Her Dwelling-Place

I pace the sunny bowers alone

Where naught of her remains but stone.

Sing low-where is Diane?

Diane does not remember.

Helen Hay Whitney [18

ASLEEP

ΙΙΟΙ

He knelt beside her pillow in the dead watch of the night, And he heard her gentle breathing, but her face was still and

white,

And on her poor, wan cheek a tear told how the heart can

weep,

And he said, "My love was weary-God bless her! she's

asleep."

He knelt beside her grave-stone in the shuddering autumn

night,

And he heard the dry grass rustle, and his face was thin and

white,

And through his heart the tremor ran of grief that cannot

weep,

And he said, "My love was weary-God bless her! she's

asleep."

William Winter [1836

HER DWELLING-PLACE

AMID the fairest things that grow
My lady hath her dwelling-place;
Where runnels flow, and frail buds blow
As shy and pallid as her face.

The wild, bright creatures of the wood
About her fearless flit and spring;

To light her dusky solitude

Comes April's earliest offering.

The calm Night from her urn of rest

Pours downward an unbroken stream;

All day upon her mother's breast

My lady lieth in a dream.

Love could not chill her low, soft bed
With any sad memorial stone;
He put a red rose at her head-
A flame as fragrant as his own.
Ada Foster Murray [18

THE WIFE FROM FAIRYLAND

HER talk was all of woodland things,
Of little lives that pass
Away in one green afternoon,
Deep in the haunted grass;

For she had come from fairyland,
The morning of a day

When the world that still was April

Was turning into May.

Green leaves and silence and two eyes—

'Twas so she seemed to me,

A silver shadow of the woods,
Whisper and mystery.

I looked into her woodland eyes,
And all my heart was hers,
And then I led her by the hand
Home up my marble stairs;

And all my granite and my gold
Was hers for her green eyes,
And all my sinful heart was hers
From sunset to sunrise;

I gave her all delight and ease
That God had given to me,
I listened to fulfil her dreams,
Rapt with expectancy.

But all I gave, and all I did,
Brought but a weary smile
Of gratitude upon her face;
As though a little while,

In the Fall o' Year

She loitered in magnificence

Of marble and of gold,
And waited to be home again
When the dull tale was told.

Sometimes, in the chill galleries,
Unseen, she deemed, unheard,
I found her dancing like a leaf
And singing like a bird.

So lone a thing I never saw
In lonely earth or sky,
So merry and so sad a thing,
One sad, one laughing, eye.

There came a day when on her heart
A wildwood blossom lay,
And the world that still was April
Was turning into May.

In the green eyes I saw a smile

That turned my heart to stone:
My wife that came from fairyland
No longer was alone.

For there had come a little hand
To show the green way home,

1103

Home through the leaves, home through the dew, Home through the greenwood-home.

Richard Le Gallienne [1866

IN THE FALL O' YEAR

I WENT back an old-time lane

In the fall o' year,

There was wind and bitter rain
And the leaves were sere.

Once the birds were lilting high

In a far-off May-
I remember, you and I

Were as glad as they.

But the branches now are bare
And the lad you knew,
Long ago was buried there—

Long ago, with you!

Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882

THE ROSARY

THE hours I spent with thee, dear heart,
Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
My rosary.

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,
To still a heart in absence wrung;
I tell each bead unto the end and there
A cross is hung.

Oh memories that bless-and burn!
Oh barren gain—and bitter loss!

I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn
To kiss the cross,

Sweetheart,

To kiss the cross.

Robert Cameron Rogers [1862-1912]

LOVE'S FULFILMENT

"MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART"

From the "Arcadia"

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven:
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own,

I cherish his, because in me it bides.

His heart his wound received from my sight;
My heart was wounded from his wounded heart;
For as from me, on him his hurt did light,

So still me thought in me his heart did smart:
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Philip Sidney [1554-1586]

SONG

O SWEET delight, O more than human bliss,

With her to live that ever loving is!

To hear her speak whose words are so well placed

That she by them, as they in her are graced:
Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye,
How blest is he that may so live and die!

Such love as this the Golden Times did know,
When all did reap, yet none took care to sow;
Such love as this an endless summer makes,
And all distaste from frail affection takes.
So loved, so blest, in my beloved am I:

Which till their eyes ache, let iron men envy!
Thomas Campion [? -1619]