to the exquisite voice,
That, waking the strands of my being
To melody, bids me rejoice.
Dream, soul, till the world's dream is ended!
Dream, heart, of your beautiful past!
For dreaming is better than weeping,
And all things but dreams at the last.

Change rules in the world of the waking--
Its laughter aye ends in a sigh;
Dreams only are changeless--immortal:
A love-dream alone cannot die.
Toil, fools! Sow your hopes in the furrows,
Rich harvest of failure you'll reap;
Life's riddle is read the most truly
By men who but talk in their sleep.

(HE REMONSTRATES.)

There, stop! That'll do--yes, I own it--
But, dear, I was young then, you know.
I wrote that before we were married;
Let's see--why, it's ten years ago!
You remember that night, at Drake's party,
When you flirted with Dick all the time?
I left in a state quite pathetic,
And went home to scribble that rhyme.

What a boy I was then with my dreaming,
And reading the riddle of life!
You gave a good guess at its meaning
The night you said "Yes," little wife.
One kiss for old times' sake, my Dolly--
That didn't seem much like a dream.
Holloa! something's wrong with the children!
Those young ones do nothing but scream.

AN AFTERTHOUGHT.

Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone,
Summer breezes softly sighed;
You and I were all alone
In a kingdom fair and wide
You, a Queen, in all your pride,
I, a vassal, by your side.

Fairy voices in the leaves
Ceaselessly were whispering:
"'Tis the time to garner sheaves--
Let your heart its longing sing;
Place upon her hand a ring;
Then our Queen shall know her King."

E'en the moonbeams seemed to learn
Speech when they had kissed your face,
Passing fair--my lips did yearn
To be moonbeams for a space--
"Lo, 'tis fitting time and place!
Speak, and courage will find grace."

But the night wind murmured low,
Softly brushing back your hair,
"Look into her face, and know
That she is a jewel rare,
Worthy of a monarch's heir;
Who are you that you should dare!"

Hope died like a frost-touched flower;
But through all the coming years,
In that quiet evening hour,
When the flowers are all in tears,