FIRST LOVE REMEMBERED.

PEACE in her chamber, wheresoe'er

It be, a holy place:

The thought still brings my soul such grace As morning meadows wear.

Whether it still be small and light,
A maid's who dreams alone,

As from her orchard-gate the moon
Its ceiling showed at night:

Or whether, in a shadow dense
As nuptial hymns invoke,
Innocent maidenhood awoke

To married innocence:

There still the thanks unheard await

The unconscious gift bequeathed;

For there my soul this hour has breathed An air inviolate.

PLIGHTED PROMISE.

In a soft-complexioned sky,

Fleeting rose and kindling gray, Have you seen Aurora fly

At the break of day?

So my maiden, so my plighted may Blushing cheek and gleaming eye Lifts to look my way.

Where the inmost leaf is stirred With the heart-beat of the grove,

Have you heard a hidden bird

Cast her note above?

So my lady, so my lovely love,

Echoing Cupid's prompted word,
Makes a tune thereof.

Have you seen. at heaven's mid-height,

In the moon-rack's ebb and tide, Venus leap forth burning white,

Dian pale and hide?

So my bright breast-jewel, so my bride,

One sweet night, when fear takes flight, Shall leap against my side.

SUDDEN LIGHT.

I HAVE been here before,

But when or how I cannot tell :

I know the grass beyond the door,

The sweet keen smell,

The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,

How long ago I may not know:

But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turned so,

Some veil did fall,-I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before ?

And shall not thus time's eddying flight

Still with our lives our loves restore

In death's despite,

And day and night yield one delight once more?

A LITTLE WHILE.

A LITTLE While a little love

The hour yet bears for thee and me Who have not drawn the veil to see If still our heaven be lit above. Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,

Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone, And I have heard the night-wind cry And deemed its speech mine own.

A little while a little love

The scattering autumn hoards for us Whose bower is not yet ruinous Nor quite unleaved our songless grove. Only across the shaken boughs

We hear the flood-tides seek the sea, And deep in both our hearts they rouse One wail for thee and me.