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SONG OF ANGIOLA IN HEAVEN

FLOWERS that have died upon my Sweet,
Lulled by the rhythmic dancing beat
Of her young bosom under you
Now will I show you such a thing
As never through thick buds of Spring,
Betwixt the daylight and the dew,
The Bird whose being no man knows
The voice that waketh all night through,
Tells to the Rose.

For lo

a garden place I found,
Well filled of leaves, and stilled of sound,
Well flowered, with red fruit marvellous;
And 'twixt the shining trunks would flit
Tall knights and silken maids, or sit
With faces bent and amorous;
There, in the heart thereof, and crowned
With woodbine and amaracus,
My Love I found.

Alone she walked ;-ah, well I wis,
My heart leapt up for joy of this!

Then when I called to her her name
The name, that like a pleasant thing
Men's lips remember, murmuring-
At once across the sward she came ;
Full fain she seemed, my own dear maid,
And asked ever as she came,

"Where hast thou stayed ?"

"Where hast thou stayed ?" she asked, as though The long years were an hour ago;

But I spake not, nor answered,

For, looking in her eyes, I saw

A light not lit of mortal law;

And in her clear cheek's changeless red,

And sweet unshaken speaking, found

That in this place the Hours were dead,
And Time was bound.

"This is well done," she said, "in thee,
O Love, that thou art come to me,
To this green garden glorious;
Now truly shall our life be sped
In joyance and all goodlihed,

For here all things are fair to us,
And none with burden is oppressed,
And none is poor or piteous,
For here is Rest.

"No formless Future blurs the sky;
Men mourn not here with dull, dead eye,
By shrouded shapes of Yesterday;
Betwixt the Coming and the Past
The flawless life hangs fixen fast
In one unwearying To-Day,
That darkens not; for Sin is shriven,
Death from the doors is thrust away,
And here is Heaven."

At "Heaven" she ceased; and lifted up
Her fair head like a flower-cup,

With rounded mouth, and eyes aglow ;
Then set I lips to hers, and felt -
Ah, God!-the hard pain fade and melt,
And past things change to painted show;
The song of quiring birds outbroke;
The lit leaves laughed — sky shook, and lo,
I swooned - and woke.

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That without dim distress
Of tears, or weariness,

My Lady verily awaiteth me;
So that until with Her I be,
For my dear Lady's sake
I am right fain to make

Out from my pain a pillow, and to take
Grief for a golden garment unto me;
Knowing that I at last shall stand
In that green garden-land,

And in the holding of my dear Love's hand, Forget the grieving and the misery.

THE DISCOVERER

I HAVE a little kinsman

AUSTIN DOBSON.

Whose earthly summers are but three,

And yet a voyager is he

Greater than Drake or Frobisher,

Than all the peers together!

He is a brave discoverer,

And, far beyond the tether

Of them who seek the frozen Pole,

Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll.

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Since that time no word

From the absent has been heard.
Who can tell

How he fares, or answer well
What the little one has found
Since he lift us, outward-bound!
Would that he might return!
Then should we learn

From the pricking of his chart
How the skyey roadways part.
Hush! does not the baby this way bring.
To lay beside this severed curl,
Some starry offering

Of chrysolite or pearl?

Ah, no! not so!
We may follow on his track,
But he comes not back.
And yet I dare aver

He is a brave discoverer

Of climes his elders do not know.

He has more learning than appears

On the scroll of twice three thousand years;
More than in the groves is taught

Or from furthest Indies brought;

He knows, perchance, how spirits fare

What shapes the angels wear,

What is their guise and speech

In those lands beyond our reach

And his eyes behold

-

Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told.

EDMUND CLARENCE SIEDMAN,

THERE IS NO DEATH

THERE is no death! The stars go down
To rise upon some fairer shore,
And bright in heaven's jewelled crown
They shine forevermore.

There is no death. The dust we tread

Shall change beneath the summer showers To golden grain or mellow fruit

Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

The granite rocks disorganize

To feed the hungry moss they bear;
The forest leaves drink daily life
From out the viewless air.

There is no death; the leaves may fall,
The flowers may fade and pass away
They only wait through wintry hours
The coming of the May.

There is no death! An angel form
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread
He bears our best loved things away,
And then we call them "dead."

He leaves our hearts all desolate -
He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers;
Transplanted into bliss, they now
Adorn immortal bowers.

The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones
Made glad this scene of sin and strife,
Sings now in everlasting song,

Amid the tree of life.

And where he sees a smile so bright,
Of hearts too pure for taint and vice,
He bears it to that world of light,
To dwell in Paradise.

Born into that undying life,

They leave us but to come again;

With joy we welcome them

Except in sin and pain.

the same.

And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear immortal spirits tread;
For all the boundless Universe

Is life there are no dead.

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.

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NO MORE SEA

THERE shall be no more sea; no wild winds bringing
Their stormy tidings to the rocky strand,

With its scant grasses, and pale sea-flowers springing
From out the barren sand.

No angry wave, from cliff and cavern hoary,
To hearts that tremble at its mournful lore;
Bearing on shattered sail and spar the story
Of one who comes no more;

The loved and lost, whose steps no more may wander
Where wild gorse sheds its blooms of living gold,
Nor slake his thirst where mountain rills meander
Along the heathy wold.

Never again through flowery dingles wending
In the hushed stillness of the sacred morn,
By shady woodpaths where tall poppies, bending,
Redden the ripening corn.

'Neath whispering leaves his rosy children gather,
In the gray hamlet's simple place of graves,

Round the low tomb where sleeps his white-haired father,
Far from the noise of waves.

There shall be no more sea! No surges sweeping
O'er love and youth, and childhood's sunny hair;
Naught of decay and change, nor voice of weeping,
Ruffle the fragrant air.

Of that fair land within whose pearly portal

The golden light falls soft on fount and tree; Vexed by no tempest, stretch those shores immortal, When there is no more sea.

THE OTHER WORLD

Ir lies around us like a cloud
A world we do not see;
Yet the sweet closing of an eye
May bring us there to be.

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;
Amid our worldly cares
Its gentle voices whisper love,
And mingle with our prayers.

ANONYMOUS.

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