That the wide future may reveal
The joys of harvest manifold,
While I stand lonely in the cold.

Dear, it is hard. But God doth know
How leal the heart that beats for thee;
It is enough, enough for me

To love thee. Let the future show
Love can live on for its own sake,

Though eyes may weep, though heart may ache.

A BROKEN SONNET

YOU loved me once, I know!

You

I had the first, the best; let others reap The after-fruits, although it cost me pain; Although I sometimes turn aside and weep To see Love's golden grainage scattered so; Borne where each errant wind may chance to blow,— The gift you gave you cannot take again.

You love me still, I know!

It is not possible you should forget

All I have been in the dear days gone by;
For Time is strong, but Memory stronger yet
On his gray fortress walls doth greenly grow;
You could not hate me if you would, and—O!
I loved, and I shall love you till I die!

CLO GRAVES

FORGET THEE

ORGET thee?" If to dream by night,

"FORGE

And muse on thee by day;

If all the worship deep and wild

A lover's heart can pay;

If prayers in absence breathed for thee,
To Heaven's protecting power,
If wingéd thoughts that flit to thee
A thousand in an hour;
If busy Fancy blending thee
With all my future lot,

If this thou call'st "forgetting,"
Thou indeed shalt be forgot.

"Forget thee?" Bid the forest birds
Forget their sweetest tune;
"Forget thee?" Bid the sea forget
To swell beneath the moon;
Bid thirsty flowers forget to drink
The eve's refreshing dew;
Thyself forget thine own dear land
And its mountains wild and blue;

Forget each old familiar face,

Each long-remembered spot,

When these things are forgot by thee,
Then thou shalt be forgot.

Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace,
Still calm and fancy-free,

For God forbid thy gladsome heart
Should grow less glad for me;

Yet while thy heart is still unworn,
Oh! bid not mine to rove,
But let it nurse its humble faith,
And uncomplaining love; -
If these preserved for patient years,
At last avail me not,

Forget me then; - but ne'er believe

That thou canst be forgot!

JOHN MOULTRIE

ΤΟ

WHAT boots it that thine eye is bright,

Thy bosom fair, thy footsteps light,

Since I must never see

That eye beam brightly me to greet,

That step bound lightly me to meet,
That bosom heave for me?

Albeit indifferent as thou art,

I would have clasped that icy heart
As closely to my own

As he of old embraced the form,
Which grew beneath the kisses warm,
When love gave life to stone.

How few in this cold world have met
The one of whom they dreamt ; -

To waste the dreary hours
In a lone wild were not such woe
As to have met that one, and know

She never can be ours.

and yet

LORD DALLING

THE MAID I LOVED

HE maid I loved, and still shall love,

THE

What song of mine her praise may render? All song could say, she stands above,

Beyond all words, being dear and tender. Bright as the stars, yet not so high;

Fair as the moon, but far less fickle;

Sweet as the lovely months that lie

Between the seedtime and the sickle.
Oh, were my vows like breezes shy,

With fragrant sighs to breathe upon her—
Oh, were my hopes like flowers to lie
About her path to do her honor-

Oh, were my voice a silver lyre

To sound her praise and sing her gloryMy happiness and heart's desire

Had not been now an ended story.

REMINISCENCE

T was a summer eve, and underneath

IT

The shadowy trees you kissed me. In my heart That moment came a new, fair world to light — A world illumined by a rosy glow

Of new, fond thoughts, and passionate, sweet joy!

When you were gone I doted o'er the thought
That you were mine, dear love! I pressed my hands
Above my throbbing heart, that beat so fast