rs
Than tongue of bard has told,
When marks of time will be effaced,
When men will not grow old--
To-morrow.

WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER.
_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._

~From My Window.~

I sit within my little room
And see the world pass by,
The merry, youthful, thoughtless world,
That knows not I am I.

I watch it from my window ledge
Below me, at its play--
It makes an end of foolish things,
And thinks the sad ones gay.

And there above I sit, alone,
Behind my curtains long,
And I but peep, and mock a bit,
And sing a bit of song.

EDITH THEODORA AMES.
_Smith College Monthly._

~To a Friend.~

Your eyes are--but I cannot tell
Just what's the color of your eyes,
I only know therein doth dwell
A something that can sympathize,
When selfish love would fail to see
The depths revealed alone to me.

JOHN GOWDY.
_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._

~Love and Death.~

_Love and death_ is all of poets' singing,
What sounds else can stir the heavenly breath?
What save these can set the lyre-strings ringing:
Love and death?
What things else in maiden spirit springing?
What words else in all the preacher saith?
What thoughts else in God, the world forthbringing?

In the moon's pulse and the sea's slow swinging,
Death that draws, and love that sighs beneath:
Yea, life's wine is mingled; sweet, and stinging,--
Love and death.

GEORGIANA GODDARD KING.
_Bryn Mawr Lantern._

~Opportunity.~

I know not what the future holds--
But this I know,
Youth is a guest, who on his way
Too soon will go.

Once gone we call to deafened ears.
All prayers are vain!
For tears of blood, he will not come
Back once again.

Then spread the board of Life, with wine
And roses drest,
Drink deep and long, greet Joy and Love
While Youth is guest!

ARTHUR KETCHUM.
_Williams Literary Monthly,_

~To Austin Dobson.~

Not unto you the gods gave wings,
To scale the far Olympic height,
But made content with simpler things,
Your Pegasus takes lower flight.

Yet while into oblivion float
Those vaster songs, sublimely grand--
All men are listening to your note,
And as they listen, understand.

Sing on, then, while the heart of youth
In glad accordance answ'ring thrills,
And life and love have still their truth,
As spring has still its daffodils.

ARTHUR KETCHUM.
_Williams Literary Monthly._

~With a Copy