Her finger was so small, the ring And to say truth, for out it must, As if they feared the light; Is half so fine a sight! Her cheeks so rare a white was on Who sees them is undone ; For streaks of red were mingled there, The side that's next the sun. Her lips were red; and one was thin, Her mouth so small, when she does speak, But she so handled still the matter, Passion o' me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the bride; The business of the kitchen's great, Nor was it there denied. Just in the nick, the cook knocked thrice, His summons did obey; When all the meat was on the table, To stay to be entreated? And this the very reason was, Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, And who could help it, Dick? Then dance again, and kiss. By this time all were stolen aside INVOCATION TO SLEEP. OME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving Though but a shadow, but a sliding, JOHN FLETCHER. Do we go hence and find that they are not dead! Joys we daily apprehend. Faces that smiled and fled, Hopes born here, and born to end. MATTHEW ARNOLD. IT NEVER COMES AGAIN. There are balms for all our pain; We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign; Ao others were I have not seen As others saw_ olly passions from grring From the same source I have not Taken sorrow aliz heart Ind all I Eva – I love a love Then - in stildhood — in the Lawy most. was drawk ་ ill From cory depth of good which buis. From the Torrent, the from tani From the red cliff of the mountain- In ito autumn hist If gold From the big beturing lighturing THE BABY. WHERE did you come from, baby dear? W Out of you come bulere Where did you get the eyes so blue? Where did you get that little tear? I found it in waiting when I got here. He heard the wind beat loud and free, What makes your forehead so smooth and An easier measure for its beat. high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm, white rose? I saw something better than any knows. Where did you get those arms and hands? Feet, whence did you come, you darling things! From the same box as the cherub's wings. How did they all come just to be you? A AT THE KING'S GATE. BEGGAR sat at the king's gate And sang of summer in the rainA song with sounds reverberate Of wood and hill and plain, The king was weary of his part, Into the gilded chamber crept A breath of summer, blown with rain And wild wet leaves against the pane. The royal sleeper smiled and slept. "I thought that all things sweet were dead!" KEYS. ONG ago in old Granada, when the Moors were forced to flee, Each man locked his home behind him, taking in his flight the key. Hopefully they watched and waited for the time to come when they Should return from their long exile to those homes so far away. But the mansions in Granada they had left in all their prime Vanished, as the years rolled onward, 'neath the crumbling touch of Time. Like the Moors, we all have dwellings where we vainly long to be, And through all life's changing phases ever fast we hold the key. Our fair country lies behind us; we are exiles, too, in truth. For no more shall we behold her. Our Granada's name is Youth. We have our delusive day-dreams, and rejoice when, now and then, Some old heartstring stirs within us, and we feel our youth again. "We are young!" we cry triumphant, thrilled with old-time joy and glee. Then the dream fades slowly, softly, leaving nothing but the key! BESSIE CHANDLER. |