There was an old boy, with a new coat and breeches,
Who jumped over fences and tumbled in ditches,
While the mud and the mire spattered higher and higher,
Till he went to the fire, and, as he grew drier,
Burnt great holes in his new coat and breeches.

Historic lights athwart thy brow are cast;
And while I gaze on thee, from night's profound,
Bright forms, starry crown'd, come crowding round,
Their lucid outlines gleaming thro' the past.
'Twas with such eyes, the sorceress of Nile
Ambition charmed to rest in Cæsar's heart,
And if Scotch Mary, playing foulest part,
Subdued men's reason, 'twas with such a smile.

See that thy beauty be no fatal dower,
Nor dull the heart, nor deaden the swift mind—
Beauty,—not certain for a single hour,—
The dazzling bird of youth no cord can bind:

My dream-fruit tree a palace bore
In stone's reality,
And friends and treasure, art and lore,
Came in to dwell with me.

But palaces for gods are made;
I shrank to man, or less;
Gold-barriered, yet chill, afraid,
My soul shook shelterless.

I found a cottage in a wood,
Warmed by a hearth and maid,
And fed and slept, and said 'twas good,—
Ah, love-nest in the shade!

The walls grew close, the roof pressed low,
Soft arms my jailers were;
My naked soul arose to go,
And shivered bright and bare.

Topple the house down, wind;
Break it and tear it, rain;
She is not within,
Nor will come again.

That not even her ghost
Will know it for her own;—
Topple it into dust;
Tear it bone from bone.

When I reach my room at night
I shut the door upon the day,
The noise of conflict dies away,
And presently a little light
Burns in my heart and fills the room,
Dispelling gloom.

My clothes of care are laid aside,
My hands are cleansed of stain of soil,
I shake my feet from dust of toil,
The doubts of day are scattered wide,
And I hear the inner voice of peace
Bid tumults cease.

Then is the hour of silent song,
The sweet communion that is prayer,
When angels of Good Thoughts draw near—
A healing and a happy throng;

He said, one spring, that ere the days
Grew warm, and summer twilights long,
And roses set the world ablaze,
And every bird had learned its song—

Ere fields with scented ferns were sweet,
And lily petals all uncurled—
That he would teach a heart to beat
For him alone of all the world.

But when the rose had bloomed and blushed,
And silence followed the birds' tune,
He gave the heart back, torn and crushed,
That learned to love too soon.

I am sitting sad and lonely
Where I've often sat before,
And I am musing, fondly musing
Of my Florence who pass'd o'er.
Pass'd into the realms supernal,
Far 'bove cloud-lands lofty height;
Yonder 'mid the fields Elysian,
Dwells my “Flor” 'mong saints of light.

'Twas when autumn leaves were falling,
'Twas when harvest days had come,
That, King Death, the mighty reaper,
Came to take my darling home.
When the winds were softly sighing,
Zephyrs breathing low and deep,
Lulled to rest by such sweet music,
My bright treasure fell asleep.

Oh listen while I sing to thee,
My song is meant for thee alone;
My thought imparts its melody,
And gives the soft impassioned tone.

I sing of joy, and see thy smile
That to the swelling note replies;
I sing of love, and feel the while
The gaze of thy love-beaming eyes.

If thou wert far, my voice would die
In murmurs faint and sorrowing;
If thou wert fake—in agony
My heart would break, I could not sing.

Then listen while I sing to thee,
My song is meant for thee alone;
And now that thou art near to me

Splendid breasts—
there is a mosquito.

Three little girls were on the temple-stair
Waiting for worship at the inner shrine:
Their tiny hands betrayed a hidden sign
Of weariness, devoid of strength to bear
Their wealth of luscious fruit and offerings rare—
But still they stood. “What shall the Gods assign
To crown your lives?” I asked, “what blessings fine
Will cheer with happiness your faces fair?”
“A mass of glittering jewels,” said one child,
“Bracelet and necklace, shining gold waistband
And pearl ear-drop.” “Fine robes of richest lace
And gayest foam-spun silk,” another willed.