But hither and thither all is vain, It flies in the darkness, and seeks for you.

Back in the morning, drenched with rain, The poor thing cometh with never a clue.

But all night long the rain falls down, Like a poor crazed thing that has lost its way, Through the forest and through the town It searches for you till the break of day.

A MAN'S GOOD-BYE

Do you think, dear, as you say Such a light good-bye to-day, That this parting time may be Mayhaps less to you, than me?

What a wonder of surprise Looks out from your sunny eyes.

'Just a nice acquaintance.' So We have called it, dear, I know.

Now you end it with a word, While my inmost soul is stirred.

No--you cannot understand.

But, dear, as I touch your hand,

Listening to your light good-bye, All a man's roused pa.s.sions cry Like a tiger, stirred, at bay.

Oh! you draw your hand away.

'I've no right to speak so?' Pray Was it _your_ right day by day By your sweet coquettish arts To invade my heart of hearts?

It is death to let you go.

You will hate me, dear, I know; But I swear, ere you go hence, I will have some recompense.

For those fires you lit in vain, Cheeks and lips shall bear the stain Of my kisses till you die.

Go now! this is my good-bye.

AT THE HOP

'Tis time to dress. Dost hear the music surging Like sobbing waves that roll up from the sea?

Yes, yes, I hear--I yield--no need of urging; I know your wishes,--send Lisette to me.

I hate the ballroom; hate its gilded pleasure; I hate the crowd within it, well you know; But what of that? I am your lawful treasure-- And when you would display me I must go.

You bought me with a mother's pain and trouble.

I've been a great expense to you alway.

And now, if you can sell me, and get double The sum I cost--why, what have I to say?

You've done your duty: kept me in the fashion, And shown me off at every stylish place.

'Twas not your fault I had a heart of pa.s.sion; 'Twas not your fault I ever _saw_ his face.

The dream was brief, and beautiful, and tender, (O G.o.d! to live those golden hours once more.

The silver moonlight, and his dark eyes' splendour, The sky above us, and the sea before.)

Come, come, Lisette, bring out those royal laces; To-night must make the victory complete.

Among the crowd of masked and smiling faces, I'll move with laughter, and with smiles most sweet.

Make me most fair! with youth and grace and beauty, I needs must conquer bloated age and gold.

She shall not say I have not done my duty; I'm ready now--a daughter to be sold!

MET

How odd and strange seems our meeting Like a grim rendezvous of the dead.

All day I have sat here repeating The commonplace things that we said.

They sounded so oddly when uttered-- They sound just as odd to me now; _Was_ it we, or our two ghosts who muttered Last evening, with simper and bow?

I had grown used to living without you.

In revel and concert and ball, I had flown from much thinking about you, And your picture I turned to the wall.

For to call back the dream that was broken, To fancy your hand on my hair, To remember the words we had spoken, Was madness, and gall, and despair.

I knew I could never forget you; But I wanted to put you away.

And now, just to think how I met you-- It has seemed like a nightmare all day.

We two with our record of pa.s.sion, We two who have been as one heart, To meet in that calm, quiet fashion, And chat for a moment and part.

We two who remember such blisses Not heaven itself can eclipse, We two who had kissed with the kisses That draw out the soul through the lips, We two who have known the ideal, The rare perfect love in its might-- Nay, nay, they were ghosts, and not real, Who met, and who parted, last night.

They were ghosts, unprepared for the meeting; 'Twas a chance rendezvous of the dead; And all day I sit here repeating The odd sounding words that were said.

RETURNED BIRDS

My heart to-day is like a southern wood, Through summer months it has been drunk with heat; And slumbered on unmindful of the beat Of life beyond it: sleep alone seemed good.

Now milder Autumn's tints are in the sky; The fervid heats of summer noons depart; And backward to the old haunts in my heart The golden robins and the blue birds fly.

I hear the flutter of their airy wings, They flock about the Spring's deserted nest, And suddenly I feel within my breast The stirring of sweet half-forgotten things.

Bright sunny mornings--golden growing hours-- The building of glad birds among the trees; Wide open windows and the kindly breeze Bringing the perfume of half-open flowers.

A blithe face at the window fair with truth; A mellow laugh that falls like silver spray; Down through the sunlight of the perfect day, Ecstatic hopes, that bud with Spring and Youth.

The morning time grew rank with summer blight; The birds flew northward, fresher fields to find; And in our hearts we closed the folding blind, While drooping blossoms withered in the light.

The fair face at the window could not stay; The laugh grew weary, with a minor strain That borders on the foreign realm of pain, And hopes that blossomed, ripened to decay.

Come, happy birds, and sing of vanished joy, Of that sweet Spring for ever pa.s.sed away; No winter lies between us and that day.