VERSE: EXPECTATION

The King's three daughters stood on the terrace, The hanging terrace, so broad and green, Which keeps the sea from the marble Palace, There was Princess May, and Princess Alice, And the youngest Princess, Gwendoline.

Sighed Princess May, "Will it last much longer, Time throbs so slow and my Heart so quick; And oh, how long is the day in dying; Weary am I of waiting and sighing, For Hope deferred makes the spirit sick."

But Princess Gwendoline smiled and kissed her:- "Am I not sadder than you, my Sister?

Expecting joy is a happy pain.

The Future's fathomless mine of treasures, All countless hordes of possible pleasures, Might bring their store to my feet in vain."

Sighed Princess Alice as night grew nearer:- "So soon, so soon, is the daylight fled!

And oh, how fast comes the dark to-morrow, Who hides, perhaps in her veil of sorrow, The terrible hour I wait and dread!"

But Princess Gwendoline kissed her, sighing,-- "It is only Life that can fear dying; Possible loss means possible gain.

Those who still dread, are not quite forsaken; But not to fear, because all is taken, Is the loneliest depth of human pain."

VERSE: AN IDEAL

While the grey mists of early dawn Were lingering round the hill, And the dew was still upon the flowers, And the earth lay calm and still, A winged Spirit came to me n.o.ble, and radiant, and free.

Folding his blue and shining wings, He laid his hand on mine.

I know not if I felt, or heard The mystic word divine, Which woke the trembling air to sighs, And shone from out his starry eyes.

The word he spoke, within my heart Stirred life unknown before, And cast a spell upon my soul To chain it evermore; Making the cold dull earth look bright, And skies flame out in sapphire light.

When noon ruled from the heavens, and man Through busy day toiled on, My Spirit drooped his shining wings; His radiant smile was gone; His voice had ceased, his grace had flown, His hand grew cold within my own.

Bitter, oh bitter tears, I wept, Yet still I held his hand, Hoping with vague unreasoning hope: I would not understand That this pale Spirit never more Could be what he had been before.

Could it be so? My heart stood still.

Yet he was by my side.

I strove; but my despair was vain; Vain, too, was love and pride.

Could he have changed to me so soon?

My day was only at its noon.

Now stars are rising one by one, Through the dim evening air; Near me a household Spirit waits, With tender loving care; He speaks and smiles, but never sings, Long since he lost his shining wings.

With thankful, true content, I know This is the better way; Is not a faithful spirit mine-- Mine still--at close of day? . . .

Yet will my foolish heart repine For that bright morning dream of mine.

VERSE: OUR DEAD

Nothing is our own: we hold our pleasures Just a little while, ere they are fled: One by one life robs us of our treasures; Nothing is our own except our Dead.

They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping Safe for ever, all they took away.

Cruel life can never stir that sleeping, Cruel time can never seize that prey.

Justice pales; truth fades; stars fall from Heaven; Human are the great whom we revere: No true crown of honour can be given, Till we place it on a funeral bier.

How the Children leave us: and no traces Linger of that smiling angel band; Gone, for ever gone; and in their places, Weary men and anxious women stand.

Yet we have some little ones, still ours; They have kept the baby smile we know, Which we kissed one day and hid with flowers, On their dead white faces, long ago.

When our Joy is lost--and life will take it-- Then no memory of the past remains; Save with some strange, cruel sting, to make it Bitterness beyond all present pains.

Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow Still the radiant shadow, fond regret: We shall find, in some far, bright to-morrow, Joy that he has taken, living yet.

Is Love ours, and do we dream we know it, Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own?

Any cold and cruel dawn may show it, Shattered, desecrated, overthrown.

Only the dead Hearts forsake us never; Death's last kiss has been the mystic sign Consecrating Love our own for ever, Crowning it eternal and divine.

So when Fate would fain besiege our city, Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall, Death the Angel, comes in love and pity, And to save our treasures, claims them all.

VERSE: A WOMAN'S ANSWER

I will not let you say a Woman's part Must be to give exclusive love alone; Dearest, although I love you so, my heart Answers a thousand claims beside your own.

I love--what do I not love? earth and air Find s.p.a.ce within my heart, and myriad things You would not deign to heed, are cherished there, And vibrate on its very inmost strings.

I love the summer with her ebb and flow Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you know It was in summer that I saw you first.

I love the winter dearly too, . . . but then I owe it so much; on a winter's day, Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again, When you had been those weary months away.

I love the Stars like friends; so many nights I gazed at them, when you were far from me, Till I grew blind with tears . . . those far-off lights Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see.

I love the Flowers; happy hours lie Shut up within their petals close and fast: You have forgotten, dear: but they and I Keep every fragment of the golden Past.

I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise Seems like a crown upon my Life,--to make It better worth the giving, and to raise Still nearer to your own the heart you take.

I love all good and n.o.ble souls;--I heard One speak of you but lately, and for days Only to think of it, my soul was stirred In tender memory of such generous praise.

I love all those who love you; all who owe Comfort to you: and I can find regret Even for those poorer hearts who once could know, And once could love you, and can now forget.