhood's home
Seems the long stretch of wave and foam.
One sails toward me o'er the bay,
And what he comes to do and say
I can foretell. A prescient lore
Springs from some life outlived of yore.
O swift, instinctive, startling gleams
Of deep soul-knowledge! not as dreams
For aye ye vaguely dawn and die,
But oft with lightning certainty

Pierce through the dark, oblivious brain,
To make old thoughts and memories plain -
Thoughts which perchance must travel back
Across the wild, bewildering track

Of countless æons; memories far,
High-reaching as yon pallid star,

Unknown, scarce seen, whose flickering grace
Faints on the outmost rings of space!

PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE.

THE PASSIONATE READER TO HIS POET

DOTH it not thrill thee, Poet,

Dead and dust though thou art,

To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?

Take it at night to my pillow,
Kiss it before I sleep,

And again when the delicate morning
Beginneth to peep?

See how I bathe thy pages

Here in the light of the sun;
Through thy leaves, as a wind among roses,
The breezes shall run.

Feel how I take thy poem

And bury within it my face,

As I press'd it last night in the heart of a flower,

Or deep in a dearer place.

Think, as I love thee, Poet,

A thousand love beside,

Dear women love to press thee too
Against a sweeter side.

Art thou not happy, Poet?

I sometimes dream that I For such a fragrant fame as thine Would gladly sing and die.

Say, wilt thou change thy glory

For this same youth of mine? And I will give my days i' the sun For that great song of thine.

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.

AN OLD MAN'S IDYL

By the waters of Life we sat together,
Hand in hand, in the golden days
Of the beautiful early summer weather,

When skies were purple and breath was praise,
When the heart kept tune to the carol of birds,
And the birds kept tune to the songs which ran
Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards,
And trees with voices Eolian.

By the rivers of Life we walk'd together,
I and my darling, unafraid;

And lighter than any linnet's feather

The burdens of being on us weigh'd; And Love's sweet miracles o'er us threw Mantles of joy outlasting time,

And up

from the rosy morrows grew

A sound that seem'd like a marriage chime.

In the gardens of Life we stray'd together,
And the luscious apples were ripe and red,
And the languid lilac and honey'd heather
Swoon'd with the fragrance which they shed;
And under the trees the angel walk'd,
And up in the air a sense of wings
Awed us tenderly while we talk'd
Softly in sacred communings.

In the meadows of Life we stray'd together,
Watching the waving harvests grow,

And under the benison of the Father

Our hearts, like the lambs, skipp'd to and fro;
And the cowslips, hearing our low replies,
Broider'd fairer the emerald banks,

And glad tears shone in the daisies' eyes,
And the timid violet glisten'd thanks.

Who was with us, and what was round us,
Neither myself nor my darling guess'd;
Only we knew that something crown'd us
Out from the heavens with crowns of rest;
Only we knew that something bright
Linger'd lovingly where we stood,
Clothed with the incandescent light
Of something higher than humanhood.
Oh, the riches love doth inherit !
Oh, the alchemy which doth change
Dross of body and dregs of spirit
Into sanctities rare and strange!
My flesh is feeble, and dry, and old,
My darling's beautiful hair is gray;
But our elixir and precious gold
Laugh at the footsteps of decay.

Harms of the world have come unto us,
Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain;
But we have a secret which doth show us
Wonderful rainbows in the rain,

And we hear the tread of the years move by,
And the sun is setting behind the hills;
But my darling does not fear to die,

And I am happy in what God wills.
So we sit by our household fires together,
Dreaming the dreams of long ago;
Then it was balmy, sunny weather,
And now the valleys are laid in snow ;
Icicles hang from the slippery eaves,

The wind blows cold,

't is growing late ; Well, well! we have garner'd all our sheaves,

I and my darling, and we wait.

RICHARD REALF.

THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH *

THERE are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain:
But when youth, the dream, departs,
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.

We are stronger, and are better,

Under manhood's sterner reign:
Still we feel that something sweet

* From "The Poetical Writings of Richard Henry Stoddard"; copyright, 1880,

by Charles Scribner's Sons.

Follow'd youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.
Something beautiful is vanish'd,
And we sigh for it in vain :
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air,

But it never comes again.

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.

SOME DAY OF DAYS

SOME day, some day of days, threading the street
With idle, heedless pace,
Unlooking for such grace

I shall behold your face!

Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet.
Perchance the sun may shine from skies of May,
Or winter's icy chill

Touch whitely vale and hill.

What matter? I shall thrill

Through every vein with summer on that day.

Once more life's perfect youth will all come back,
And for a moment there

I shall stand fresh and fair,
And drop the garment care;

Once more my perfect youth will nothing lack.
I shut my eyes now, thinking how 't will be

How face to face each soul

Will slip its long control,

Forget the dismal dole

Of dreary Fate's dark, separating sea;

And glance to glance, and hand to hand in greeting,

The past with all its fears,

Its silences and tears,

Its lonely, yearning years,

Shall vanish in the moment of that meeting.

NORA PERRY.

"DISTANCE LENDS ENCHANTMENT"

THE sails we see on the ocean
Are as white as white can be ;
But never a one in the harbor

Is as white as the sails at sea.

And the clouds that crown the mountain
With purple and gold delight

Turn to cold gray mist and vapor
Ere ever we reach the height.
O distance, thou dear enchanter,
Still hold in thy magic veil
The glory of far-off mountains,
The gleam of the far-off sail.
Hide in thy robes of splendor,
O mountain, cold and gray;
O sail, in thy snowy whiteness,
Come not into port, I pray!

A BOOK

ANONYMOUS.

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;

He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days;
And this bequest of wings

Was but a book. What liberty

A loosen'd spirit brings!

EMILY DICKINSON.

THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES

THE night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole life dies

When love is done.

FRANCIS W. BOURDILLON.

SLEEPING AND DREAMING

I SOFTLY sink into the bath of sleep;
With eyelids shut, I see around me close
The mottled, violet vapors of the deep,
That wraps me in repose.

I float all night in the ethereal sea

That drowns my pain and weariness in balm,

Careless of where its currents carry me,

Or settle into calm.

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