WITH LOVE DEAD.

Say what to me forsooth is praise, what blame
When thou, my only dearest love, art dead,
And what the sweet loud passing breath of fame,
When thou, my loveliest love, hast drooped thine

head?

And what this living rush of hearts to me?
I gently move, yea, hand in hand with Death
Whose love to me must ever, ever be,

Though she be pale and all devoid of breath,
Yet giving me imaginings so sweet,

I am amazed, if more I loved my Love

When meeting hearts in unison could beat

And loving breath with form of words could move; Then wonder melts to sadness once again,

At her strange look my doubt has turned to pain.

MY LOVE.

My love is fair as is the first blush rose,
My love is still as is the ocean deep,

Within her heart all worthy knowledge glows,
And sin with her is as unconscious sleep;

My love has eyes, how piercing calm and clear!
At home in heaven, love's beauteous face they see,
And then give joy to me without a fear

When sad and weary from the world I flee;

My love is great as mighty queens have been,
And is a queen by force of strongest love,

Her kingdom heaven's own blue and earth's sweet

green,

Great seas, and force that all true men shall move;

If thou dost meet my love I pray thee know
Our God hath made one only loved one so.

LOVE'S SEASON.

The snow-drops sword-like pierce the lagging

snows,

The Winter dies with blessings on the Spring, The violet sweet, which Love himself well knows, Is lost with Summer blue-bells welcoming;

And when dear hand extends to reach the brier, (Clear type of love, with flower and scent and

sting)

The white and blue are melted in that fire
To which the world is duly minist'ring,
By sacred home and altar day and night :-
Our smallest thoughts are writ in silent verse,
Upon the eyes of each, with heaven for light;
Nor can we weary whilst we these rehearse,
And though the flowers have passed to one red leaf,
Love's summer lingers long, its snows are brief.

SANS PEUR.

Like as a sweet child near the moving sea,
Bends downward on his frail new world of sand,
Happy if but within his walls may be,
Ever so little sky or ocean-strand,

Enough to move the heart to tuneful joy,-
So we the children of a larger build

May note with no unkindly smile, the boy
Who with imagination life can gild

So clear and fair since all unknown is death.

Yet startled we ourselves become with bliss

When Love is heard to breathe this sweetest breath, "Brim full ye loved ones be of happy kiss Ere Spring pass by," but pitiless the wave,

My Love, that makes of children's joys a grave.

THE WRECK.

How long the storm may last, the west wind blow! The wreck how long endure the angry waves! How long, my Love, shalt thou me grieving know! But as a captain every terror braves,

So steadfast I, in spite of wind and wave, Cling near to love's last memory of Love :'Tis easy thus the elements to brave,

And so defy their potency to move,

When thou art felt beloved and near to me :
But Love, each wave is pitiless and throws
With greed sad food to all-devouring sea;

The masts and shrouds are gone, and now who knows

If vessel shattered so can brave the storm ?

Yet thou might'st take a saving angel's form.