Not to thee, Bedford, mournful is the tale
Of days departed. Time in his career
Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
Hath past unheeded onward. To the vale
Of years thou journeyest; may the future road
Be pleasant as the past; and on my friend
Friendship and Love, best blessings, still attend,
Till full of days he reach the calm abode
Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
Of virtue: with such reverence we behold
The silver hairs, as some gray oak grown old
That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage,
Now like a monument of strength decay'd,

Nothing comes
from him,
not so much as a note
asking,
“Do you remember
the pledge of love
we made?”—
so distant has he become.

Now I no longer wait my love to tell,
As 't were a weakness love should not commit;
E'en did avowal my fond hope dispel,
My passion would of weakness me acquit.
Enamoured thus and holden by its spell,
Evasive words disloyal were, unfit
To emphasize the exquisite happiness
My boldest accents falteringly express;
Here, take my hand, and, life-long wedded, lead
Me by thy side; and, with my hand, my heart
Given thee long since in thought, given now in deed;
My life, my love, shall play no faithless part.
Blest be that hour, when, meeting face to face,

No more the slow stream spreading clear in sunlight
Lacing the swamp with intricate shining channels
Patterned by wind and the dipping tall marsh grasses:

No more the mica glint in the sliding water
The bright-winged flies and the muskrat gone like a shadow
No more the curved trout breaking concentric silver:

Now the basalt cliffs and the yellow foam in the eddies
Now the strong brown water boiling deeply from under
Now the log abutment left where the bridge has fallen:

O the slow stream lovely, lovely no more in sunlight:

I DO forgive you for the pain I bear,
Though bitter pain is mingled with my bliss;
For still I think, while thrilling to your kiss,
“He found that other woman much more fair.”
I read your words, and see, immortal there,
Another love—how warm it was to this!
And know that from my face you still must miss
The beauty that another used to wear.

Yet I forgive you, Dear, and bow my head
To Destiny, my master and your own,—
He sets the way wherein my feet must tread;
And if he give me nothing quite mine own,—
I know some day my heart, so sore bested,

Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,
Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,
Let our flight be far in sun or windy rain—
But what if I heard my first love calling me again?

Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,
Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;
Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door—
But what if I heard my first love calling me once more?

Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,
Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,

Sweet day, sun-born, dew-kist,
Noontide of gold
And sunset amethyst,
Shades that enfold
The whispering light,
Hushed, star-eyed night—
'Twas such a day as this,
With glory-morn,
When, out of viewless bliss,
You, Love, were born.

Night's sun-expectant hush,
Earth's wonder-dawn,
Shy daybreak's beauty-blush,
The shadows gone;
All are bedight
With joy-thrilled light,
Nor is it strange, I wis,
This rare, sweet morn,
That on a day like this,
You, Love, were born.

Again I bring you violets——
by your imperious request.
Again I bring you violets,
that you may wear them at your breast.
I pray you wear them at your breast.

Again I bring you violets.
Again I wait outside your door.
Again I kiss the violets,
even as I would you once more——
you, you, and you alone, once more.

Love, will you touch the flowers once,
although with playful fingertips,
and just for once, if only once,
play that the flowers are my lips——
play that your own lips touch my lips?

Love, should you touch the exotic flowers

Joy! Joy! Infinite joy!
Wild as the fire in the heart of a boy;
Clean as the soul of the laughing breeze;
Pure as the heart of the dryad trees!

The sky is mine, the earth is mine,
The air and the sea and all that is;
But when I shall pass I shall walk divine
In ways more starry fair than this!

I say I have lived in a joyous world;
Where every loving dream comes true;
With comfort and plenty around me curled;
Where every moment is fresh and new.

It's great!—this life on the hills of Time,—
To follow the gleam and still endure,

Precious thought, my Father knoweth,
In His love I rest;
For whate'er my Father doeth
Must be always best.
Well I know the heart that planneth,
Nought but good for me;
Joy and sorrow interwoven;
Love in all I see.

Precious thought, my Father knoweth,
Careth for His child;
Bids me nestle closer to Him
When the storm beats wild.
Tho' my earthly hopes are shattered,
And the tear drops fall,
Yet He is Himself my solace,
Yea, my Friend, my all.

Oh, to trust Him then more fully,
Just to simply move
In the conscious, calm enjoyment