Ye stars, more swiftly wheel O'er earth's still breast; More wildly plunge and reel In the dim west! The earth is lone and lorn, Till the glad day be born, Till with the happy morn She comes to me.

TO FLORA.

When April woke the drowsy flowers, And vagrant odours thronged the breeze, And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, And daisies flashed along the leas, And faint arbutus strove among Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise, And nature's sweetly jubilant song Went murmuring up the sunny skies, Into this cheerful world you came, And gained by right your vernal name.

I think the springs have changed of late, For "Arctics" are my daily wear, The skies are turned to cold grey slate, And zephyrs are but draughts of air; But you make up whate'er we lack, When we, too rarely, come together, More potent than the almanac, You bring the ideal April weather; When you are with us we defy The blustering air, the lowering sky; In spite of winter's icy darts, We've spring and sunshine in our hearts.

In fine, upon this April day, This deep conundrum I will bring: Tell me the two good reasons, pray, I have, to say you are like spring?

[You give it up?] Because we love you - And see so very little of you.

A HAUNTED ROOM.

In the dim chamber whence but yesterday Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand; And haunting Loves fluttering on every hand Whisper her praises who is far away. A thousand delicate fancies glance and play On every object which her robes have fanned, And tenderest thoughts and hopes bloom and expand In the sweet memory of her beauty's ray. Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace Of all the loveliness once mirrored there, The clustering glory of the shadowy hair That framed so well the dear young angel face! But no, it shows my own face, full of care, And my heart is her beauty's dwelling place.

DREAMS.

I love a woman tenderly, But cannot know if she loves me. I press her hand, her lips I kiss, But still love's full assurance miss. Our waking life for ever seems Cleft by a veil of doubt and dreams.

But love and night and sleep combine In dreams to make her wholly mine. A sure love lights her eyes' deep blue, Her hands and lips are warm and true. Always the fact unreal seems, And truth I find alone in dreams.

THE LIGHT OF LOVE.

Each shining light above us Has its own peculiar grace; But every light of heaven Is in my darling's face.

For it is like the sunlight, So strong and pure and warm, That folds all good and happy things, And guards from gloom and harm.

And it is like the moonlight, So holy and so calm; The rapt peace of a summer night, When soft winds die in balm.

And it is like the starlight; For, love her as I may, She dwells still lofty and serene In mystery far away.

QUAND MEME.

I strove, like Israel, with my youth, And said, "Till thou bestow Upon my life Love's joy and truth, I will not let thee go."

And sudden on my night there woke The trouble of the dawn; Out of the east the red light broke, To broaden on and on.

And now let death be far or nigh, Let fortune gloom or shine, I cannot all untimely die, For love, for love is mine.

My days are tuned to finer chords, And lit by higher suns; Through all my thoughts and all my words A purer purpose runs.

The blank page of my heart grows rife With wealth of tender lore; Her image, stamped upon my life, Gives value evermore.

She is so noble, firm, and true, I drink truth from her eyes, As violets gain the heaven's own blue In gazing at the skies.

No matter if my hands attain The golden crown or cross; Only to love is such a gain That losing is not loss.

And thus whatever fate betide Of rapture or of pain, If storm or sun the future hide, My love is not in vain.

So only thanks are on my lips; And through my love I see My earliest dreams, like freighted ships, Come sailing home to me.

WORDS.

When violets were springing And sunshine filled the day, And happy birds were singing The praises of the May, A word came to me, blighting The beauty of the scene, And in my heart was winter, Though all the trees were green.

Now down the blast go sailing The dead leaves, brown and sere; The forests are bewailing The dying of the year; A word comes to me, lighting With rapture all the air, And in my heart is summer, Though all the trees are bare.

THE STIRRUP-CUP.

My short and happy day is done, The long and dreary night comes on; And at my door the Pale Horse stands, To carry me to unknown lands.