n of the past.
Art thou not glad 'twas Lippo, and not thee,
Whose brief bright day in that great gulf was cast.
_Thy_ day is all before thee. Let no cloud,
Here in the very morn of our delight,
Drift up from distant foreign skies, to shroud
Our sun of love whose radiance is so bright.

"Thou art not first?" Nay, and he who would be
Defeats his own heart's dearest purpose then.
No truer truth was ever told to thee--
Who has loved most, he best can love again.
If Lippo (and not he alone) has taught
The arts that please thee, wherefore art thou sad?
Since all my vast love-lore to thee is brought,
Look up and smile, my Beppo, and be glad.

TIRED.

I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel, as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart's loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go--
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely--
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might sudden'y break
way from a dam's control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail;
And the hand on my heart strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.

[Illustration: "THE BURDEN OF DEAR HUMAN TIES"]

[Illustration:]

THE SPEECH OF SILENCE.

The solemn Sea of Silence lies between us;
I know thou livest, and them lovest me,
And yet I wish some white ship would come sailing
Across the ocean, beating word from thee.

The dead calm awes me with its awful stillness.
No anxious doubts or fears disturb my breast;
I only ask some little wave of language,
To stir this vast infinitude of rest.

I am oppressed with this great sense of loving;
So much I give, so much receive from thee;
Like subtle incense, rising from a censer,
So