I SAW a mother holding
Her play-worn baby son,
Her pliant arms enfolding
The drooping little one.

Her lips were made of sweetness,
And sweet the eyes above;
With infantile completeness
He yielded to her love.

And I who saw the heaving
Of breast to dimpling cheek,
Have felt, within, the weaving
Of thoughts I cannot speak;

Have felt myself the nestling,
All strengthless, love-enisled;
Have felt myself the mother
Abrood above her child.

TO-DAY a Singer is dead whose silence grieves
A distant Nation towering great and strong.
What hath he done that earns her love? He leaves
America's air the sweeter for his song.

What doom is this, I fain would know,
That deemeth by all contraries:
What God, whether He be high or low,
Now would I learn some warranties.
Some say the blinded God above,
Is He that worketh all by love,
But He that stirreth strife, the truth to tell,
I always feel, but know not well.

Some say Alectis with her mates
Are they which breedeth all anoy,
Who sit like hags in hellish gates,
And seek still whom they may destroy.
Some say again 'tis destiny,


But how it comes, or what it is,
I let it pass before I miss.

AS WEET CONTENTION BETWEEN L OVE, HIS Mistress AND B EAUTY

L OVE and my Mistress were at strife
Who had the greatest power on me;
Betwixt them both, oh, what a life!
Nay, what a death is this to be!

She said, she did it with her eye;
He said, he did it with his dart;
Betwixt them both (Asilly wretch!)
'Tis I that have the wounded heart

She said, she only spake the word
That did enchant my peering sense;
He said, he only gave the sound
That enter'd heart without defence

*****

In loving arms enraptured rest,
Ye whom the joys of life enthral;
A single glance my lot hath blest,
Yet makes me rich beyond you all!

The joys of earth I hold but light,
And, like the martyr, upward gaze;
For o'er me in the distance bright
Its open portals heav'n displays.

In truth is trust, distrust not then my truthe
Let vertue liue. I aske no greater love;
Of suche regarde, repentance not ensuthe,
And hope of heavne doth highest hono r p've.

In truthe sume time it was a sweete conceite
To see how loue and life dyd dwell togeth er ;
But now in truthe there is so muche deceite
That truth in deede is gone I know not whether.

Yitt liueth truthe and hath her secrett loue,

J USI as the dawn of Love was breaking
Across the weary world of grey,
Just as my life once more was waking
As roses waken late in May,
Fate, blindly cruel and havoc-making,
Stepped in and carried you away.

Memories have I none in keeping
Of times I held you near my heart,
Of dreams when we were near to weeping
That dawn should bid us rise and part;
Never, alas, I saw you sleeping
With soft closed eyes and lips apart,

Breathing my name still through your dreaming. —
Ah! had you stayed, such things had been!

Oh , that my blood were water, thou athirst,
And thou and I in some far Desert land,
How would I shed it gladly, if but first
It touched thy lips, before it reached the sand.

Once, — Ah, the Gods were good to me, — I threw
Myself upon a poison snake, that crept
Where my Beloved — a lesser love we knew
Than this which now consumes me wholly — slept.

But thou; Alas, what can I do for thee?
By Fate, and thine own beauty, set above
The need of all or any aid from me,
ToOhigh for service, as too far for love.

Weep not, my Bride! to be my bride,
Say not that love is o'er,
That joy with maiden-hood has died,
And thou'lt be wooed no more!
I'll love thee, husband like, my bride,
And like a lover woo beside!

The roebuck loves the mountain steep,
The cushat loves the glen,
The eagle loves his craggy keep,
Her russet hedge the wren:
But dearer far I'll love my bride,
Whatever weal or woe betide!

The wild bee loves the heather-bell,
The blossom loves the tree,
The daisy loves the spring-time well,